The Kingdom of Zaniah

Fast moving footsteps cleared the castle halls with haste, the servant gliding from corridor to corridor in search of the unjust king. A message in the form of a scroll was clasped tightly in his hand containing an important message from a passing traveler requesting his presence. The heavy wooden doors to the throne room burst open, and the servant's steps propelled him forward. He swayed in his spot panting, earning the uninterested glances of the nearby guards. 

The king did not rise from his comfortable throne, his dark eyes narrowing on the servant man and his bald head tipping further onto his knuckles. He was a selfish king, one the people of his land feared more than respected. Sacrifices further from the people's best interest had been made under his rule. It felt more like control than monarchy. Leaders though were chosen from birthright. He believed in his right to be on the throne. 

The servant sputtered, "My liege, I bring you a message from beyond the wall. A traveler requests presence in the throne room."

The king frowned, disregarding the message with a subtle wave of his hand. "I do not need commoners in my presence. Send them away at once."

"My king, he speaks of power, great power, one that may change the world as a whole," he bowed deeply, holding the scroll above his head to show the wax seal. "If you accept, he promises much more than your desires."

The king laughed, barking for all to hear. "What can a man of common standing have to offer me? I have my kingdom. What more is there?"

Nearby, another young man clothed in more subtle rich clothing turned his eyes toward the king. He was a familiar face among the people and much more respected if not longed for, yet he lived in the shadow of the king as his advisor. His name was Henry, Henry Richardson, a scraggly fellow who looked like he was always alert with wide dark brown eyes and pale skin, with black hair down to his collar. Spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose, round as coins and thin, black, metal frames. The glass between his eyes and the world magnified his eyes making him look odd from certain angles. 

He raised a finger in protest to the king's words, hoping this time he would be heard. "Perhaps King Scott, a power may be of use to you, even more so if it is unknown."

The king's expression gave way to daggers shooting in the young man's direction. "And what of it? You defy me even now?"

"Not at all, sir," Henry said, his voice witty but frail. "Open doors and open opportunities bring with it great things. I simply speak as your advisor. Surrendering this opportunity will only bring you pain. I can feel it in my gut, sire."

The king huffed, then nodded in Henry's direction. "Bring him the scroll, peasant."

The servant swallowed a mouth full of dry air and snuck looks at the king before handing off the scroll to Henery. 

"Please, take care," Henry reassured and the servant bowed and fled with the same quickened step.

The seal popped and fractured, letting small flakes of wax drift to the ground. 

"Don't just stand there, read," the King demanded.

Henry read:

A man of wisdom, a victim of death, and a creature of fear

What is a king to become who sits idly behind power?

He will not know nor find what he seeks without the truth

I offer power, I offer majesty, and I offer release

There is nothing I cannot give that you cannot give back

Does this interest you, King Scott? 

Or do you intend to cower forever?

The veins on the king's bald head pulsed, bulging out of proportion. He stood abruptly, his clenched fists tremoring. "How dare he question the king with his riddles. I am the king and I do not hide." He glowered down at Henry. "I will not stand for such measures. Bring this man to me for trial and execution." 

The anger filled the room and guards filed out making their way to the front doors of the castle on his command like obedient dogs.

Henry was used to this by now, not that he should be. King Scott acted on a whim, fueled by his feelings, nothing more. There was little grounding him and Henry usually took the brunt of his anger if not the blunt of a thrown object his way. The advisor could only sigh. Things would work out for the better, or so he hoped. But seeing an innocent man getting executed on a whim, Henry didn't know how to stop it. There were better measures for such things.

It wasn't long before an old man was ushered into the throne room. He looked no different than a prune topped with white, wiry hair on the sides of his head and a bush of a snowy beard clinging to his jaw and lips. He maneuvered with the aid of a walking stick, two feet taller than his hunched body. His feet shuffled across the floor like a turtle crossing the road. The only notable possession he had was a small wooden box under his arm. 

With droopy, closed eyes he raised his head toward the king. "I hear a man would like to choose his path," the traveler cooed. 

"You must have heard wrong," King Scott answered him. "You will be tried for questioning my power. Seeing your state, I don't think you'll last more than a day in the dungeon. You might as well rot in my presence."

The old man merely smacked his lips and smiled as a tooth on his lower jaw poked up over his lip. "I do not question your power, more reside with the wise. And I hope you plan to do the same. Creation, my king, is a gift, one of great power." He turned toward Henry. "I do hope you have the wisdom to use it sensibly."

The traveler dropped his stick on the ground, placing it gently there. His hand lifted the box from its rest and held it out. "A gift…I bestow on you a choice, and a choice is a gift." He opened the box. Three vials within glittered in the light flooding in from the windows and all three glowed the same shade of red and appeared identical. "Life is full of chances, and it would be foolish not to take one for yourself, my king."

The contents of each vial spilled from his mouth poetically, his voice like the gentle hoots of an owl. "One contains poison, potent enough to kill a man upon first drink. He will not live to tell this tale. One contains transformation. You will become a beast and may never be looked at again as a man by some who cannot see the real you. One contains power. The universe and strands of souls weaved by the gods will be in your favor. Anything is possible, but you only receive what you have given to others. A pure heart is worthy of most this grand power."

King Scott had grown quiet, now open to the idea of taking a vial for himself. "I am pure of heart, there is no question. I have luck on my side from the gods themselves. Why do you think my blood has made me king?"

"No doubt, blood is powerful," the man said and opened one glittering eye. The king did not flinch, but Henry was caught staring in wonder. There were no weights in his eyes, just black voids containing masses of stars. This man…who was he?

"Henry," the king spat.

The curt sound of his name drew Henry from the traveler's face and he glanced up toward the king. "Yes, my liege?"

"You are to drink a vial. Each one could be poison and I do not intend to lose my life," the king muttered for all to hear. His gaze remained cruel toward his advisor. 

Henry was baffled. Sweat peeled from his pores and he stammered, "Sire, is my life of any worth to you?"

"It is worth my own," King Scott answered, sitting back on his throne. "Now drink."

Henry's eyes moved from one stone cold face of a guard to the next, weary about the opposition. He picked up a vial, choosing on a whim; yet another obedient dog amid the king. He popped the cork and the content fizzled, sending small wisps of red through its mouth and into the air. He couldn't hesitate long or he'd be questioned. But there was still a long pause.

"Drink," the king demanded again. 

The taps of the King's fingers against the armrest of his throne matched the heartbeats thudding in Henry's chest. This could kill him but he had to or he knew he'd be executed as well. Bringing the vial to his lips, he drank it in one full gulp. 

A split second sent the vial tumbling from his hands and his throat began to burn. He clutched it tight, gagging and gasping for air. His body burned and his nerves ignited like fire, though it did not kill him. White tufts of fur sprouted evenly from his hands and from beneath the folds of his clothes. His face scrunched and stretched becoming animalistic and his ears elongated, now covered in velvet soft fur. His eyes squeezed shut only to open moments later as ruby red jewels. Henry did not know what he was becoming, only that seconds later, he did not look human. His legs gave way and he fell to the unforgiving floor.

A loud crackle erupted from the King. "Fate has chosen you as a monster. Pity, pity," he said cruelly. "You look like a fool." Whispers filled the room and brought a chorus of laughter shortly after. 

King Scott descended his throne, robes trailing behind him. "Luck will be more in my favor," he said confidently, taking hold of a vial and popping its cork. "I shall be the next god of creation," he said, holding it up. "The lands will kneel for eternity in my presence." With that, he drank.

A stream of laughter eroded his fear and he held his hands to his sides. "Bask! For all eternity!" he yelled as his body began to glow, brighter, brighter, and brighter. Soon he was lifted from the ground, hovering only a few feet from the floor when suddenly, a blood curdling yell rang from his vocals. His body shuttered and contorted and everyone in the room shielded their eyes. A vicious, loud pop followed after leaving the room silent and the remains of the king were now a story of blood and viscera across the throne. His head rolled to a still on the tiles of the throne room floor and blood leaked from his eyes.

All the guards in the room were no longer stoic and reserved and laughter had ceased completely. Fear strone their features and the men remained petrified. 

The traveler waddled slowly through the remains of the king paying no mind to the mess on the floor, the box tucked neatly under his arm and the last vial in his grasp. He stopped in front of Henry, holding it out to the now monster of a man. 

"Only power should be used by the wise, Henry," he said, quietly. 

Henry raised his head, still in utter shock from the abrupt explosion and gathering his senses of what had happened to him. "I am not wise, traveler."

"Fate disagrees," the man cooed and took hold of Henry's hand, nesting the vial in his palm. 

The advisor stared at it, whisps of his soul streaming from his eyes and now being drawn into the small artifact. Something stirred deep from within his chest. He looked up to thank the old man only to see his robes left on the dirty floor and a cloud of dust dissipating into the room.

This vial was a gift, and what he would do with this gift, only souls could tell.