The Forbidden Hearth | Prologue

Disclaimer: This is my first attempt at a story in Ashes of Creation. I plan for this to be quite a series that portrays the background of my character. This will contain themes such as racism, sexism, swearing, and bloody details. If you are uncomfortable with this, please leave; otherwise--sit back, relax, and enjoy the Prologue of The Forbidden Hearth.


Verra: The Dangerous, yet beautiful haven of old and new; the shining symbol of resilience and prosperity. My name is Antonius Bui. The townsfolk said I came from nothing and became something--although I never believed that. I knew the truth in my heart that what I am should never have happened.

I dipped my pen into the ink well as I stared down at the loan parchment. I gazed upon the name that had annoyingly come across far too many times: Rhonald Kyne. I squinted my eyes with a light sigh.

I rolled up the parchment and stood up from my desk, resting my pen into the well of ink. I walked calmly across the offices until I stood in front of Thomas Lands. He looked up at me, then glared at the rolled up parchment I had gripped in my hand.

"Should I send a raven or just a blade?" Thomas said sarcastically.

"Rhonald Kyne is overdue on repaying his loan. Send word to him of his interest raising by 7 percent."

Thomas chortled at his remark, "Little steep, eh boss?"

Antonius crossed his arms, "He has done this to me too many times. Either he pays us back or don't bother with loans."

Thomas rested his chin on his fist, "You know, Samwell believes that he goes to the Seawitch's tavern and doesn't come out."

Antonius threw up his arms, "I don't need to listen to another one of Hiejm's prophecies to know that Rhon most likely lives in the damn place."

Thomas smirked, "You should go take that sword you're so proud of and personally show him how we deal with thieves."

I glanced back at my desk and noticed the steel sword on the wall. It was kept in the finest condition that could be mortally preserved. Its reflection glimmered in the sunlight as the scratches on the sword appeared as though it were etched by lightning bolts.

I gave a light smile then turned my head towards him, "The Iron Bank never became what it is today because we frightened a drunk."

Thomas replied, mockingly, "The Iron Bank never became what it is today because we lost our gold."

I shrugged, "True, true. We'll send mercenaries after him if he doesn't pay us back within the next week. Fair?"

Thomas nodded, "I can live with that. But seriously, what's so important about that sword of yours?"

I walked to my desk, and spoke, never having my eyes leave the shimmer of the blade's edge, "This sword isn't mine. It belonged to my father."

Thomas leaned up in his desk with a puzzled look, "You mean to tell me that Felix Graves, a once noble fishermen, held a sword?"

I nodded, "Felix--my father--would've never made it alive without it."

Thomas smiled, "I bet it's quite the story."

I smiled back, "It is. When he died five years ago, he handed me this sword. Told me to do as I wished with it. I kept it here as a reminder that the impossible is always possible."

"Well I'm bored--so make your philosophy work. Tell me the story." Thomas said.

"Don't you have papers to--?"

"Done."

"And the letters..?"

"It's handled."

I sighed, "Oh alright. Come here."

Thomas stood from his desk and sat at the chair across from my desk. I turned to him looking solemn, "This piece of history should never have existed, but did exist, only out of a sheer miracle. This is the story of Felix Graves and Myrrah Bui."