"Whoof. That was a lousy fight, I couldn't even stretch my hands," Alistair Hades groaned, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his arms. Around them, the forest floor was littered with the crumpled bodies of the thieves, their ambitions silenced by the swift, brutal efficiency of the Hades clan.
Edmund Hades, ever the hothead, kicked a lifeless body with his boot, a contemptuous sneer on his face. "How stupid are these southerners, brother? They dare to attack us, the House of Fire?" A thin stream of spit arced from his lips, landing precisely on the dead man's face.
Alistair didn't bother to look. He wiped his blade clean on a patch of grass before sheathing it with a soft click. "How stupid are you? These are just common cutthroats. They'd rob whoever they think has coin." He surveyed the scene, his gaze sharp and assessing.
"But…" Edmund started, indignation flaring in his eyes.
"Shut up and search them," Alistair snapped, his voice sharp with authority. "They must have some gold around."
The rest of the Hades crew, clad in dark leathers subtly reinforced with fire-resistant weaves and adorned with subtle fiery motifs, moved with practiced efficiency. They were from the House of Fire, known as the Hades, one of the five most powerful families in the sprawling kingdom of Oreans. Oreans was a vast land, its expanse divided by the great elemental houses: the North by the Hades, the South by the Sands, the West by the Aeries, and the East by the Umbras. The fifth family, the Seas, held sway over the scattered maritime territories that fringed the kingdom's mighty landmasses.
"Look, brother!" Dunstan Hades exclaimed, returning from a thicket with two heavy bags of silver jingling in his grasp. "Found these in one of their horses' packs."
Alistair glanced at the loot, a flicker of calculation in his eyes. "They probably had a lair nearby, but we don't have time for a full search. Gather the spoils. We'll split them quickly and ride into the city. The sun will set soon."
Harold Hades, notorious for his complaints despite their family's immense wealth, began meticulously scrutinizing the contents of the bags. "I hate doing this. Our family is one of the richest, but they never give us enough coin during travels." His fingers meticulously sorted through the stolen goods, clearly eyeing what he intended to claim.
"Suck it up, Harold," Aelflaed retorted, stepping closer. "It's meant to teach us responsibility." Her tone held a hint of a sneer.
Harold's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Shut up, Aelflaed. What do you know? You're just a girl."
Before Aelflaed could respond, a low growl rumbled from Alistair's chest. His hand went to his hilt, drawing his sword with a chilling scrape of steel. "Don't talk to my sister like that."
Harold, ever quick to ignite, mirrored the action, his own blade a shining line aimed directly at Alistair's head. The air crackled with a tension that had nothing to do with the fading light.
"Stop it!" Godiva surged forward, positioning herself firmly between the two hot-headed brothers.
"Get behind me, sister!" Harold snarled, his eyes fixed on Alistair.
"No!" Aelflaed shrieked, rushing to stand beside Godiva. "This is exactly what Aethearold feared!"
At the mention of their respected lord's name, the tension, thick as smoke, abruptly thinned. Both Alistair and Harold hesitated, their blades glinting for another moment before reluctantly sliding back into their sheaths. The implicit authority of Aethearold, the current patriarch of the Hades, was absolute.
"Why do you always get to play big brother?" Harold scoffed, spitting on the ground near Alistair's feet. "We are all equals in this family!"
Alistair ignored the insult, his gaze sweeping over the assembled crew. "We split the loot: three shares to the top clan, three to the next, then two, two, and the least get what remains." His voice was cold, decisive.
The House of Fire was structured around five distinct clans, each holding its place in a rigid hierarchy. The Obsidian clan stood at the apex, embodying the unyielding heart of Hades. Below them were the aggressive Blaze, followed by the traditional Pyres, the industrious Embers, and finally, the often-overlooked Ashes, comprising the least clan.
The looming coronation of the new Sands king in the Southern capital was just a few weeks away. To represent their power and prestige, the Hades had chosen champions from each clan to travel together, including Alistair and his companions. They had been on the road for seventeen days, with only a few more days separating them from the city, and the fateful event that would shatter the kingdom's peace.
Alistair, first among them, stepped forward. "I, Alistair Hades, an Obsidian of the House of Fire, claim my share and accept it." He took his allotted silver, his movements economical.
Harold followed, a grudging acceptance on his face. "I, Harold Hades, a Blaze of the House of Fire, claim my share and accept it."
Dunstan, ever practical, scooped his portion. "I, Dunstan Hades, a Pyre of the House of Fire, claim my share and I accept it."
Edmund, still muttering under his breath about the southerners, grabbed his. "I, Edmund Hades, an Ember of the House of Fire, claim my share and I accept it."
Then, a voice, surprisingly clear and resolute, broke the pattern.
"I, Jamie Hades, an Ash of the House of Fire, have no share, and I do not accept it."
A stunned silence fell over the crew, quickly replaced by a ripple of murmurs.
"Don't cause trouble for yourself, brother," Edmund warned, his eyes wide.
Alistair's head snapped towards Jamie, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "What did you say?"
Jamie, slender but with a newfound defiance in his posture, took a step forward. "You shared the loot and allotted nothing to me. You've done the same in every battle we've fought on the way here. I agree with Harold," he added, glancing sidelong at the Blaze, "who made you big brother?"
Harold quickly held up his hands, taking a step back. "Don't pull me into this, brother."
"Well, I want my share this time," Jamie insisted, standing his ground.
Alistair's lips twisted into a smirk, a slow, chilling grin. "Oh, really? How about you clean our swords, and take whatever we allow you to have?" The rest of the Hades crew chuckled, the sound like dry crackling flames.
"No!" Jamie refused, his voice rising. "I want an equal share as you all!"
Alistair threw his head back, a harsh, humorless laugh echoing through the trees, joined by the others. "Equal share? Ha ha ha!"
"Give me my share, or…" Jamie began, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his own sword.
"Or what?" Alistair interrupted, his smirk vanishing, replaced by a cold, hard stare. "You don't understand, Ash. You're an Ash. The least clan of the family."
"So what?" Jamie's voice wavered, but his grip on his sword tightened. "I fought in the battle as much as you did!"
"Ever heard the adage, 'The Obsidian burns, and the Ash remains'?" Alistair's voice dropped, each word a slow, deliberate strike. "Our leftover is your share."
"Not this time!" Jamie's voice, raw with fury, sliced through Alistair's laughter. His eyes, usually a muted ember, now burned with the fierce, true fire of Hades. He pulled his sword, and in a swift, desperate motion, sliced his own palm. Blood welled, bright crimson against his skin, and as he smeared it along the hilt, the steel ignited, blossoming into hungry, licking flames.
"Ha ha!" Alistair's chuckle was a low, guttural sound, filled with a dangerous amusement. He drew his own sword, and even before it cleared the scabbard, it shimmered, then erupted in a searing white-hot blaze. The air around him shimmered with the heat. "Wanna know what Obsidian means, little Ash?"
He lunged, sword raised high, and with a metallic shriek that echoed through the trees, CLANG! Jamie met the blow, their flaming blades locking in a furious dance. Sparks rained down, tiny, ephemeral stars born of elemental collision. The crossfire, a blur of fiery steel, continued for a breathless minute. Then, with a sickening wet sound, SLASH! Alistair's blade found its mark, carving a jagged wound across Jamie's stomach.
"Ahh!" Jamie gasped, a raw groan torn from his throat. He stumbled back, hand instinctively clamping over the blossoming crimson on his tunic. But even as his fingers pressed, a faint, orange glow began to eman emanate from beneath his palm. A few agonizing seconds later, the torn fabric began to knit, the skin beneath it smoothing, the cut fading as if it had never been.
"Feeling like a magician?" Alistair sneered, though a flicker of surprise crossed his face. He watched, a cruel grin spreading as Jamie, now fully recovered, flung his sword forward. This time, it was Alistair's stomach that met the searing edge. The cut bloomed instantly, a stark line of red, but just like Jamie's, it began to glow, then heal.
"It runs in the family, brother!" Alistair roared, a chilling laugh erupting as his skin seamlessly rejoined.
Jamie, momentarily stunned by the impossibly swift regeneration, faltered. That split second of hesitation was all Alistair needed. With brutal efficiency, he plunged his flaming sword directly into Jamie's heart.
Jamie's entire chest instantly erupted with a blinding, desperate light. His eyes widened, a furious, final blaze within them as his heart tried to heal, to beat away the fatal blow. But Alistair held the sword firm, twisting it, preventing the rapid regeneration from taking hold. The light flickered, dimmed, and then, with a soft hiss of extinguishing flame, died.
Jamie's body went slack. The sword, now just cold steel, slid free. He crumpled to the forest floor, landing on his back. His eyes, once burning with the fierce fire of Hades, stared up at the darkening sky, utterly out of breath, utterly still.