"To prepare for lordship is a tedious process that would ordinarily take many moons, but amongst all my predecessors I perhaps took the longest, for I had not the wisdom of the previous King to guide me. I had never even seen his face, for King Dainsleif the Wise had perished from the one affliction not even the Monarch's Wings could prevent: sickness. Sickness of the mind, the heart, the grief. The Will of Freedom can only pass on with its inheritor's passing; and so it would be that I, a poor urchin abandoned and hungry where none could see, was confronted with the call of fate."

  —King Ascalon, Ruler of Polus

  ———

  Ascalon

  Days have passed since the arrival of Dariel’s report. No, perhaps a week? Ascalon cannot quite tell anymore. Time is but a fleeting blur, the sun and moon chasing round and round as the view outside the throne room becomes a confusing blend. Now, the comfort of a warm bed has been reduced to a distant memory, for all he has done as of late is slave away under the candlelight in a vain effort to dismiss his creeping thoughts.

  Why was it not Lorelai who emerged from the wreck? Why must I wait here, stuck in this disgusting gilded cage, as her fate becomes further obscured with each passing second? If only the elders would permit me leave, to for once make use of these baleful wings cast unwillingly upon my back and search for her myself. Tradition… to hells with tradition! I—

  “My liege, I beseech for thy heed.”

  “… What is it, Gadreel?”

  The chancellor looks up at him, his eyes filled with that ever-constant gaze of pity, and he hacks out a cough as he attempts to craft a suitable response. Ascalon knows his ploy, and he would rather the old man just state it plainly than to continue this putrid act of consideration.

  “Please, this cannot continue. If we must adjourn this meeting for a later date, then so be it. All we ask of you is to lay down thy quill and take a long rest.”

  Bothersome. Those words of worry are ever so bothersome. If not I, then who Gadreel? he wishes to scream. You? The elders? When all your faction has done is argue incessantly, endlessly, without any true progress? I am the only one who can lead this nation. I am the only one who can bring change to this wretched land now that Lorelai is…

  “Is this your wish? All of you?” Ascalon bids the surrounding officials to speak, but not a word leaves their lips. Hah. Your silence conveys all I need. “You know very well we are in desperate times, yet you ask me to stop?”

  “My liege, clearly exhaustion has burdened your mind—”

  “My mind is perfectly clear!” the King thunders with a wrath he has not thought possible. His voice echoes across the room as glass and fixtures shake with a terrified sway. The people are no different, for their faces are cast with an affliction that brings hesitation to his heart: fear. Fear toward their ruler.

  No. No, I don’t know what came over me. This isn’t who I am. I simply wanted to do as a King should. Why do you all look so afraid?

  Eyes, frightened and confused: They stare at him from every corner, glaring with a debilitating sense of trust. It is as if he is being drowned in those accusing eyes, sinking as all he has ever done to maintain his kingly image comes crashing down in an instant. Only one man remains unfazed before Ascalon’s sudden outburst, and that very same man reaches out to him now.

  “In the end, you are the one who understands your body best,” Gadreel says. “But I ask of you now: Is this truly the man you wish to be? Can you confidently say to mine face that your actions are naught of one who is fatigued?”

  Ascalon cannot reply. Whether it be due to his rising sense of shame or the vestiges of his prior self, he knows there can be no words to dispute the chancellor’s statement.

  “I have always deigned to abide by your will, my liege, but it is with a solemn heart that I must now act not as the chancellor, but as your devoted friend. The members of the room will now leave; this is not a request. I only hope you may find thine answer in the time we are apart. Farewell.”

  With a parting bow, they storm out, leaving Ascalon to linger amongst his regrets. The once lively chamber is now ever so desolate. It is humorous, in a way, for only at this moment does he realize how comforting those nagging court sessions are. Loud, yes. Unproductive, surely at times. But they are passionate, and it is their passion that the King has come to rely on.

  But now they are gone, and he is all alone.

  Are my methods wrong? I thought all I needed as a ruler was an unshakable will, to persist and work harder and harder until my agony was finally rewarded. No matter how worn my hands or how dry my blood, it would all be worth it if I could just make it to that distant horizon. I had to be stronger, I had to be more resolute, yet here I sit as a feeble solitary wretch of a man.

  If only I knew why these loathsome wings chose me as monarch. Why me out of countless others far more deserving? Will you truly leave me bereft of an answer, o’ Will of Freedom?

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  Silence. Of course, the Stars will never respond. Cosmos’s grand design is far beyond the comprehension of humanity. It is his fate to struggle, searching for a purpose forever out of reach. How very cruel. Crueler than any mortal wound you could inflict upon me. If you only wish to see me suffer, then here I am. Gorge on it as much as you please. But I beg of you, make this suffering of value. Let not my efforts prove useless in the end.

  The chamber’s doors slowly creak open, hushed, yet it grinds against his ears amidst the deafening static; soon, a lone herald emerges from the opening. Their appearance can mean only one thing: a visitor.

  “Your majesty, the Templar of the Order of the Mending Virtue bids for your audience,” they say.

  Ah. This is a rare occasion. To think she would seek me out first… Gadreel must have had a hand in this as well, but I must not allow her to witness this side of me. I dare not show her the visage of such a foolish brother.

  “Gently refuse her request,” Ascalon murmurs. “Not today. I would like to remain alone right now—”

  “You don’t have a choice, Ascalon.”

  A figure slips past the royal herald and saunters to the very center of the room. Crystalline light shines upon their entrance, parting way the shadows and revealing a female knight adorned in broad streaks of red and white. Her armor is of simple design, lightweight and thin unlike those of the Thrones who cover themselves in full plate, while a coiled sword rests by her side—the frame akin to a whip, albeit with an ominously sharp edge.

  She stops directly in front of him, arms crossed as a clear expression of distaste envelops her narrow guise. Honed. Venomous. Waiting to strike him a vulnerable blow.

  “Ah, my dear little sister,” he says, attempting to put forth some semblance of dignity. “What brings you here, Surasha—”

  “Save it,” she utters with a strained growl. “You were already pathetic enough before, but now I can’t even bear to look at you. Hells, I wouldn’t even be here if old man Gadreel didn’t beg for me to come. He even went on his hands and knees for you, did you know that? What loyalty. I can’t imagine why he goes to such lengths for someone so miserable.”

  “… It’s always a pleasure to see you, sister. You know I’ll always welcome you with open arms.”

  She scoffs and spits on the floor. “If you really meant that, you wouldn’t have abandoned me after getting those special wings of yours.”

  “I never abandoned you—”

  “Seven years. I didn’t so much as even see your face for seven years when they took you into the castle.”

  “Surasha, I had to prepare for my inauguration as King. My royal studies, my future duties as a monarch… I don’t understand what you wished of me. I even entrusted you to Lorelai and had you serve as her ward. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

  “What I wanted was my brother back.”

  Ascalon’s heart tightens ever so painfully. He wishes to deny her, to plea that all of it has been for her own good, but a lie so fragile will only be shattered in an instant. Family cannot be fooled.

  “You just wanted to run away,” she seethes, voice gradually rising to a shout. “From me, from your old life, and into a world where you could play pretend as some kind of grand hero. And I had no place in that sort of world, so you tossed me away.”

  “That was never what I—”

  “What exactly was it, Ascalon? Did looking at my face remind you of our lowly origins, or did you grow tired of me after I learned to trust in someone else? To not depend wholly on you for my every want and need? You always did have a savior obsession.”

  “Please, Surasha,” he begs. “You know that not to be the truth. I’ve made my mistakes, but never once did I ever consider you a—”

  “Burden? Funny thing, that. I’ll always remember your eyes on that day: cold. Unfeeling. Those were the eyes of a stranger, and if not for Lorelai’s care, I would have drowned in them until my rage consumed all that I was. But it didn’t because I had someone who genuinely looked after me. She was my true family, a sister in all but blood, and yet you sent her away into forbidden lands. Lorelai is missing all because of you!”

  Surasha bolts toward the throne and forcefully slams Ascalon back with a clutch of his throat. She squeezes, hands trembling in sadistic glee as Ascalon sputters and gasps before her hold. His lungs burn, his throat convulses, breath desperately gulping for air, but he does not resist. Even when his vision becomes blurry, he lays not a hand on his last living kin.

  “You took her from me!” she screams, descending further into her fury. “You stole every last bit of her love, and I had to watch her suffer with each passing day because of your stupid cowardice. Even when she left for the battlefield, the only person on her mind was you. Do you hear me, Ascalon? It’s always been about you!”

  He can hear it clearly—the cries of a lonely little girl. She begs for him to listen and to accept all the hatred, the grief, the desperation in her heart; and so he does. Ascalon will embrace it all until her tears finally run dry.

  “Why is it always you? Why do the people love someone so wretched as you? Answer me!”

  If only I knew as well. But that isn’t the answer she is searching for. Instead, there is only one thing he can say to himself, to Surasha, and to everyone he has come to wrong.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Surasha freezes, her teeth grinding together as a whirlwind of emotion flashes by all at once. But in the end she lets out a gut-wrenching screech and sends Ascalon crashing against the wall. Dust and debris flutter atop as he falls, while his sister merely glares at him and takes a shaky, uneven breath.

  “Why didn’t you use the Monarch’s Wings?” she eventually whispers. “I was serious about killing you.”

  He manages to muster a feeble chuckle. She almost looks a bit guilty; well, as one can be when still filled with such scathing anger.

  “It wouldn’t have appeased you to harm an emotionless doll, would it? If my pain can help alleviate your sorrow, then I will gladly bare my neck.”

  Surasha clenches her fist and raises it up high, preparing to descend upon him once again, but rather than strike him, she smashes the stone right next to his side.

  “This is why I despise you, always acting so self-righteous,” she says. “Why can’t you put that energy into acting like a proper person instead of some stoic doll?”

  The murderous energy surrounding her dissipates. A quiet rage still burns within, but her amber eyes now shine with a mellow tinge of acceptance. She sighs, turns around, and makes for the door, leaving a battered Ascalon behind. Her beating has been rather effective at removing his murky thoughts.

  “There’s a lot of people that care about you, so stop worrying them. If you don’t, I’ll come find you again.”

  “I shall look forward to it.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  And with that, he becomes alone once more: bruised and sore, yes, but somehow it doesn’t feel all too bad. The marble tile is even starting to feel a bit comfortable.

  Hm, not the most proper of resting spots, but I suppose it will do.

  Ascalon closes his eyes and lets a small smile spread across his face. This pain shall be remembered well, for it marks the birth of a new resolution: When Lorelai returns, I shall finally confess.