Montage Of Requiem
Part 1: Handshake to the Devil
At fifty years of age, King Ozzes Devotass presided over an inner court sealed by ironclad security and absolute loyalty. No word spoken within these walls ever reached the outside world.The King's council was built upon eight great seats of power, though not all were currently occupied. For this crucial meeting, only four of the eight ministers were present. A fifth, the indispensable Presel Duix, was absent attending to the public court, as his duties were twofold; he served the crown as both the Minister of Welfare and the Master of the Treasury.Of the remaining seats, one lay vacant. The eighth and final post was that of the Espoirer. This was no mere ministry to be controlled by Head Minister Exxar; the Espoirer answered to no one but the kingdom itself, wielding a status and power designed to rival the King's own. The chamber was breathless—like lungs frozen under Suilateral land-lakes. The courtiers' tongues clung to silence, stiff as frost. Benzil's shadow still lingered in the rafters, his death a penalty marked just before Duix had stepped in.And the King—Ozzes—sat like an angered god, his face veiled in persona, wrath disguising truth.The silence was broken by Presel Duix."My liege," he said, his voice calm and clear in the heavy air. "I was told you summoned me. I await your command."Siken Dunkworlith cleared his throat, forcing the words out. "Minister Duix. His Majesty requires you to arrange a payment of two thousand ryuils from the treasury. It is to be done within two days."Duix gave a slight, formal bow. His voice, though polite, had a core of steel. "As you command. It is my duty. But forgive me, for what purpose is the coin required?"Quins Ray's words were sharp. "It is an order from the King, supreme ruler of Pasrel."Duix's gaze did not waver. "And I am his loyal servant. Yet, as the minister charged with the people's welfare, should I not know for what cause I am spending their gold?"Quins Ray's jaw tightened. "It is the King's order." "Then let the King himself speak it," Duix countered softly.Not this again, Quins Ray thought, a cold dread washing over him. Duix is too valuable to lose. I cannot let him become another Benzil.But Duix's attention had already shifted. His gaze fell upon the grisly objects on the floor. "And whose head is that?"Exxar hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He felt the King's eyes on him, and answered against his own will. "That is Oren Madello. He was slain by Morass—your son's friend. Now, Espoirer Morass."Duix's face broke into a sudden, genuine smile as he finally noticed the young warrior."Ah, Morass! Forgive an old man's eyes, I did not see you standing there. You have slain the greatest scourge of our kingdom! Tenser will be so proud when he hears of it." He gave a quick bow toward the throne. "My apologies, Your Majesty. I am behaving like an excited child."He moved closer to Morass, his voice dropping to a warm, conspiratorial whisper. "Tenser's mother is preparing a feast to celebrate the news. You must come. Her cooking is the finest in the capital."Siken managed a strained chuckle. "That it is, Minister."Duix clapped his hands together, his good mood infectious in the grim hall. "Excellent! Siken, you must join us. And you, Exxar, and Quins Ray. Even Benzil—ah, where has he gone? I thought I saw him just a moment ago. Did he finally make good on his threat to go climbing the northern cliffs?"Siken forced a loud laugh. "A funny thought, Minister. No, he was… dispatched to Glazarc. On an urgent mission concerning the Sinthra border."Duix smirked. "An urgent mission? You jest. That sounds as likely as Benzil keeping his temper for a full day."A low murmur of agreement passed between Exxar, Siken, and the others. "It is true. Benzil will be gone for some time."But the King's patience had worn thin. The mask of cold fury was cracking, revealing the boiling rage beneath. His voice did not just rise, it thundered through the chamber, shattering the web of lies."ENOUGH!"The courtiers flinched as if struck."Exxar," the King roared, his voice ringing with absolute power. "You will stop this charade. You will tell Minister Duix the truth."The ministers began to protest, their voices a panicked rush. "My liege, what we said is the truth—"The King cut them all down with two final words that fell like an executioner's axe.
"MY ORDER."
PART 2-Commencement
Head Minister Exxar, called Ecstroif Xans, looked with calm pride at the King's order. His eyebrow rose, his eyes heavy with regret, yet a sly smirk broke his stillness. At last he spoke, his voice plain, almost casual, as though the matter were not small.
"Minister of Welfare, Mr Duix, pardon my tongue. Your friend, the minister, is sentenced to the Engravement Order. He broke the law of the court, threatened the King, abused the throne, shattered the King's pride, and cast foul words against dormant Morass — who now stands as Espoirer Morass."
Duix gave a puzzled smirk, his voice twisted with disbelief. "Ayein? What happened? I went outside but for the turn of an hourglass, and this? Have I been called for such a reason?"
Freyl Wiun, eager yet fearful, stepped forth. "Yes, the Head Minister speaks truth. This is almost like the old spit story of rotten man against over beloved King."
But Exxar's voice cut him like iron. "Lower thy tongue, Minister of Affairs, Freyl Wiun. Our King is no tale, nor shame of some hopeless man's tragic death."
Freyl bowed quick, hands raised, pardoning the King.
Then Duix placed his heavy hand of hope upon Morass's shoulder, his voice steady yet strange. "Wait, all of you. Speak not the name of espoirer Morass's father in presence. espoirer Morass has no fault in this."
Exxar smirked with coldness. "Blood is blood, right, Freyl?"
Freyl nodded with fear.
Duix pressed on, voice rising. "Espoirer Morass earned his place without the name of his father, without a last name. I and Siken wished to gift him one, yet he chose only his mother's sirname for his own name. Is that not sacrifice?"
The court stirred uneasy, whispers rising like wind in the rafters.
Quins Ray, the General Secretary, thought in silence, Who shall tell this poor fool? The man he calls sacrificial… is the one who slew his own son. Too tense, too cursed. I must flee from this hall before turns to hell.
Still, Duix would not let the moment pass. "Enough insult of the Espoirer, sires," he said. His rough hand rubbed through Morass's hair, and he whispered low, "Grown man."
The scene was strange and heavy, and all in the court stared, unable to breathe.
The King then cut the silence, his voice cold as winter steel. "It is true. Morass won the crown of Espoirer by killing Oren and his pupil. Benzil went mad. I cast him the decree of Engravement, to be carried out once this court is adjourned."
Duix dropped to his knees, body heavy as stone. "I see, sire. I know Benzil is loud of mouth, full of wrath. But I, son of Ryuikgen Duix, mere minister of Pasrel, beg thee — lower the decree, my lord, please!"
The King shook his head. "That cannot be."
Duix bent low, trembling, begging still. "My lord, please."
The King sighed coldly. "Stand, Duix. Be gentle, be proud. I will rethink."
Exxar and Siken rushed to raise him, for his flesh was thick and his muscles failed him.
Then the King thundered again, voice echoing on stone. "I, son of Grgor Devotass, nullify the Engravement order. Instead, I cast the new decree — Death under the Sun. Benzil may flee to Glazarc by night, yet when the sun rises, he must die."
Duix raised his head in shock. "But liege, youhave to remove the death!"
"The decree may change once," the King declared. "It is forged. This is final."
Duix's voice shook, words falling like arrows of doubt. "Aye, my lord… I see your words are arrows. But why does Benzil hate Morass so much? Hate his past, aye, but this deep? Even Exxar does not hate him."
Exxar snapped fast, "Who said?" Yet none turned to him, for the King's answer froze all.
"Because," the King said, his words like stone, "ESPOIRER Morass killed your son, Tenser Duix."
The hall fell into silence. other ministers shoacked by seeing straight forwardness ofking devotass
Duix's ears rang, his soul burning to hear it again. He laughed, hollow, broken. "Ha, ha, ha! Whom, sire?"
The King met his gaze. "Yes it is."
Duix turned his eyes upon Morass, dragging them slow from head to feet. Morass dared not look up, his guilt weighing him down. Behind him, upon the floor, the fat head of a man lay pressed to stone, lips against the dirt.
Duix stepped forward, each step heavy as a mountain. He bent low, fingers trembling, and touched the hair of that head. At once, a shock tore through him, from his spine to his soul. He screamed wild and broken.
"No! No, no, wait, wait, wait!"
He spun about, laughing like a madman. "No, not my son, I know! Not my son! i think thats tellun trix or something"
He struck his chest with both fists, beating it till blood rose in his throat. He turned the that fat head, pulling the jaw skyward, whispering through tears, "Not my son… he is not like that…"
Then he roared, his throat tearing, his heart breaking. "My son! My son!"
His sight blurred. His body crashed to the ground, crushing the skull of his own son beneath him. The bones snapped, the blood spurted across the stones. The court reeked of death, and silence fell heavy upon them all.
chapter ends