Dirt
"Salute!"
Men in armor of steel and leather formed a line and stood like statues with their thumbs to their forehead in recognition. Disciplined they were, and at the beck and call of the king in waiting, who stood and walked along an expansive red carpet with a dignified stature. His crown gleaming in gold and jewels, and humbly he had his chin lowered as he took decisive, slow steps to his throne.
The throne itself was large, more than needed to accommodate a single person, but nonetheless, it was like his crown, made of solid gold. Jewels, sapphires, and rubies of red, blue and green pasted in the backrest of the throne for everyone to see. Spikes of gold were sticking out of the backrest, a majestic aura given to anyone who sat on it.
The people in the large throne room waited expectantly for the king, every step taken by him revered and deified by the townspeople like bugs to a shining light. No one dared speak, for those that did acknowledged the subtle undertone of the message that boomed that morning across the kingdom like thunder.
. . .
"Brother!"
Five minutes before the entrance of the king, the peasants huddled near the gargantuan door fortified of iron and wood, countrymen and women pushing each other for intrusion of the building acting as the home of the almighty king. The Almighty Lord who held dominance in his ability to create fresh consumable food and water from nothing. Magic, the kid's father said.
"Anthony!" The townspeople; adults, pushed forward uncaringly and without regard for the two kids yelling for each other's embrace, for each other's comforting presence; but the town continued on, without stopping. The crowd splitting their familial link with their seemingly massive bodies and vigorous, energetic chatter.
The boy of age twelve attempted to look over the adult's towering height, in hope to either see his brother or to see the king himself. The man who could supposedly provide the whole kingdom with inexhaustible food and water. Something that he would never really believe in. But he could only hope.
"Anthony, come to me!" The boy yelled across the crowd with a shout heard by the few heads that turned to him in alarm, when a response was heard in return by a high pitched voice. "Help me Sve-"
A little boys voice cut off by an unmistakable force. The crowd he surmised.
The boy delegated all his attention to finding his only family member among the mass of clothing, hair, and skin that became a barrier for being with his younger sibling; the people pushing and unknowingly nudging him with a force his skinny weak bones couldn't hope to endure. His body being pushed around like a game by the growing populace. He couldn't help but assume... What of his little brother? Who is smaller, weaker, and more gentle than he? Is he being pushed around like he is by the overwhelming quality of strength the crowd has? Or is it worse?
The boy; Sven, tried to think about it, but he couldn't. Not him too he thought. Should people die because of a group of peoples ignorance. Because of my meager size am I supposed to sit nearby as my sibling is begging for my assistance, the townspeople stepping on his unconscious body in hope to see a magic user, that may not even be real...
"STOP!" He shrieked, using his small twiglike arms to fight back the surrounding adults with a zeal only the courageous would recognize. His eyes closed as he swung his arms around in the form of a flower, trying to fight back the waves of adults around him. Like a lone soldier against the world. "Hey! Stop that tearaway!" A captain of soldiers barged into the crowd attempting to squeeze in and restrain the small child making a ruckus in the thick line of people.
A soldier grabbed ahold of him from behind, Sven's skinny arms locked in place by the captors own.
"SVEN!" A boy escaped from the mass and stepped into the opening allowed to form by the townspeople, his hair red and freckles on his face as he attempted to reunite with his brother, currently held captive by the strong and sturdy soldiers of the magnificent kingdom.
But the soldiers continued unerringly, their backs turned as Sven kicked relentlessly in hope to escape the man's grasp, but to no avail.
This time they reacted, though angrily, given by the countenance of the soldier holding Sven in his thick cagelike arms, his eyes glaring as he tries to keep the kid under control. The red-haired boy, Anthony, began to run forward, unfearing, and kicking the soldier's armored shin, a pathetic scene being beheld to the populace as they stare in awe.
Another soldier strut forward and scooped up the red-haired boy into his hands. The soldier's arms un-flinched as he lifted the tiny six-year old's back onto his chest and held him locked in place.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone