Cane pushed his father’s throne room doors open and stormed inside.

  “Father, I hear word has travelled of my feats,” Cane said, standing tall and confident in his father’s presence.

  “Quite the feat indeed, my boy.”

  “Thank you, Father, I—” but before Cane could finish, his father interrupted him.

  “You have proven strong… ahead of your years.” La Mort’s words beamed with pride, but as he continued, his tone grew darker. “But my soldiers are not your playthings, boy. They are there to do a job. I do not appreciate you sowing discord and spreading fear through the hearts of my men,” La Mort said, looking on at Cane, void of emotion.

  Cane couldn’t hide his disappointment. Normally, he could control his anger—but not here. His brother had pulled the pin, and his father had thrown the grenade, and now he was ready to explode.

  “Did you not teach me that fear is for the weak? If those men hold fear in their hearts, then they hold no place in our army, Father!”

  La Mort’s eyes widened at his son’s words. “Our army? Boy, you forget yourself—this is my army,” La Mort snapped, twisting to point toward the portraits of his greatest enemies that hung across the walls. “Did you fight in those wars, boy?” he asked.

  “No, Father, I did not.”

  “This one?” La Mort pointed to another.

  “No, Father.”

  He pointed again. Cane’s shoulders dropped, his energy shifting. “No, Father.”

  “Then know your place, boy. This will be yours and your brother’s one day—but that day is far from today.”

  “You’re right, Father. I’m sorry. This is your army, and those men I embarrassed—yes, they are not my playthings. But I am not sorry for my actions. I would rather go too far than not far enough in my pursuit of absolution. You told me, Father, you had the greatest army this galaxy had ever seen, so I put it to the test—and I found cracks in the armour. If I had shown mercy, I would have gone against the grain, against what you taught me. Mercy is for the weak, and I am not weak, Father. So they received no mercy from me.”

  Cane took a step closer, voice cold and steady. “If it was mercy they were after, they should have sparred Ezra—then they would have received what they were looking for.”

  La Mort’s expression softened only slightly—one of a father disappointed by his son, yet seeing too much of himself reflected back. “Cane… ambition clouds your mind, creating a rivalry with your brother that does not exist. We are a family. We are all that we have. We must stand united against a galaxy that would see us dead, and crush it as one.”

  Cane’s face twisted in disgust. “You want me to stand with Ezra?” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls—alerting his brother, who wasn’t far from the throne room doors. “Ezra will never stand with us, Father! Deep down, you know it too. Ezra doesn’t think like you or I. He thinks like the woman who abandoned us. He’d rather play the hero than the ruler.”

  “He is right, sire,” Beof said, rising from his seat. “Ezra would sooner raise his fists against us than against our enemies.”

  The throne room doors flung open, and in stepped Ezra.

  “They’re right,” he shouted. “I would never raise hands in pursuit of your sheer and utter madness to control the galaxy. Keep pushing, Father, and you’ll find someone you cannot control.”

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  Every soldier in the room fell silent. All eyes turned toward La Mort, and what they saw startled them—his lips were curved into a smile of pure joy.

  “Oh, my boy,” he said, almost tenderly, “how little you know of the father who raised you. I dream of the day my violence is met with resistance, where war is not slaughter, but sport. Will that be the day the flames of Elden City are extinguished? The day I meet a foe who can stand toe to toe with me and live to tell the tale? Or will it be the day I meet someone I cannot tame? Who knows, son. But that is the risk I take every time I go to war. I look forward to the day I meet my equal—because every warrior needs one.”

  “Father… you’ve lost your mind,” Ezra said.

  “No, my boy. My mind has never been clearer. Every warrior needs a dance partner to test his fortitude, to push mind, body, and soul to their limits. Only then will you know how deep the well truly goes. Will my spirit ignite—or will I be crushed like all the rest?”

  “Those are the words of a madman,” Ezra said coldly. “If I have to stop you, I will.”

  Cane’s eyes flickered between his father and Beof, confused by their calmness in the face of Ezra’s defiance. “You see, Father,” Cane said, pointing at his brother, “you’ve heard it from his own mouth. How much more do you need? Ezra is destined to stand against us and our reign—or will you wait until the knives are already in our backs?”

  La Mort turned his head slightly, his tone unreadable. “You are right, Cane. There is only one son who will sit atop the throne—and that is you.”

  Cane’s eyes widened. His heart swelled with triumph, though he hid it behind restraint. He dropped to one knee, placing his hand across his chest.

  “Thank you, Father. I will not let you down. I will continue to repay your faith in me and be the son you can rely on.”

  La Mort leaned back in his throne. “Ezra,” he said with a small, sarcastic snigger, “quite noble of you—to take up for the people. But words will not prepare you for the nightmare if you ever do come looking. The monster behind the door will not be contained. You’ll be swallowed whole, like all who’ve tried before you. You must be willing to die for these people, because kin or not, Ezra—you will receive no mercy from me.”

  Before Ezra could reply, La Mort’s wrist lit up with an incoming call from the leader of Planet Zoron.

  “I must take this,” he said, rising swiftly from his throne and disappearing into the side chamber.

  Cane waited until his father was out of sight before unleashing his fury. “You have no honour. No respect. That man is our father, and every chance you get, you try to disrespect him like a spoiled child!”

  “I didn’t expect anything different to come out of your mouth,” Ezra replied. “You’re his puppet. What Father is doing is wrong.” He raised his arm, casting it toward the guards. “Everyone here knows it’s wrong—they’re just too scared to say it. So wake up, brother!”

  Cane stood there, unmoved—his brother’s words only angering him further. “Wake up? It’s you who needs to stop dreaming of a world that will never come.”

  Ezra’s voice softened but stayed firm. “Listen, brother. I know my power doesn’t rival Father’s—I’m not blind. I understand my strength pales in comparison to his… and to yours. But there is no salvation in greed and destruction. Do you think Father was the first king to believe in absolution? To raise wars and claim dominance? If you do, brother, you’re more na?ve than you look.”

  “Hmph.” Cane scoffed, turning away. “I—nor Father—will sit idly by while others plot against us.”

  Beof had heard enough. His fist slammed against the arm of his chair, the echo shaking the chamber.

  “Silence!” he thundered. “I’ve seen kings fall, boy. But what all kings—past and present—share in common is their appetite for power. That voice in their head that tells them no matter how many riches, planets, or cities they have—they need more. Your father is merely following the course nature intended, embracing the beast that lives within us all.”

  Ezra shook his head, exhaling sharply. “Of course you’d defend him. You’re no better than he is. From the beginning of Father’s reign, one constant has remained—you, Beof. You drip poison into his ear. You’re the one who unleashes his armies on the innocent—women, children, fathers who never picked up a weapon in their lives—and you call it war.”

  Beof’s expression didn’t change. “It is the nature of war,” he said calmly. “There will always be casualties—young, old, mothers, fathers. There is no room for emotion at the top. Remorse gets you killed. Sympathy?” He smirked faintly. “Why be sympathetic to those you must strike down, or they will one day strike you.”

  Cane stood there, silent—an open book soaking up every word that spilled from Beof’s mouth. A willing student. A reflection of the future.

  The one thing this family knew was violence, and no matter how hard Ezra pulled at the cords, trying to usher in change, they would not break. The seeds had been planted long ago; their roots were wrapped too tightly around the family’s psyche, and they weren’t loosening anytime soon.