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From the moment he was born, Invictus Lucis Caelum’s life had already been mapped out for him, the gods dictating what was going to happen. Invisible hands guiding those around him to ensure his next step was placed exactly where they needed it to be.
But even gods can make mistakes.
As a child born into chaos, Invictus spent his life under the harsh realities of war and fighting. His spare time was spent training with his father, and his father’s shield. He spent hours upon hours watching them spar, learning their steps, and how to hold his body.
Against his father’s hope, Invictus was never one for swords or bows. While he could wield them when needed, something felt off. He never felt as if it was a true extension of his body as he had been told it would countless times. His movements were never fluid, and he’d constantly be told to try harder.
Do better.
Be Better.
That was when he picked up the halberd of the Shield. It was a weapon built for someone of a heftier stature than he, but Invictus didn’t let that sway him. He’d watched his fathers shield for long enough to know how to hold it, how to swing, how to dance across the battlefield with the weapon at his side.
It felt as if something had awakened deep inside of him once his hands fully grasped around the shaft of the weapon. It was the first time Invictus had felt whole in his life. His movements were nearly flawless as he glided across the training grounds, with each swing easier than the last. His muscles burned the faster and harder he went.
Every inch of him felt like a live wire, and he’d never felt more alive wielding a weapon.
“That is enough, Invictus!”
A voice rang out behind Invictus bringing him back from his euphoria moment, causing him to stumble in surprise. Turning around, his father stood behind him, his serious expression darkening as he looked over his son with the weapon.
“That is not a weapon meant for a Prince and future King, especially one who carries the gift in their blood. Our shields are the only ones fit to use them. Stop with these foolish notions.”
His father held his position, arms folded across his chest as Invictus stepped forward, chest heaving from training exertion. He glanced to the halberd in his hand, admiring the way his hand wrapped around it before he brought his gaze back up to his father’s.
“Others before me have chosen their weapon, including you, so why can I not make that choice for myself? Why must I be forced to follow in footsteps I don’t fit into?” Invictus stood determined, nearly eye to eye with his father, who sneered at him.
“You will fail as ruler when I’m gone, Invictus. Mark my words. Those who leave the path of the Gods will only bring hardship to their people. You will fail, and take everyone down with you as you go.”
Shaking his head, Invictus’ father turned and began to walk away from his son, uncaring for anything else he could say on the matter. His mind had been made up; His son was unfit to rule after him, yet there was no other heir.
“I will prove to you that I am more than capable of wielding the Shield’s weapon and protecting myself, protecting my people! The weapon does not make the man father. The man makes the weapon.” Invictus yelled at him, though he knew his words fell upon deaf ears. His father, a man deeply rooted in his faith, believed his only son would doom them all.
“I will prove you wrong…” He whispered to himself, a mixture of sorrow and determination painting his face.
Thus, he trained alone. Hours upon hours with the halberd as his only companion on the training grounds, with various onlookers watching from the sidelines. Years of training as a child, years of watching his father and shield dance together on the field, all came to aid him. His body transformed, shifting with the weight of the weapon, the stance he held to wield it.
While his father viewed him as a failure, the Shield believed otherwise, and though his duty was to protect his King, he also kept a close eye on the Prince when he was able.
This led to him watching the young man from the shadows as he trained, arms folded with a stoic unreadable expression. At times he’d step out just enough for Invictus to see him and nod his head yes or shake his head no depending on what he was doing. It was the only guidance he dared to give and hoped that Invictus understood, for even the shield was not immune to the wrath of an upset king.
It was weeks before Invictus began to catch on to the “advice” being given to him, not fully understanding what the Shield was doing at first, confused until he pieced two and two together. Then he would wear a furrowed brow as he retraced his steps, swinging his weapon in slow motion until the “a-hah” moment crossed his face and he realized what was wrong, be it his stance, or swinging motions.
It didn’t take long after that for Invictus to grow into his weapon with the silent guidance from the Shield. It soon became the extension of his arm, his movements fluid, graceful like a dancer, yet deadly in battle. He was ready for the field whether his father wanted him there or not.
- - -
The seasons grew old, and with each new one brought war closer and closer to their doorsteps. Harsh battles ensued, with even harsher weather around them. Poor winters provided little water to aid in protecting the lands which inevitably brought drought to them. With dry conditions came the easy creation of wildfires, which the enemy used to their advantage.
Block them in with flames and suffocate them slowly. It was that threat that made the King no longer sit idle, watching his people suffer and die from his throne.
“You have brought wrath down upon us all from the Gods, Invictus. You will come into battle to see the suffering you caused.” He spat at Invictus, with the hope that he would fall on the field and bring their suffering to an end.
Invictus held no fear for himself as they waited for the enemy lines to march upon them, spreading fires in their wake making it near impossible to break free and attack them from behind. The battle was long, the dead and wounded were many.
Just as they were going to call for a cease fire, the King took a fatal blow to his side in lieu of his Shield, who chose to protect Invictus.
“Mark my words… This land will die and rot because you defied the gods! You’re not fit to… be… king… You were supposed to die.. Not…. me…” Invictus stood at his father’s side as the man succumbed to his wounds on the battlefield. He had grown cold to his fathers words, letting them fuel his anger towards the gods, pushing him forward to change the future.
“I told you, father. I will prove you wrong.”
Chaos.
That’s what the world had been reduced to around him as Invictus walked along the battlefield again and again. Flames licked up his greaves the further out he ventured into the hellscape around him. This wasn’t the world he had wanted for his people to live in, and if the gods decided they were fit for extinction, Invictus was bound and determined to pull them from it.
“I won’t believe you were right, father. No one’s destiny is set in stone, especially not mine.”
Raising his head, Invictus swung his halberd down in front of him and ran forward with a fierce battle cry, being met with cries of war, and the clashing of steel.
It was said that fire rained from the heavens that day on the field. That no man was a match for might as Invictus danced his way across the field, with his loyal Shield at his side. Two halberds cutting the path for their men to follow. That wherever Invictus stepped, chaos followed him. He believed not in predetermined fate, but in his own power, and the power of his people he vowed to protect.
And it was said after the final battle, the fire that rained down from the heavens turned to ash, which eventually gave way to rain. Rain that washed away the blood and dirt from their armor and weapons, rain that hid the tears his people wore as the fires that destroyed their lands were slowly put out. Rain that marked a fresh beginning for Invictus Lucis Caelum and his people.
“We will always survive the chaos, for we write our destiny. Not the gods.”