He was jolted awake by the abrupt stop of the carriage. He thought it was all a dream until he gazed at Casspien preparing to disembark. He half wished it was. As he got out, he first noticed how quiet it was, even this early in the morning there was sure to be a buzz. Antares readied himself for the entirety of the house including servants to come greet him. But he quickly dismissed that thought as it arrived. There was no such welcome for an exile, certainly not for one so vile as himself. He took in a deep breath, breathing in the cool summer morning air. He looked around the famed courtyard empty and quiet. Many years he spent here with Casspien and his other cousins playing. It was a large area , stretching out in front of the castle, enough hold several battalions . The grass was well kept. It was cut evenly and stylized, creating a mesmerizing pattern. In the distance beyond the grass and the many statues placed about, gravel road lead to beautifully crafted ledges that overlooked the rest of the city below. It was bittersweet, to be back after so long even though it were not for the right reasons. To his right, he saw servants and maids rushing in and out, busy at work as the sun yet to rise fully. To his left, he saw stableboys tending to horses, some of the sigils on the horses belonging to allies of his house and others he was not quite familiar with. The drink over the years had dulled his memories about some houses.

  The air smelled sweet, something that he would have to grow accustomed to once more. Bread was being made, it was always fresh in the morning. A slight smile came across his face, memories of when he was younger and would purposely wake up at a time like this to sneak into the kitchen and steal bread to enjoy. Those who worked in the kitchen were aware of his mischievous morning routines, but the head cook would always make a little more bread just for him. He wondered if he was still there. His gaze shifted upwards towards his home.

  As Antares viewed the castle he took in the sights. An obsidian fortress standing proudly, its size and scale not fully understood until one was right up against it. Connected towers rose out from within; with Antares knowing where each one led and their importance. Castle Xerxes was not like other strongholds of its like. Over the millennia various kings added to it, each one wishing to make it grander To leave their mark that they mattered. From the outside it still retained its shape, pointed and resolute, unmoving. But within, was a maze of corridors that went in near endless directions, to countless rooms. The beauty of the castle was a representation of the Stygians in more ways than one, but the young prince had been gone for a long while. And that allure seemed to have dulled with time.

  Two banners hung on the walls of the castle. Weaved within each of them was the Great Serpent. Even if only etched its presence was magnificent. The golden embroidery stitched its scales together neatly, it curled and curved as though it would break free at any moment. Such power from a mere cloth was incredible. Even after so long, he felt the gaze of the great serpent on him demanding subservience. His back began to ache as he looked at it, the history behind it was just as long as it was bloody. And he belonged to it, to House Xerxes. One of the eight great families that have claim to the title of Emperor of Aurum. The weight of thousands upon thousands of years of history were heavy on his shoulders. His legs felt as though they were rooted to the ground where he stood, he wished never to come back here ever again.

  “Come on,” Casspien said, patting Antares’ shoulder.

  The tap broke him out of his thoughts. “Yeah,” he responded.

  They walked up the black steps and entered the castle. As large as it looked from the outside, it did no justice showing just how vast the interior of the castle truly was. It was still early in the morning and people were about shuffling from one area to the next. They were all too caught up in their tasks to pay attention to the two men. Hallways and archways leading to different parts of the castle surrounded them. Above them hung a great chandelier made of bronze and copper. Candles littered the walls and the chandelier all around them illuminating the area well. For Antares it felt strange being back where he spent most of his childhood. Many emotions shifted through him, but he kept them all under control. They looked at each other and continued forward towards the great dual stairs leading towards the second level of the building.

  As they approached the main staircase there hung a massive portrait. It seemed to draw the entire area towards it as though it was the centerpiece. The woman in the portrait was absolutely stunning. Her golden hair was neatly braided to her side, her eyes matched the color of her hair and shone brightly like aureate orbs. Her skin looked a milky white color yet it glowed like the finest porcelain. A crown sat atop her head and sparkled with eight jewels within it. Each jewel brighter and rarer than the last. But it did not compare, admittedly little else did to her smile. A smile that illuminated all, a smile as warm as the sun itself. A smile that welcomed you, and sheltered you from danger, it was the smile of a Queen.

  “Hello mother.” Antares whispered.

  Time had done nothing to ease the memory of his loss. Some twenty years now and yet it still felt like yesterday he lost her. The repercussions of her assassination on the realm was still felt to this day. Not even the King had recovered from it, a long list of failures that continued to plague this house. Antares had always wondered what would have happened had she lived, if things would be different. If he had been strong enough to save her. He had spent many years wondering what their house would have looked like, whether the fracture that now ran across its surface would have been as deep as it was large. But in the same breath it showed just how important she was, how her loss could bring his entire people to their knees.

  Shame washed over him as the day of her death began to surface in his mind. If only he was not such a coward he thought, if he managed to have done something, use his powers, anything. She would still be alive. Antares had never managed to forgive himself, or rather, he did not want to. He failed the first woman to ever love him, and for that he would carry that failure for as long as he continued to draw breath. So many lives were changed that day, and nothing had ever felt the same since. A poison that seeped into the lungs of all who knew her took hold and had not let go. Fate was often cruel, but for Antares no more cruel than the day it took his mother from him. He forced himself to look away, wiping tears from his eyes.

  Casspien did not interrupt, instead stood there in silence and allowed his cousin to grieve. He did not know much about his late aunt, other than she was beautiful and beloved by all who knew her. He did not need to know her to know those things to be true. Her impact on Iliad was apparent even with how little her time was as its matriarch. Such command and reverence was rare, especially by his people to an outsider, a human nonetheless. Regardless, all of House Xerxes and much of the other realms bent the knee. Yet most were not all, and those who did not were powerful in their own right. There were rumors of them being responsible for the Queen's untimely end but of course they never amounted to much. For in the end they were just rumors after all. To that day still, no one knew who ordered the assassination of the Queen of Iliad. No one but Antares that is, but no one believed him. Not even the great King himself.

  “Forgive me, let us continue.” Antares apologized, walking past him.

  “There is no need for forgiveness, this is your home,” Casspien said reassuringly.

  Antares chuckled without joy.

  “My home you say? This has not been my home for a very long time.”

  Deeper they went into the castle, the walls were littered with portraits of various members of House Xerxes throughout the millennia. All previous rulers, many of them Antares knew and some were far too old for him to recall their stories. They all had such stoic expressions on their face, the look of a ruler. Power was something that was synonymous with his house, and these various rulers embodied them. A history that was just as old as Aurum, House Xerxes was a proud house. Antares wondered what they would have thought if they could see the state of the house they once gave everything to defend and protect, of the lands they bled and died for. The absurdity of it all was not lost on him, the blood that was split to build these walls as high as they were thick. The favor of fate no longer shone on his family that much was evident. But still, he would have liked to have spoken to some of them. At least to understand what it meant to be a Xerxes.

  As they reached the floor leading to the King's chamber they could see a large group had formed outside its doors. For them to be gathered so tightly in such a large hall showed how many of them there were. It seemed like they were waiting for something. Various lords and ladies and even some common folk were present. As they approached, Antares was able to make out sigils on the garments of some of the people there, houses, Robin, Nuthatch, and Bunting. The Winter Birds as they were known, houses of lesser renown but still some of House Xerxes oldest allies. He turned to Casspien.

  “Is this what you meant when you said things had changed?” Antares asked.

  “Yes, not a single member of house Robin, Nuthatch or Bunting sits on the King’s council anymore.” Casspien whispered. “But this is only a small fraction.”

  “Why is that?” responded Antares, “why would the King allow such?”

  Casspien paused.

  “It is better if you hear it from the King. It is not my place,” Casspien finished.

  Antares bore a look of confusion on his face. Now so more than ever he was intrigued. The winter birds were prominent members of nobility but they had the closest connections to the common folk. In many ways they were the speakers for the common folk and to have them not be a part of the council was dangerous and reckless. For as much power as House Xerxes had, the lives of those who lived in Iliad were its biggest concern. To not have any connection with those who served them was arrogant. They were the ones who fought the battles and oftentimes died in them for causes they did not understand.

  They approached the chamber and as they got closer they felt pressure emanating from behind the doors. Even in the current state the King was still someone to be revered and respected, his power was absolute and no one knew that more than Antares. Through the thick wooden doors, such overwhelming energy was making its presence known. No matter how long it had been, he would always be able to tell his fathers aura. They were noticed as they arrived, and immediately those there began to part way as they understood who approached. Many of them were old enough to remember him by sight alone, those who did not were quickly made aware of who he was. Their eyes on Antares made him uncomfortable, soon they would begin gossiping like rats amongst themselves. Word would spread far and wide of his return to the castle and with it a host of trouble. He made eye contact with those representing the winter birds and they bowed in subservience and he acknowledged them. They had always championed him since his youth. They viewed Antares as the dawn of a new age, a better age for Iliad and seeing him now as a man reminded them of what could have been. Antares would have liked to have spoken with them, but now was not the time. As they reached the door they were stopped by the guards.

  “Halt there, only those closest to the-” one guard began.

  “You fool! Do you not know who this is?” the second guard interjected.

  The first guard looked closer at Antares, and as the realization dawned on him he froze. He turned deathly pale at the foolish action he had taken, knowing the penalty for such transgressions. He dropped to his knees and began to beg for forgiveness. Antares lowered himself to help the man up.

  “There is no need for that,” Antares said soothingly.

  “My-my-my Lord I did not-not know I’m-I’m sorry, please mercy!” the man begged.

  “There is no need." The prince looked him over, "you must be new, I do not remember you. What is your name?”

  “J-J-Jon sire. I have been here for two years only,” Jon said sheepishly.

  “Welcome Jon, continue the good work,” Antares said with a grin. He gave him an added pat on the shoulder for encouragement.

  Antares nodded at the other guard in acknowledgment, his name was Aryick, a man that he had known for many years. The years had been kind to him, despite his age, he still looked as old as the last time they met each other. The two guards then began slowly opening the large doors, they strained underneath the weight of it. They were made of oak wood and groaned underneath their own weight. Markings of serpents and men wielding weapons were carved into it. Antares remembered that which was engraved on it was the tale of Percival The Lesser. A tale that was as famous and well known throughout the realms as any other. For its vast nature and encompassing the history of one of House Xerxes greatest rulers. The doors were fashioned by his sister-wife Queen Norah Xerxes who wished to have all those who approached the room be aware of the story of her husband. And what he had sacrificed for the safety of his house and his homeland.

  The interior of the King's chamber was a sight to behold, the finest silks hung from wall to wall. Imagery and tapestry adorned the many sides of the room, the vastness of the bed chamber was truly unlike any other. One could fit a small army in here and would still have some room to maneuver. The marble floor reflected the large tapestry on the ceiling which covered the entire known history of House Xerxes. On the farthest side where the bed would be placed, instead of a wall was a glass window that stood just as tall as the entire room and covered the whole surface. It gave a view of not only the entire castle below but also the city and what lay beyond the walls. From there one could observe all, the beauty of the room was truly a work of art in its own right.

  Thee group in front of them turned around to protest the doors opening. But as they laid eyes on Antares there was an audible gasp and the room went quiet. His approach made them give way letting him through. Some had faces of shock, others disgust but most of all had the look of curiosity upon them. For they did not know why he would have come. Antares would agree with them, he too did not know why he was here but yet he continued onwards.

  The pressure in the room seemed weaker than it was outside less oppressive than he had felt. He quickly realized it was not from the King that such power came from, but of his weeping daughter standing to his side. Guinevere, his little sister, stood there looking at him,. Antares tried to give her a soft smile and she returned it with water in her eyes. The guilt he felt of how he treated her nights ago when she came to bring him back tightened his chest. He wished to apologize for his actions, but she seemed to acknowledge what he was thinking and shook her head. She was always too kind to him and he cursed himself for taking advantage of it. She had dressed in the traditional royal garments. Unlike Casspien the colors she chose were that of silver and white. The colors of the old ways. The exploits of his sister had earned her the moniker of The Red Wolf of Iliad. However in this very moment all Antares saw was a grieving daughter. More so evident now as she was, she never ceased to steal Antares' breath away. Her beauty was rarely matched by anyone. But the woman that glared at him next to her was one such person who could match her. In fact it exceeded it.

  Anastasia Xerxes, the Warden of White Mountain. The youngest of Antares’ siblings, with tears running down her face she glared at him with a bitter kind of hatred reserved only for one's worst enemies. He did not blame her for such a malicious scowl , he tried to offer a smile in compassion. It did nothing. Her hatred for him was perhaps his greatest shame. Once they were close, nearly inseparable. But Antares’ exile was a culmination of tragedy after tragedy and one of the worst outcomes of it was losing favor with her. She had grown much over the years, her beautiful white hair was much longer and she sported twin-tailed braids. It was a look that suited her even with her smaller stature she still carried herself well. Her eyes glowed a twilight of colors just like his own. The longer he looked at her, he wondered if she would attack him. Not to provoke her any further he turned his gaze away, catching his eye the last of his younger siblings present.

  There stood his younger brother and Guinevere's twin, Prince Daimion Xerxes. He was as tall as Antares himself. Where his twin sister sported compassion and love. Daimion looked at his older brother with contempt and dissatisfaction. Around his brother were two children both looking at Antares with eyes of curiosity and slight fear. The same look their mother had who stood next to Daimion. Princess Cirella Xerxes was the wife of his younger brother. Of the two children by their mother, it was only little Samara that Antares could recall. It seemed in his exile, Cirella had given birth to another child. The little boy looked like his father, which gladdened the exiled prince greatly.

  Antares could tell he was not welcomed here, he looked away from them all and turned his attention to the bed in front of him. It was great , a large veil covered it but he could make out a person laying in the bed. Next to them sat a woman on a chair. She stood up and approached Antares and Casspien. Both fell to one knee.

  “My lady,” Casspien said, lowering his head.

  “Lady mother,” Antares added with a lowered head.

  “Enough of that, rise now both of you.” Her sight on Antares, “and you, let me get a good look at you, my child.”

  Both men stood up and the woman approached. It had been five years since Antares last saw Lady Alena. She was the Queen Consort of the King. After the events of his mothers death, the King did not marry but instead took on a consort to sire more children. Those children would be the twins Guinevere and Daimion and the youngest Anastasia. The relationship between Alena and Antares was a good one. He had accepted her as a mother figure and often would seek counsel with her. Seeing her now tears began to well in his eyes, for the first time he truly did miss being back here. She too had tears in her eyes but did not hold them back, she hugged him and cried softly.

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  “Welcome back my son,” Alena whispered.

  “Thank you mother.” Antares embraced her.

  As they let go of each other, Alena looked over Antares one more time. He was completely filthy but she did not care, she was more excited to see him than anything else. She had already started planning outfits and various other things he needed, nothing more so than food. She thought him thin and would make sure to fatten him up in time for winter. Her gaze shifted from his towards the bed and back to him again. Antares approached the bed and pulled the veil away.

  “If it is not the Earl of Lavender, no wonder it smelled like a brothel when the doors opened,” the King sneered.

  “Here I hoped you would be dead when I arrived,” Antares retorted.

  “How dare you!” Daimion said, as he approached his older brother.

  Before he could stand against him, the King laughed. His voice carried throughout the entire room, it felt as though the room would break under the weight of his jovial reaction. It had been a long time since anyone spoke to him in such a manner, at least a full century. It reminded him of gentler times. For the king it was good to see the fire had not completely left the body of his son, that there still remained someone not consumed by their own faults unlike him. Despite the rags, Antares still looked good he thought, he was relieved.

  “And they said you lost your sense of humor,” the King remarked.

  “There are many things I have lost father, my humor is not one of them. But my patience is,” Antares finished.

  He began to turn to leave.

  “Wait.” The King rose to sit up on his bed. “You would not come all this way just to leave so soon.”

  “I did not come here willingly, we both know that.” The prince stopped, rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Go on.”

  The king cranked his neck and cleared his throat. Antares was confused by the display and backed away slowly preparing himself for not quite what.

  “Antares: son of Barranagan, of House Xerxes,” began King Barranagan. “Five years ago, you were stripped of your name, of your titles and of your lands and any claims you had by your King, by me… As I lay here on my dying bed and of sound mind and body. I have seen it fit to restore your name, your titles, your lands and… any claims that are your birthright. You are welcomed back, Crown Prince Antares of House Xerxes.”

  The room erupted into gasps and whispers as the shock of the decree was given out by King Barranagan. All those in the room were aware of the reason behind Antares’ exile and they believed it would never be rescinded. It could not be rescinded. The gravity of his actions, the people that died, the man he killed. All of it was enough for him to be executed, even his title of Crown Prince was not enough to stave off execution. Were it not for Antares also being a Lord of War, the highest honor attained by their people, he would not be here. And still his exile was meant to be eternal, for even the Elders themselves acknowledged the decree alongside the King. The crime of killing a Lord of War was something not easily forgotten nor forgiven even if the slayer was another Lord of War himself. For the King to reverse a decree, of one this important was unheard of. Many had moved on from that dark day not willing to let it define an entire era and instead turned their eyes to those possibly next in line. Daimion was who many of the nobility turned to, so in a crowd of shocked nobles and royals, none were more taken aback than Daimion and Cirella. Plans that had been laid years in the making, betrayals they had committed had begun to unravel.

  “But father!?” proclaimed Damien.

  “Lord father you cannot do this, not him please!” added Anastasia.

  Others stepped forward trying to speak, the entire room was up in arms. This was merely more than simply reinstating Antares from exile, this was making a kin killer, a man who desecrated some of their oldest laws and traditions their ruler again. This was something expected from the human kingdoms, but for the Stygians to make such a man next to inherit the throne was unfathomable. There had been much discussion over the line of succession for there were many candidates, such as Guinevere, Daimion and even Anastasia despite being the youngest. There were even claims for members from the extended family to assume the throne, names that carried weight in the Stygian world. All of that would change, all those schemes done in the shadows. The dividing of land across Iliad and further allied kingdoms. The wealth that would come with aligning with the correct candidate. But with one last resounding decree the King of the Stygians made all of that irrelevant. There was only one claim that mattered, that of Antares Xerxes.

  Antares was too stunned to speak. He knew his father to be brazen, to do as his mood dedicated. But even for him this was going too far, his ascension to monarch would mean bloodshed. For there would be many that would reject this, reject him. The throne of Iliad was one that was coveted by many, and those within House Xerxes had long had their desire to sit on the throne. There was once a time Antares was among those who envisioned themselves wearing the golden crown. Something he once thought inevitable after the previous heir’s abdication of the throne. To wear the crown of Iliad was to be of power and influence comparable to that of the Emperor of Aurum himself. It was a prospect too seductive, even the most honor bound of men were tempted by it, of that power. What King Barranagan had done, fanned the flames of conflict. Once this decree reached the farthest areas of Iliad and more so of House Xerxes, civil war would be on the horizon.

  “I refuse.”

  The chatter in the room died down suddenly.

  “Why?” asked King Barranagan.

  “I have no interest… in any of it. Not anymore,” responded Antares coldly.

  There was a long pause as everyone turned their attention to the King. He began to get out of bed, his movements were slow. Death had long had a hold on him. All his life he had only known battle, once the weakest, he climbed to the strongest throughout all lands. His tales were as long as the countless corpses left in his wake. The wars he waged in defense of his home, the battles he won in pursuit of peace. The lives he ended in compassion. Barranagan Xerxes casted a shadow on Aurum not seen since the days of God-King Gilgamesh Xerxes some hundred thousand years ago. His legend would live long after he departed, that much was known. There would never be another like him. But he was a far cry from the Demon of the North he was once called. A body covered in scars across every crevice. His tired twilight eyes seemed dull with age. The desire for life long removed from them. A face too similar to Antares, had the King been just a few centuries younger they would have been twins. He tried his best to move and found himself struggling just for that alone, his large overgrown hair reaching all the way down to his hips. He was a beast of a man, even in his current state. There was a time he once instilled fear in millions merely with his presence. Those days were over, those days of blood and tears. The Age of Peace they called it; a hopeful title given to an age dominated by war and her legions.

  Things he could once do freely now required assistance. Lady Alena wished to help him but he stopped her. He would not look weak in front of those gathered. He would not let this be his last moments in this world. There was once a time the very heavens shook with every step he took and now here he looked defeated. He cursed the fates for letting him live this long, he so greatly had wished for a more pleasant end. But he knew that would never be the case. The death of his wife had broken so many things, so many people. He was no exception; a man once believed to be invincible now barely clung to life. Admittedly he would tell you, he died decades ago along with his wife. What stood now was merely the shell of a dead man, waiting for his body to give up. Driven only by his Will, King Barranagan stood up and approached the front of his bed.

  “All of you, leave us.” King Barranagan commanded.

  Daimion wished to protest but before he could, Lady Alena bowed deeply and began to leave. The others followed suit. She held Antares’ hand and gave him a reassuring smile and walked past him. Daimion made sure his brother saw the disdain in his face before walking past him. Anastasia walked past without acknowledging her brother, still tears down her face. She had been the closest with their father, he knew this loss would have been so much harder on her than anyone else. Anastasia idolized their father much like Daimion, in their eyes he was a god amongst men. Seeing him reduced to this brought them great pain. Lastly Guinevere walked past. He held her hand, stopping her slightly. She was taken aback and blushed. He asked for her forgiveness and she squeezed his hand and told him they would speak later. As she left she looked back once more at the two of them, and closed the door.

  “Do you want me to beg?” began Barranagan. “Will you accept my terms once I kneel before you?”

  Antares walked past his father towards the window.

  “I have no interest in being King,” the son announced.

  “It is not about your interests, this is your birthright, your duty,” barked Barranagan sitting back down on the bed. His voice still carried the weight of a king behind it.

  “That you stripped away from me. And now what? You force me back home and force a crown on my head and I am supposed to smile and nod?” Antares looked at him, hoping for a satisfactory answer.

  “I am the King boy, I give and take as I see fit.” Barranagan brushed hair from his face, that even proving difficult.

  “That may be true for the rest of them, but you are no King of mine. Do well to remember that.”

  “Then as your father-”

  Antares laughed.

  “As my father?” Antares approached Barranagan.” As my father? So I am your son again? Is that it? I am your heir? You acknowledge me now that you need me again?”

  “Antares-”

  “Twenty-two years, twenty-two fucking years she is gone. When we needed you, when I needed you, where were you?” Antares began. “How about seventeen years ago? When you drove off Hyperion, with your sanctimonious talk of fate and duty? When my brother looked for his father, all he saw was his King?”

  “Hyperion was weak-” responded Barranagan.

  In that instant the air in the room became heavy, the pressure rose and the windows and doors began to splinter and freeze over. The temperature dropped suddenly. Those on the other side of the door backed away quickly as the door and hallway began to freeze over. Such venomous rage filled the air, many struggled to remain standing. There was very little that bothered Antares, not much more than the mention of his older brother, Hyperion. The eldest of the two sons of Myrra. Hyperion was everything Antares wanted to be and more. He was destined to rule, heralding a new golden age for Iliad and possibly all of Aurum. But that changed many years ago. First with the rebellion and then with the assassination of Queen Myrra, their mother. Hyperion grew disillusioned with the direction Iliad was going in and more importantly began to lose faith in his own father and his people. A confrontation ensued which ended with Hyperion leaving not only Iliad but Aurum all together. Divesting himself of all connection to his home, never to be heard from again. Within less than a mere moment, Antares had conjured a blade of ice at his fathers throat. The dagger sharper than steel.

  “You have no right to speak his name,” threatened Antares. “Do so again and I will send you to her at this very moment.”

  “You truly think of me as this great monster, do you? Even after all these years?” there was sadness in his eyes, a rare sight that even caused his son to falter in his empty threat.

  Antares dispersed the blade and sat in the chair by his bed, his head in his hands. Barranagan followed suit and moved over to sit across from his son.

  “Is this how we are going to spend your final moments?” began Antares. “Fighting again? Will you fill me with so much rage that I will not be able to grieve my father's passing?”

  Barranagan reached over and placed a tired hand on his son’s shoulders. "I do not need you to grieve for me. What I need from you is to do what I could not; I need you to lead them.”

  Antares crumbled his pants underneath his hands, his honest feeling rising to the surface. For so long he buried how he felt, “I-I can not, not after Nykolas. Not after that.”

  “You had no choice.”

  A single tear made its way down the prince’s face. “That is the problem, I was not strong enough to make another choice.”

  It had been five years since Barranagan last saw his son. Even in exile he still had spies watch him, he could never fully abandon Antares. Not after what happened with Hyperion. He loved his son dearly more than any of his children. Which is why he expected so much from him. He cursed himself, for the first time in decades showing regret over his own weakness. What Antares was forced to do was no simple task and even to Barranagan who had experienced so much, he still felt profound sadness at the ease Antares accepted the order to apprehend Nykolas Xerxes.

  “Then become strong.”

  Antares looked up at his father.

  Barranagan continued, “Become stronger than me, become stronger than Hyperion. So you can always choose. Choose to live as you please. Because only the strong can choose. But until then rule over them, guide them, protect them from themselves.”

  Antares took a moment to absorb the words of his father and what they meant. For all his power he was not strong, he was not strong enough to save his mother, nor stop his brother from leaving. Or most importantly strong enough to change the outcome with Nykolas. He squeezed his fists with all his might, drawing blood. His father was right, he was not strong. All his arrogance that he had garnered through his youth and as a Lord of War was on display in his mind. In that moment, although he would not realize it for some time, something changed within Antares, a desire was born. For the first time, the Crown Prince coveted something: the power to choose.

  “Why did you have to wait so long to be my father again?” Antares said with gritted teeth.

  The king chuckled.

  Barranagan began, “There are many things I regret in my life, things I thought would never happen. My naivety has caused so much pain. For that I am truly sorry, Antares.”

  Antares was shocked beyond words, to see such expression from his father, who through much of his life had barely spoken. To see the man he knew as the strongest be so open, so human. Tears ran down his face.

  He continued, “Just like you, I too never wished to be King. But my father… your grandsire, that age… It was constant war amongst ourselves for the crown. Something in me broke after I killed my brothers and when I met Myrra, she fixed it. But when she died, it seems that thing broke again. And I just was not strong enough to fix it by myself.”

  Antares wiped away tears from his face. “You were not the only one in pain. You did not have to be alone.”

  Barranagan smiled. “You are right. I am sorry.”

  Tears began rolling down the Crown Prince's face again. All he ever wished for was acknowledgement from the one man he respected the most. He hated how divided his family was, the winters of suffering and resentment. For the first time he felt as though he was seen as a son. He had known his father was dying for a long time. Much of the reason he did not wish to see him was because he did not want to see it for his own eyes.

  His father put a withered hand on his crying son's shoulder. Barranagan could not help but smile. His son was a kind man, a man his mother would have been proud of. For the first time he did not want to die, he wished to see the king his son would become, he knew there was no one better. If only I had more time, he thought. A phrase that had been uttered countless times throughout the world, by countless fathers looking at their sons. He would not use this time to curse his shortcomings, instead he was grateful he was able to see his boy one last time, that was all that mattered.

  “What if I am not as good as you?” sobbed Antares.

  “Foolish child,” remarked Barranagan. “You will be far greater, it has already been written. History will forget me, I will barely be remembered in the stories they will sing about you.”

  “I will not let them forget you,” Antares said.

  Barranagan laughed.

  “Help me into bed my son.”

  Antares helped his father back into bed. There was still much he wanted to say, things he wished to talk about, But what they had said was enough. They had been granted the opportunity to speak once more, something he was never offered with either Hyperion or his mother. He was grateful. He did not care how history would remember his father, they would call him a monster, a berserker. A man who lived only for battle. The champion of The Third Great War. And many more titles, none of those meant anything. To him he was his father, the strongest man in the world. The laziest man and a man who shunned his responsibilities as ruler at every opportunity. And despite all of that he was still the most noble. To Antares, Barranagan was what it meant to carry out one's duty no matter the cost to those you loved. As much as he hated his father for putting the kingdom before him or his family, he knew that was what a King needed to do. The Kingdom was his family, and not only the children he sired.

  Barranagans story was one of a man who did everything in his power to hold his realm together, and succeeded. His story was one of immense heartache and loss, but was also one of great triumph and love. It was a story of standing against the mad emperor who nearly burned Aurum to ashes and yet still showing compassion as he killed him. It will be a story told for as long as men have tongues to speak with. Barranagan looked at his son sitting there wearing those dirty rags and smiled. He studied his face in great detail, taking in everything about him. He always disliked how much Antares looked like him for he thought he would also inherit some of his bad habits. But in that moment he was glad, for young Barranagan would not have heeded the call of his father. To know his son would be far greater than him was a proud feeling.

  The old king was filled with peace, for the first time in decades he felt no pain. He closed his eyes for the last time. It was fine. He thought that he was not loved by many nor did he wish to be. The love of the boy sitting next to him was more than enough, so when the woman with golden hair stood before him he took her hand. She was just as beautiful as the last time he saw her. There was much he had to say to her, much he needed to tell her about their sons. But for once he had all the time to do so, and she knew it too. With that, King Barranagan son of Menos, of House Xerxes exhaled for the last time.