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Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Shrouded in Ice and Shadow
Year 645 of the Begnion Calendar; early spring
Present Day, Nevassa

Warmth. The temperature was always the first thing that registered when he became aware of the world. For so many years, Soren had woken to the cold chill of the Northern Daein climate, so now, whenever he awoke to a warm bed, he came to his senses quickly. Opening his eyes, the darkness of pre-dawn greeted him. The sky outside was beginning to lighten in anticipation of the sun, but there was still plenty of time before dawn.

Soren relaxed.

The strong, muscled arm that was wrapped around his waist twitched and tightened, pulling him closer to the source of the warmth in his bed. Brushing his long, black hair out of his crimson eyes, Soren turned his head on the plush, silky pillow. He was met with the sight of a nest of short blue hair.

Soren exhaled, closing his eyes as he absorbed the quiet serenity of this private moment. He had always loved night time the best. The world was quiet, and the shadows afforded him a feeling of safety that he could never achieve when standing in the unfettered light of day, where prying eyes could be watching at any moment. Allowing himself this one luxury, Soren basked in the feeling of one arm across his stomach and a chest pressed against his side. He felt warm, not just of the body, but of the soul.

After languishing for a minute, Soren opened his eyes again. There was never enough time, but such was the nature of life.

Reaching over, Soren pushed gently at his companion’s shoulder with a slender, delicate hand. “Ike,” he whispered. “Ike, wake up.”

It always took several shakes to rouse Ike from his slumber, and the man was slow to regain consciousness. With a soft grunt, the arm around Soren tensed briefly, then relaxed, pulling him even closer as Ike shifted. Ike’s body always woke before his brain, and Soren felt the blankets move as each of his limbs flexed and stretched.

“What time is it?” Ike said as his clear, sapphire blue eyes blinked open.

“Before dawn. I suspect we have about a candle-mark before the sun begins to rise.”

Ike grunted softly. “That means I need to be going.”

Soren brushed his fingers gently through his companion’s coarse blue hair.

“I hate this part.”

Soren hummed in agreement.

With a displeased snort, Ike bridged the distance between them to press his mouth to Soren’s thin, pale lips. Soren inhaled deeply as they kissed, one hand coming up to cradle Ike’s firm jaw as the fingers of the other hand wove themselves into the hair at the back of Ike’s head. Ike’s deep, earthy scent filled Soren’s senses, tinted on the edges by the hint of dried sweat. Of all his senses, smell was one of Soren’s strongest, and he had always found that Ike’s scent both calmed him and lit up his brain like nothing else.

Opening his mouth, Soren allowed Ike’s tongue to tease him, enjoying the passion of his companion as Ike’s arms wrapped around his body and one strong, muscled leg slipped between his own slender ones.

When they separated for breath, a fierce determination filled Ike’s expression.

Soren pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes as they breathed each other’s air.

“I would stay if you asked.”

Soren shook his head. “You know you can’t.”

“I don’t care if-”

“I know. But there will be more than just talk. We’d be separated.”

“That’s not a certainty.”

“It’s highly likely, and I won’t take that chance.”

Ike sighed noisily, his hands balled up in the fabric of Soren’s soft tunic.

Soren waited for a few moments. He knew that more words would not improve the situation. “I’ll see you at the academy, later. It’s only a couple of candle-marks away,” Soren said, stroking Ike’s cheek with his thumb.

“I know,” Ike said quietly, relaxing his grip to rub his hands up and down Soren’s back.

The larger boy pressed another kiss to Soren’s lips, then drew back. He dressed quickly, and soon both of them were standing beside the secret trapdoor that led into a hidden passageway.

“It won’t be long,” Soren assured Ike.

Though Soren’s nineteen years was two older than Ike, his companion was already taller than him.

Ike pressed his lips to the skin of Soren’s bare forehead, right over the crimson red mark that sat like a calligraphic spider, perched right in the center, above his eyebrows. He gave Soren’s fingers a gentle squeeze before he turned to the dark tunnel, disappearing into the bowels of the castle.

Closing the trap door carefully behind him, Soren was careful to rearrange the furniture and carpets to cover up the secret opening. Leaning back against the cold stone wall, Soren let his eyes fall shut.

Soren had discovered this hidden passageway many years ago. It twisted and turned from the heart of the castle, leading to a less frequented hallway on the edge of the building. From there, it was a short sprint across to a window that opened above a thick clump of bushes in a small and neglected garden that was located next to the fortress walls. For many years, Soren had used this route to sneak out of the castle. Recently, Ike had taken to using it to sneak into the prince's quarters, where they were secretly able to spend the night together. It was never as often as he would have liked, but at least it was better than nothing.

Steeling himself for the day ahead, Soren got dressed.

When the sun rose shortly later, the servants found him sitting at his vanity, wearing an embroidered black robe. He had just finished tying his headband in place, and was currently contending with his braids.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” the contingent of servants bowed as they entered.

Soren continued weaving his hair.

One servant went to the window to tie back the curtains, another set about making the bed, while the others busied themselves setting out breakfast at the tea table in front of the fireplace.

“Your Highness, His Majesty the King requires your presence at a meeting of the Council of Lords this afternoon, scheduled at four candle-marks past midday.”

“Very well,” Soren said. “I have business at the Royal Military Academy this morning. I will be sure to return by then.”

The servant who had spoken bowed deeply. “Your Highness,” he said, and with their morning duties complete, the cadre of servants retreated.

-8-

Year 633 (twelve years ago)

Soren stood as patiently as he could, watching the adults talk in groups. The throne room had been decorated with fine silk draperies and mid afternoon sunlight streamed in through the tall windowpanes of Daein Keep. This was only the fourth state function that Soren had been allowed to attend, and so he was on his best behavior. It was imperative that he not embarrass his father in any way, and so he had stood obediently beside throne as his father gave a speech about service, strength, and dedication to the nobles and military crowed gathered in audience.

Once the formalities had finished, food had been set out in the corner on large trays, and a musical group had taken up residence by the front of the hall as everyone began to mingle.

Mindful of his manners, Soren had glued himself to the wall beside a large tapestry. Scratching absentmindedly at his robes, the prince observed as the adults socialized around him. With his keen hearing, he was trying to eavesdrop as much as he could without giving himself away. Although he ranked higher, socially, that everyone in attendance (except, of course, for his father), Soren had discovered that if he did not move much and stayed out of the way, most of the people ignored him, and he could learn many secrets this way.

Soren was listening in on a conversation regarding the state of the current grain harvests in the western provinces when someone sidled up beside him.

“Hi.”

Soren turned to face the person who had addressed him. It was a boy with a barely-tamed tousle of blue hair, bright blue eyes, wearing a formal tunic and trousers that looked brand new and yet had somehow already been wrinkled.

“What are you doing over here all by yourself? The other kids are over there,” he said, pointing to the other side of the room where several children, some older and some younger than Soren, were running around together; some were knocking into servants as they played, some sat at low tables eating hors d’oeuvres, and others were gathered together around what looked to be a game of cards.

Soren shrugged.

“You should come play with us,” the boy said.

“I can’t.”

The boy frowned. “Why not?”

“Because.”

The boy wrinkled his nose. “Don’t you like fun?”

Soren shook his head.

The boy’s frown deepened.

“Well, have you had anything to eat? The food is all over there, not here.”

“I’m not hungry,” Soren said, right as his stomach growled.

“Your body and your mouth say different things. Come get something to eat.”

“No. I’m staying here.”

The boy looked him from head to toe and back again. “Okay.”

Promptly, he marched across the room to one of the food-laden tables. Brazenly, the boy approached a servant and politely gained his attention, enlisting the man’s aid in selecting several small sandwiches to place on a plate, which the boy thanked him for, before marching directly back over.

“Here, have some food,” the boy said, offering Soren the plate.

Soren raised an eyebrow. “Do you know who I am?” he said.

“No. My name’s Ike. I’m four years old. What’s your name?”

The corner of Soren’s mouth twitched. “I’m Soren.”

“Soren. Soren… Soren.” Ike seemed to be testing out the sound of his name, and it made something strange twist and tumble in the prince’s stomach. He had not met many children his age, and most of the ones he had met had been introduced to him by his father - those children always seemed to smell like fear. “Well Soren, I think you’re hungry, so you should eat this.”

Reluctantly, the prince accepted the plate of sandwiches, and picked one to eat.

Ike smiled. “Good. That means we’re friends now.”

The boy did not seem to mind that Soren did not have much to say. To be fair, Soren had not been required to speak very much, and was unused to having a speaking role in his interactions with others. But Ike seemed content to stand beside the prince as he ate his sandwiches, sometimes talking, sometimes silent.

“Why are you wearing a headband?” the boy asked.

“I’m supposed to.”

“Why? Do you like it?”

Soren shrugged.

“Why are you wearing it if you don’t have to?”

“It’s the rules.”

“Oh. Who said so?”

“My father.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Time passed like that. It was… Different. Nobody had ever paid much attention to Soren unless they had reason to, like his instructors or the servants, or his father. By the end of the celebration, Soren realized they had spent the entire time standing beside one another.

“Ike!” a woman called, and both of their attention were drawn to a tall, stern looking man and an elegant woman who were approaching.

“There you are,” said the woman. She was dressed in fine robes, and her embroidered cloak was pinned with an emblem of the church. Soren noticed that her hair and eyes were as blue as Ike’s. It must be his mother, he decided.

She was accompanied by a man, and by the looks of him, Ike shared his nose and the cut of his cheekbones; it must be Ike’s father.

“Your Highness,” the man said, and when he straightened, Soren realized that he recognized this figure from the portrait of military leaders that hung in one of the castle’s galleries - General Gawain, of Daein’s infamous Great Riders. He was tall, broad in the shoulders, with a large and crooked nose and bushy eyebrows. The general wore a stern expression.

“General,” Soren greeted with a nod.

“Your Highness,” the woman also said in greeting, offering a bow. “Forgive Ike for intruding,” she said with an appeasing smile and gesturing for the boy to come to her side.

“It wasn’t a bother,” Soren replied.

“Our apologies, but it grows late, and we must be on our way,” Ike’s mother said.

Soren nodded. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is ours, Your Highness,” said General Gawain as the adults both offered a formal bow. With a nod from the prince, they turned to leave, and the general grasped Ike’s small hand to lead him away.

As they retreated, Ike turned to wave goodbye, a bright smile on his face.

-8-

Present Day

The clopping sounds of horses’ hooves on the cobblestone road halted filtered into Soren’s presence as he surfaced from his memories. The carriage rocked to a stop inside the courtyard of the academy, and Soren swiftly opened the door to step out into the brisk morning spring air.

As Royal Prince of Daein, Soren was never allowed to leave the palace without taking a carriage and a retinue of guards - a fact that annoyed Soren to no end. He tolerated the practice, but just barely. It was even more frustrating that his father insisted on it for even the short and frequent trips he made to the Daein Royal Military Academy. The school campus was only down the boulevard from the gates of Daein Keep, and had he been allowed to walk that distance, it would have only taken Soren a scant ten minutes to reach the academy.

Already, from the small entry courtyard, the air filled with the sounds of cadets and trainees running drills of all kinds on the grounds beyond. Soren glanced around, recalling the first time he ever set foot here at the academy.

-8-

Year 634 (eleven years ago)

Though the carriage ride from Daein Keep had only taken a couple of minutes, Soren’s heart had been racing the whole time. Though he was eight years old, this was the first time that he had been outside of the castle by himself. Or, rather, without his father as a chaperone. Technically, he had been accompanied by a full regiment of guards, so he was not actually by himself, but that did not stop the young prince from feeling acutely alone - more so than he usually did, anyways.

Self-consciously, Soren ran his fingers over the black fabric of his headband.

The carriage rocked on its axles as the footman jumped down from her place beside the driver, and woman hurried to the door to open it for him.

In the bright light of the morning sun, Soren schooled his facial features into a passive expression, and stepped down onto the cobblestone. He was in a courtyard that lay before a grand looking building. Several steps led up to a set of impressive double doors, in front of which stood a selection of adults. Soren recognized most of them as distinguished military men, wearing their best outfits and uniforms for this occasion. He had met several of them before at the few state functions that he had been allowed to attend.

The seemingly burliest of the figures stepped forward and offered a deep, formal bow. “Welcome, Your Highness, to the Daein Royal Military Academy. We are pleased to receive you as a distinguished guest and student here.” The man’s salt-and-pepper hair had been combed back, and an impressive mustache adorned his face.

“Thank you, General Tauroneo.”

General Tauroneo was, of course, one of the four Great Riders of Daein. Soren had learned all about them during his lessons, and upon first meeting, the man seemed to live up to expectations. He had a commanding presence, and conducted himself with an air of confident formality, but for some reason, Soren did not feel intimidated in his presence, like he had with other military leaders he had met in the past.

“Please, come inside; we can complete our formal introductions and then give you a tour of the facilities.”

Soren nodded, and gestured for them to lead the way. It was unusual for a student to enroll in the military academy at such a young age, but that was a fact that did not seem to faze his father, when he had declared last month that Soren was to begin his formal military education.

The adults led him through the entrance hall and to a grand, well appointed study inside the main building, where the introductions were finished. “You will be taking lessons from three of us here. I will be instructing you on the subjects of military history, logistics, and campaign strategy.” Then, he turned to a man he recognized as well. “This is General Gawain.”

“Your Highness,” the general greeted as he bowed to Soren; the prince nodded in return. Their eyes met briefly, and although they had only met once and were separated in age by several decades, they exchanged a look of recognition and understanding.

“He will be instructing you on the topics relating to battlefield command.” Tauroneo moved to the next figure, a soldier dressed in a gleaming set of burnished steel armour. Curiously, his helmet was still affixed to his head, even though they were indoors. “This is Commander Zelgius. He is an accomplished swordsman and field tactician; you will practice sparring and dueling under his tutelage, and learn the art of combat from him.”

Zelgius gave a formal military salute. “Your Highness!”

“Commander,” Soren replied with a nod.

General Gawain and Commander Zelgius had other duties to attend to, and so it fell to General Tauroneo to give the prince a tour of the academy. The academy, being one of the most powerful institutions in the kingdom, was housed on a large campus in the capital city. It boasted many buildings, including dormitories, an armoury, classrooms, lecture halls, an extensive library, a mess hall, gymnasium, and was even attached to a blacksmith and forge.

By the time they had finished touring the facilities, it was mid afternoon. General Tauroneo treated Soren with the utmost respect, and, in the moments when nobody was watching, would give the prince a warm and encouraging smile.

They had just finished walking through the library, and were standing next to the reception desk when a young page dashed up to the general. After sketching a hasty bow to both of them, whispered in the man’s ear.

With a nod, the general dismissed the page. “Forgive me, Your Highness, a matter has arisen that requires my attention. I will not be long; please wait here for my return.”

Soren nodded. “Very well.”

With a bow, Tauroneo excused himself.

He had been gone for less than a minute before Soren heard a small “Psst!”

Turning to find the source of the noise, Soren’s gaze scoured the room. A column of study desks and tables occupied the central aisle of the room, and row upon row of shelves extended out to either side of the tables, housing all manner of books, scrolls, and texts.

“Psst!”

The sound came again. Peering out from between the books, a figure beckoned.

Frowning Soren looked around to see if anybody had noticed. The receptionist had retreated to an office with some papers, and there were several older students or scholars further into the library, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around.

Soren approached the shelves, and when he peered past the row of shelves, he found a strikingly familiar boy smiling back at him.

”Prince Soren, I was hoping to find you today! My father said you would be coming to the academy to study stuff here. Do you remember me?”

Soren blinked. Remember? The boy with the blue hair and the blue eyes? The idea that he would have forgotten was laughable. “Yes, Ike.”

The boy beamed. “That’s right. Because we’re friends.”

Friends. Soren had heard of the concept, of course, but didn’t really understand what that was supposed to mean.

“Aren’t you too young to be a student here?” Soren said.

“I’m not a student here! I just followed my father. He works here, and lets me come watch him train the recruits and cadets sometimes. He says it’s because it’s important for me to know my way around a sword. I’ve already started some lessons, but I’m not old enough to study here yet. But I will when I’m older; my father promised.”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to do that? Or is that just what your father wants?”

“I want it! Studying the sword is fun, and I want to grow up to be big and strong and protect people, just like my father. He says that not everyone has the strength to protect themselves and so they need others to protect them from bad people. That’s what he does, and I want to do that too. I want to protect people from the bad ones.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to come watch the cadets?”

Soren shrugged.

“Come this way,” Ike said, taking Soren’s hand and leading him out of the building.

Stepping onto the compacted dirt of the parade grounds, the intense sounds of drills and military exercises filled the air. In addition to the several classes of trainees, a handful of students were also milling about the parade grounds. As Ike led them away, one of the boys called out.

“Hey! You!”

Soren turned to find four boys and two girls approaching them. They were all much older - perhaps fourteen or fifteen, and all of them were wearing trainee uniforms.

“Well look what we have here, if it isn’t the prince!”

“We heard that you were going to be enrolled as a student here,” sneered another boy as he looked down at them.

“Hard to believe that someone as scrawny as you could receive an acceptance,” said one of the girls.

“Hey!” Ike said in protest, and the boy tried to move in front of Soren, but the prince immediately took the younger boy by the arm and pushed back. Soren knew that it wouldn’t do much, since he was not much bigger than Ike, but Ike was younger than him, and he held the higher rank - he was the Royal Prince, after all - and Soren hoped that it would be enough.

“Yeah! I bet you can’t even lift a practice sword,” the other girl said.

“Must be nice to get special treatment,” said one boy.

The first boy who spoke was the tallest and meanest looking, and appeared to be missing a tooth. “Some of us worked real hard to get accepted as a student here. In Daein, we value strength above all else. Not like those weak and pathetic whelps in Begnion or Crimea.”

“Look at how small you are! Are you sure you’re even eight years old? You’re shorter than General Gawain’s little rascal over there!” said a boy, and all six of them erupted into laughter.

Soren could feel the rage boiling in Ike’s body, and just as he was opening his mouth to retaliate, Soren squeezed his arm tightly. “Ouch! Hey!” Ike said in protest.

“You don’t belong here!” the leader said, and spit onto the dirt at their feet. “Why don’t you go back to your cushy palace and leave the important things to the people who are actually strong.”

Soren drew himself to his full height. He was still more than a whole head shorter than these bullies, but that did not matter. In Daein, nothing mattered more than a person’s strength. Out of everyone in the kingdom, nobody knew this fact better than Soren, for he had learned this lesson directly from his father.

The boys and girls began to advance on them. Sensing escalation, Soren pushed Ike away. “Go,” he hissed behind him.

“But-”

“That’s an order! Get out of here,” Soren said, squaring his shoulders to face the bullies.

Thankfully, he heard running footsteps retreating behind him as the leader crowded up into Soren’s personal space.

“You probably didn’t even need to try; the king would have simply waved his hands and got you enrolled,” said the first girl. Another boy shoved Soren’s shoulders, trying to push him to the ground, but Soren held firm.

“I bet you didn’t even need to pass any exams to get enrolled.”

“Go back to the palace before you embarrass yourself.”

Another shove.

Soren’s eyes burned. “If you think I’m so weak, then why don’t you fight me!”

All of the boys and girls laughed. “We would, if we wouldn’t get in trouble for beating up the precious prince!”

Suddenly, a loud and booming voice echoed across the parade grounds. “What is the meaning of this?!?”

Everyone turned to find General Tauroneo marching out across the dirt. The man’s eyebrows were pulled together, and he was frowning with a dark look upon his face. Following closely behind, almost hidden in the imposing general’s shadow, was Ike.

“General Tauroneo!” The trainees immediately formed a line and snapped into a salute. All other activity on the parade grounds had stopped, and a crowed was now forming around them. Soren felt conscious under the weight of many eyes upon him.

“What is going on here?” demanded Tauroneo.

“I was just about to challenge these trainees to a duel,” Soren said lightly.

The general pulled up short, blinking with astonishment. “Your Highness, I bed your pardon?”

Soren shrugged. “These trainees believe that I am too weak to be allowed to train as a student here. I was about to prove them wrong.” He turned to face his assailants. “As Royal Prince, I hereby challenge you to an Honour Duel. Appoint the strongest amongst you to face me. If you win, then you will have proven that I am weak, and I shall withdraw as a student from this academy. However, if I win, that proves that all six of you are the ones who are weak, and you shall be stripped of all rank and expelled from the academy.”

Audible gasps were heard from all around them.

“Your Highness, this is not necessary; the academy will not tolerate the insubordination that-”

Soren held up his hand, and the general fell silent. “Bring me an Elwind tome; if you have none, I will accept a Blizzard or Elthunder tome.”

His statement was met with silence.

“I wish to settle this matter immediately,” Soren said, turning to look at General Tauroneo.

For a moment, their eyes locked. Soren held his head high, raising his chin as he looked up into the general’s face. The man’s frown had disappeared, and instead Tauroneo had pursed his lips and had drawn his brows together, causing his forehead to be wrinkled and his eyebrows to be pulled down.

“Do I need to issue an order, general?.”

Tauroneo looked away. “No, Your Highness, we will comply,” he said with a bow.

Within minutes, a Blizzard tome had been delivered into Soren’s small, slender hands, and the leader of the bullies had been hastily dressed in a set of soldier’s armour and a sword. By the time Soren faced his opponent in a circular clearing, the crowd had grown to engulf almost the entire parade grounds, and it seemed that all activity at the school had halted to witness this moment.

The air almost sparked from the audience’s anxiety, and everyone seemed to hold their breath. Among those with a front-line position were his appointed instructors, the headmaster of the academy, and other important looking adults.

General Gawain counted down to the start of the duel with a loud, official sounding voice. Soren looked at the distinguished swordsman, a stern frown upon his face, with his small, six year old son standing beside him. Ike’s eyes burned as he looked back at Soren, an expression of displeasure and determination on his face. Beside them, Commander Zelgius stood, his expression shielded behind his helmet.

“Begin!”

Soren’s attention snapped back to his opponent.

Although Soren had never participated in a duel before, he had witnessed several, when important nobles of his father’s court had quarreled over one issue or another. He had learned the basics of dueling during his etiquette lessons, and while they were rare, he knew that honour duels were taken very seriously.

Soren found it ironic that sparring and dueling were among the topics he was intended to learn from his lessons here, and yet he was forced to do this before he had been given the chance to officially study these skills.

A cold, calculative calm settled over the prince. He reached for the magic within him, and it came roaring to the surface the moment he called.

This was what he was made for.

Soren had been casting magic since before he could remember.

He had only been three years old when his father had gathered the most venerated sages and accomplished magicians to teach him how to wield his mage powers. Nearly every day for the last five years, he had studied and practiced magic, driven to exhaustion by his unrelenting instructors until casting magic was but second nature to him.

Soren felt the familiar surge of power moving through his body, and used the Blizzard tome like a lens to focus the energies that swirled through him. Chanting an incantation he had memorized before he could even speak in full sentences, Soren shaped the magic, bending it to his will with terrifying precision.

Holding the tome in his left hand, Soren thrust his right arm out from his body, sending a blast of wind out that cut across the clearing. It moved faster than his opponent could take two steps, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. The boy might have been twice his age and more than double his size, but the force of the gust instantly knocked him onto his backside.

Without giving the boy even a moment to recover, Soren struck forward with another spell. He continued chanting as he swung his right hand down, calling the wind to slice through the air; it whipped up the prince’s braided hair and the pages of the tome as it slammed into the teen-aged boy, sending him tumbling backwards and causing members of the crowd scramble back to get out of the way.

Advancing forward on steady feet, Soren called forth even more of his magic, almost shouting the words of the spell as he swung his right arm back up, towards to the sky.

With a howl, the wind surged across the ground as it heeded the prince’s call, surging towards the boy as though he were the centre of a vacuum, and suddenly a tornado of wind erupted in a swirling vortex from beneath him, vaulting the boy into the air above their heads. Seconds later, he came crashing back down to the ground with a sickening crunch; there was no doubt in anybody’s mind that at least one bone had been broken.

Soren approached his opponent, looking down at the boy on the floor. His limbs were tangled, some sticking up at unnatural angles as tears welled up in his eyes. The prince remained expressionless, and the boy whimpered quietly as Soren lifted a sandal-clad foot. He placed it upon the boy’s clearly dislocated shoulder and pressed down with all of his small body’s weight.

The boy cried out in anguish, his shout the only sound that echoed in the relative silence.

“It looks like you are the one who is weak,” Soren said. The prince raised his voice to address the crowd. “As the agreed upon conditions of this honour duel, you and your companions are hereby stripped of any rank and expelled from this academy.” Bitterness filled the prince’s mouth. “My father has no use for the weak.”

And with that, Soren turned around and marched away without a second look.

-8-

Present Day

The sky was partly cloudy when Soren arrived at the courtyard, and the shadows cast by the clouds cast pockets of shadow across the area. Buildings surrounded the area on all sides, and the center of the space was occupied by a clearing lined with stone tiles that had been worn smooth by many years of shoes. Manicured young trees and shrubs were located in each corner, and against the walls of the perimeter buildings were freshly tilled flowerbeds, recently made ready to receive the seeds and bulbs for the coming season.

When Soren first started combat training sessions, Commander Zelgius conducted them on the main parade grounds, which were large enough to accommodate a large number of groups simultaneously. But once Soren’s skills had advanced passed basic dueling, they had relocated to more private locations such as this one.

Three figures were already standing in the courtyard, all instantly recognizable.

Ike was wearing a set of padded training armour, the bangs of his wirey blue hair tied back with a strip of coarse linen fabric. He was passing a training sword back and forth between his hands as he listened to his father.

General Gawain was facing his son, a stern expression on his face. Even from this distance, the man’s large, beak-like nose was prominent feature. His tawny brown hair moved as a small breeze blew through the courtyard, showing the creased lines that constituted a furrowed forehead. The general was standing with his feet separated by his shoulder’s width, his large, powerful swordsman’s arms crossed over his broad chest.

Commander Zelgius was the final man present. Most of the academy’s soldiers only wore their battle armour when performing an activity that required the protection, like the general, who was currently dressed in a wool tunic dyed a dark mustard yellow paired with plain brown trousers. Zelgius, however, was known for wearing his battle armour at all times, no matter the occasion. The tempered steel had once been painted a bright crimson red, but over the years, the paint had faded and chipped, and the dull sheen of the base metal was showing through. As always, he was wearing his helmet, a large piece that completely obstructed his face.

Zelgius was the first to notice Soren’s approach, and immediately straightened to give a the royal prince a bow. “Your Highness.”

Soren acknowledged Zelgius with a nod as Gawain and Ike turned to bow as well. “General; Commander; Ike,” he said in greeting to each one.

Ike’s left eye and the right corner of his mouth twitched as Soren came to join the group. The prince knew that Ike was itching for physical contact with him, but when in mixed company, he had to restrain himself, for even the slightest of familiar touches would have severely broken etiquette.

“Your Highness, today, we shall practice a technique for bypassing a sword parry,” said the general. “I would like Ike to practice this maneuver, and it will present you with an equally good opportunity to learn how to deal with it.”

“Very well.”

“Zelgius, would you demonstrate?”

“Yes, general.”

Zelgius retrieved his practice sword.

For the next several minutes, Zelgius slowly walked through the parry as the general described it in detail, explaining the minutia of each movement, the types of attacks it was designed to block, the distribution of body weight, and the openings that were created.

Soren watched with an analytical eye, assessing the technique and committing it to memory as the general next asked Ike to practice the movement, following closely and making adjustments to his son’s stance and execution. At the same time, Zelgius instructed Soren on how to assess the stance, what to look for in his opponent, and outlined several ways to counter this technique.

Once complete, the general called for them to begin the combat practice.

Soren turned to one end of the courtyard, with the commander following close behind. Throughout his training, Soren had completed many practice sessions both paired with, and fighting against, all three of the other men here, and he had grown accustomed to it.

Fighting closely alongside an ally was akin to a dance, and although both Zelgius and Ike had studied under and learned their style from General Gawain, Soren had become familiar enough with them to notice the subtle nuances to each of their styles.

“How shall we proceed?” Soren asked as they separated from Ike, who was going to be facing them in a two-on-one.

“Let’s start with you running interference from the back line, while I strike forward. It will give Ike a chance to practice his parry while being distracted by your magic. Once Ike has improved, we can switch to a double pronged approach to apply more pressure and to give you a chance to practice countering his maneuver. Do you find this acceptable, Your Highness?”

“Yes. Perfectly.”

The better part of the next two candle marks were spent in intense sparring, and by the end of it, Soren and Ike were both breathing heavy and sweating.

“Very well done, Your Highness,” said the general as he called an end to the session. “Your technique is excellent, as always.”

“Thank you, General Gawain.”

“Lunch will be served shortly, so I’ll let you get cleaned up. Ike, I’ll see you at home this evening.”

“Alright, father.”

“Your Highness.” The general bowed and exited the courtyard.

“I’ll take my leave as well, Your Highness.”

“Hold, Zelgius.”

The commander straightened.

Soren stepped close and lowered his voice. “I don’t know if rumours have been spreading, but my father has called a meeting of the Council of Lords this afternoon. He has called the Great Riders to attend, and based on the battalion movements, I suspect my father will be making a military announcement to the council today. However, I do not know whether any other senior military officers have been invited. Will you be in attendance as well?.”

Zelgius shook his head. “No, Your Highness, I have not received an invitation, nor have I caught wind of this meeting until now.”

“I see.”

“I know you’ve been expecting something of this nature for some time.”

Soren nodded. For the past three weeks, soldiers from all over the kingdom had been arriving in the fields surrounding Nevassa, and the rows upon rows of tents outside the city had been steadily growing. “I don’t yet know exactly what my father plans to do with all these troops.”

“We will know very shortly.”

Soren hummed in agreement. “It would seem so.”

“I will keep my ear to the ground here at the academy.”

Soren reached out to place his hand on the center of Zelgius’s breastplate. “Alert me if you hear anything that requires my attention.”

Zelgius gently placed his hand over the prince’s, almost cradling it to his chest. “Of course, my liege.”

At that moment, the loud and wet sound of a grumbling stomach interrupted them, and both men turned to look at Ike.

“Sorry,” Ike said, rubbing the back of his head. “Sparring always works up an appetite.”

Soren sighed, a small smile touching the corner of his lips. “I’ll speak with you soon, Zelgius,” he said, giving the commander's hand a small squeeze and touching his shoulder briefly before turning to press a soft kiss to Ike’s cheek. “Alright Ike, let’s go, before you stomach complains further.”

Ike didn’t need to be told twice, and hurried after his prince.

-8-

Year 638 (seven years ago)

Soren ran down the hall, his shoes slapping noisily against the stone floor, and the sound echoed loudly off of the bare walls. Sunlight streamed through the evenly spaced windows along the wall to his left, as he passed counted the doors he passed by on the right: one, then two. The top level of the military academy’s barracks was reserved for the highest ranking officers, and as such, this floor held only four apartment suites.

Arriving at the third door, Soren pounded his fist against the coarse wood.

“Commander Zelgius!” One of his braids had become loose, and Soren tried to sweep away the strands of hair sticking to his face as he continued to hammer his fist against the door.

“I would prefer not to be disturbed,” said Zelgius’s muffled voice from behind the door.

“Commander, you speak to the royal prince! Open this door at once!”

There was a pause. Then Soren heard the lock click, and the door opened enough for a sliver of Zelgius’s helmet to appear through the crack. Soren straightened his black tunic as he caught his breath. “I wish to speak with you, Commander Zelgius. In private. Immediately.”

With a sigh of resignation, the commander stepped behind the door as it swung open, so as not to be seen from the hallway.

Head held high, Soren marched into the room and turned to face his mentor as Zelgius closed the door, flicking the lock back into place.

“Your Highness,” said the commander as he offered Soren a bow.

Soren’s heart was still beating frantically in his chest. He had run all the way across the academy’s campus, up almost seven flights of stairs, and all the way down the hall. He turned at the sound of the man’s greeting to lay eyes on Zelgius. The commander was notorious for his wearing his armour at all times, and in the four years that he had known the man, Soren had never caught even a glimpse of him outside of it.

Although he still wore his helmet, the man was dressed in simple clothes, and clearly the prince had caught him unaware. The linen shirt and thick canvas trousers he wore were a far cry from the formal protection he was known for wearing.

“What do I owe the pleasure, Your Highness?” Zelgius said softly.

Soren tore his eyes away from the man for the first time since entering the room. Though he knew military quarters were often sparsely furnished, the room seemed more barren and skeletal than usual, and a stack of trunks and travel cases was piled by the door.

“So it’s true,” Soren said, returning his gaze to Zelgius’s helmet.

The commander straightened his shoulders, coming to his full, towering height. “Who told you?”

A flash of anger crossed the prince’s features. “Tauroneo said he would be taking over as my instructor for combat training. He refused to say why until I ordered him to do so.”

“I see.”

“He did not know where you were going, only that you had submitted your resignation. Explain yourself!”

Zelgius looked away.

“I don’t like to repeat myself, commander. You know that,” said Soren, his quiet voice barely able to contain his rage.

“As of this morning, I no longer hold that title here.”

Soren stalked forwards. “Tell me!”

Zelgius sighed. “I’ve been offered a position in Begnion. One of their noblemen is interested in commissioning me as the head commander of his personal forces.”

“How much is the salary?”

“What?”

“How much has he offered you? We can match it. No, whatever he has agreed to pay you, we’ll pay more.”

The commander hesitated. “It’s not about the money, Your Highness.”

“Is it the title then? That can be fixed. If you want peerage, I’ll personally pen the writ myself; the Letters Patent can be sealed by the end of the day. I’ll provide you an estate and a fief to match!”

Zelgius sighed and his shoulders drooped, and Soren watched as he swallowed a lump in his throat. Then, he gave a slight shake of his head.

“It’s the position, then? This noble, he’s offered to make you a general in the Begnion forces? That can be arranged. You’ve served my father loyally for many years, and your power is unparalleled among your rank. There would be no trouble arranging your promotion to general.”

“My apologies, Your Highness. You make very generous offers, but I’m afraid that’s not the reason for my resignation.”

“Then what is it? Why are you going?!”

Zelgius paused, and Soren measured the silence in heartbeats. “It’s for… personal reasons.”

Soren studied the man’s helmet as his anger roiled like a pot of water boiling over. “If you are to cast away your rank and your country as though they mean nothing to you, I want to look into your eyes as you say it!”

A moment of silence passed between them, and Soren’s heart threatened to leap out of his chest. Slowly, Zelgius reached up with his hand, placing them on the sides of his battle-worn helmet.

The prince held his breath. Was the commander really going to do it? Was he really about to reveal his face?

Zelgius paused for a moment more, before lifting it from his head, and Soren felt his heart skip a beat as he laid eyes on Commander Zelgius’s face for the first time.

Zelgius had raven coloured hair that was short at the back and sides, but was long on top and in front, standing up like spikes. A pair of fine, thin eyebrows framed his clear, crystal green eyes, between which was a slender, pointed nose. His skin was pale and soft, and his face tapered to a fine pointed chin. Even with a solemn expression, Soren could not deny that the commander was very handsome, and had retained much of the beauty of youth.

Commander Zelgius was an extremely well respected figure in the Daein military. His swordsmanship was renowned far and wide, second only to his mentor, and he was an accomplished and well decorated soldier. Despite the fact that he was reclusive, he was very popular with the soldiers.

Soren thought that if only people knew how handsome the man was, his popularity would far exceed its already impressive state.

“Please accept my apologies, Your Highness, but I regret that I must leave your service. My time in Daein has, unfortunately, come to its end.”

Zelgius was a man who seldom spoke, and the prince would have struggled to think of a situation in which Zelgius had been anything other than calm and collected. The picture of duty, Soren felt that the commander had always been kind to him, in his own way. Even now, faced with the wrath of his prince, Zelgius remained calm, his words delivered with a soft kind of resignation. Once he finished speaking, as though ashamed, the commander cast his eyes to the floor.

Soren felt as though the wind had been knocked from his sails. His voice was small when he next spoke. “Did you… not enjoy your time here? Was I… a bad student?”

Zelgius’s head snapped to look straight at the prince. “No! Not at all, Your Highness! My intended employer actually reached out to me several years ago. But I had just been appointed to serve as your instructor, and I decided to delay my departure. I continued to delay for as long as I could, but I’m afraid I can’t any more.”

“What about your training? I thought you enjoyed studying the blade with General Gawain,” Soren hedged.

“I do. It has been the greatest joy of my life.”

“And you would forsake that for this… new employment opportunity?”

Zelgius looked away. “It hasn’t been an easy decision, Your Highness, I can assure you. But… I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome here.”

Soren said nothing for a moment, looking deeply into Zelgius’s eyes. For a long time now, Soren had suspected. At first, he had been too young to understand the feeling deep in his soul that stirred whenever he was in the commander’s presence. But now that Soren beheld the man’s face, he knew he must be right.

“The reason for your departure... Is that why you never take off your armour? Is that why this is the first time I’ve seen your face?”

The commander’s gaze fell to the floor like lead bricks.

“Is it because you fear that others will notice your youthful complexion, and wonder why you look like you haven’t aged a day since you joined this army, over twenty years ago?”

Zelgius’s shoulders tensed.

Soren stepped forward, approaching until they were in front of each other, and looked up at the tall man.

“Yes.”

“You fear judgement. You fear what people might think if they begin to wonder. You fear that you will be ostracized, or worse, persecuted, should the world somehow uncover the truth behind your longevity: the mixed blood that flows through your veins.”

Zelgius gasped in surprise, and the floor shook as he fell to his knees. His eyes were wide as his stared incredulously at his prince. “How… How did you know?” he said, his voice hoarse.

Soren lifted his hands to reach behind his head, and untied the knot holding his headband in place. Slowly, he lowered the silk fabric to reveal the elegant red lines of the mark that sat upon his forehead.

“I know, because I am like you. The mark upon my brow bears the truth: I, too, am one of the Branded.”

The man’s shoulders began to shake. “Dear Goddess… but how… ?”

“My mother’s laguz blood flows through my veins. ”

“This… cannot be… the queen… she is… a laguz?” Zelgius whispered.

Soren nodded.

“I… did not know that the Brand could manifest in the first generation… Both of my parents were regular beorc… I only discovered that someone on my father’s side, a distant ancestor, had carried laguz blood to my veins when I found my Brand… I can’t imagine… But, you have not been denounced and outcast from your family?”

Soren shook his head. “This is my father’s most shameful secret. It is the reason I must cover my forehead at all times, and the reason my mother has been locked away, confined to the West Tower since the day I was born. She’s not bedridden with illness, like my father would like you to believe. She was once a powerful laguz, a dragon with powers beyond imagination. But now, she is nothing more than collateral, a hostage to be used and harmed should I step out of line or disobey him.”

Soren brushed his hair away from his face.

“As you know, my father values strength above all else. That’s what drew him to my mother. When she became pregnant, he imagined a child with her raw, unfiltered power, contained in a vessel that he could mold in his own image, that he could control with absolute certainty. I am nothing more than a tool, a pawn.”

A look of abject horror fell upon the commander’s face.

“Unfortunately for him, I did not inherit my mother’s ability to transform into a dragon. I was almost discarded, cast away without remorse; had my mother not intervened and convinced my father that I would be strong in other ways - that her blood would grant me other gifts, I would not have been allowed to be raised as his heir. Thankfully for me, she was right.”

Soren lifted one hand, and conjured an eddy of wind in his palm.

“When I was barely able to walk, I was tested. The court sages declared that I was a magical prodigy - the raw talent I possessed was unlike anything anyone had ever seen before, and the promise of my magical power was enough to save me from the dire fate of abandonment. But, it did not save me from the clutches of my father's brutality.”

Soren’s gaze pierced into Zelgius’s very soul.

“You have trained me these past four years. You have spoken to the sages who taught me the arcane arts. You know that I was raised to be nothing but a means to an end, merely a weapon to be used in my father’s ambitions for power and domination.”

Soren watched Zelgius’s throat bob as he swallowed.

“Is this fate worse than the one I would have endured if I had been abandoned as a babe?" Soren shrugged. "I do not know. All I know is that I am here, now.”

The prince closed his fingers into a fist, extinguishing the small ball of swirling air. His eyes shifted from his hand to Zelgius’s face.

“There is nothing I can do to change what has been done. All I can do is move forward. You are the first of our kind that I’ve ever met. At first, I did not understand the strange feeling I got when we trained together. It took a long time, but eventually, I suspected it might be this.”

Zelgius looked up into Soren’s red eyes from where he was kneeling before the boy. “You are also the first Branded that I have ever met - at least, to my knowledge.”

“I know you are afraid to be discovered; I know that there many in this kingdom who see the laguz as nothing more than feral beasts, and that you are risking your life by remaining here. But now, knowing what I am... would you reconsider your resignation?”

“I…” The commander looked conflicted.

“I will not betray your secret, Zelgius. You have my word. Should you choose to stay, I want you to understand that you will have my full and unyielding confidence.” Soren placed a hand on the man’s shoulder; it looked tiny in comparison to the mountain of muscle. “Should you remain, I will protect you with everything in my power, and I will not let harm befall you. You need not hide from me, and you will no longer be alone. I…” Soren took a shaking breath. “I have come to enjoy our time together, and… should you choose to leave, I will greatly miss your company.”

A soft look touched Zelgius’s eyes. “Your Highness…”

A pause, filled with indecision.

“I knew that you were raised in solitude, without the companionship of others, but… I never could have imagined that you might be as lonely as I. Certainly, I would have never considered that it would be possible for an outcast such as myself to ever be able to form a friendship with the royal prince. And yet…”

A complex range of emotions crossed Zelgius’s face.

Soren tried to wait patiently as Zelgius’s internal struggle played out.

“I have lived in the shadow of fear and loneliness for so long, and now that you are offering me the one thing I have desired above all else, I find myself afraid to accept…”

The man’s bright green eyes met Soren’s crimson gaze.

“And you are still so young... in many ways, Your Highness is still just a child… If I were to leave you now, knowing everything you have been through, and knowing that we are like kin… would that not make me the same as my parents, who cast me me aside once my heritage became known to them?”

Zelgius straightened his shoulders and his face hardened with determination. “No. I will not turn my back on you. If you say that you have need of my skills and my companionship, then I will not abandon you.”

Zelgius placed his right hand over his heart and looked Soren squarely in the eyes.

“My name is Zelgius,” he announced, “and from this moment forward, I pledge my life to your service. I swear to you, Prince Soren of Daein, my future king, on my name and my blood!”

Relief flooded through the prince. “I accept your pledge, Zelgius. In return, I, Soren, Royal Prince of Daein, solemnly swear to do right by you; I will cherish your loyalty, service, and friendship. With you by my side, I know that we will achieve great things. Together. This is my vow.”

Zelgius looked up, a bright smile on his handsome face. “Yes. Together.”

-8-

Present day

Soren arrived at the council chambers in the middle of the pack. He deliberately calculated his timing so that he would not be among the first to arrive, nor among the last.

Located near the heart of Daein Keep, the chambers were lit by torches that lined the walls and an austere looking steel chandelier filled with flickering candles that hung above the large imposing table that stood in the center of the room. The walls themselves were decorated with tapestries and pennants, displaying the crests of the royal family and the largest and most important noble lineages.

His father was seated across from the entry in an ornately carved throne - nothing as elaborate as the one used for official ceremonial occasions, but it was nonetheless better than the other chairs that circled the table, befitting the highest ranking person in the room. The king wore a glowering expression on his face as his eyes scrutinized each person who walked into the room.

Soren walked around the table to his place beside his father. Several of the nobles were carrying discussions in hushed tones, their heads bowed together.

Soren placed his folder and writing case on the table and drew his chair away from the table, trying to be silent as he slipped into his seat. Quickly, the remaining attendees filed into the room, all of the nobles taking their customary places at the table. The only ones who were left to stand by the door were the military leaders: all four of the Great Riders of Daein - Generals Gawain, Tauroneo, Bryce, and Petrine - and the leader of the palace dracoknights, General Shiharam.

Once the last attendee had entered, the guards closed the doors to the chamber, granting them privacy.

King Ashnard raised his hand, and silence descended upon the room like a flock of ravens coming to roost.

Lord Izuka, sitting on his father’s other side, cleared his throat. “I hereby call this meeting of the Council of Lords to order. Your Majesty, the floor is yours,” he said with a flourish and slight bow.

“Council of Lords! For many generations, we have borne the torch of justice against the sub-humans that taint this world. In the Begnion Year 410, our forefathers had the courage to stand against the sub-humans, and embarked on a crusade to wipe them from existence. At the time, we had not the strength to complete the task alone, and our brethren in Begnion and Crimea refused to answer our call.

“We have bided our time for centuries, but we have become a strong nation, capable now of doing what we once failed to do!”

A rally of cheers erupted around the table; Soren’s keen eyes darted around the room, noting those who seemed genuine in their enthusiasm, and those who did not appear so.

“The Kingdom of Crimea was founded on the principle of making peace with the sub-humans; this has been exemplified more any other time during the current reign of King Ramon. I will not tolerate these soft-bellied humans, who would side with the sub-human scum!

“We will march on Crimea! She has been an obstacle to the elimination of the sub-humans for too long! Our attack will be swift and ruthless, and once Crimea crumbles, we will have free reign to wipe out the sub-humans, beginning with the beasts of Gallia!”

Ashnard gestured towards the standing men. “We will strike tomorrow! Generals Gawain, Bryce, and Petrine will accompany me on this campaign. Prince Soren will govern the kingdom in my absence, guided by the advice of Lord Izuka and the rest of the council. General Tauroneo will remain to defend Daein homeland during my absence.”

The king paused to look around the room. “Let us bring about a new age for humanity! For glory! For Daein!

Another round of cheers erupted from the nobles gathered. “For glory! For Daein!”

After the meeting was adjourned, most of the council was dismissed, but the military leaders and senior advisors stayed behind for a strategy briefing, which Soren was also permitted to attend.

Soren left the council chambers several candle marks later, feeling exhaustion pooling behind his eyes. Lord Izuka had requested that they have a discussion over dinner, but Soren had declined. Out of all of the men that his father chosen to train him in the arcane arts, Izuka had been the cruelest without contest. Soren thought the man was utterly vile and hated every moment spent in the man’s company. However, as one of his father’s most trusted aides, Soren was unfortunately forced to work with him.

Needless to say, if he was expected to govern under Izuka’s guidance, the prince was not looking forward to it.

Soren retired to his chambers early and took his dinner alone in his suite. His thoughts tumbling through his head as he picked at his food. Once the servants had cleared the dishes and bid him goodnight, he bathed quickly and changed into his night clothes. He stoked a fire in the hearth in his bed chambers to ward off the cooler nighttime temperature, and curled up in a cushioned armchair by the fire to wait.

He did not have to wait long.

One candle mark after twilight, Ike slipped into the room, and Soren immediately stepped into his embrace.

Ike’s strong, muscular arms held him tight, his nose buried into the long locks of Soren’s hair.

“I heard about the meeting from my father at dinner.”

“Your mother must be displeased.”

“She is. So is father.”

Soren absorbed this news in silence.

“She doesn’t think this is right.”

Soren pressed his face into Ike’s chest, listening to his steady breathing and slow heartbeat. “Do you agree with her?”

“Of course!” Ike said, the passion in his voice tempered by the need to keep his presence a secret from the guards that stood watch outside the prince’s chambers. “The laguz should not be treated as lesser than us beorc. Crimea has long made strides to close the distance between our races. The king means to commit a genocide!”

“Hm…” Soren said. “You do sound like your mother.”

“Can I help that I am her son? I take that as a compliment.” Ike rubbed his large, calloused hands over Soren’s back. “And what about you? What do you think of this whole situation?”

Soren shrugged. “My father is the king. His word is law. What he wishes, if it is in our power to fulfill, we must.”

Ike frowned. “So you think his actions are just?”

Soren sighed. “I did not say that.”

“Then what do you think?”

“Crimea has not provoked this assault, so Daein is not acting in self defense. Daein is the aggressor in this situation, but international convention dictates that in order to make a formal declaration of war against Crimea, Daein would be required to obtain permission to do so from Begnion, as she is the suzerain state to both Crimea and Daein.”

Soren closed his eyes.

“On one hand, by choosing to use a blitz attack, my father has given Daein the best chances for a swift victory that minimizes military loses. On the other hand, this strategy blatantly ignores the international rules of conduct, which gives Begnion and the other nations a legitimate reason to retaliate with economic sanctions or military action.”

“The king must be mad to do something like this.”

“It is a risk, certainly, but not without merits. Once my father moves against Gallia, the other laguz nations are certain to come to Gallia’s aid. When that happens, it is hard to imagine that Begnion will join with the laguz nations against Daein, since many of their elite share my father’s anti-laguz sentiments.”

“So you’re saying that the king is hoping that he can defeat Crimea fast enough that he can begin his war with Gallia, which would force Begnion to ally with Daein before it can reprimand Daein and so avoid the consequences of acting dishonourably?”

“Yes. It is a gamble with a high payoff if he can succeed.”

Ike exhaled heavily, his breath making Soren’s long hair stir. “All this doesn’t tell me if you think it is right for the king to do this.”

Soren pressed closer into the warmth of Ike’s body.

“Your father has spent his entire reign sowing hatred and division. He persecutes the laguz and seeks to eradicate them from not just Daein, but the whole of Tellius. He rules with an iron fist by promoting strength over all else, and he oppresses the people with brutal force. That is your father’s legacy. You have been appointed to govern while the king is away. What will you do? Do you wish yours to be the same?”

“No. I do not.” Soren pulled back to look Ike in the eye. “I hate my father and everything he stands for,” he spat. “My father sculpted me to be the perfect weapon, a worthy heir to his empire of monstrosity, but I refuse to be his puppet. I will tear down everything he has built with my bare hands, if only out of spite. I will be the rot that destroys the fruit from the inside out.”

Ike grinned like a shark showing his teeth, and then he was devouring Soren in a hungry kiss.