Chapter 2: Make way for the King!

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

Reads: 8

Christopher barely heard as the soldiers ushered him inside, surrounding him and challenging everyone they saw. Colonel Fyte and his lieutenants came around the corner and broke into a dead sprint at the sight of their bloody leader.

"What happened, aren’t you here to prevent this?!" Fyte demanded rounding on one of the guardsmen.

"Who's asking?" The guard was suspicious of the colonel, his hand straying to his sword.

"Colonel Timothy Fyte, an officer of the Wymond Corps. Now, ANSWER ME!" Fyte turned to Christopher, "Sir, sir? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine." The blood was already drying, his wound already burning with white light.

"What the.......'' the guardsmen stared, watching as his skin was knit back together, showing no proof of any wound other than the cut clothing. They continued staring, even as Christopher continued walking, the Wymond Corps soldiers following him.

Christopher sighed as they entered the council room once again. "You were right, colonel. I want every gate locked up, nobody leaves, nobody enters. The only people allowed inside will be the king and his family. Everyone else will have to wait. Lock everything down, double patrols. I want the shooter caught, but even if he or she isn't, I want my village to be safe."

"Understood, sir." Colonel Fyte turned to the lieutenants. "Gather two other guards, I want you two and them guarding Lord Wymond. No exceptions. Do not leave him for anything. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." The lieutenants strode purposely out, going on to look for more soldiers.

Christopher nodded in approval. He looked at where his wound was. "Praise to Gabriel. I guess they weren't lying about what I did."

"We never were, sir."  Fyte smiled grimly, "the king has been sent a message, he will arrive within a few hours. Sir, please rest now." Christopher hesitated, I shouldn’t be resting during a time like this… but… He looked at the captain, who was a strong figure. Fyte has got it. He turned away and nodded.




Christopher opened his tired eyes, groaning at the light that came through his window. No, not his window… he sat up, growing increasingly more confused with every moment. The light shining upon his fair skin was that of a natural source. The air was scented with vanilla and pine.

Christopher blinked and gazed at the surrounding realm. He was in a soft, grassy meadow with tall pine trees off to his left and right. A calm river flowed not too far from him. The soft hum of different species of birds and the wind filled the air.

Where am I?


A sudden whoosh of air swept through the meadow. Christopher’s sight flashed with a light brighter than he knew. “Ahg-” he yelped. His eyes burned as the light faded and a new sight filled his vision.

Before him stood, or rather floated, a tall man with gloriously white wings sprouting out from his shoulder blades, spread out from his well-muscled body. The newcomer wore a beautiful double-breasted white jacket with a mid-leg tailcoat. He was dressed in pristine white trousers. The newcomer’s golden hair seemed messy and yet held a very handsome appearance. His eyes had a wisdom all-knowing look as the strange man watched Christopher gawk at him.

“Are you going to say something or are you just going to stare at me?” He smirked.

“I- uh- I-” Christopher took a deep breath and calmed himself. “Hello, sir. Might I uh, ask, who you are?”

“Well don’t you know? Don’t you recognize me? Tut-tut Christopher.” The winged man lowered himself to the ground and folded in his wings, “I am your archangel.”

“Raz- Raziek? No- I mean, It couldn’t be.” Christopher shook his head and scrambled to his feet.

The angel rolled his eyes and scoffed. The sudden fury of the heavens seemed to brighten the light, intensify the strength of the river. “Really? You don’t believe me? SERIOUSLY?!” His eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, his voice booming through the meadow making Christopher cringe.

“Yes, Christopher. I am Raziek the Archangel that you worship or at least USED to worship in Razium. You humans, mere mortals, have no concept of what faith is.”

Christopher kneeled, bowing his head in both embarrassment and praise.

“STAND UP!” The angel growled. “Do NOT kneel at my feet.”

Christopher jumped to obey, apologizing profusely. He was jumbled and he knew it as he cringed. He scratched his neck as he watched Raziek glare and clench his fists, his muscles bulging from his body. “Sorry, Sir, Uhm, I guess I don’t know why I am here talking to-to you…”

“Mmhmm, now can you shut your mouth now?” He didn’t wait for a reply, “Thanks. Anyways, You are here to remember me. The people of Razium know my name, and yet they don’t remember me. They forgot the reasons they are alive and how they win battles. Simply put, Christopher, you are…”

The angel sighed and shook his head, his dark blue eyes flicking away. “You don’t need to know yet.” Raziek unfurled his wings, and with a mighty thrust, launched into the sky and disappeared into the glare of the sun.

Christopher’s jaw dropped and he stared as the meadow faded from his view into the dark colorless sight of sleep.



Christopher woke up panting, his clothing crumpled. Over him stood a concerned colonel Fyte and one of his sergeants. “Sir? The king has arrived. He waits upon you in your throne room.” Colonel Fyte motioned for the sergeant to leave them. “My lord, you were whispering things in your sleep… Something about a Raziek. About archangels… Is everything alright?”

“Y-yes-yes it’s all fine. I was just having a dream, I guess. In the throne room, you say? Alright. I’ll head there now.” The man ran his hands through his bedraggled hair. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he set his jacket and walked purposely out of his bedroom.
Colonel Fyte stood there staring after his lord, confused, yet unable to justify asking about his dream, after all, he was just a knight. He sighed and hurried to catch up with the man he had served for many years. “I will arrange for a meal to be brought to you, sir.”
Christopher nodded, the dream fading from his mind as his thoughts returned to the task at hand. As he approached the doors to his room of thrones, he needn’t halt his stride as the guards opened the giant doors fluidly. He bowed his head to the king as he approached him and kneeled, his knee hitting the ground in a clang as his metal armor hit the marble of the floor.

“Stand, Lord Wymond.” The king’s hard, authoritative voice spoke through the silence of the room. Christopher complied. The king motioned for him to sit. “I heard, Lord Wymond, that there was an assassination attempt on your life the moment my royal guard battalion entered your courtyard. True?”

“Yes, your majesty,” said Christopher, nodding.

The king nodded, “so, therefore, we were right to suggest that there was a contract out for your assassination.” His deep brown eyebrows furrowed. “That's worrying. An assassination of my most important nobleman. You have the most sway in the council. The most important person when it comes to making decisions for Razium. I can see why they want you dead. They want power, honor, they want to be the ones to make decisions, right or wrong. Whatever would feed their desires…” King Demere set his jaw. “I know what to do. For now, Christopher, stay in your fortress. Lay low for a little bit. I’ll make sure that-”

“Your majesty, with all due respect I refuse to cower. If they kill me, let it lie on my head, not yours, or anyone else’s. I-” Christopher faltered, his dream coming back. Was it a dream?


Christopher’s eyes tore away from the king, straying over his shoulder to the window behind him. His eyes betrayed him as he watched the angel fade from view with a sad smile. Christopher’s breath quickened, becoming heavier and heavier. “I-” He stumbled, his words twisting into incomprehensible words, his eyes rolling into his head. Christopher fell to the ground writhing at his chest trying to rip his shirt and jacket off. His screaming echoed through the chamber as the king backed up hurriedly frightened by the sudden change in character.


The guards outside the door jumped into action, their footsteps thundering through the halls, their voices raised.

The king fell to Christopher’s side, holding him still, “CHRISTOPHER, CHRISTOPHER, HEY, hey, what’s wrong, what’s happening? HEY!” He panicked, glancing all around as if searching for the cause of his pain.

Christopher’s body suddenly stopped moving, his breath shallow.

“King Demere. Oh! How you mock me! Daily you work for Razium, but NEVER have you looked to me.” Christopher’s eyes blazed a new color, a dark blue. His body stood suddenly knocking the king to the ground.

“Chr-Christopher, wha-what?” The king sputtered, scrambling backward.

“Exactly. You don’t even have any idea who it is that is talking to you.” Christopher scoffed. “Your great-great-grandfather named the kingdom after me. It’s disappointing for you to just forget everything this country was built on.”

The king gasped, remembering the fairy tales he had been told as a child, wondering if it were true. He stared as Christopher pulled his knife from his belt, and sliced his palm open. With a grunt, Christopher, or at least the body of Christopher held his palm up for King Demere to see. The pure white blood dripped from the wound, splattering onto the floor as the blood flowed.

King Demere gawked.

“Yes, It’s true. But what would you care?” Christopher shook his head and turned away, just as the medics and guards rushed in. “Oh dear, time to go.”

Christopher’s body slumped, seemingly lifeless to the floor.

“Your majesty, are you alright? What about Lord Wymond?” The medics swarmed through the room like ants, looking over the men. The guards conversed, wondering what was going on. The king stared, dumbstruck, at Christopher as he came around, his eyes returning to their normal glow.

“What happened?” Christopher groaned, “I feel like my body just took a giant beating.” He gazed at his hand, surprised that it hadn’t healed up yet.

“You just blacked out, nothing serious.” The king lied, he didn’t yet want to reveal the truth.

As the medics declared them fit, and the guards returned to their duties, an unknowing nobleman and a bewildered king shook hands and left each other, each entrapped in their own thoughts.

Submitted: January 14, 2022

© Copyright 2022 StormyDragoon. All rights reserved.


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