989 AA

Eight years have passed since that day when Nasition abruptly received the announcement of Stasibel’s new position within the royal family. Since then, they haven’t met much, nevermind even spending an entire day with each other, as they had before then. Ms. Ipela no longer taught Stasibel, to the disappointment of Nasition. He doesn’t really remember what happened in these ten rather boring years, only the repetition of learning, whether it be through literature or military training.

Yes, military training. Ever since that “declaration of war” of sorts between him and Faresoenn, Nasition has found himself tangled up in the mess known as the military. It wasn’t, and still isn’t, a pretty place. Although there are a variety of people from different backgrounds, he found the place rather disgusting. Compared to him, the people there are simply brainless idiots, designed, raised to follow orders. However, one thing that almost every single one of them triumphed over is their physical prowess. Ten years ago, that held true. At present, it still holds mostly true. He cannot count the days when he returned bruised, battered, beaten from the grueling training methods, unchanged for centuries, serving only to knock the independent minds out of their bodies. Those drones only served to make the torture worse, mocking him, challenging him to fights only to knock him down, over and over, just stopping when they sense his bones were about to break.

Yet, as irony would have it, it was always Faresoenn, his rival, who hit back, his nearly unmatched martial skill shielding Nasition from further abuse. Faresoenn had always regarded such acts as “humiliating” for Nasition, to be protected by an enemy of sorts, not to mention a junior in age, but within that seeming hostility, Nasition could feel a sense of genuine aid from Faresoenn, one that not only desires to display his strength, but also the proper usage of his strength. I guess this is why he eventually won.

“Hey, Nasi!” Faresoenn’s familiar voice reaches Nasition’s ears, a moment before acute pain reaches his back, the vibrations of a slap shaking his body.

“Ow,” Nasition whimpers, straightening his uniform as he turns to face his former rival and current friend. Somehow, he hadn’t noticed Faresoenn’s entrance, despite being in a relatively quiet area. When can he learn to greet someone normally?

“How do you rate this surprise slap on the back? Ten? Twelve?” Faresoenn asks jokingly.

“Six. Hurts too much,” Nasition replies. This, somehow, is their customary greeting, where they quite literally rate each other’s greeting method out of a scale of twelve. Nasition had always regarded it as unnecessary, childish even, but it doesn’t hurt if Faresoenn is enjoying it.

“That’s disappointing. I thought I would get at least a ten with the look on your face,” Faresoenn laughs.

“Come to me with a more normal greeting, and perhaps, maybe I can rate it higher… ow!”

“How’s that for a greeting? Better?” Norai appears before Nasition, her beaming smile shining on her two friends as she retreats her arm behind her back.

“Can’t we just nod our heads like others do?” Nasition complains.

“That would be boring, wouldn’t it?” Faresoenn replies.

Norai has grown too in the last ten years. Although still an avid reader, she has devoted herself in the teaching of small children, being a teacher in a school relatively close to the Paladeia, only helping out in the Paladeia every now and then. Wearing a simple, casual dress even as a guest of this special occasion, to Nasition, she stands out from her humility alone. Like her friends, she had also matured in the ten years, but somewhere in her, a childlike innocence still remains. I guess that’s why she’s good with children, Nasition thinks.

“Congratulations on becoming the captain of the Guard, Faresoenn,” Norai proudly says, like a mother cheering on her child, “I guess it’s a special day for you as well.”

“Congratulations,” Nasition adds, barely hiding his disappointment, “You won.” It’s an expected result, anyways. He may be more intelligent, but without an edge of cunning and craftiness, it means nearly nothing in the military.

“At least you became a part of the Guard as well,” Faresoenn attempts to comfort Nasition, poking at the pinned emblem of the Guard on Nasition’s uniform, “With the ongoing war, we may see a lot of action soon.”

The war, sparked by a wave of rebellions five years prior, has torn the Empire apart, ruining over nine and a half centuries of effort by the previous Kings and Queens. Stasibel’s aged father, Norivel, had attempted to quell those rebellions, but after suffering a string of defeats, it only made more territories secede from the Empire. Eventually, even the common citizen realized the Empire was a far cry from its glory days, deciding to join the upstart rebel factions instead. Nasition remembered the anguish on Norivel’s face, accompanied by a saddened Stasibel by the King’s side just a year ago. In the face of defeat, of guilt, of pain after losing his three eldest sons, and now his empire, everyone, even Norivel himself, acknowledged that he won’t have long to live. Finally, losing the will to live, Norivel died a few months ago on the seventh day of the first month. No one grieved for him, as he commanded in his final will, not even Stasibel. For a former King of the Achien Empire, it seemed to symbolize that the time finally has come for the waning Empire.

“Thanks for your consolations,” Nasition responds. Well, it isn’t too bad. They had both decided to serve Stasibel all those years earlier, and at last, they will have a chance to serve their ruler, their friend. Unlike the streak of weak monarchs before, Nasition has complete confidence in his friend. Stasibel, after all, unlike the previous monarchs, cared greatly about the populace. He evacuated towns before a battle, frequently held forums where the Empire’s people could freely express their opinion without any fear of retribution. Even as the Empire’s coffers began to empty, he fed thousands of impoverished citizens, supplying them with daily necessities. In a sense, he is not Achien’s King, but the people’s King.

“Ah, look, the man himself!” Norai points to her right, and as they turn their heads around, they see Stasibel, dressed in ceremonial armor and draped in an elaborate dark blue cape, the helmet by his side. Unlike the mobile armor dressed by soldiers, the ceremonial armor is clunky, replicating the artistic style and technological levels of old. The clinking of the metal boots announce his presence, his confidence radiating out. On his head is a simple circlet made of various metals, symbolizing the crown worn by the first Achien monarch, the now-legendary Elethien when she was declared ruler of Achien. Even for his usually lean body, Stasibel looks imposing as he approaches his friends, accompanied by two guards.

“You look amazing, Stasibel,” Nasition compliments, unwilling to even take a glance away from the majesty in front of him. In his eyes, it’s almost as if he is a small hatchling staring at the birds soaring overhead.

“Even though having hunks of metal on your body isn’t good for your bones,” Faresoenn jokes.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Stasibel chuckles, “It’s nothing compared to having the burden of an empire on my back. Oh, not funny?”

What terrible humor, Nasition thinks. It’s as if Stasibel is trying too hard to create a comedic atmosphere with the background of this grim war.

“Just hand us the throne every once in a while if you get tired of it,” Norai responds, barely saving the awkward atmosphere.

The lack of time spent between Stasibel and the others have gradually, but surely created a small rift between them. Unlike Nasition, Norai, and Faresoenn, who spent much of their free time with each other in the past years, Stasibel had been too immersed in his education, preparing to rule over a formerly planet-wide empire. They have met periodically over the years, but it was, and never will be enough compared to the first two years of their friendship.

“I sometimes can’t believe that I am already twenty four years of age,” Stasibel says, looking at his gloved hands, “I feel as if I hadn’t experienced the emotions of youth, but catapulted immediately to adulthood.”

“You’ll only get busier once you become King,” Norai states, “The administrative duties, the ceremonies, the war… Even just taking care of your household will take up almost all of your time.”

“But you’ll have the Guard protecting and supporting you,” Faresoenn proclaims proudly, “I know the pledge of allegiance will come later, but here, I, Faresoenn, captain of the Guard…”

Nasition sneezes, interrupting Faresoenn for a moment.

“I, Faresoenn…” Faresoenn attempts to continue, but is again distracted by a giggle from Norai.

“What do you want?” he shouts, half-laughing.

“It’s nothing,” Norai breathes loudly, calming herself, “It’s just that… you have matured greatly compared to us all.”

“We all have grown, haven’t we?” Stasibel smiles.

Above them, the sound of a bell rings across the Paladeia, vibrating across the barrier. As they look towards the central tower, they see a small team of the royal staff pulling on a thick rope, swinging the heavy, centuries-old bell as it announces the beginning of the ceremony.

It’s an ancient custom, dating back to the coronation of Queen Elethien herself. According to the surviving archives, they had melted many swords, spears, and shields to create the first bell almost a millennium ago, symbolizing the peace that had descended after decades of war. However, only fragments remain of the original, and the current bell is merely a century old, no longer a herald and symbol of peace as it had been.

“It’s time,” Stasibel turns, heading for the central tower, “You’ll attend the coronation ceremony, won’t you all?”

“Well, as the new captain of the Guard, I am more or less obliged to attend,” Faresoenn replies, placing a hand on Stasibel’s shoulder, “But whether I am obliged or not, I’ll go anyways.”

“Do you think we won’t?” Nasition adds.

Gradually, they make their way to the Main Hall, where the central tower lies. Quietly, Stasibel and Faresoenn slips aside while Nasition and Norai enters. In the past, the ceremony had always had many prominent officials across the Empire, along with thousands of fortunate citizens witnessing the event in person. Yet now, only a little less than a hundred sit in the handcrafted seats in the Main Hall, the whispers of individuals echoing across the hall, being the only witnesses to the event. Stasibel had decided against broadcasting the coronation, as Norivel had done when he became King decades ago. After all, what good is it if the people misunderstood and believed the monarchy to be out-of-touch, having a lavish ceremony even in a war?

“The pain only begins now,” Nasition finds himself muttering as he takes a seat next to Norai.

“What?” Norai asks, surprised by the seemingly random rambling.

“Nothing. What was I even saying?”

The doors open as the light of the Elyfesta fills the entire hall, temporarily blinding the audience. Slowly, a procession of servants, led by a man in a mask, enters, symbolizing the presence of the last monarch. Resting on the masked man’s palms is a newly crafted crown, utilizing the limits of the Empire’s technology. Jewels cut to only their purest core are embedded, half-hidden in the pale white surface. Thin strands of silvery metal are woven together, forming a net around larger, brighter crystals. At the center is a single red jewel, carved in a classic octagonal shape, the motif and highlight of every Achien monarch’s crown for centuries. From the short glimpse alone, Nasition can already guess that the Empire had likely invested years of time, probably even before Stasibel’s brothers had passed.

As the servants stand at the end of the hall, Stasibel finally enters, Faresoenn and another woman flanking his sides, his ceremonial armor in full glory, like a star descended from the sky. Silently, he walks to the masked man, and with a gentle touch of the mask, he goes down on one knee. Carefully, the masked man passes the crown to Stasibel. With the steady motion of his hands, Stasibel places the crown on his head, the circlet supporting most of the weight above, symbolizing the continued reliance and respect for the roots of the Empire.

Finally, he turns to the small crowd, his arms outstretched as spontaneous cheers erupt from the audience. “May the Empire live until the Elyfesta deems unfit!” he cries, reciting the famous phrase spoken by every monarch in the past.

“May the Empire live until the Elyfesta deems unfit!” the crowd repeats.

“So a new era begins,” Norai says, staring at the night sky, lying down on the soft grass, “One with war, chaos, and ruin.” Unlike the many others who are attending a banquet to celebrate the coronation, Nasition and Norai had retreated away a while earlier, sitting at the same patch of grass where they had first met ten years ago. The grass is as comfortable as before, the cool night breezes blowing away the heat of summer.

“It will soon be rare to get a peaceful moment like this,” Nasition replies, “And perhaps we won’t be together as often as before.”

“The Guard has to be with the King at all times, don’t they?” Norai questions.

“We rotate between guarding the Paladeia and guarding the King, but Faresoenn will be permanently stationed alongside Stasibel.” Nasition lets out a sigh, already imagining his boring days stationed at some tower, only able to watch over the residents of the Paladeia from afar. It’s a relatively safe job, but he had wished to fight alongside Stasibel, protecting him from any dangers. Well, it’s not too bad, he thinks, turning his head to Norai.

“Nasi… I suddenly have a question.”

“Yes?”

“You love Stasibel, don’t you?”

“As a friend and ‘brother’, yes,” Nasition answers without hesitation, “If he demands it, I would lay down my life for him.”

“What if he betrays you someday? What if… he killed me or Faresoenn? Would you still devote your life to him?”

“What sort of question is this?”

He had never wondered about this possibility. After all, he completely trusts in Stasibel, the one who had saved him from a life of poverty, the one who devoted his time with him, the one who made him who he is today. However, as much as he hates to admit, they are drifting apart. No longer did they have long conversations, or even just conversations in general. Ever since Stasibel began the preparations to become King, they had rarely talked. In Nasition’s mind, Stasibel is still the cheerful, outgoing child who lights up his life with fun. Yet in the coronation ceremony, he senses unease, insecurity even from his old friend, even as Stasibel is now technically the single most powerful individual in the world. He had heard many stories of individuals who rose to power, only to be consumed by corruption, before eventually collapsing and losing all that they hold. No, that would not happen. Not in his comprehension of Stasibel.

“I’ve always found you an interesting person,” Norai continues, “You don’t become acquainted with many people outside of the Paladeia, and even if you do, you do not treat them very differently, still being the same polite person I observed for many years.”

“What am I to you? A test subject?” Nasition laughs shallowly.

“… But when you are with us, you seem to change,” Norai adds, “Maybe just a little, but there’s this… affection that you have with all of us. Because of this affection… You don’t want us to be separated, do you?”

“How could you notice?”

“I am a teacher, Nasi. It’s my job to notice the little details of each person, whether it be a child or an adult.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll admit it,” Nasition sits up, taking a deep breath, “I don’t want to lose any of you. Eventually, we will all become swept up in the war, separated from each other, maybe not meeting together for months, if not years. I don’t want to even think of the possibility that one of us… might die in this conflict.”

“What if I died?”

“Death… I don’t want to think about that.” Nasition looks up at the stars, blinking, slightly brightening the sky. “I’d rather be one of the stars, silently watching the coming and going of life, acting only as one of the many guiding lights.”

“I don’t like them,” Norai bluntly says, “They’re cold, unmoving, indifferent to what happens here. I want something that has emotion, something that is able to love and be loved… Someone that will actually care when I die.”

“I want to be a star… because I don’t want to experience the pain of death to someone I know,” Nasition explains, “Now that I think about it, I don’t want to feel mourning or regret. If you, Faresoenn, or Stasibel died… I would probably wish I had died as well. That is my answer. I love all of you as my dearest friends, but that is exactly why I fear the pain that comes when we all eventually die.”

Norai stares at Nasition, her eyes unmoving, not even fluttering for a blink. “You should be an orator,” she half-jokingly compliments, her voice shaking, “The voiceless job of a guard doesn’t fit you.”

“If you think I can be an orator, you might as well become the head of the Education Bureau,” Nasition returns the favor.

They laugh, enjoying the precious moment in their lives. They are quite fortunate, actually. Just sitting, doing nothing in particular, talking with each other. Times like these cannot last long, however. Eventually, the war will engulf and consume their lives, whether dying to one of the many tragedies or reliving the memories in their dreams. Eventually, their youthful bodies will wither and waste away, like the drooping twigs of old trees in winter. Nasition looks at Norai, lying down relaxed on the grass. It would be nice if we stayed like this for longer.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, repeating his words years ago.

“You too,” Norai responds immediately, as if on instinct.

“Thanks… What?”

“Just another observation by Teacher Norai,” Norai grins, “Although this one took me longer to confirm.”

“Well, I’ll trust you on that.”

Nasition looks to the stars again, their emotionless, colorless light reflecting off his face. Perhaps I don’t want to be a star, after all.