I sat on a crate in one of the back alleys of Ironclad. A gold coin fluttered between my fingers.
A habit of sorts. Born from complete boredom. Refined into routine. Something to keep my hands busy when the world became too predictable.
Right on cue, heavy boots echoed off the stone walls. Three men. The same brigands I caught watching me at the inn – confident, careless.
I ignored them.
"Come now, lad," the one in the center called, resting a hand on his sword. "Hand over the pouch."
I ignored the command, grabbing the velvet pouch beside me and counted. Coin by coin dropped from my fingers. Each sharp clink ranged in the narrow alley.
Their eyes narrowed and breaths grew heavier, hungrier.
Behind them, the shadows started to shift. They were too engrossed in my coin to notice. Darkness stretched to the heavens, blocking the path behind them. Shapes formed within it – ravenous eyes blinking open, maws stretching wide. Each one waiting.
"Grrruah – what are we waiting for?" the one on the left barked. "Let's gut him!"
He rushed forward – knives drawn.
One step. Two steps. On the third… he came apart. No blade touching him.
The other two tried to scream. They didn't get the chance. Dog-sized shadowy spiders pounced from the darkness, dragging them down as the shadows started silently feeding. Only the distant noise of the street remained.
I rose, brushed the dust and splatter of blood from my coat, and stepped through the opening left behind.
"Fools," I muttered. "Greed always ends the same. Quick if you're lucky enough."
–
I leaned against one of the pillars leading to the throne room, arms crossed. My only company – the two knights stationed on either side. We periodically stared at one another in silence. Measuring the threat posed.
Their armor was more refined than most of the knights I've seen by far. Intentionally polished to show off their rank. The clasps of their capes bore the same insignia: a sword with a winged hilt driven deep into stone, and encircled by a golden wreath.
Steelbound Wardens. Ascended knights – the both of them. Elite soldiers, distinguished by their strength.
If I were honest, these subtle staredowns were wearing my patience thin.
Squadrons of knights marched past in rigid uptight formations. Servants moved with haste in the opposite direction. Most ignored me, some didn't. A few spared glances – measured, uncertain.
To them, I was likely just another noble from the outskirts awaiting an audience for another loan. Or some mercenary who didn't belong. Either worked.
I closed my eyes.
Darkness answered my call. It gave way to Orian's sight – perched within an alcove along the castle's upper walls. He stretched out one wing, methodically preening the black feathers before stilling. Through him, the world seemed to widen. The city stretched endlessly beyond the castle walls, sharper than what could be seen from the ground. I had seen this unrivaled beauty countless times before, yet it never lost its edge – a strange, distant feeling of being removed from it all.
I urged him forward.
Toward the northern tower overlooking–
"Your weapons, sir."
My eyes opened, forcing the glimpse of scorched earth to fade. The Farkas woman from Siegfried stood before me, dressed now in a lime-green gown.
I ignored her and slowly drifted back toward Orian–
"Your weapons, sir," she repeated, firmer this time.
Veronica cut the tension when she stepped beside her ward. "Brother, you know that only the King's personal guard are allowed to carry weapons into the throne room. So please – relinquish yours."
I turned my cold gaze to her.
"My weapons stay with me," I said. "I refuse to tread a serpent's den unarmed."
She held my gaze for a few moments… then sighed in defeat.
Without another word, she unfastened her blade and placed it into the waiting hands of her other ward.
Mother's blade…
I muttered with open disdain. "Entrusting Lovic – our mother's blade – to a knight who pisses himself at the mere scent of death. Pathetic."
The boy stiffened – eyes burning with rage. His grip tightened around the hilt, knuckles paling. The scene made me grin.
"Brother," Veronica said sharply. "I'll have you know that both Lady Ragnhild and Sir Marius, here, stand at the top of their classes within the Knights'Academy. Through countless trials, they've earned trust – not just mine, but Lieutenant Combs' as well."
She spared each of them a brief, reassuring glance.
The lad softened his grip when she rested a hand on his shoulder. "Upon graduation, they will serve directly under my and his command. So, please… behave."
A half-hearted breath left me in a quiet sigh.
I slid two misericordes from the gaps along my vambraces and handed them to Ragnhild. "There. Satisfied?"
"Brother," Veronica narrowed her eyes. "What about the weapons that dwarf and ambactus gave you?"
Sighing, the shadow beneath me stirred. It began to spread outward in a slow, circular pool – drawing startled looks from the two young knights present. From its center, Morrigan rose. The shaft emerged first, dark and beautifully seamless, until it stood upright at my side. I took it in hand and offered it.
Ragnhild's expression shifted – subtle, but smug. The sight churned my stomach more than sour ale.
The shadow rippled again. Then it broke when Tartarus rose in full. An immense aura flowed from the blade, pausing my staredown.
Something… is wrong. No – different than before.
The spiraling thorns along the scabbard had changed. What once twisted like bramble now resembled layered scales, serpentine in appearance – black, threaded with dull gold. The hilt followed afterward. A four-eyed serpent crowned either side. One set of fangs were hidden while the other was bared.
Something's watching…
I held its gaze for a moment longer than necessary before uniting it with the rest.
Ragnhild faltered trying to hold every weapon. Marius luckily helped her and the duo walked away in idle chatter.
The moment soon passed, and I leaned back against the pillar once more. I could feel Veronica studying me.
Then–
"MOTHER! WELCOME HOME!"
Veronica and I turned in unison. A young girl – no older than her sixth winter – came rushing toward us. She wore a white summer dress dotted with soft shimmering purple, black sandals slapping lightly against the stone as she ran. Braided burgundy hair trailed behind, the pointed tips of her ears fully visible. A worn teddy bear was tucked tightly beneath her arm.
For the first time in years – I froze. The child mirrored Veronica when we were kids.
Veronica met her halfway, lifting her high into the air. "Lilliana, my princess," she laughed, pressing her forehead to the girl's. "I'm ecstatic that you decided to come find me. Now, were you a good girl for your ol' father?"
"She behaved herself… for the most part, anyway."
The voice trailed from behind.
A man approached at an easy pace – four years our senior. Short, neatly kept brown hair. Healthy ivory skin. Well-dressed as nobles tend to be – tan overcoat, white button-down, ash-gray trousers, and tailored cane in one hand. He was well put together. His keen hazel eyes softened the moment they landed on Veronica.
He wrapped his arms tightly around her without a moment's hesitation. "Everything went as smoothly as you'd expect while you were gone," he said. "Aside from Mr. Bernstein losing cotton. Had to try stitching him myself – and poorly, I might add. Just don't have your steady hands."
Veronica smiled, shaking her head. Then kissed him while the girl immediately covered her eyes.
So HE survived then… Good to see my effort didn't go to waste.
After a few uncomfortable moments, I cleared my throat.
The man heartedly chuckled and stepped forward, extending a hand. It's good to see you're still well… Einor."
I hesitated to take it.
"I go by Jakul," I said firmly. "You've known that after I dragged you out of that Straguar den near Ekale."
The man lowered his head in acceptance.
Theodore Asheford Crom was this man's name. The same Theo from childhood.
I grabbed his forearm, firm yet familiar. "It's good to see you made a full recovery."
A smile crossed his lips. "I wouldn't go that far."
He tapped his left leg with the cane – a metallic thud sounded. "The bastards took this afterall. Truthfully, I wouldn't be standing here – serving your sister, let alone your uncle – if not for a dwarven craftsman and a pile of discarded armor."
I understood his statement personally. "Dwarves rarely fail where it matters most."
My attention shifted.
Veronica had knelt beside Lilliana. "Lilliana," she said gently, "there's someone I want you to meet."
She turned – gesturing toward me. "This is your estranged uncle. My twin brother Ei…"
I cut in swiftly, "Jakul–"
"Einor," Veronica corrected without missing a beat. "She will know you by your birth name. That is final."
I quietly exhaled after staring her down a moment longer.
A small tug at my coat captured my gaze downward. Lilliana stood there, looking up at me in awe with wide hazel eyes – matching her father's.
She grasped the hem of her dress and offered a delicate, practiced bow. "I am Lilliana Arathorn Crom. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Uncle."
I hesitated. "I'm J–"
Veronica's disapproving gruff slipped smoothly.
I returned Lilliana's gesture, copying the etiquette mother taught. "Einor Maximus von Knight. But you will refer to me as Jakul."
I straightened slowly, shooting Veronica a defiant look. "I will be known as Jakul, only, regardless of your–"
I stopped when small arms wrapped around my waist.
"I don't mind calling you Uncle Jakul," Lilliana said cheerfully. "I think it suits your mysteriousness better."
What is with this girl? Is she not an ounce afraid – nervous even?
Veronica let out a quiet chuckle. "If that is your wish, my Lillipad."
The moment seemed to linger then pass quickly. They turned, making their way toward the throne room.
I followed at a small distance, exchanging glances with the stationed knights.
Decorative marble pillars lined the walkway in mere perfect symmetry, framing the wide crimson carpet that led from the entrance to the throne. Stained glass bathed the chamber in beautifully fractured light. Each one depicted scenes of conquest, tradition, and legacy of the Iron Throne. Everything remained unchanged since the day of grandfather's rule.
As we neared the gathered nobles, their voices began to swell – layered discussion, quiet debates, and veiled arguments polluted my ears. Most were going over the agenda of the upcoming Reaping of Oaths. A festival birthed from close ties between Brael Crait and the Matriarchy of the Lumina Concordance. Even now, they were circling the tournament event like carrion birds picking at decayed flesh.
Shadows engulfed my being. I was gone from their sight and my presence nullified. From within the veil, I watched calmly.
An elegant woman moved through the crowd, clad in a deep crimson dress burned with flowers. Bronze curls were tied neatly in a bun, exposing the smooth lines of her neck. Each step was deliberate – measured and calculated. Thin purple lips smiled seductively. Her hands brushed against each man, light and intentional.
Their reactions were immediate. All carried smiles and lingering gazes at her swaying hips. Their eyes seemed to dull just for a moment as if effortlessly charmed. A faint sweetness drifted freely through the air as she passed – subtle yet refined. I felt it touch my senses… and fade.
A small grin tugged at my lips. A charm spell, eh? Cheap tricks as always with nobles.
She reached the front and bowed respectfully. "With the festival's finer details settled," she began, voice smooth as fine silk, "I would like to address a more pressing matter."
The room soon quieted – agreeing gazes looking at uncle.
"I strongly believe we should reconsider Lord Udreth's request. Lady Udreth's condition is… delicate in a manner of speaking. Entrusting her safety to a man of his background is not only reckless – it is beneath our standing as peers."
There was a ripple of agreement. I ignored them and shifted my gaze to Veronica and Freya. Both remained still while listening. Their eyes were shadowed by strands of hair. A faint aura surrounded their bodies.
"I do not often find myself in agreement with my colleague," a bald man added, his tone droning, "but on this matter, I must insist." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Even if that man accepts, what assurance do we have of his intent? Why has he chosen to come back to Ironclad? Does he seek vengeance? Then finally, will he protect her well-being… or simply kill her outright?"
There was a measured pause for the questions to sink in.
"There are just too many variables, Your Majesty. I understand this decision weighs heavily – but entrusting such matters to individuals of that… that nature is no different than sanctioning–"
"That is enough," Veronica roared sharply, stepping forward.
I took the opportunity to close the distance between myself and the bald man while eyes remained elsewhere. Up close, the finer details of each ring on his hand became clearer. Each finger was adorned in rings – some gold, silver, or Gem-set. One caught my eye however. An oval emerald, set between twin sapphires, rested on a circle of rustic silver.
For a fleeting moment, Nyx's face shimmered across its surface. Would she perhaps prefer something like this… or something more simpler?
"Lady Crom," the man stammered, bowing slightly," welcome home, my lady. We were merely discussing–"
A bluish-gold aura flared wildly – bathing the room in a heavy, unforgiving pressure.
"I heard everything," Veronica said, her voice low. "Do not try testing my patience further."
The effect was immediate.
Several nobles faltered under the force. Others steadied themselves with visible effort. However, I remained standing – unmoved. She still showed restraint and lacked something important. It lacked commitment.
"Lady Crom," the droning advisor pressed on, voice wavering even more, "your own reports detail what had occurred in Siegfried. He nearly killed your wards and obstructed the arrest of every member of Dämmerung."
Veronica's expression darkened as she formed a response.
"Silence."
The word struck hard like a hammer, forcing all motion in the chamber to halt.
At the far end of the hall, the King finally rose. Tiberius Alexander von Knight stood from his gilded throne. His presence alone was enough to grapple the room into submission. He descended the steps slowly. Each one carried the weight earned through years of war and rule.
His attire was simple for the kings in literature – black surcoat over padded steel, violet mantle draped across his shoulders. Scars marking his face, deep and unhidden like metals earned. His circlet rested against short gray hair, dull in comparison to the sharpness of his gaze. A lightly trimmed beard fluttered. Black rings clung to eyes that had seen far too much.
"Veronica," he said, voice softer now, "it is good to see you've returned safely." He pulled her into a brief embrace. "Calm yourself. I will not act rashly. The boy has suffered enough."
His gaze shifted past her, searching. "I was informed your brother accompanied you. Where is he?"
Veronica turned, pointing to empty space. "He's right th–"
Confusion appeared on the nobles' faces following where she pointed.
"Lady Crom," the bald advisor chuckled, "perhaps your journey has taken more out of you than expected. There is no one–"
His words died when my hand settled on his shoulder. I lifted the veil. Gasps tore through the chamber as I appeared fully into view. The man's legs gave out beneath him. I took some pleasure watching him collapse into a trembling heap at my feet.
I looked down at him. "You seem to speak boldly," I said quietly. "For someone who has never stood before what he condemns, that is."
"B-b–"
"Not so fearless now, are we?" I crouched slightly, meeting his gaze. "It's strange how courage fades when the subject of your words appears suddenly." I patted his cheek. "Perhaps I should take your tongue as payment. Spare the world from that voice of yours."
The movement of knights surrounding me captured my attention.
I rose slowly. "Veronica," I said, not taking my eyes off them, "you rely too heavily on restraint. Let me show you how it's done."
I allowed my aura to slip free. It was a small ripple at first. Then it surged like a violent, uncontained river. The air itself seemed to buckle. Several nobles collapsed instantly, their bodies unable to bear the weight. Others remained standing through sheer force of will, though their posture faltered.
The knights tightened their formation. Struggling and enduring against the weight yet they still remained standing.
My gaze shifted to the king. He remained unmoved and unshaken. His will was that of an ancient oak refusing the storm. I pushed my aura further, making the pressure heavier. Despite his clothes wavering, King von Knight remained unbothered.
A faint smile tugged at my lips. As expected from a man of uncle's caliber.
I sensed another presence hidden in the converging corners behind him. A familiar presence watched intently. Pale, dim orbs flickered, fixed on me. They looked on in silence.
I let my aura dissipate.
The room gasped as one, air rushing back into lungs. "It's your move, Uncle," I said evenly. "How do you wish to proceed?"
"Kill him!" the advisor managed to shriek, scrambling backward behind the knights. "What are you waiting for?!"
The knights formed a circle with weapons raised, awaiting commands.
"Insolent fools," the advisor snarled, snatching a blade from one of them. "He's only one man. If you lack the will, I'll handle it myself–"
He stepped forward and hesitated. "...Where did he go?"
I rose from the throne's shadow.
The stained glass above casted fractured light across the white marble beneath my feet. For a fleeting moment, my hand brushed along the surface of the throne itself. Memories began to surface – faint and distant. Playing king beneath my grandfather's watchful eye. Laughter that no longer belonged to this place.
My father standing where he should have ruled.
Each one is gone.
The shift in air came first like a whisper behind me. Then came cold steel. I fell into shadows as a massive butcher's blade carved through where my head had been. The force cracked stone, scattering dust. I reformed a few steps away, smiling.
Some comfort settled in at the sight before me.
A chimera daemon stood where I had been. Lupine legs grounded its weight. A scaled humanoid torso twisted above them – its right arm reptilian, the right ending in a massive crab claw. Feathers flared along its back and into a mane in a chaotic plume of color. Its serpent head ended in a hooked, avian beak.
Its tail struck. Sharp fangs scrapping against the chainmail of my forearm. Acid hissing where venom touched.
I didn't flinch. "I see time hasn't slowed you down, Solomon."
The daemon tilted his head, studying me. "Coming from Zachariah's child," Solomon rasped, voice low and rhythmic, "I will take that as a compliment."
The serpent head of his tail withdrew.
Silence settled between us – brief, but oddly familiar. "You know, I never got the chance to thank you," I added. "For watching over us."
A low, rumbling chuckle escaped him. "It was always my pleasure… to witness each of your growths."
I walked past him. He gave off no hostility nor resistance. There was only acknowledgement between us.
In the next breath, I stood before my uncle after many years. I was close enough to count every scar. The years were etched deep into his face. His eyes looked even more exhausted than before. He didn't move away nor did he reach for the dagger on his hip.
"Stand down," he commanded the approaching knights.
Steel fell silent around us.
"Remove your hood," he said, voice quieter now. "Let me see my nephew, please."
We held each other's gaze – unyielding to the other. His eyes – yellowed green – seemed cold, but not empty. Mine, however, drifted briefly… to the throne where my father should have sat. His hand rose and reached out during this brief weakness. The knights stirred when I caught his wrist before it reached me.
Each one stopped by a single glance from him.
"Einor," he said. "Please."
…
I released his hand and slowly moved the hood back. Cool air brushed against my skin.
His hand followed – rough and calloused yet familiar. He pushed strands of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering longer than expected. Fingers traced my cheek, studying every detail. An unwanted heat crept across my face. He gripped my chin, turning my head slightly from side to side.
His body trembled – just once but barely noticeable.
"Everyone out."
His voice rang through the chamber. "All but my family… and the Beastdom's envoys are to remain."
"B-but, Your Majesty–"
Solomon moved forward.
The butcher's blade slammed into the marble with a deafening crack. "Your king has spoken," he hissed. "Disobey… and answer to me."
Absolute silence followed.