Ylia (former Bridgelantern Grove).
Kerniia (now Tyr Nansur). Year 114 of the Fourth Age).
It was a time of civil war.
King Bhenrod was a troubled man and long past his prime years. During those last months of exhausting war, he had lost five children, including his firstborn and his only daughter Ylia, whom he loved more than anything else. There’s not much left to lose, he often thought, but was careful enough to keep that to himself. His only surviving son was a delicate and sickly boy of five, called Gavian.
He arrived at the junction of the great river Karabar and the smaller Terena with an army of seven hundred souls, including three hundred Neran cavalry and two companies of To’resk wetland mercenaries. The proud and beautiful village with its white boathouse was now a smoking ruin. Two Rivers was no more. The few huts and sheds still standing were little more than blackened fingers protruding from a dead land.
Riding forward with the King was his legendary Brudvir giant champion, Akeron, and his old scribe and counselor, Bercolo of Athua. Akeron was not truly a giant, but more than seven feet of pure muscle was enough to deserve the nickname. The three men dismounted and took two steps towards the smoking ashes of a small house.
“My people…” the King started with a broken voice. “Where are they?”
Bercolo frowned and looked at Akeron before answering. “At the bridge.”
The King froze. “The bastards.”
“This is the work of the Melautir” said Akeron. Even speaking softly, his voice seemed thunderous. “They use them to slow us.”
“The bastards!” said the King again.
As a result of that macabre vision and being prevented for now from hunting down his enemies, the King painfully decided to make camp, bury the remains of his subjects, and spend the night conferring with the Gods. One of them might answer that time, for a change. At dawn, he gathered his counselors and commanders at the top of Tol Tyre, a nearby hill from which the entire landscape could be seen.
“The Gods have been silent again” he started with a sad smile. “The bastards never speak to me.” Beryl, Duchess of Kerniia and sister to the King, shook her head and spit.
“But I will not build a graveyard for our people here.” He raised a hand and moved it slowly before him, as if covering the whole blackened land. “I will build a great Sanctuary. I will honor their wisdom with a Place for knowledge, and I will honor their strength with tall walls and the biggest Arena the World has ever seen.”
From the shadow of Akeron, Bercolo opened his eyes wide, already depicting everything in his head and visualizing the whole construction from his King’s description.
“The Gods themselves will watch over the city from here, with a big plaza at their feet so they can bless the Sedecim celebrations on the First of Auror.” He signaled towards the junction of the two rivers. “The North and the West will shake hands in its boisterous Market, and artists will come from every realm, to find here words and notes for their music. The Gods have been silent, dear comrades, but they sent me this vision. This place and this people shall not be forgotten.”
Beryl broke the long silence that followed her brother’s words. “So… A city?”
He held her gaze for a moment. “I even have a name for her.” Then, the King turned with a broad smile towards the rest of his men. “But first, my friends, we win this war.”
Following the events depicted here, the city of Ylia was raised under the supervision of Bercolo of Athua, who had in his mind a clear idea of his Sire’s vision. The Arkana University was perhaps his biggest work, demanding from his mind and soul an exhausting effort that was too much for his old age. He died at eighty-seven, only two months after The Arkana was finished. His successor, Tesarco of Augensburg, completed some other major buildings: the Akeron Arena, the Silver Market, the House of Coin and Law… He even raised a huge obsidian statue of King Bhenrod in the Plaza.
Ylia became the capital of Kerniia in 214, exactly one hundred years after its founding. And it remained the capital for over one hundred and fifty years more, until the arrival of the first Nansuri Duke in 376, and the raising of Calenboar and Tyrse.
