Lordrin’s POV

When blood needed to be spilt, Gresha’s Kings were not the type to cower behind their thrones and command their forces from afar. Own who owns the title of King fights alongside his troops and leads from the thick of battle itself. A foolish king may take this to mean he should charge out onto the battlefield seeking glory, only to find himself abruptly impaled by the enemy’s spear, but a wise king would evaluate where he was most needed first. And to do that, he must evaluate the situation as swiftly as possible. Naturally, the greatest place to do that was at a higher vantage point.

Between their sheer size and the complexity of the enchantments upon them, Gresha’s walls were a marvel of modern architecture. Not only were they created by incredibly skilled architecture- and rune-channelers, but if it ever became necessary, the corridors within were capable of housing a small number of people and stores of food, as both myself and Forya were well-aware. It would not be comfortable, but these walls were a treasure of Gresha. Right now, however, I was more concerned with the view they afforded me. When I reached the top of the walls, which showed me the Wastelands, the ocean, and the Deep Woods spread out all around my city, Menone was already briefing the guards on what they should be doing.

Though only the full-blooded son of Gresha’s King and the Head Priestess could sit upon the throne, it was not unusual for the King to have other children. Like many of those children in the past, Menone had entered the army, where he had thrived. Though the King was the absolute commander of the army and guard, Menone was without question my strongest and most loyal warrior, who had just as much respect from the soldiers. Unlike foreign countries, however, I had no need to fear any ambition for the throne from him. Without the goddess’ favor, Gresha’s people would never accept it. As such, I could not ask for a better subordinate, and so I named him my right hand.

“What is the situation?” I asked upon seeing him.

“Brother!” He thumped a fist against the leather armor on his chest. “Angran raiders gathering on the horizon. A good number. They haven’t made any moves yet, but—”

“You think they wish to take advantage of our diminished forces and lax atmosphere during the festival?” I asked. He nodded. I continued, “Show me.”

I gazed where Menone gestured. Indeed, he was correct. Dozens of the raiders, many on horseback, some on foot. They had not yet attacked us, apparently still organizing their forces as they clutched longbows, slings, and spears. With ranged weaponry like that, even the dogs posed some threat, and yet...something about this situation pricked at my mind. Was it how brazen they were being, taking the time to organize and rally right at our gates rather than immediately attacking? Or was it how they seemed bent on the walls? Gresha’s walls safeguarded the vast majority of her homesteads and families, but a sprawl of farmlands and farming families sat outside the walls, clinging to the banks of the Ter. They were less populated, but made for easier targets. But then again, it was certainly not impossible that they were simply arrogant. One had to possess a certain degree of hubris, for such a group of ragtag mongrels to go up against such a superior city. Whatever it was, best to teach them a lesson of some sort. My gaze traveled to a soldier standing behind Menone, a polished bone spear held in his hand. “You there. Is that spear made of thunderprong antler?”

“Yes, Crown-Son.” Though he seemed reluctant, he knelt and held out the weapon. Carefully I took it and ran my fingers along the spear’s shaft, feeling the electric magic within dance across my fingertips. Thunderprongs were animals which could attract lightning into their antlers, and then use it later to fend off predators or attract does as mates. Weapons made from those horns retained these abilities, and fortunately this spear seemed fully charged up. Really, this type of weapon was fairly standard amongst the Greshan military, but it would do.

I brought my arm back, calling upon the lightning stored within the spear, and exercised my will. A thunderous boom. From the spear’s head came a ribbon of heat and white, which left a smoking crater in the midst of the Angrans. The dogs fell over each other to flee, some of their horses even falling or breaking their legs in a panic. I laughed at the spectacle. Had there been a storm overhead, my blow would have been even more wondrous, alas. But we were moving out of the Moon Season. I’d have to content myself with this. The Angrans were scattered for now, but they’d regroup and retaliate soon, I could tell. I handed the spear back to the soldier.

“Before they regroup, order all the archers to the wall to prepare. Use the arrow slits. Send other soldiers at your disposal to guard the granaries, fields, and river,” I commanded Menone. “And ring the city bell. Tell the citizens to shelter within the nearest buildings.”

Forya would be irritated that I failed to use this opportunity to capture sacrifices, but something else was going on. Once the Angrans were forced to play their hand, we would see what could be done. But for now, the walls and soldiers manning them would be enough, and I could show off to her how concerned I was for my precious subjects.

Kite’s POV

Despite not being very deep underwater, it was like an entirely different world. As if everything had been reversed. Creatures soared through the murky ‘air’ and crawled along the cloudy ‘sky,’ so close I could reach out and drag myself along it. Silt slipped through my fingers like a solid fog or liquid wool. When I surfaced, the water would only drag me down and make it harder for everyone to recognize what I could accomplish. But here, I could accomplish anything. Still. I had to take care not to let anyone notice me, even when creeping through the reeds and much. Fortunately it wasn’t so hard. Uncle Harrier’s daggers helped a great deal in that way.

The daggers were very interesting. Uncle Harrier wouldn’t tell me where he got them, or perhaps even he didn’t know what they were made from, but he certainly knew what they did, and how they’d help me unlock my full potential. Like many weapons made from monster remains, they were made from bone; perhaps the teeth or tusks of a great sea-beast. I could only imagine how such a creature might appear, but that wasn’t important. What was important was what the daggers did: they increased my stamina and allowed me to hold my breath for lengthy periods of time, alongside granting me some minor control over water. They weren’t as powerful as I was hoping, but Uncle Harrier thought that they were critical to his plan. Because the Greshans trusted the river with everything: fish and food, water for their crops, trade.

But we could use that trust against them. While other warriors struck at Gresha from other sides as a distraction, we could strike from the river and render them incapable of trusting it again. Especially when they were caught off-guard during the festival. It was the perfect plan.

I drifted to the surface, aware that I wasn’t the only Angran warrior doing so. With me was a small team, with one of the more experienced warriors as leader. But because of the potential Uncle Harrier saw in me, I was the one who got to use these weapons. We would use the river to sneak closer to the farmlands, and myself to the heart of Gresha. Once the distraction began, the leader would give us the signal and we would attack. To take back the flock stolen, to raid food and cause destruction, to sow chaos. To strike at the heart of the festival where they trusted nothing to go wrong. Anxious, I peaked my head out of the water, wondering if I could hear the sounds of war from even the river. I couldn’t, but that didn’t mean things were calm. The bells were ringing, and the streets emptying. Disappointing, that the battlefield would be smaller than I thought, as I blinked the water from my eyes. Then I stopped, seeing an unexpected sight.

Maybe it shouldn’t have been so unexpected. This was where he must live, of course. He was a Greshan. I knew that. But I didn’t expect for the hazel-eyed soldier who pinned me and knocked me out just two weeks ago to be the first soldier in Gresha I laid eyes on. Was this fate, granting us the chance for a rematch? It must be. Briefly I imagined the Sun Falcon or Crown Naruune cheering me on, as I showed everyone how much greater I could be when they really gave me a chance. And I couldn’t waste that chance now.

Today was the day I turned my whole life around and proved everyone, even Talon, wrong for dismissing me.

I slipped back underwater and drew closer to the shore, drawing the waters to me like a comforting blanket, then exploded from the waters. A wave as tall as I was should have accompanied me, soaking and blinding my enemy, but I didn’t quite manage that. Still, I did direct the splash straight into my enemy’s eyes, blinding him and catching him off guard. Wasting no time at all I slipped past him, slashing across his sides and tripping him in the now-muddy soil.

But he refused to go down! Like a grasswurm pouncing, his hands lashed out and nearly grabbed my arms! Wet as they were, and with the supernatural dexterity and flexibility granted to me by the daggers, it wasn’t hard to escape his grasp. But this guy was fast! I needed to kill him quickly. Quickly I made to slash his throat, only for the breath to get knocked out of me. My daggers fell from my hands. The bastard kicked me in the chest! How did he—?

That’s right. He was so fast.

Everything went sideways. Out of nowhere, someone knocked me to the ground, then grabbed me by the throat and shoved my head into the river water. Without my daggers, and without any warning, I couldn’t breathe! It wasn’t long before I was wrenched out of the river again, and could focus on hacking water from my lungs and gulping down breaths of air.

For a second, I wondered if I was dreaming, or if the bastard had knocked me out again. Perhaps I had even drowned and died, to see such a scene.

Talon...was here. He was arguing with that hazel-eyed soldier, but I was too dazed to make sense of what they were saying.

Had Talon...also chosen to join in on the raid? Was he the one that saved me from being drowned in the river…? He had, who else would have?

“...Brother Talon?”

A knife flew from nowhere, slicing Talon’s cheek. He looked out to the river, and I craned my neck to try and see what he was looking at. The leader of my team had emerged from the river, fury written on his face. “What are you two doing!? he snapped. A couple other dark heads poked out from the water, a mixture of confusion, curiosity, and disappointment in their eyes.

Talon and the Greshan soldier briefly exchanged a look. “Leaving,” Talon said, before hauling me up.

The other warrior snapped back, “And where are you leaving for? It had better not be the village, coward. If you abandon this rai--”

“Would you like me to join the raid? What makes you so sure I’ll join your side? Slaughtering all you regardless of allegiance sounds like great fun,” Talon sneered. “I’m taking this fuckup off the battlefield. You should be thanking me.”

My leader narrowed his eyes, then scowled. “Harrier will hear of this.”

“Tell him whatever you want,” was Talon’s reply. He and the Greshan exchanged another meaningful look which set my mind to spin. Were they actually being...friendly? Was this Talon being friendly? Why with a Greshan? I didn’t have much time to ponder it before Talon grabbed me by the shirt and began dragging me through the river. Both of us were tall enough to stay above water, but he moved so quickly that I had a hard time keeping my feet on the silty bottom.

“B-brother,” I gasped, “You’re really hurting me this time…” I slipped, falling towards the water as I grasped at my brother’s arm, before righting myself again. Talon had been the one to stop me from drowning...right? He had, right? “Brother—Talon, please, you’re scaring me—”

“Am I?”

Suddenly Talon’s face was in front of mine, his eyes burning with intensity. My feet were lifted off the riverbed entirely.

“Am I scaring you? Is the battlefield too much for my soft baby brother? Look—” he thrust out a hand towards the city, where more Greshan soldiers had begun to join the fight. “Had I not pulled you out of there, would you have run away yourself?”

“S-soft?” Something in my belly began to burn. “You’re the one who’s going soft! Y-you were—and that soldier—!”

“...Do tell, Kite,” Talon murmured.

“What were you doing in Gresha, Talon? Why were you there?” I asked. Now that I began to speak, a thousand worries and fears that I had dismissed as silly came pouring out. They spun and whirled within my mind like glass shards, cutting the insides of my skull and mouth as I talked. A small piece of my heart hoped they would cut Talon, too, on the way out. “Why are you never at the village? What was Uncle Harrier talking about? Why don’t you ever talk to Mother, why do you hate us, why don’t you ever train me, why don’t you tell the other boys who bully me to get lost, where do you really go when you disappear-- ugh!”

Without a word, Talon stood above me. Backlit by the suns’ light, he suddenly resembled every description of the Sun Fiend mother had recounted, back when she still told us stories. Burning eyes, animalistic ferocity and smoldering fury contained within a small human body. Even their dark hair seemed the same.

Greshans were the fools who trusted in everything. The soil, the dead, the sky, the river, the goddess. Angrans were meant to be wiser. Stronger. But there were some things which were just meant to be relied upon. Or else you would go insane. Some underlying logic to a big, mad world that didn’t care. We were meant to be able to trust family. But for the first time, I truly feared Talon. He wasn’t just ignoring me, or scolding me for my own good. This couldn’t be for my own good at all. Finally, I felt the heat of his gaze. It was so intense that the will to move, to fight back, was sapped from my limbs.

“The battlefield is a terrifying place, Kite,” Talon said. “People die. There are no heroes here, only after the fact when everyone tries to pretty up the atrocities they committed, all in the name of what. Pride? Riches? Surviving a few more weeks?” Almost gently, he placed a muddy foot upon my chest. Then faster, rougher, one of my own daggers came down. It stabbed into the mud an inch from my neck with a thunk.

Talon continued, “You were lucky, Kite. Not because I was there, but because Elian was. The one warrior who doesn’t care for bloodshed. If you had encountered someone else, someone who fought with blades, if I had been someone else, would you still be alive?”

My other dagger slowly descended, until its edge brushed my throat. I fought the urge not to swallow. Would my own brother really…? No, surely he wouldn’t...he wouldn’t…?

“Do you really want me to train you, Kite?” he hissed. “Then fight me. Show you’re willing to kill even me.” He stood again, drawing the second dagger back, and got off of me. I was left there, in the mud, a dagger sitting beside me. Talon’s image above me had grown blurry.

Hesitantly I stood up, and gripped the dagger’s blade. It no longer fit within my hand so easily. My limbs felt heavy and leaden. “Why me?” I asked. My vision began to grow blurry. Clumsily I rubbed at my eyes.

“Because you’re my brother,” Talon only said.

“That’s not an answer! You should be fighting at my back and protecting me!” I snapped. “Why does some stranger get your respect while your own brother—”

“I have cleaned up after you for years, Kite,” Talon said, danger in his tone, “you never learn. I told you again and again that you belong off of the battlefield, and this is what you do? Am I to keep cleaning up after you until we’re old men?”

“So I should learn to take care of myself, so you can stop talking to me at all? So you can stop caring about me only because you’re so guilty?” My voice was loud now, but louder was the blood roaring in my ears. “Is there some grand tally of only so many messes we can pull each other out of, before we stop being brothers?”

“When have you ever pulled me out of a mess?” Talon asked.

“When have you ever given me a chance to? When have you done anything other than run away?” I asked. You could have said something, could have taken me with you, I almost said, but did not when I saw the fury blaze up in his eyes. Blood tainted my tongue as I bit my lip. The chance I had been begging for. I was wrong that it had been the hazel-eyed soldier. It was now, as rage pushed my brother forwards. As he approached, I tried to mimic everything about him. The sneer of his lip, his grip on his dagger.

He came at me and I staggered to the side, successfully avoiding his strike. A thrill of mania washed over me, as we briefly exchanged blows. His precise and vicious strikes against my clumsy rebuttals, and then it was over. In that moment I saw the look in his eyes. Cold iron ice dragged my limbs down, and the dagger fell from my hand. He flipped the dagger around in his hand and brought its edge to my neck.

“Are you so easily defeated, Kite? Will you beg the Greshans for mercy, too? Or the other Angran tribes?” Talon taunted. But something had happened, all the anger had drained from me. There was no pain. But I felt a warmth at my neck. Blood. Hot. Wet. Warm. Blood. He cut his brother. Like a true warrior, any emotion or sentiment he felt, any need to rely on another, he cut it all away. And something in my mind cut the emotion away from me, too. Until it all fell into place and I saw it. So clearly. All that was left was the truth I could not stop myself from asking.

“Would you have treated Asha like this?” was the only thing left to say.

The effect was instant. His own dagger was now beside mine in the mud, brown and red and liquid mixed and swirled, as the waves gently nudged at them. His face grew pale and ashen, his eyes and mouth wide. I wondered if those were tears I saw, or droplets of water from the river. Just yesterday, I would have said with absolute certainty that it was the latter. Only once before had I seen my brother shed tears.

Tears.

So that was the truth.

So it was true…

The fight was over. I had won. I could be strong, too. But not even dealing a decisive blow would be enough. There were certain people who everyone cared for, and there would be certain people no one cared for. The only way Talon would ever care for me was if I became someone else entirely.

“I hate you,” I said at last, surprising even myself. Right now, I could not feel anything. Not even after saying something that would have been ridiculous days ago. There was only emptiness. The hollowness of a bird’s bones, in my chest and stomach and mind.

Then I turned, and walked further along the riverbank. Away from Talon. If a small part of me had been hoping he’d call out my name, offer some weak and meager apology, that part of me was allowed to starve and die. That was fine. Maybe he had a point, I couldn’t keep sitting and waiting on his approval forever. All that remained was was the lapping of waves, and the distant sounds of battle.

There were no victory celebrations at the village when I returned. Despite my victory, the somber mood felt fitting. I didn’t stop by Mother’s home first. Instead I sought my target directly.

“Uncle Harrier.”

The boulder of a man glanced my way from the warriors and elders he’d been conversing with. “Kite? How are you back before the raiders?” He hesitated, then turned back to me, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “Where are the daggers I entrusted you with? I hope you aren’t here to beg for another—”

“Talon has betrayed us for Gresha.”

He hesitated. It was kind of funny how such a huge and usually lively man was now as still and quiet as a stone. Then he began moving again, as he sat down and gestured me to sit across from him. “Explain it to me. What happened?”

Lordrin’s POV

The throne room of the Mountain Palace was the very representation of all of Gresha’s greatest values. Plants. Perfumes. Pelts. A true jewel. One I sat in, day in, day out, as I attended my duties. The Harvest Festival had kept me away from my throne and on my feet as I attended to the guests, the preparations, and the…unexpected circumstances.

One of these circumstances, which I had briefly allowed to slip away as I paid mind to more important matters, I would at last give its due attention.

Today, the day after the Harvest Festival had ended and all the guests had begun to depart, I lounged upon my throne, filling its bulk in the way only a king could. Before me kneeled a red-haired girl, gaunt and clad in a Priestess Candidate’s basic wear. Fragile, frail, fearful. Deceitful. She was Candidate Nania.

I took my time in addressing her, noticing how she trembled and sweated in my presence. If it had been another, it would have been named anxiety at my semi-divine form. Every Priestess, Candidate, and even several civilians and soldiers desired me. Such behavior was only to be expected. But I had questions required answering, whether she meant to answer them or not. Finally, I spoke, “I didn’t give you permission to leave the palace or temple. If you had wanted to leave, you should have asked me. I would have granted you permission, had I known you were safe with an escort. ”

“I was—I mean, the Crown-Son is busy—has many imperative duties during the Harvest Festival, Crown-So—er, my King. I did not wish to distract—”

“It would not have been a distraction; knowing that you were without an escort was the bigger distraction,” I cut her off, so she did not have to keep talking in circles. “Your safety is my priority, and outside of the temple it is more difficult to provide that without an escort. I simply worry. And before you ask, ‘why me,’ I was quite impressed by your performance, your ingenuity, and your boldness…I was considering making you my Head Priestess when you pass your trials.”

Her head bobbed a little as she nearly looked up from her bow. Despite how she resisted the instinct, I could still imagine her bright green eyes wide with surprise and confusion. “Me? But—but I—I am not a priestess—I mean, not yet—but I’ve been absent from so many lessons so I may as well never be so perhaps you should consider another so—”

“Then you had better do your best in studying so you pass your trials. They are coming up soon. I will assign a private tutor and more guards to you, that you won’t be distracted in your studies,” I said, phrasing it as a command, rather than a suggestion. I glanced to the attendant beside me, making sure he remembered my words, then looked back to Nania, a slight smile touching my lips. I couldn’t spend this whole meeting intimidating her, after all. I needed to show her that this was not a trap for her. That though my wrath was worth her fear, I was not playing games with her. Or rather, the game I was playing was one I did not intend to let her lose. “Of course, your Crown-Son has absolute faith in your ability. Consider this practice for your duties as a proper Head Priestess. You’ll have many duties to attend to which you shall need to be familiar with, after all.”

“...Yes, Crown-Son.”

“It is a great honor.”

“I am grateful, Crown-Son.”

“Who was that boy you ran away with at the Harvest Festival?”

I had expected her to flinch, or to stammer excuses, or even to begin begging me. Instead, Nania grew silent as still waters. I leaned my head against my hand, waiting for her response.

“No one. The thought of you committing violence in front of me distressed me. That is all. The Harvest Festival is a time of festivity and gratitude, not bloodshed,” she finally said, with a certain determination. Or was it instead resignation? I shook my head.

“And yet, sometimes blood must be spilled, to ensure that jubilation. Sacrifices must be made,” I muttered. Then in a louder voice, I said, “He seemed to know you.”

“He was a foreigner unused to our ways. Ignorance shouldn’t be so cruelly punished,” she said.

“He seemed quite averse to being corrected and learning.”

“I didn’t—I just came up and saw—he must have seen—I mean, maybe he thought—” She was starting to falter and crack. How cute. A smile crossed my lips, faintly showing my teeth.

“Nania. Do you know what I detest above all things?” I asked, slowly, deliberately.

She did not answer.

“I appreciate boldness and invention, especially for the good of Gresha. My city is like Crown Naruune’s most precious jewel, entrusted to me by my ancestors, and it should outshine all others. But what I detest above all others is a liar,” I spat. “The game of politics is complex and tiring, and I have many things worthier of my time and energy. Foreign allies I can stand pretty lies from. But those who try to manipulate me for their own beliefs and their own gain, in my very court.”

My hand came down on the arm of my throne, creating a thud that echoed in the room. The girl flinched.

“Such people are traitors. And traitors to the Crown-Son are traitors to the Crown,” I said. “So allow me to rephrase my question, in a way that makes it easier not to lie…will what occurred ever repeat? He was ignorant once. I tried to educate him. I let him go unpunished, because it pleased you. Should he demonstrate that he cannot learn, will you stand in my way again?”

“I-i…”

“Nania?”

After a brief Crown-Son, she finally said, “It will not happen again, Crown-Son.” Her voice struck me as quite tired, too exhausted to attempt to lie. I smiled, satisfied at last.

“Good. You may stand and look upon me.”

Like a fawn finding its legs for the first time, she carefully stood, and I looked upon my future Head Priestess. When Forya had told me that some Candidates had run to her, babbling about this girl having an Angran lover, I would have dismissed her out of hand. Would have, if not for the Angran raid on the same day Nania was found outside the temple, defending some odd, disrespectful stranger who hid his face in a cloak. I still believed these rumors to be grossly exaggerated, but it did not matter either way.

What mattered was that Nania did not argue with me or manipulate me, like Forya tried to. She was intelligent and strong, but did not try to leverage ‘knowing better’ against me. The king. The most powerful and important person in Gresha, the one and only beloved of Crown Naruune.

It didn’t matter if Nania had an Angran lover once, nor did it matter that she tried to lie about his identity. People had their urges, and people tried to defend that which was important to them. As a trait in isolation, it could be admirable. It did not even matter if she admired me as a Crown-son or not. If she did, I was sure this would be useful in controlling my next Head Priestess, in a way I could not control Forya or the Priestess she would send for the Harvest Festival’s more private rites. But if she did not desire me, as anyone desired power and prestige…well, that simply made her all the more special, didn’t it? No matter which it was, if she wasn’t Forya’s, then she was already mine.

And it wasn’t like I couldn’t kill that stray Angran dog later.

“I’m satisfied. You may go now,” I decided. As she quietly left, I smiled to myself.

Yes. She really would be the perfect Head Priestess, wouldn’t she.