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The sun hangs high, dotting the sky its rays pour over the valley, steadily causing the armor cladding him to heat.
Another inconvenience he has no choice but to deal with.
“Parlor tricks. Nothing more.”
The rider to his left hums in agreement. “Hmm maybe so.”
It almost could have been construed as an end to their conversation.
“But —“
Almost.
“I know someone who swears it’s true. I’ve even heard people have traveled across the great sea to come here, searching for wisdom.” One of his chosen commanders, Neferpitou. Known for her wits on the battlefield she is more than a formidable opponent. Having earned his trust time and time again.
Though she has been cursed with a wondering mind.
“We’re in the middle of war there are more pressing matters than chasing some folk tale.” The irritation lacing his voice is evident. Weeks spent traversing enemy country having taken its toll. The long voyage of winding roads finally nearing its end.
A true test of patience.
But by this time tomorrow it will have all been worth it. Another kingdom will have fallen to its knees at his hand.
Although, even this is losing its enjoyment.
Despite his words his interest is piqued. There has always been something enticing about the unknown, hidden secrets of the world. Especially to someone who coveted power.
“We aren’t intended to reach our destination for another day.” She continues prodding, putting emphasis on the next word. “Plus — With our current route we’re already so close.”
Reining his horse to a halt, a mare, coat a shining blue roan. Unnatural violet eyes look to the plane of blue sky. In a few hours the sun will begin its descent. A decision must be made.
Turning over shoulder, his gaze scans over the massive snaking crowds of nearly two-thousand soldiers. By foot and horse they follow his lead into hell. The army forming an amalgamation of bodies, more terrifying than any single beast. The tail of the march disappearing beyond the horizon.
And one person controls its path of destruction. The head of the leviathan.
Meruem.
The King hums in thought before replying.
“The troops are in need of rest. We’ll camp at this place you speak of.”
The smile that creeps over Pitous face is one of pure victory. “How often do we pass through a town with a Oracle?”
Silver-tongued devil indeed.
—
They reach town within the next few hours, the suns face just barely visible as it submerges under the tree line. His soldiers make camp someways away from the township. Hammering tent stakes into the ground and gathering firewood.
The town, Meier, as he had been promised is far more akin to that of a small settlement. Sparsely placed log structures on farm land surrounded by thick forest. Nothing even close to being able to hold an army for the night.
It will be the last time he takes advise from Pitou outside of battle strategy.
The King accompanied by his three royal commanders travel to Meier alone by horse. Leaving the thousands of soldiers to wait in the wings.
Before even setting foot on soil a small band of men and women greet them.
“Hello good sir!” One of the men approaches, arms outstretched to welcome them. His wardrobe that of simple farmers clothing, nothing to allude of magic or sorcery. “What brings you to Meier?”
The incoming stranger is forced to a dead stop as one of the Kings guard steps forward.
Menthuthuyoupi, a rather straightforward commander. His massive size is the only weapon needed to intimidate others. Rarely does the warrior resort to other methods but when he does it’s always a mess to clean.
Meruem meets the strangers eye, searching for the slightest inkling of deceit.
“I have word there’s a Oracle here.” Atop his horse the King towers over the other, swallowed by his very shadow. “Is this true?”
“Oh why yes of course! You have come to the right place.” The man smiles, showing all teeth. “It’s a dying art and even rarer for someone to be born with such a gift. Our Oracle has never once been wrong!”
Taking a moment to let his eyes roam over the small farm settlement before responding. Nothing promising catches his eye.
“I would like to meet with them.” Is Meruems only response.
“Of course, though there is a fee for such a privilege.” The man raises an out-turned palm.
“That’ll be forty gold sir.”
—
Stepping through the threshold Meruem’s bathed in shadow and the burning of incense. He enters alone, leaving his commanders to guard the entrance.
The modest room is noticeably missing any windows. Intentional most likely. Not wanting the prying eyes of the outside to disturb what’s hidden within. Despite this there is light. Hot coals rest in an offering bowl on a low table centering the room cluttered with candles. The meager flames dust everything within reach in a warm glow.
And seated behind its protective heat is the reason for his visit.
A young woman sits opposite him. Draped in thin silk, white hair braided intricately. What’s strange is her pale lashes rest closed, they do not move to open, even at the sound of his arrival.
“You. You’re the Oracle.” Meruem questions while taking the open seat across from her.
Silken shroud moves with the woman as she tilts her head towards his voice, giving a slow nod. Eyes remaining shut.
Is this part of the ritual?
“You’re able to predict the future.” It’s not so much of a question as it is a challenge.
“I-in a way, yes.” Stuttering, her voice is fragile and soft, as if she could break any moment.
“You don’t sound confident. I hope this will not have been a waste of time.” There’s an unspoken threat.
And so should you.
She fidgets under his accusatory tone but is quick to recollect.
“You may ask me anything and I will tell you the outcome.”
Violet eyes sharpen in suspicion. It’s too simple, an easy out to forge a lie.
But he proceeds nevertheless.
“Tomorrow I will storm my enemies palace. Taking the fortress of Rock and River, Neander, by force.” Pausing while leaning further over the table. “Are you able to foresee this.”
The priestess brows raise in surprise, her mouth opening to an “o” shape. But remains quiet. The woman then inhales and exhales a breath, readying herself.
There’s a shift in the air and the flames flicker, only for a moment.
“I need your hand.”
Her demeanor now changed, the timidness all but seeming to have vanished.
Suddenly the King is far more interested than he had been upon his arrival. Like a predator honing its gaze on an injured rabbit. Watching intently.
Following her request he removes the glove from his right hand extending it over the offering bowl.
The young woman reaches for his waiting hand. She finds him with practiced precision even without the help of sight. Porcelain hands touch his own battle worn digits.
Time slows to a stop.
Finally she opens her eyes, revealing the unseeing gaze of sea foam stained retinas.
Ah.
Her hand is dwarfed by Meruems own. Taking delicate care to run her slim fingers along the rough palm. A warm and gentle embrace, a contrast to the scars painting his skin.
Suddenly she stills.
The woman doesn’t make a sound, he can tell she’s deep in thought. Thick brows knit together tightly and she begins retracing his palm. Her lips parting as if to speak, but nothing comes, instead she remains at a loss for words.
The silence is deafening. Meruem can hear his own heart, feel each individual pulse — Or maybe it’s hers that’s beating wildly. He can’t tell.
She gives one last squeeze to his hand before slipping her lids back shut, hiding those otherworldly eyes. And he wants to pry them back open.
Instead he asks the question at the forefront of his mind.
“What did you see.”
The ceremony seems to have come to an end but Meruems hand continues to be held. Soft hands keep the contact between them.
He makes no move to pull away.
“The ride at dawn will lead you to victory.”
To the King, the almighty, it is the only outcome. A few short hours separate him from the end of this trial —
“However...”
The sound of that meek voice is an like a wading into a winter steam. It freezes his very soul.
“Your c-conquest will end with great ruin.”
His fists clench in her hold but still she doesn’t pull away and he wonders —
Why?
“What did you see.”
“F-fire. There was so much. An inferno big enough to swallow an army.”
This gives Meruem pause.
“Is that all you can tell me. You can’t tell me the cause of it.”
She does it again. Mouth opening before closing, no words slip through. And the head of pale locks looks downward in shame.
It’s more than disappointing.
Meruem stands at that, finally breaking contact with the blind woman. Lost, she doesn’t know where to stare now that he’s no longer across from her.
The King could end her life right now. Hand resting on the leathered hilt at his side, blade waiting.
“Take this as a warning.”
The weapon stays muzzled in its scabbard.
“Do not meddle in others affairs with cheap tricks. Or one day you’ll pay the price.”
Saying that he breaks his glare from the blind woman’s cowering form, heading for the exit. Pushing the door open, letting the last of the fading sun to permeate the shelter.
“Please —“
The King does not turn at her plea.
“Don’t go.”
—
The early hours of morning have long disappeared. Having blurred between bloodshed and glory.
Meruem has taken seat on a fallen stone slab of Neanders wall. A makeshift throne.
Neander will go down in history as nothing more than an extinguished flame, put out of its misery. Nga, the Empress, had been a ruler with strong beliefs. Openly opposing the spread of his rein from the North. She had attempted to rally the strength of nearby nations, ultimately forcing his hand into action.
A King should be bathing in the afterglow of victory. But it slips his grasp, instead his achievement is stained by discontent and wondering thoughts.
Someone — Something fails to escape his mind.
Fire.
He had been promised a fiery end. Keen violet eyes had waited for the inferno, dilating at even the smallest of spark. But nothing. The anticipation had been more thrilling than the battle itself — Suddenly a disturbing thought crosses his mind.
Had he wanted the Oracle to be right?
No.
“Ready my horse.”
Shaiapouf, the diplomat turned commander stops his writing, attention now turned at the Kings demand. Having only just begun documenting the casualties of the siege.
“Sire?” The blond questions.
Meruem looks down to the body impaled against the tiled floor.
The King has a gift for the woman in silk.
—
In and out.
“Do I really have to today?” Her voice tired, having gotten little rest the night before.
“Yes. What if a customer comes?” The woman behind her replies dryly, continuing to braid the thick white locks.
“...”
The priestess sits on the open porch outside the small shack she calls her work place. Finishing getting ready for the days start, though she cannot focus on the task at hand. Overcome with dread.
“Don’t act that way, the customers will tell if your in a mood.” The older woman says.
“Yes Mam.”
—
Meruems return to Meier sparks excitement in the small population. He does not fret over them as he’s come for one reason and one reason alone.
He heads for the small shack.
—
The wooden floorboards thunder under the weight of a heavy object, it lands with a sickening wet sound mere feet from where the Oracle sits. The blind woman cannot help but flinch back in fright.
“Do you know what it is, all seeing priestess.” It’s a taunting jab.
“N-no I’m afraid I don’t.“
“It’s Nga’s head.” Meruem voice reverberates over the thin walls.
The woman sits on her knees, unable to move. Those small hands clenching the skirt of her fancy dress. Face downturned to the floor in fear and shame.
“The one who opposed my rule, the one who you said would bring me great ruin.”
The King stands over her pathetic form. He wishes at this very moment for her to blessed with sight so she could fully witness his power, how she is nothing compared to him.
“Do you take me for a fool. Did you hope to stop the attack with false prophecies.”
“N-no I never meant to offend you...” Muffled and cracked, it’s hard to hear with her head bowed to the floorboards. “I never lied to you.”
He studies her. Almost transfixed. White braids coming lose with her mannerisms. Something twists in his rib cage and he loathes it. Why does he believe her?
The Kings hand doesn’t even so much as graze the weapon this time around.
“I leave you with your life as one final gift.”
Again.
The King leaves her alive again.
And he’s too caught up in his own act to wonder why. What was the purpose of returning to this miserable place? What was he to gain?
His own reasoning escapes him. Feeling more clouded now than he had before.
Meruem heads for the door, this time leaving a piece of himself behind, as one final whisper reaches him before he descends into ruin.
A hushed sob.
“I’m sorry.”
—
Towers of smoke pillar up from within Neanders walls. Searing embers float carelessly through the pitch black sky, the wrath of an orange glow inching it’s way up the stones foundation.
Screams of terror and agony fill the palace.
Neferpitou sprints down the corridor, legs carrying her as fast as they can. Heart hammering heavily in her chest. Senses filled with nothing but the stench of oil and burnt flesh. One thought runs on loop through her mind.
The King. The King. Where is the King?
She doesn’t even realize she’s entered the courtyard before her prayers are answered.
Standing amidst the burnt ruins of Neander is the King. Bathed in soot and ash. A living Phoenix.
Relief crashes down waves, Pitous incredibly achy muscles lose some of the built tension but there’s no time to relax. There’s still the adrenaline, frenzied panic, fire... And there’s something far too eerie about his stillness amidst the chaos.
“Your Majesty!” The commanders voice travels with the echoing screams of the palace.
Meruem turns at Pitous call. Silver waves bounce with her abrupt stop. She catches a glimpse of something unexpected behind his eyes. It’s there, just under the surface but she can’t decipher it.
He appears... Absentminded to the situation.
“Your orders Sir?” Desperate for guidance. Reassurance that he’s fine.
Meruem blinks and like that it washes away, carried downstream. To where, the commander has no clue.
“Search for any survivors and regroup by the river outside the walls.” His voice governs attention. Radiates leadership.
But it’s too late Neferpitous already seen the chip in his armor.
There is no saving the castle from the starving flames, consuming everything they touch. The Kings newly claimed palace is now nothing more than a gigantic pyre for all the world to see.
—
He’s lost a lot in one night.
There were eye witnesses to the arson. A group of Neanders soldiers disguised in their fallen soldiers uniform. Hiding amongst the troops, waiting for the moment to strike. At nightfall dowsing the walls and floors with stored barrels of oil.
A final fair well from Empress Nga.
The last remainders of Meruems army have gathered by the riverside, a little over eight-hundred soldiers survived. Some with severe burns that will most likely cripple them for the rest of their lives. The smoldering silhouette of Neander reflects across the rivers calming surface.
“You can’t leave!” Shaiapoufs cry carries over the water besides them.
There was no way to avoid this reaction.
But there’s somewhere he needs to be.
“What if something happens to you?” Menthuthuyoupi is quick to follow right after Pouf, it’s the most genuine fear Meruems heard in his voice for quite some time.
The only one who has yet to dispute the Kings order is Neferpitou. Whose been uncharacteristically quiet since he said he would be making the trip alone, keeping busy by tending to the injured.
“I need you three to take charge while I’m gone.”
Meruem turns to meet his commanders in the eye and the look he gives them is enough to freeze the very blood running through their veins.
It’s there again, underneath the composure and poise.
Something earnest.
“I’m trusting you all.”
The King leaves it at that and who are they to question him. He knows they will wait for his return, even if it takes a millennia.
“I’ll be back by sunrise.”
Meruems final words before seating himself on the horse and riding off into the dark.
—
A fire illuminates the area, the light creating shadows that dance playfully along Meiers walls. It is not an all consuming wildfire like the one eating away at Neander but a small well controlled bonfire.
Three people huddle around its warmth. Sharing drinks with an occasional laugh ripping through the chill night air.
“So, what are you gonna do?” One of the three questions the man opposite the fire, wearing a thick fur coat.
“I don’t know. She just doesn’t bring in the silver like she used too.”
“The other day though...” Cogs turning, the liquor is strong tonight. “D-didn’t you say some rich fellow payed forty gold?”
“Yeah. But that was the first customer in weeks!” The man dressed in fur gives a drawn out sigh before taking a swig from his mug.
“I can’t —“
He doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence when the back of his collar is pulled back with a tremendous force. Tossed into the hard dirt he grunts before gathering himself, looking up to see a familiar face silhouetted by the fires light.
Meruem.
The rest scatter like bugs, abandoning their friend to the wolves — Or rather in this case, a lone rabid wolf.
“Where is she?”
“W-who?”
There’s no warning for what comes next.
Suddenly there’s a sword plunged into the earth, inches away from the mans head. The blade an obsidian black, deeper than the night sky, dark amethyst embedded at the chappe.
The mans hazel eyes are now saucers, face losing color with every passing second.
Meruem pulls the longsword free with little effort before raising it to the mans waiting neck.
“Don’t play games with me. The Oracle.”
The Kings starts putting his weight on the blade resting at the mans throat. Blood beading under the steel. The idiot starts thrashing and screaming.
“AH! PLEASE DON’T KILL ME!”
“Where. Is. She.” His patience rapidly thinning.
“THE CABIN —” Taking gulps of air between sobs. “AT THE END OF THE WHEAT FIELD!”
Moments pass in suspended silence. Meruem continues to hold the weapon against the beating jugular before retracting it unceremoniously. Immediately the poor sod has his hands wrapped around his neck protectively, fumbling to escape his attackers reach.
Sheathing the sword Meruem turns his gaze towards the sea of wheat. The dark makes it difficult to see the lonely structure surrounded by grain but it’s definitely there, his eyes barely making out the shape. Without thought the King has already taken the first few steps towards the building, long having forgotten the terrified man.
“Kill the witch if you want! She’s more trouble than she’s worth!” The man gives out one final shout before disappearing into nearby woods.
The wheat appears to breath, swaying back and forth in a gentle cool breeze. Walking through the field Meruems waist is devoured by the tall stocks of grain. Aways from the fires light the stars reveal themselves, dusting the midnight sky.
Upon his approach to the secluded house is a surprise.
Front door left wide open, light spilling from its entrance. And standing at the edge of the wheat field, away from the cabins safety is the reason for his return.
A weight is lifted.
She wears a simple pale blue nightgown with little intricate flowers decorating the trim. Long moon-white hair loose and free from binds.
And as expected her eyes rest close.
“What are you doing outside?” Meruems voice carries in the open cropfield.
Having stopped only a couple feet from her still form it’s no surprise when she jumps at the sound of his voice.
Regaining herself the priestess turns her head to the ground in recognition of his voice.
But she doesn’t run.
“I... heard yelling.” Her tone is one of uncertainty and caution.
Good. He wants to see what she’s capable of.
“If I told you I killed them all, what would you do?”
Her head snaps up in shock, now facing towards him. Small hands start wringing together anxiously. Shifting in her spot he notices she’s barefoot, the bottom of her soles covered in drying mud.
The poor woman appears to be lost in thought for quite some time before finally coming to an answer.
“I guess, I would be left with nothing. They were the ones taking care of me.”
... It takes him by surprise.
“Are they not your family? Do you not care for them?”
“No... They’re not family. My family sold me to them.”
Meruem understands, it’s a development he wasn’t prepared for but he wants more.
“Your name?”
“Komugi.”
“Don’t worry, I did not harm them.”
Though he might have left emotional scars.
The woman, Komugi, intertwines her fingers again. Still at a loss, something weighing on her mind.
“Is it o-okay if I ask your name?” There’s a sniffle trailing her question and he doesn’t think before answering her request.
“Meruem.”
He’s always been in control, never does he request or ask for his desires. Always demanding, always taking. That’s why his next words rest heavy on his tongue.
“What if I asked you to come with me, Komugi?”
—
“You have a horse?”
The utter astonishment in her voice is amusing. The Kings hand rests against the snout of the animal while firmly holding the lead in his other.
“You can pet her if you want.”
Komugis raises her hand but stops mid reach. A slight tremble to her wrist before continuing forward. Her lips upturn into a shy smile when her fingers touch the rough coat.
“What’s her name?”
“Tippi.”
It was a name picked when he was young, never bothering to change it. The womans smile widens upon hearing the rather endearing title.
“It’ll be faster on horse.” He says checking the straps of the saddle.
“Where are we going?”
“To my home country.”
Since Neander is nothing but ashes.
“Oh...” As if it’s obvious, pausing a look of confusion contorts over her features. “Where’s that?”
“East Gorteau. I’ll help you on the horse.” Meruem says tightening the last buckle.
But Komugi makes no move, instead her feet stay planted. Thin arms wrapped around herself, nose running.
...
Stepping closer Meruem unlatches the cloak from his armored shoulder pads. Once free he drapes the thick material over her shivering body.
“Here.”
The curves of her lips fall. “I can’t...”
“It wasn’t an offer.” He’s not used to giving, far more familiar with taking.
The womans fingers hold the fabric delicately, as if afraid her touch with ruin it. Meruem watches her fumble with the grip before shes finally seems satisfied with its placement on her shoulders.
“T-thank you.” Bowing her head of white tresses, he stares at way her locks fall over her pale lashes.
In impulse the King reaches for her hand, impatient to leave but hesitates fingers stopping inches away from her skin.
Fragile.
“I’m going to lift you onto the horse now.”
He gets an unsure nod in response and it’s enough. Meruem gently takes her waiting hand.
—
Komugi is seated behind Meruem, her arms locked tight around his waist in fear. The horses gait is wide as they travel at a brisk speed. The faster they get to his waiting army the safer they’ll be.
Though, there’s still a question eating away at him.
“Why did you choose to come with me.”
He needs an answer.
Her brows crease, burying herself further into the material of the cloak. Perhaps it’s the nights unforgiving temperature or — An attempt to hide from the question.
For an Oracle she truly is foolish.
“Well.”
Several moments pass without answer until finally the silence is broken with a whisper.
“My sight.“
He almost misses it. With the whipping air and heavy footfall of the steed it’s more than enough to drown the sound but somehow her delicate voice reaches waiting ears.
Ready to heed her words.
“My f-fortune, I’ve never been able to foresee my own future... Not once. No matter how hard I tried.”
The mare slows to a trotting pace. This way the winds aren’t as harsh.
It’s unbefitting for a King, a conqueror, a murderer, to listen to the pleading of a stranger he barely knows. Something powerful holds his tongue from interrupting.
“So that’s why I’ve always known I would never have a life outside of my gift.” Her lip quivers but no tears spill. There’s a deep seated sorrow ingrained into the confession.
She believes her power to be a burden?
And there’s a familiar pull in his chest.
Destined to one fate.
Komugi takes another pause, he feels her form trembling behind him. Like a leaf. Pulling the fabric to better shield her from the elements Meruem remains quiet as the priestess searches for words. Still burdened by whatever illness has befallen him.
“When I foresaw your fate. When I touched your hand. It had only been a glimpse, but —“
If only she could gaze upon the galaxy of stars painted above them right now.
“I saw myself in your future.”
If only she could see the way his own violet ones look back at her.
“And... I was happy.”
Beneath the same moon, they share this moment.