Kuiles, Capital of the Kingdom of Ostir
King Artur dashed through corridors and hallways alike, pushing past any of those he deemed unimportant. His hefty steps echoed throughout the keep, his cloak billowing behind him. The door ahead of him came to an open as he prepared to bash it through, instead sending one of the poor stable boys flying through the nearby table.
"I must speak to Roove at once!" he said, panting. Chancellor Pik, knowing of the king's renowned temper, hurried off with his tail between his legs. Artur nodded to Prince Zambii, and he, too, followed suite. The room had been cleared. Only one figure remained aside from Artur; Roove.
"You rang?" said Roove, twirling a servant's bell between his hands.
A handsome fellow with devilish black hair, Roove was known to seduce and slaughter peasant women with his charms. The one survivor of his killing spree, Lady Ariella, couldn't stop speaking of his mesmerizing serpent green eyes, even as her stab wounds were cleaned with healing ointment. This incident had led to King Artur's initial recruitment of both of them, along with Ariella's courtship to Lord Bran and her ascension to power after his mysterious death.
"You spoke to Madame Lechere of the prophecy. What do you know of it, and how have you learned?"
Roove smiled, baring his elongated canines. Artur hadn't thought to question his seemingly supernatural abilities and had yet to even now.
"Have you been to Spetif recently? Quaint little town, my place of birth, and home to a mysterious baby."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Artur said, his voice hoarse and angry.
Roove's smile faded, and he leapt to his feet. Suddenly, he ran forward and was inches away from Artur's face, his grin more monstrous than before.
"Because, oh so noble king, the child was engulfed with blue, flowing ropes which vanished painfully into its flesh. Does this sound familiar to you in the slightest?"
The color vanished from King Artur's wrinkling, aged face. "The Fated," he said with a whisper, snapping mere moments after and throwing the table through a solid glass window.
"How do you know, Roove? Tell me or suffer the same fate as my carpentry."
Roove, startled but not afraid, turned to face the solid wall. He wondered to himself if he could get away with tearing King Artur's throat out right here and now, but decided against it in mere moments.
"Madame Lechere broke so easily. Prophesiers never do have much endurance. It was unwise to keep secrets from me, Artur."
Artur panted, his hefty forearms braces up against a nearby bench. "So then, Roove. You clearly have the upper hand here. How did you discover the prophecy?"
"Artur, you fool. Madame Lechere is not the only prophesier and certainly knew nothing of the finer magics. All will be revealed to you so long as that child is delivered to me."
Artur hesitated, almost readying his blade to strike. Something clicked in him, however, and he recoiled in horror of Roove's identity.
"Y-yes, of course. I'll send out a batallion at on-"
"No, no soldiers. This is a discrete mission. Send... her."
Artur bit his lip so hard as to draw blood, his hands clenched into fists. "Very well."
"Go at once... my king." Roove said, mockingly. Artur fled the room, his cloak pulled through the air by his massive bulk.
---
Spetif, Capital of the Spetian Empire
Sometime after nightfall.
The gravel cracked beneath a cloaked woman's, one of many, feet. Six of them exactly, standing perfectly still and observing the wall-less city of Spetif from afar. Each of them; face obscured by shadow. Each of them; carrying an identical, curved blade.
The middle cloaked woman grinned from beneath her hood, jumping forward and gliding through the air beyond the hill. The other five followed soon after, and none seemed to fall. They propelled themselves without worry of things like gravity or wind, for this was no regular flight, but rather a complex form of shadow magic.
The six women landed atop one of the many, simplistic, shingled homes, the sixth rolling as she fell while the other five levitating downwards. The other five snickered as the sixth scraped her arm against the clay shingles as she regained control of her momentum, forcing a glare out of her. She concentrated for a moment, and all five shadow doubles faded back within herself.
Now then, she thought to herself. Where is this child?
A pair of insect-like wings burst from her spine with a splash of ebony ichor, fluttering twice as if to test their mobility. The woman leapt into the air and the wings, despite their small size, began to flip and flap, allowing dragonfly-like mobility within the air. She took off at a gentle pace, examining each and every house's window, hoping to find the crib containing the child.
Finally, the winged woman looked up. A magnificent castle stood before her, extending at least a few hundred feet into the air. The woman's wings strained for a moment, before releasing a powerful burst of speed that propelled the woman to nearly the top. Her wings vanished soon after, the woman barely catching herself by latching onto a tower window's ledge.
There, through the window, she saw what she had been seeking. The child. However, as she crept into the child's room, she noticed the crib had a second, unwanted possession.
A twin.
