[Also, no one thought of naming the castles, so I unanimously name the Older Brother's main castle Corde Puro, meaning 'pure heart' in Latin =3 ]
|| Azarel ||
With the sun shining happily in the bright blue sky, the town by Corde Puro was already awake. The hustling and bustling of the townspeople only increased as time swept the porch. Smiles and morning greetings, the day was starting off nicely. The hands of the clock high on the tower of the central square pointing optimistically upwards, as always, there was so much light in the streets at this hour, one could wonder if night had ever payed this small corner of the world a visit. Opening their stalls one by one, the owners started getting the market back to its daily self. Old ladies and housewives were already on the spot, murmuring about how the shop-keepers were late, sharing a rumor or two in between all their complaints and worries. Frolicking along in the crowd of busy people was a young boy, dressed in an ordinary fashion. His hair was tied with a black lace and held low, not allowing his ponytail to stick out. Curiosity sparkling in those two eyes, which differed in colour, the child hurried over to the spot where he wished to go. There, under one of the bridges sang a bard. A tall man with long black hair he was, his voice loud, yet gentle as he recited verse after verse of wonderful lyric in a melody quite pleasant to hear. Azarel, who had been born with the power of 'sound' had heard the echoing of this person's tale and had found means of escape in order to come see him in the flesh, for he could not identify him. A traveler the boy presumed he was. The man's attire was fine, yet had a few holes here and there, revealing he did not belong to any household or that he had at least been treated poorly. This set the incarnation of Humility in a sense of unrest, but he did not wish to break the atmosphere that was created by the song. Thus he stood in the little crowd that had gathered and swore to himself to set this person in a better environment.
As the long-haired boy listened with delight, he caught a figure with the corner of his eyes. Turning his head, he could only see the back of a girl running wildly through the street, a black cat tailing after her. This oddity was nothing new to him, but was enough to divert his attention completely. This was his sister, Ivy. Yet why was she running? Was there danger around? The child did not know, but had often been told by his mother how his elder sister often disobeyed the rules and walked about without permission. Although he himself was outside, he had asked a few servants and they had allowed him to exit. Neither he, nor they had noticed the usage of his power in its vocal form. Deciding that he had to follow her, Azarel bolted in the direction the girl was heading, forgetting about the wonderful song. Running as quickly a 10-year-old could, the boy called after her:
"Sister! Sister Ivy! Wait up! "