Page 3 of Zepharali: Lord of the East Winds (Lords of the Wind Book 3)
Lazaar
Lazaar and his guardian exploded through an opening disguised as a grassy landscape. Once he, Oleksandr, and Myst were safely on the other side, his escorts turned back the way they’d come.
“Don’t go! Wait—” Lazaar shielded his eyes from a light that almost blinded him in its brilliance.
An overwhelming heat blanketed him from head to toe, making an energy he’d never felt sizzle beneath his skin.
Everywhere the light touched him made him feel stronger.
Lazaar’s world, Chessuven, had been comforting, black, and beautiful. The sky always had the look of polished onyx, except for the rare occasions when he’d use his powers to create shimmers of white light his elders called stars.
A reward to his people who brightened Chessuven with a glittering gray hue.
Those evenings were always dearest to him. He would lie on his back and stare at the sky, imagining himself in a land full of colors, images of faraway places ruled by other magical lords like him.
Lazaar read stories and enjoyed plays acted out by his people of fictional worlds nurtured by a blazing entity called a sun, beyond even the reach of the gods.
In these sun-tales, the people relied on this burning sphere to nourish the plants for their food and oxygen.
The mythical worlds they made up were always the most entertaining, if not a bit ludicrous.
Never would a massive ball of gas be so vital to everything in existence.
But as Lazaar gazed into the cerulean-blue sky, he used his palms to shield his eyes from the orangish-yellow sphere higher in the sky than even his Ribiccaww raptor, Myst, could fly.
His shock over the vast landscape, the heat, and the unique colors of what he believed were mythical trees and shrubbery brought him to his knees.
Every direction he faced was even more miraculous.
There were fields of lush grass, rolling hills, and snowcapped mountains in the distance. He was confident of their identity because he’d seen detailed drawings and paintings by the artists in Chessuven.
Lazaar blinked at the different colored items he knelt on.
“Olek…these…are these…floros, um, no, flowers?” he asked in awe, gently stroking his fingertips over the delicate purple petals.
They’re…it’s real.
“Myst, fly ahead and search for danger,” Oleksandr instructed while he waited for Lazaar to snap out of his shock.
It took a moment, but when he realized he wasn’t dreaming and that more lands existed in this Earth Realm besides his, he became furious.
Why keep all of this from him? Why shield him from a warmth so strong it touched his soul.
“Explain.” Lazaar stood with his hands balled into tight fists.
“We are almost there, my lord, please. There is no time for questions.”
“No!” Lazaar thundered, his voice carrying across the field.
The sun began to fade, and the blue skies started darkening.
Oleksandr extended his arm toward him, but Lazaar batted it away. The sudden lack of light and heat sent a fiercely unwelcome sensation through his core, making him bare his teeth.
“I won’t go another step until you tell me of my people’s fate and that of my land, Chessuven!” he shouted. “Where are we? How did we end up in another realm?”
Lazaar spun in a circle, gaping at the vast unknown.
Impossible.
Lazaar’s blood boiled in his veins. Anxiety and rage burned in his stomach, but the fury was the first to explode from him.
The ground trembled, and the sky grew so dark he could no longer see Myst or the trail of smoke she left in her wake.
“Lord, I beg of you, calm your mind.”
His guardian sounded far away, though he clutched Lazaar by his shoulders, his mouth only inches from his own. But he could only hear the pounding of his panicked heart.
Feelings he’d never experienced bombarded him with the myriad of changes he’d been shoved into headfirst.
The intense heat of this new world was ten times what he’d been used to, the overwhelming smells almost offending his heightened senses.
“Lord.” Oleksandr’s calm voice pulled him from under the continuous waves of dismay. “If you don’t stop projecting this kind of energy, every demonic legion and vampire coven across the world will feel it…and come for you. Breathe, Lazaar…slow breaths.”
The dark clouds began to clear, and the sun peeked around Lazaar’s shade enough for him to see his raptor.
“I want answers.”
“And you will have them as soon as you’re safe within the Volkov stronghold.” Oleksandr didn’t wait for Lazaar. His guardian gripped his wrist to get him moving.
Gods. Was everything he’d been told a lie? But why…? He was a quiet, modest lord who never used the powers bestowed on him for evil.
Lazaar had ruled Chessuven, the Shadow Realm, with all his selfless heart. He’d loved and reared its meek subjects for almost one thousand wondrous years. He thought he’d been granted his gifts by the God of Shadows, but Lazaar had been deceived and didn’t know why.
And worse, no one would tell him.
Myst released a loud warning squawk before swooping low enough for Lazaar to feel her distressed winds.
“Run!” Oleksandr shouted.
Lazaar managed a quick glance behind him, his eyes widening at the scores of demons with scarred faces and long fangs hurtling toward them so fast they were falling over themselves.
What in the—
Creatures with yellow eyes in shredded garments moved far faster than he and Oleksandr could run. But it was the woman in the bloodred cloak—trailing behind, hovering off the ground—who almost made Lazaar stumble over his feet.
He’d never seen such evil.
“We’re almost there.”
Lazaar didn’t know where there was.
Nothing was before them except chest-high bushes and dense trees with sharp needles protruding from their narrow branches.
The sounds of the snarling beasts chasing them grew closer, making fear unfurl in his chest.
He’d never hurt anyone, yet he was fleeing for his life.
“Just a few more feet, lord. No demon or vampire would dare enter the Volkov lands,” Oleksandr panted. “There, we’ll find the Vampire King and the Titan of the West Wind. You’ll be safe…I hope.”