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It had been about 200 years since the Goddess War. But Goldoa hadn’t much changed in that time. Kurthnaga, who wore 200 years as a beorc would five, still saw the scars of the war everyday, looking out over empty fields without the hands to tend them, or how the young red dragons were not the rich ruby of Gareth, but a pallid imitation, and how the white dragons were tinted pale pink, the result of too few dragons after the battle with his father. Other laguz came and went across Goldoa’s borders, now that they were no longer closed, but most found the country to be harsh, the inhabitants unsettlingly ancient, so they stayed mostly to the edges, forming small trading posts. The beorc did not come, except on diplomatic missions. Kurthnaga tried to remember all the names and faces, but they came and went so quickly. Crimea’s new king couldn’t hold a candle to Queen Elincia, though she had died so long ago. Was it four generations now? Was this king her great-grandchild? Or her great-great-grandchild?
But, despite Kurthnaga’s diplomatic struggles, Goldoa was healing, even if sometimes it felt like it would take an eternity.
Almedha had taken to bed many years before. Kurthnaga made sure she ate and bathed, but he hardly knew what else to do for his sister’s depression. She had lost everything to the war, from her brother, to her father, to her son for a second time. He could understand why she wanted to lock herself away to mourn in peace. There had been a brief flicker of hope in her eyes when she’d met General Ike’s shadow, the young man who looked so much like their kin, but he had not known her, and she had despaired when he vanished, along with General Ike, from the face of Tellius.
Kurthnaga sighed as he knelt before his parents’ altar, lighting the incense as he did every night, asking for his parents’ aid and support from the otherworld. He didn’t know if his father was listening, but the ritual was soothing and the scent of the smoke was familiar; he’d grown up watching his father do the same for his father and mother. Giving his mother’s portrait a small smile, Kurthnaga retired to bed for the night, content that this night would be like all others.
So, of course, it was not.
Early the next morning, a page came and woke him, his pale eyes wide in the half-light of dawn. “Your Majesty. Late last night, we received a visitor. He’s currently waiting in the front hall.”
Kurthnaga sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What kind of visitor? Laguz? Beorc?”
“Neither, Your Highness. A Parentless.”
That got the young king’s attention. “Describe them in more detail please.”
The page thought for a moment. “A young adult man, pale-skinned, sunburnt along his cheekbones, with short black hair and red eyes. He is dressed as mages do, mostly black in color, and his Brand is red, centered on his forehead.”
General Ike’s shadow. Kurthnaga hurried out of bed and got dressed, splashing water on his face from the washbasin before going down to the entrance hall.
Sure enough, there he was. Soren.
200 years had not left him unscathed, but a beorc would probably deem him no older than 30. But his eyes were softer now, not with kindness, but with apathy. He had the gaze of a man who had been alone for a very, very long time.
Kurthnaga approached him slowly, trying to determine his motivation for being there. “Well met, Soren,” he said by way of greeting. “It has been a long time.”
“It has.” His voice was deeper now, no longer that of a child imitating an adult.
“What brings you to Goldoa? Not that you aren’t welcome.”
Soren looked up at the throne against the wall. “One of Ike’s last wishes.”
It hit Kurthnaga that General Ike, like Queen Elincia, surely had died long ago. The sadness hurt his heart. “What was it?”
“He asked me why Queen Almedha had called out to me that day. At first, I hadn’t known, but before I departed Tellius, I received a letter from King Pelleas, telling me that I was the true heir of Daein, should I desire the throne. I didn’t want it, and didn’t even believe him at first, but as I noticed how little the years touched me, even compared to other Branded, I began to accept it.” He looked down at his hands, which were only just beginning to lose their smoothness. “Black dragons live a very long time, don’t they?”
“Easily two thousand years. My father was 560 years old when he fought alongside Ashera in the war, and he was hardly elderly upon his death 800 years later. But you will not live that long.”
“I suppose being a half-blood would lead to my living one thousand years then.” Soren’s face held no joy at the prospect.
“Perhaps.” Kurthnaga didn’t know how to respond. He had never known Soren very well, and the revelation of their kinship had not changed that. “What was General Ike’s request of you?”
“To speak properly with my mother, as his own time with his mother had been cut short.”
“Surely it’s been a long time since his death. Why now?”
Soren shrugged. “Perhaps I didn’t wish to meet with the woman who abandoned me to the hands of a stranger. She’s done nothing for me and I, to this day, don’t want anything to do with her.” With a sigh, he rubbed at his eyes. “But I am tired of visiting graves. And this is the last wish I have to fill that I can do for now.”
“Is there another that must wait?”
His gaze turned hard, more like the Soren Kurthnaga had seen bent over a map, or across the battlefield. “I’ve no desire to discuss that with you.”
Kurthnaga nodded. “Come with me. I’ll bring you to my sister.”
Their footsteps echoed in the large hallways. Soren was silent.
After a few moments of growing discomfort, Kurthnaga asked, “Why did you cut your hair? If I remember, you’d always worn it long.”
“I cut it off when Ike passed.”
“Oh.” Silence. “I’m sorry. He must have meant a lot to you.” The words fell flat. It had been obvious, even to a mere observer, that Soren’s loyalty ran deep, deeper than bone, than blood. To say “a lot” didn’t even touch such an emotion.
Soren didn’t respond, and this time, shamed into silence, Kurthnaga didn’t push. They arrived at Almedha’s door. “Let me go wake her.”
She had gotten thinner since Soren had last seen her, Kurthnaga was sure. Her shoulder was bony under his hand. “Sister,” he said gently. “Sister, there’s someone to see you.”
She groaned and pulled away from him. “There is not,” she said in a low grumble. “There is no one left but you.”
“There is someone else, dear Sister.” He looked at the doorway, where Soren stood, his arms crossed over his chest.
Almedha sat up quickly upon seeing him, reaching out to push her brother aside. “It’s you… Soren… My…” Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks.
Soren approached, but his expression was begrudging. “I am not yours,” he said. “I belong to myself.”
“No, you are my son. Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh. Please, Soren, come here.” Her arms, outstretched, were insistent.
Soren allowed himself to be folded into them, but he made no effort of his own.
Almedha didn’t care. Her tears soaked the collar of his robe, and her hands, fisted in the back of his cloak, trembled with every sob. After a long moment, Soren lowered his head and put his arms around her shoulders.
Kurthnaga judged it best to leave, slipping the door closed behind him.
—
“Soren, I want you to promise me some things, before I go.”
“Don’t talk like that.” The years had scoured lines across Ike’s face, had taken the blue of his hair and the vision from his left eye, but Soren was determined. There were old magicks in this country. Magic of reanimation, of necromancy. Surely there was some of longevity, restoration, renewal. He just had to find it.
Ike shook his head, his mouth quirking downwards in disapproval. “Soren, listen to me. I’m old, Soren. Let an old man go in peace.”
“No!”
“Soren…” He sighed, leaning back against the headboard of the bed they shared. “I need you to promise me some things. Will you hear me out?”
Biting back more argument, Soren sat down on the bed.
Ike’s hand wrapped around his, his thumb running over Soren’s smooth knuckles. People took them for grandfather and grandson now. It made Soren’s blood run cold every time. “When I go, I want you to go back to Tellius and check up on the Mercenaries. Make sure Mist and Boyd haven’t run them into the ground.” He chuckled. “Then, return Ragnell to Begnion. Empress Sanaki was nice enough to lend it to me, but it is Altina’s sword, it belongs in her country. If she won’t take it, you can give it to Mist to keep.”
“I can do that.”
“I’m not done.” Ike coughed a bit into his arm. “Then, you’re going to go to Goldoa and talk to your mother.”
Soren blanched. “Why? She abandoned me. And it’s her blood that left this mark on me.” He touched his forehead. “I don’t want to talk to her.”
“You only ever get one mother, Soren. I lost mine when I was too young to appreciate that. Come on, promise.”
Sighing heavily, Soren hung his head. “I promise.”
“Only one more.” He brought Soren’s hand to his lips. “After you do me these favors, I want you to keep living, do you understand? If I see you in the otherworld one single day before your body gives up on you on its own, I will never speak to you again.”
Soren tried to look away, but Ike grabbed his chin, forcing him to make eye contact. Even blinded on one side, Ike’s glare could make mountains tremble. “I… didn’t think you knew,” Soren said miserably.
“Then you take me for a fool. This is the most important request I have of you. The others are important, but this one is essential. Promise me.”
Soren stared into those familiar eyes, framed by wrinkles and marred by age, but still with that fierce light that shone with determination and charisma enough to unite a continent.
“I promise,” he whispered, tears falling unbidden down his face. His last resort ripped away, Soren now was forced to contemplate a lifetime of loneliness, without the person who had given it meaning so long ago.
Ike smiled then, pulling Soren down against his broad chest. “Thank you,” he said softly, burying his face into his hair. “You have so many things to see, Soren. I’m glad you have lived for me, but it’s nearly time for you to live for yourself.”
I don’t want to, Soren thought, listening to Ike’s heartbeat beneath him, aware that those beats were numbered. But he said nothing, pushing all thoughts away with the warmth of Ike’s arms around his back and the heady scent of him, taking the moment to enjoy his company and forget about the future. If only for a little while longer.
—
Soren left Goldoa a few days later, much to Kurthnaga’s dismay. “Why don’t you stay for a year or two? We’re your family after all.”
Soren scoffed at this. “My family’s been dead a long time, Your Highness.”
“But where will you go?”
He shrugged, staring out at the horizon. “It doesn’t matter. I have a lot of time to kill. I’d rather do it with my feet on the ground, not holed up in some oversized castle.”
“Will we meet again?”
“Who knows? Maybe. Maybe not. Farewell, Your Highness.” The doors of the entrance hall shuddered as they closed behind him.
Kurthnaga returned to Almedha’s room to tell her that Soren had left. He found her up and about in her room, rearranging the tables and shelves. She was sad to hear the news, but her face was glowing with life again.
“He’s been hurt all through his life,” she said sadly, speaking of Soren. “But he’s a good boy, despite it all. It does my heart good to know that, even if he does hate me.” It was a bitter smile on her face, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Kurth, can you fetch me some paper and ink? I think I’ll write to him.”
“I won’t know where to send it, Sister.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “He’ll be back someday.”
And she said it with such conviction, Kurthnaga couldn’t find it in himself to disbelieve her.