"But fate played a cruel joke on me. One day, oil and rust came to our village. It burned every last trace of life, spared not a soul from its indiscriminate annihilation. Surasha and I were the only survivors. It was when I looked upon the charred remains of my former family did I notice a faint glow behind my back. I had been chosen far too late.”

  —King Ascalon, Ruler of the Polus Monarchy

  ———

  Ascalon

  “I—”

  “Do you really believe the people will not agree, or is that merely your own fear? Fear that they shall turn against you? Fear that your command shall cause them to worship you no longer?”

  “No, nothing as selfish as that. I only—”

  “Ascalon, take a deep breathe,” she commands. It is as if two are transported to a world of their very own. No Templars. No Annalay. No grand throne room: just an endless view of white space and the woman he loves before him, challenging his views.

  “You are kind, Ascalon, but you are also afraid. You are afraid of how the people see you. You are afraid of failing to meet their expectations. Is that not correct?”

  “Lorelai,” he pleads. “Please, this isn’t the time for this. Not in front of the others—”

  “Do not run away from me, and do not run away from them. You are their lord; it is your duty to convey what your heart truly desires. They cannot help you if they do not know you, so speak. Let everything flow out.”

  Ascalon flinches, for her tone is unlike any he has heard from her before. Direct. Almost confrontational. He swallows hard, and sweat begins to form on his brow, but eventually he finds his voice and replies back: still shaky, a bit nervous, but otherwise ready to face her.

  “It is not so much their disappointment that scares me,” he says. “But their faith. Their innocent, whole-hearted belief that I shall see them through this perilous time. And I want to fulfill that wish, to bring about change, for every year that passes under my reign is another where they must continue to live in doubt. There are no achievements under my name, there is naught I have done but fester in stagnation, and yet they still revere me—me, who can only cower, praying for the war to end on its own.

  “I have done nothing worth deserving of their love, so I have to suffer each day carrying this feeling of guilt. And sometimes… I wonder if my enthronement is a mistake. Am I truly fitting of the Monarch’s Wings? Were they not intended for another more deserving? It eats away at me, that I might have stolen this gift. Wretched it away with my greed. So I have to be faultless, exemplary, an ideal image of a ruler, for that is the only way I can atone for receiving all these blessings.

  “I truly am thankful to have many people I can call friend. But it is because I have so many within my care that I seek a perfect solution. I know such thinking is naive, but I cannot help but yearn for that possibility even if it is a fool’s errand. I want to protect them. I want to be the hero they claim me to be, and part of being a hero is to never forget the people’s will. Would a kind lord force his people into service?”

  Lorelai doesn’t speak, at first. She stands up, leaves her seat, and then slowly walks over to Ascalon’s side. Step by step, with all the Templars gazes centered on her, she walks forward. And then she stops so very close, a hair’s breadth away so that her hot breath can be felt on his helm, before cupping his face and forcing Ascalon to peer directly into her shining, platinum eyes.

  “Would a kind lord move his people to war?”

  Ascalon cannot respond.

  “No, because war is an awful thing. It takes away more than it gives, and the only ones who benefit from its destruction are those who cannot see the corpses born of it. And yet we still move. Why? Because the people are tired, Ascalon. They are tired of this twenty yearlong strife where death and despair is but a common occurrence. If there was a chance, an opportunity to end this bloody conflict once and for all, do you think they would shy away from it? To continue being content with this everlasting uncertainty?

  “We do this not because we want to, but because we need to. No one wishes to fight or to grit through their fears, but when one has purpose, a sincere desire to bring change, then they will overcome any terror. Push through any obstacle. Know this, Ascalon: Your people are capable of protecting themselves. Their desire is one you should encourage, not smother. So do not give in before their cry is even heard. Listen, truly listen, and then you shall know their will. Do not make that choice in their stead.”

  The King struggles, he squirms and attempts to escape from Lorelai’s hold, but her grasp is strong. She will not let him cower. There’s an almost desperate plea in her gaze, in that murky ocean of ink within, and for a moment Ascalon can hear a tiny mutter escape her breath: a small, almost indiscernible voice, one begging to be heard despite its secrecy.

  “Please, do not be like him.”

  Who? Why does she feel so out of reach?

  He closes his eyes and then lets out a deep exhale. A second passes, then another, and another. He relishes in the silence, contemplating her words. And eventually he realizes she is right. For all his talk of letting the people have their own freedom, he has decided their beliefs on his own without any consideration, without allowing them to ever voice it aloud.

  “… What do you think, everyone?” he asks the Templars.

  They all turn to look each other, and it is then Ascalon can see how truly wrong he has been. There is not a hint of hesitation in them. Perhaps there never has been since the very beginning.

  “It is a bit scary,” Deborah murmurs. “But Lorelai is right. I… I barely even remember a time before the war, but grandpa would always tell us stories about how happy he was, everyone was, and how there wasn’t a care or worry except what next to do in the tomorrow ever so close. I want that happiness, I want to know what it’s like to be completely carefree, so yes. I will brave any fear if that means making that come true, and I think the Cherubim knights will agree. They’re strong people; something like a little fear of the dark won’t stop them.”

  Surasha speaks next, and for once in a long time she doesn’t glare at him with hate. Instead, there is something else: sympathy perhaps? No, understanding. As if she can finally bear to forgive him. “I, um, didn’t know you felt that way. I always thought you just cared about appearances and looking good so that the people would fawn over you, but I didn’t realize how much stress you were under. To be someone everyone expects you to be. So, ugh, I still won’t forget about all that time you’ve left me alone, but I guess what I want to say is… sorry. And I agree: If ending this war means having to go on a little trek underground, then I’ll take as many trips as needed.”

  One by one, the other Templars voice their agreements—their stories, their approval, and their support for whatever Ascalon decides next. It is a relieving sight, and upon the final accord, Annalay slaps his back and yells out a boisterous guffaw right into his ears.

  “About time you stopped keeping everything to yourself,” she says with a rumble. “The stoic Ascalon isn’t bad, but I much prefer how you are now. So stop thinking the whole world’s putting you on a pedestal and speak up when you want to, alright?”

  “Hehe, alright Annalay,” he chuckles, and his worries all but disappear as her rough friendliness pulls him back to the world. “I still can’t help but hesitate sending you all off alone, but I believe in everyone’s strength. I know you will claim victory, so worry not about matters regarding defense. The capital and all subjects in our domain shall be safe with me.”

  “Hm?” Lorelai suddenly says, and the attention is turned toward her once more. “What do you mean? This campaign will not succeed without a leader—someone the knights know well to direct the advance and inspire morale.”

  Confusion begins to settle in the room, and Ascalon moves to clarify Lorelai’s vague claim. “Yes, but will that position not be taken by you? I know none other so wise in tactics and respected by the populace.”

  “Is that so?” she trails off with a whisper. “But I know very well someone who fits that criteria.”

  “Oh? Who might that—”

  Ascalon stops himself, and horror begins to creep upon his face. He realizes the true meaning of Lorelai’s words. This realization dawns on the others as well: Joshua’s mouth is left agape, Cain and Abel leap up from their seat, Surasha sinks to the ground, Deborah appears entirely dumbfounded, Dismas recoils in shock, Annalay stumbles back, and even Soloman grasps the table for balance.

  Lorelai is suggesting the impossible. No, what is strictly forbidden—an affront against a tradition held since the very founding of the kingdom.

  “You, Ascalon,” she says, and thus the court descends into chaos. “You will be the one to lead the invasion.”

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  “Preposterous! Complete, utter insanity!”

  A familiar, gallant voice erupts into the room as the good chancellor slams the doors wide open and bustles forth, face utterly aghast. It is about time the man finally revealed himself: I was starting to think he would stay latched to the door for the entire meeting.

  “Well met, Gadreel,” the king says, holding back a slight chuckle. “If you had wished to join us, you needed only ask me. Your council will always be welcome.”

  “Ah—oh!” the elder gasps. He spins his head around toward the Templars and turns a bright, vibrant red in the cheeks. It seems his heart bid him move before the brain could object. “My apologies. I was on a, how do you say, casual stroll around the castle when these old ears of mine just so happened to hear a rather startling proposition.”

  “Think nothing of it, chancellor. If you’d like to voice your thoughts, now is the time.”

  “Very well then. If I may…” Gadreel takes a big gulp of air, tidies his garments, and then lets out a deep sigh as he moves to face Lorelai. It is clear the prospect of disputing her does not weigh easily on his mind, but nevertheless he remains steadfast and carefully deliberates over his words. “Dame Lorelai: Thy plan is an admirable one, and I do not necessarily disagree with taking advantage of the underground’s passage, but I cannot allow you to take his majesty outside the capital’s protection. The kings and queens of morrow’s promise must remain here, and for good reason: We must not repeat the tragedy of his holiness Arthur. If the people were to lose their ruler now, then that shall be the end of us all.”

  Tradition. It is a powerful thing, capable of enslaving the thoughts of those who have long since diverged from their ancestors. So different, yet still so similar. And though Ascalon loathes being a mere idol for the people’s worship, he has finally since come to terms with his responsibility. He has accepted it and has decided to do what is allowed of him. So it is unfair that Lorelai now proposes what he has yearned so long for—to shake the resolve he has just precariously built.

  One wishes for a dangerous task. Another wishes for stability. Who should he support? Ascalon does not know, but after what he has just seen from Lorelai, he knows she will not back down without a fight.

  “How long ago was that decree?” Lorelai says, her demeanor entirely unchanged. “Thousands of years, Gadreel. Far too many, and all we have left of their remembrance is a few scarce records. Times have changed. We no longer have reason to be so protective of the city.”

  “So you deign to abandon the people of their protector?” Gadreel replies. “No matter how safe the capital may seem, one must never discount the possibility of a foe lying in wait. Just like the baleful murderer you slayed not so long ago!”

  “I am not suggesting to leave it entirely undefended. Why not have Annalay stay in Ascalon’s stead?”

  “Huh?” Annalay stutters. “Hold on now, why’s my name coming up all of a sudden? Lorelai?” She brings her hand up and, with a grunt, rubs her helm’s temple as Lorelai’s intent slowly dawns on her. “Is this some bad joke? No, you’re serious. You really want me to stay back, don’t you? Damn it, so that’s how it’s going to be, huh? I didn’t expect you of all people to treat me like this. What, am I really that untrustworthy!?”

  She roars out in rage, and the air whips around the room in a wild fit, lashing at the walls whilst forcing the Templars onto their feet.

  “Annalay,” Lorelai begins, raising her hand and motioning for peace. “Let me explain—”

  “To hells with that! I know I’m crass sometimes - a bit rough in my methods, sure - but I’ve never hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it. You saw me out there, didn’t you? At the entrance? Yeah, those knights got a bit dirty, but I controlled myself. They didn’t even get so much as a bruise, and I made sure to clean up my mess in the end. I know I didn’t have the best first impression, and I, well, did drag you into my private matters, but are you really going to exclude me because of that? No, Cosmos be damned if you think I’m just going to sit back and give up my chance to slaughter those Caelum bastards for all they’ve done to us!”

  Annaly’s wrath is like a storm: unrelenting. Indiscriminate. The Nature’s Throne has always had a reputation for being ferocious, but Ascalon has never seen her so enraged before, and it is clear the others know not how to react. One by one, they step back and hesitantly grab at their weapons, but they are never fully drawn: only half held in the scabbard, waiting for when she truly crosses the line.

  Something must be done. But before Ascalon can raise his voice and put a stop to this madness, Surasha rushes forward and delivers a mighty slap to the raging Annalay’s cheek.

  “Oh for Stars’ sake, calm down already!” she shouts into her ear, and surprisingly her sudden ambush succeeds in leaving the Throne speechless for a moment. “This isn’t like you, Annalay. I know you’re mad, I’m a bit confused too, but you know Lorelai doesn’t think of you that way. How could you for a second believe that, after all that happened at the Virtues? Does that make sense to you?”

  Annalay doesn’t speak. She slumps her body and hangs her head down in response, embarrassed after causing such a scene. “No,” she eventually utters. “Guess I was just too hasty.”

  “Yeah, you were. Feeling dumb now?”

  “Hah, more than that.”

  “Good. Because you looked real stupid out there, so settle down and listen to what Lorelai has to say. You can do that at least, can’t you?”

  She sighs and then collapses with a thud onto her rear. “Course I can. And… sorry everyone for getting heated. Not my proudest moment, but I’ll try to make it my last. Maybe.”

  The others breathe a sigh of relief and let go of their weapons. Lorelai, however, hasn’t moved a step since the very beginning as if she knew Annalay would never rampage against her fellows. On the contrary, she giggles before the display and then places a soft hand on the sulking Throne’s shoulder.

  “Everything is alright, Annalay,” she says. “I had a feeling you would dislike my proposal, but know that I did not do so out of distrust. Rather, it is because I depend on you that I wish to entrust the citizens’ safety in your care. Your power is second only to Ascalon’s in regard to defense; no one else here is capable of safeguarding the people save for you. And… I think some time in the capital would do you well. Mend your relationships.”

  To this, Annalay lets out a bright guffaw and rises back onto her feet—hand over heart. Gaze straight and clear. “Well, can’t refute that. Guess I’ll consider this my first ever leave: one not in a cell, at least.”

  It is pleasant indeed to watch such friendship blossom. Except, he notices the mood has gone quite in Lorelai’s favor, and he is not the only one privy to this. The moment Annalay finishes her hardy speech, Gadreel clears his throat with a loud “Eh-hem!” and directs the attention to himself once more.

  “While this is all a most delightful atmosphere,” he says. “May I remind you the matter of our king’s departure is not yet resolved?”

  “Hm? Oh, that is right,” Lorelai says with a light laugh. “Pardon me, chancellor. I assumed you would have relented by now.”

  “I am a very stubborn man, my lady, and unfortunately this is one affair where my foot shall remain firmly stamped. His majesty’s safety must never be threatened.”

  “Oh?” she questions. “But I dare say Ascalon shall be the safest among us. After all, he has the power of the Monarch’s Wings. He is the Inheritor of Freedom’s Will. Gadreel, I truly do not understand your concerns, for there is no one in this land more protected than he.

  “He who has the blessing of invulnerability.”

  Invulnerability—impervious to any and all physical wounds. To be wholly incapable of receiving any sort of injury, whether it be from poison or blade or miasma or flame. Nothing can harm Ascalon as long as he is surrounded by his countryman: That is the gift bestowed upon those who claim Freedom’s mantle, and that is why Ascalon has always wished to escape this caged city. With this power, he could stop any blow, prevent so many from perishing on the battlefield, yet it is because of this very ability that he must remain here to lend peace to those who cannot fight.

  And he is satisfied with this position. After all, is there no more noble purpose than to protect the meek? Here, he can be the hero he so desires without taking a single step outside his castle. By virtue of his very existence, he is the strongest of them all: a paragon of might.

  He is satisfied.

  “But my lady, the king’s invulnerability wanes the lesser his congregation. There are millions in this city! Millions to give liturgy to the Monarch’s Wings. Can you truly be assured his power will persist with the smaller number of the army?”

  He has to be.

  “Gadreel, the first King, Arthur, had but a mere 300,000 subjects to his name. We have grown vastly as a nation, and so too have our available forces. The knights of the orders shall be more than enough to retain Ascalon’s authority.”

  And yet, deep down within, he knows he isn’t.

  “B-but our tradition…”

  When he closes his eyes, he can still see the ashes of his former village. He can see the charred corpses of his family, and he remembers his cowardice—how he ran away, abandoning them all to their fate.

  “Tradition, by its very nature, is meant to serve the people. Once, we may have had use of such a system, but nations grow. People evolve, change, discover new identities, and when the time comes when tradition is no longer of use, then we must discard our old ways. We must forge new values meant for the we of the present, and so on in the future shall those values be changed again. That is the cycle of life; that change is why humanity continues to thrive.”

  And he knows. He knows that he was just a child: a poor, desperate, starving little child. The him of the past didn’t know any better. The him of the past couldn’t have known any better.

  “Ascalon…”

  Even if I did try to fight, would anything have changed? Would I have been able to prevent our village’s destruction? The boy back then only wanted to live, but I am different. I have the means to prevent another tragedy, and to do so, I must forgive myself.

  “… Ascalon…”

  I must forgive that child so that no one will cry ever again.

  “Ascalon!” Lorelai’s voice brings the king suddenly lurching back to reality, and he clutches at his stomach, brow breaking into a cold sweat. “Ascalon, are you alright?”

  “Yes,” he stammers. “I apologize for not listening. Did you need something of me?”

  Lorelai looks up at him, worry still etched in her demeanor. “You need not lie for my sake. Are you truly alright?”

  He chuckles. “I am. Perhaps more than I’ve ever been.”

  Lorelai nods, and in that nod is her trust felt plainly. That faith means the world to him. “Then… I leave it up to you. The chancellor and I cannot come to an agreement, so by your word shall everything be decided. You are the king. You have the final say, so what will it be: Will you remain in the capital, or will you depart with us and lead the invasion?”

  Ascalon has always wished for a call to adventure, but he knows now he doesn’t need such a thing. From the very beginning, he should have had the confidence to express himself and take charge of his own destiny.

  “I am sorry, Gadreel,” he says. “But I do not wish to sit idly by any longer. Can you forgive me?”

  The elder sighs, but his reaction is not as vehement as Ascalon expected him to be. Instead, he smiles: a big smile, one that reaches to his eyes.

  “I shall always abide by thy decision, my liege. That has not changed and it never shall. If you wish to protect our people with thine own blade, then this old body of mine shall do everything in its power to support you.”

  And so, it is Ascalon’s turn to smile. “Thank you, old friend. Truly, your words mean the world to me.”

  Ascalon turns around, and he makes his way to the throne once more. He lowers himself upon the seat, hangs his head back and lets all his doubts go. Then, he roars out a decree the loudest his voice can muster. It surges through the room, the hall, the castle, and to the heights of the sky hanging stoically above: It echoes, and it sings. His heartbeat thunders strong.

  “Heed my call!” he bellows. “Send the command to every corner of the kingdom: Rally the knights, spare not a morsel of reserves, for the decisive hour soon approaches. Ready yourselves, everyone, for the time is now to make war!”