The prince dashed toward the burning Palace while Dracon yelled for him to come back. It was a rare show of begging.
Flames climbed the tower in the center of the Palace, transforming it into a giant torch and licking at the smoke-darkened sky. Many windows—most of them shattered—glowed bright, but others were black. The fire was spreading, slowly. The heat intensified with Jaysynn’s every stride as he approached the Palace. As he reached the portico, he felt like he crashed into an invisible burning wall. His hands shielded his face. He clenched his fists and steeled his resolve.
Lowering his arms, he charged at the once-grand doors and kicked them open. The heat smacked his face, but Jaysynn grit his teeth and ran inside. He entered the grand hall. Burning debris littered the room. More fell from the high ceiling. The half-circle staircase leading to the tower’s elevator was collapsing. Fire consumed the royal trappings.
“Talynn! Chel! Mother!” Jaysynn shouted over the roar of the flames. He wandered through room. “Jilla!” The next name tasted bitter, but he spat out, “Shar!” No answer. He came to the center of the room where the ornate crystal and gold chandelier had fallen, the flames reflecting and refracting in a kaleidoscopic flurry of light. “Bulon! Casseo!” Jaysynn saw that the floor around the chandelier was crimson. He peered through the blinding light—and gasped.
Buried underneath the chandelier were two of his dead siblings, burning.
Guilt stabbed Jaysynn’s heart. His stomach turned and bile filled his mouth. Blood roared in his ears and drenched the back of his head. If only…
Suddenly, he heard a shout—a warrior’s battle cry—emanate from the open door under the half-circle staircase. He recognized it. “Father!”
Jaysynn ran for the door, jumping over burning piles of debris. He ignored the flames licking at his heels. Inside the door was a descending staircase. No fires. White light flashed in the corridor, accompanied by deafening thunderclaps. Jaysynn raced down the stairs. The farther down he went, the more ionized the air felt. His hair started standing on end.
He came to the basement. Before him was the thick containment door, opened, and inside the room beyond lay the Palace’s source of power, its magic generator. Agonized wails mingled with thunder shot from the room. Jaysynn ran inside.
Lightning bolts danced amid a shower of sparks. The massive magic generator sputtered, glowed, quaked. At the heart of this storm was a man—a man wearing a ripped king’s robe and a purple cape riddled with holes. His long golden hair and beard, though singed by sparks, shone like the sun. Rippling and bulging, his muscles desperately summoned the lightning that shot from his fingertips. The man’s eyes, glowing eerily on his charred face, turned a murky white.
“Father, you must stop!”
“I will when the generator stabilizes!”
“Please! We must go! The Palace is burning!”
“No!”
Jaysynn glanced at the console displaying the generator’s status. The hands on the generator spun chaotically. The screens and readouts flashed on and off, displaying gibberish-like numbers and letters Jaysynn knew were warnings.
“You’re trying to stop the inevitable!” the prince shouted. “You can’t save the generator!”
“I am Thorynn, God-Emperor of Thyrion! My kingdom is sustained by my hand! So long as I draw breath, the House of Kyzer will stand!”
The man’s eyes glowed brighter, hotter. More lightning bolts flared, flashed. The console monitoring the generator sparked, then exploded.
Jaysynn shielded his face with his arms. Sucking in air through gritted teeth, he lowered his arms and marched toward his father, clenching his fists. A courage—no, defiance—unlike any he had ever felt swelled within him and burst through his teeth like a dam. “Your kingdom? Your kingdom needs you out there in the streets! The generator is nothing!”
“Silence, boy!” shouted the Emperor, straining more lightning from his shriveling hands.
“This is madness! Please come—”
“Away with you!” thundered Thorynn, firing a thunderbolt from his palm at Jaysynn.
The bolt struck Jaysynn in the chest and launched him like a ragdoll. Dazed, he flew back fifteen feet, landing outside the containment door. His back hit the floor with a thud, his head bouncing off the cement. More blood gushed from his head wound. Shock. Enervation. His muscles twitched. Smoke rose from his blackened chest. He smelled burnt clothing and flesh. Grunting painfully, he mustered his every last fiber of resolve and forced himself to sit up.
He watched as his father’s lightning bolts vanished. The emperor flicked his fingers in desperation, but nothing sparked. He shouted curses that seemed to echo through the room. Suddenly, a bright light consumed the generator and burst forth.
“Father, no!” screamed Jaysynn, stretching out with a trembling hand.
Just then, the containment door was slammed shut. Dracon stood over Jaysynn.
“Get up!” the general ordered.
Jaysynn was paralyzed, but now by shock and fear.
“Get up!” Dracon barked, grabbing the prince’s shoulders and forcing him to his feet. “If you can stand, you can run! Move!”
Dracon grabbed Jaysynn’s wrist and all but dragged him away from the door and up the stairs. Only when they reached the burning grand hall did Jaysynn break out of his trance. The heat was fiercer. The floor quaked and rumbled. Fiery debris rained from the ceiling like burning hailstones. Smoke threatened to choke him.
A moment later, Jaysynn found himself outside. Flames now filled every window of the Palace and rose higher on the tower. A sudden quake tripped Jaysynn as they reached the Palace gates.
The prince watched as white energy exploded from below the Palace, the ground underneath it erupting like a volcano. For a half-second, the tower seemed to float. Then it fell, it crumbled, and with it, the entire Palace.
Only a pile of burning rubble remained.
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