Twin Flames: The Eastern Chronicles

Days pass, and the landscape begins to change, the frosty plains giving way to more forested areas, with thicker foliage and scattered Caucasus mountains in the distance, the dry stinging cold that splits one's lips turning slightly more temperate and humid. They crest a hill and look into the distance. There, a faint flicker of light is seen between the treeline of a nearby forest.

The two brothers rein in their horses, their eyes locking onto the faint light in the distance. They exchange a glance, both silently communicating the other's thoughts. The brothers quietly approach the edge of the forest, keeping to the shadows as they dismount their horses. They carefully make their way towards the source of the flickering light, silently drawing their scimitars in preparation. As they encroach cautiously, the building comes into view. It's part of a series of cobblestone houses, surrounding a small chapel. They exchange a look, communicating the confirmation of their suspicion.

It's a monastery, a Christian one. The brothers remain frozen for a moment, the sight of the Christian monastery striking a chord of both relief and curiosity within them. They glance at each other, silently wondering if it's worth approaching it. Thekkur speaks up first.

"A Christian monastery... We're definitely not in our lands anymore." They sheath their swords and approach one of the buildings.

There is a moment of silence as the brothers knock on the worn wooden door. Then, a faint sound of footsteps approaches and the door slowly creaks open, the dim light spilling out onto the pair's faces. A frail, elderly monk with long hair and a full beard stands in the doorway, his eyes shifting up to the towering heights of the brothers.

His eyes widen for a moment before he steps back. It's undoubtedly a surprise for the man, living in an isolated monastery in the Georgian wilderness, to open his door in the middle of the night to two towering identical men, nearly seven feet tall, covered in leather and furs, dawning the appearance of northern barbarians with their eclectic jewelry, long blonde hair and scarred faces. He can hardly believe what he's seeing, these massive men standing before him in the dead of night.

He slowly raises a trembling hand and mutters a prayer under his breath in Georgian. The older brother shakes his head, slightly putting up his hand to express they mean no harm.

"Rus? You know Rus?" The monk's eyes dart between the two barbaric brothers, and it takes a moment for him to find the words. He nods slowly before replying in Rus, in a heavily accented voice.

"Yes, I know a bit of Rus... Who are you? What are you doing here, so far from home?"

"We are but weary travelers." The monk's eyebrows raise slightly, clearly surprised by the response. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

"Weary travelers, in this weather? And this time of night? You are a long way from home, my sons..." The monk responds, cautiously allowing them to enter his chambers. The brothers duck under the doorway, and they stand out like giants in the small, modest room. They cast their eyes around the surroundings, taking in the sparse furnishings and the Orthodox icons adorning the walls.

Thekkur looks around the room with curiosity as Oleksandr thanks the monk for his hospitality. The monk nods in response to Oleksandr and he motions for them to sit down, still weary yet curious. Thekkur sits down on the edge of the small bed, while Oleksandr takes the chair, his massive frame dwarfing the smaller pieces of furniture. There is a moment of silence as the two brothers and the monk size each other up. Then, the monk breaks the silence with a question.

"May I know your names, my sons?"

"I am Oleksandr, and this is my brother, Thekkur."

"Oleksandr and Thekkur... a pair of Rus in the dead of winter, far from your homeland... These are interesting times..."

"Strange times indeed."

The monk nods slowly, still studying the brothers with a curious gaze. He can see that they are hiding something, though he doesn't know what. "You say you are travelers, yet... there is more to it, isn't there?" The brothers exchange a glance, they know this man heeds no threat to them and their enigmatic identities. They see an opportunity in being truthful.

"We are former slaves, from the wastes of Siberia. Gladiators. Trained fighters, looking for battle."

The monk's eyes widened in surprise, his suspicions confirmed. "Former slaves, gladiators no less.. seeking war," He ponders aloud. "You have traveled very far, my sons."

"Aye, far indeed. Something in us told us to travel west. That is when we heard whispers of a Christian empire, a beautiful one, in need of arms. They say war is upon them." The monk nods, his expression becoming pensive.

"Yes, you speak of Constantinople. They are known as the Romans of the E3ast. It is indeed a beautiful nation, steeped in history and culture, but yes..." He lets out a deep sigh before continuing. "War has been at its gates for many years now. It is a land desperately in need of strong arms to defend it." Thekkur leans in, his gaze curious.

"How do we get there?"

The monk contemplates the question for a moment before answering hesitantly. "The city lies beyond the Black Sea, in the west. To get there, you would have to cross the mountains and the sea... It is a difficult journey." He pauses for a moment, as if weighing his words. "Are you certain you wish to go this far, my sons?"

"Aye. We have come this far."

The monk nods, seeing the determination in the rough brothers before him. "Very well. If you are truly intent on journeying to the great city, I shall do what I can to aid you." He walks over to a small chest, pulling out a large map and unrolling it. Thekkur rises and approaches the monk, as he spreads the map out on the table. The weathered parchment is covered in faded ink markings and landmarks. The three men look at it closely, and the elder takes a moment to study the map before pointing to a region in the Mediterranean.

"This is where the city of Constantinople lies. As I said, it's a difficult journey, but there is an ancient passage that leads through the mountains to the west." He points to a pass cut into the mountains, marked on the map. He then points to a small section of the map. "The monastery is here, in the eastern reaches of Georgia. To reach the passage, you must cross through the mountains to the west. It is a long journey, through cursed lands, full of snow and rugged terrain. However, I have no doubt of your resilience, my sons. Traveling from Siberia to Georgia was surely no easy feat. The journey will be perilous nonetheless. The mountains are cruel and unforgiving, especially in winter."

"Once we reach the sea, there will be boats, yes? Any Romans on the coast?" The monk nods again, his finger tracing the coastline of the Black Sea on the map.

"Yes, there will be boats at the coast. The navy of the empire is strong, and they have many ports along here. There will be no problem making the journey across the sea to the city." He pauses for a moment, looking at the brothers. "Say...have you ever been told of the Varangian Guard?"

"Nay. What is this you speak of?"

The monk leans back, a slight smile crossing his face. "The Varangian Guard is a legendary group of warriors, said to be fearless and unmatched in battle. They are the personal bodyguards of the Emperor, handpicked among the strong and the powerful. It is said that anyone who serves in the guard gains great honor and glory, and becomes a legend upon their own merits." He looks at the brothers intently. "It is no easy task to join the Varangian Guard, my sons. But if you are successful, you will be among the best warriors in the empire. You will be feared and respected, and you will fight for something greater than yourselves." The monk pauses, allowing the brothers to absorb the information. "The reason I tell you this is because foreigners have been a part of the Varangian Guard since its inception. It is said that the guard was first formed with the help of the Rus and heathens of the north, like you. The imperial court has long looked to foreign lands for strong warriors to defend their empire."

The brothers exchange a look, with a flicker of awe and excitement in their eyes. The monk continues, his voice taking on a solemn tone. "However, you must understand that joining the Varangian Guard is a privilege, not a right. You will be tested, and you must prove yourselves before the emperor would consider you." He casts them a stern look, his eyes flickering to the blades they both wear on their hips as he speaks. "This will not be an easy path, my sons. You will face many trials and dangers on your journey. Are you prepared for such a life?"

"We have never taken the easy path." The monk studies their faces for a moment, seeing the determination in their eyes. He nods slowly, a flicker of respect in his gaze.

"You are brave men, my sons. I can see it in your eyes... And I believe you when you say you have nothing to lose. But know this..." He leans forward, his voice growing quiet. "I have heard rumors that the empire is at a time of great turmoil, though they won't admit it. Even the great city itself, Constantinople, is under threat by the Seljuk Turks. They are desperate for arms."

The brothers nod and Oleksandr responds. "We have heard. We came to fight as mercenaries, anyway. But, this Varangian position... It's fitting. I have no doubt my brother and I will prove ourselves,"

Thekkur completes his statement, "We fought all our lives, and have never lost." The monk studies the brothers for a moment, his expression growing solemn.

"Very well, my sons. If you are truly prepared to embark on this path, I shall help you as best as I can... The journey to the Black Sea will be treacherous. But if you are successful, then the Varangian Guard awaits. And perhaps, God willing, you will play a part in the empire's fate."

The brothers are silent, sharing a contemplative gaze before Thekkur breaks the pause. "What is your name, monk?" The old man gives a slight smile before answering.

"My name is Demetrios, Brother Demetrios. I am but a humble man of the cloth." The brothers nod in acknowledgement, and shake his hand in thanks and for the late introduction.

"Thank you, Demetrios." Brother Demetrios nods, a hint of a smile crossing his lips.

"You are welcome, my sons. It is not often that I am visited by men of your... unique appearance." He says with a chuckle, gesturing to the brothers' towering frames, covered in furs and leather before continuing. "I have to admit, I have not encountered men of your stature, not once in my long life. How did you two grow up, to become so large?"

The brothers smirk before Oleksandr answers. "We were children of the frozen lands... Siberia, in the furthest northern regions. A harsh, unforgiving land where the weak perish and the strong survive. Our mother, a Rus woman, was kept as a slave by Uyghurs. Our father is unknown to us, but it is assumed he was also a slave, possibly from the same origin as our mother... effectively making us born into slavery. The environment and the things we were forced to do no doubt contributed to our builds."

Brother Demetrios listens intently, his expression growing graver as he hears the tale. He frowns slightly as the brothers finish speaking. "Born into slavery... In Siberia... How did you manage to survive such a hard and cruel life, if you don't mind me asking? What happened to your mother?"

The brothers exchange a look, while Thekkur stuffs some tobacco from a small pouch into two pipes. "She died in childbirth," Oleksandr continues. "We never met her. My brother and I grew fast, and by a young age they had us doing manual labor like hauling heavy, lumber and stone. But our main job was in sport. We competed in gladiatorial sports, fighting other slaves to the death or severe injury, while our captors placed bets. We started fighting at eight years old, and had grown into formidable opponents by just fifteen..."

Brother Demetrios's expression grows dark as he listens to the story. His eyes flicker with sympathy as the brothers speak of their childhood and the hellish life they had endured. "Fighting to the death, and from childhood no less... A true nightmare for any being, let alone God's children... Tell me, my sons... did you ever feel hope for escape?"

Oleksandr takes his prepared pipe from Thekkur and lights it, pondering the monk's words as he nurses the ember, and he responds. "Yes. We were strong, hardened men early in age. Very soon we realized how easy it was to kill men with our bare hands... We were undefeated, and brutal killers at that point, skilled to the extent that our opponents were often armed as well, while we fought in naught but our skin. We were... formidable. We eventually overpowered our captors and escaped, just fifteen years old."

"I see... So, you escaped, at such a young age. A truly remarkable feat, even for the mightiest of warriors. It is clear you are not just strong of body, but strong of mind and spirit as well." They nod in appreciation and Thekkur speaks, blowing a wisp of smoke out of his nose.

"Since then, we have been traveling. Mostly on foot, but once we encountered the Steppe, we tamed horses. We spent the last two years traveling and working as mercenaries, fighting against mostly Huns..." He pauses, and looks at his brother as he continues. "We're good at it. We like it." He muses, coldly. Demetrios nods, listening intently as Thekkur speaks. He can see the experience in the brothers' eyes, and the coldness in their voices as they talk of their life as mercenaries.

"I can see that you have a taste for battle." He glances at the brothers' swords before asking: "And you say you ever lost a fight?"

"No."

"Never? You are very confident of yourselves, as you should be, given your history. I have no doubts that you are both skilled warriors, my sons... But I would advise you to be careful, not to underestimate your enemies. Some dangers cannot be overcome with strength alone."

"...But with cunning..." Oleksandr says.

"...Which we have plenty of." Thekkur finishes.

Brother Demetrios nods, his lips curving into a smile. "Cunning... I see. Yes, in battle, wits are just as important as strength. You will need that cunning on your journey west." He leans in slightly, lowering his voice, as if sharing a secret. "There is one thing I must warn you of..." The brothers lean in, listening carefully to the wise man's words.

"The Hun and Turk are not the only danger on your path. The mountains to the west are not just a natural barrier... It is said that a legendary creature guards the pass..." He looks at the brothers to gauge their reactions, his eyes flickering with a hint of concern and excitement. The brothers exchange a glance.

"What is this beast you speak of?" Brother Demetrios looks at the brothers, his eyes serious as he speaks. His voice is low, and laced with mystery.

"I have heard tales yet cannot confirm if they are true. They speak of a beast unlike any other. They call it 'The Griffin.' It is a creature of legend, half lion and half eagle, with teeth and claws sharper than steel. According to the tales, it has guarded the pass for centuries, preying on any who dare to cross the mountains."

"And how does one defeat it?" Brother Demetrios shakes his head slowly, his expression growing grave.

"That, my sons, is the question... Few have ever tried to face the Griffin, and even fewer have lived to tell the tale. It is said to be a creature of great strength and wit, unmatched in battle. Some say it cannot be defeated, that its hide is impervious to weapons, and its claws and teeth are sharper than any blade." He pauses, his gaze fixed on the brothers.

"However..." He strokes his beard, as if trying to recall. "There is one tale, one that speaks of a man who managed to defeat a Griffin many years ago. It is said that he used a powerful spear, crafted from the very steel of the Caucasus mountains, to pierce the heart of the Griffin. However, he did not account for the existence of the Griffin's mate, who claimed his life. This spear has not been seen in centuries, and its whereabouts are a mystery..." He pauses, looking between the brothers. "Do you still plan to travel through the passage I informed you about?"

"Aye." Brother Demetrios nods, his expression solemn. "Very well, my sons. Your courage is admirable, but I must warn you again; this path is one of great perils. You will face many obstacles, both natural and man-made. And the Griffin is a creature not to be trifled with. If you are determined to cross the mountains..." He leans in, his eyes intense as he speaks. "You must be prepared for death."

Thekkur leans in. "We have stared death in the face all our lives. We won't back down at the gates of freedom." The monk nods, his expression slowly shifting from concern to admiration. He can see the fire burning in the brothers' eyes, their determination to press forward no matter the odds against them.

"So be it, my sons. If you are truly prepared for the danger that lies ahead, then I pray for your safety on your journey. You will need God on your side if you are to face the mighty Griffin."

Oleksandr speaks up. "But this spear... Where does it lie? What do the legends say of it?" Brother Demetrios pauses for a moment, his expression growing thoughtful as he recalls the old tales. His voice drops to a whisper as he speaks.

"The stories claim that the spear was crafted from the steel of the Caucasus mountains, and that it was given to the hero by Archangel Michael himself. It is said to have the power to kill any creature, no matter how powerful or invincible it may seem. But as for where it lies.... That, I am afraid, is still a mystery."

Thekkur mutters while rubbing his temple. "So it could be anywhere in these lands, is what you're telling us?" The monk frowns and nods slowly.

"Indeed. The spear could be anywhere in these lands. It has not been heard of in centuries. If it still exists, it could be hidden deep within the mountains, or it could have been lost to time... or worse, it could be in the possession of the Griffin itself." He watches the brothers carefully, noticing their silent exchange. He can see the determination in their eyes, as well as a hint of worry. He knows that the task of finding the spear will not be simple if they attempt it. "I can see the concern in your eyes, my sons. The task you are facing is not an easy one. But remember, the legend says that the spear holds the power to defeat the Griffin. If you are determined to face the beast... the spear could be your one chance at survival. God is on your side."