Chapter 12 - Two Kings Must Die

Iselvheim, 29th of Góa, 804 A.C.

I'm home.

It was a strange thing.

Coming back.

Nothing had changed. Everything was the same. Felt the same. Smelled the same.

The only thing that'd changed had been him.

Radically so.

Raiden raised his chin as he kept the horse cantering forward, ignoring the sounds of the guards mounted around him speaking between them, watching the castle rising on the horizon ahead of him as his beacon of home.

Or rather, a sign.

Of his next doom.

He'd dreamed of the day he'd come back to this place for many days and nights. He'd wished to come back every day, at first. At the time, scared, alone, hungry, cold, bloodied, sore, and torn apart, lying awake dreaming of the place he'd once called home had felt like a salvation of some kind. A true beacon of home. Of rescue. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks summed into months, he knew no one was coming for him, and, more importantly, he learned that no amount of wishing — or begging, even —, would give him what he wanted. It wouldn't change his situation or bring him the future he yearned so fervently for. It also wouldn't change the past and everything he'd felt the day he'd been shipped off from the very same castle he now saw before him.

Still, gazing up at the castle, now, he wondered if returning had ever actually been what he'd wanted, back then. Or if he'd deluded himself into thinking he wanted to return simply because life had been, in some ways, easier, here. Or maybe, simply, more constant. Consistent. But after having been through all he'd survived the past nine winters, he understood the path he'd taken to get here, today, had changed him far too much for him to ever see this castle or that life the same way.

Far, far, far too much.

His hands constricted around the reigns of the horse with too much force, turning his knuckles as white as the animal's fur, though little of his attention was given to the fact. Instead, his chest rose in an unsteady breath as his mind focused all efforts on imagining what would be waiting for him on the other side of those walls — the very same he now knew he had no right to live within of.

To King Demir Thorden's chagrin.

If it had been up to him, Raiden wouldn't have lived past his birth. Or perhaps, more accurately, he wouldn't have lived past his second day of life.

Winters had gone by and the pain he'd felt that day from the brutality that'd been committed against him had turned into nothing if not sour, bitter, corroding, resented fury in all the winters he'd spent in exile.

The worst part of it was he'd spent so long keeping the anger bottled in, he wasn't sure he'd know what to do with it when the time came to let it go.

Probably explode.

Nine winters had gone by.

Nine lonely, harsh, disheartening, and hellish fucking winters.

Nine winters.

He'd expected some form of relief at being back. Maybe some comfort that his torture had finally ended. Yet, all he felt was a big void of nothing in his chest as he approached the place where what little he'd once had, had been taken away from him.

He wondered if the winters had done that. Or rather the suffering. Or maybe survival itself.

Did it matter, even, he wondered?

"How does it feel to be back?"

Raiden's head turned at the voice.

Kerim Kasdan was a typical northerner man. Largely built, with tightly coiled muscles, tall stature, and tattoos all over his torso. His dirty-blonde hair was permanently tied in a ponytail, braided down the length of falling hair and he was wearing his long, black cape over his shoulders. His eyes were a fair brown, a deep walnut tone that Raiden had always envied for the most foolish and selfish of reasons — which he'd never been capable of admitting to anyone, not even himself. Raiden saw that he had a sword sheathed into his side and the handle of two axes could be spotted over each of his shoulders, sheathed into scabbards of their own, and strapped with leather strips around his torso.

He'd only ever heard about Kerim Kasdan, the Berserker, before he'd been shipped off to Stalsgard.

Even then, the man had been known all over the kingdom because of his might in war. Ever since he was a young man, he'd been deemed a brave, fearsome warrior and recognized as so by all the troops of the King's army and even foreign kingdoms who'd either heard or seen him fight. No man who had ever stood against him had survived to tell the tale and Raiden knew the man would die of old age being remembered even on his deathbed as the greatest warrior in existence.

Back then, he would have given anything to be trained by such a man.

When he saw him arrive at Stalsgard, though, he realized he'd never loathed the sight of a man more than on that day.

Raiden shrugged his shoulders. "I just want to get this over with."

"This?"

This.

Whatever was coming. Whatever was about to happen. Whatever had changed.

Raiden faced the castle again, training his eyes on the tallest tower on the western side of the building, thinking of the answer he could never give Kerim, both because he wasn't sure what to expect and because he didn't know what he wanted to expect.

So, it was better to just expect nothing, instead.

It would most definitely hurt less.

He forced air into his lungs before clearing his throat and swallowing. A slight lift of his shoulders and he hoped Kerim had gotten the hint he wasn't going to answer and, above all, didn't want to talk about this.

Just drop it, Kerim.

"You're not coming back for a visit. You know that, right? You're coming back for good."

Raiden mauled over his words for a while before deciding to answer, even though there wasn't much he could say except agree with the man's words. "I know."

And that's what killed him.

Because he would've been able to handle coming back for a visit. For a few days or even weeks. He'd be gone before he knew it. Time passed differently for him, ever since he'd left for Stalsgard. And while his time in Stalsgard hadn't been good in any way, at least there he didn't have to look his 'parents' in the face anymore and see the mountain of lies piled up around them, shaping the mountain their castle sat atop of, like a black castle of madness with foundations so weak they could topple down at any moment.

The only sad thing was that if they ever did, it wasn't just them it'd bring down.

But the entire kingdom, too.

Kerim's brows furrowed. "Then, why are you saying you want to 'get this over with' like you're just coming to visit and then leave?"

Raiden couldn't answer that question truthfully.

Not because he didn't want to, but because he legitimately couldn't. Too many truths — or perhaps even more lies — lived within the words that it took to explain what he'd meant. Far more than he was allowed to say by the man he'd called 'father' up until his teenage winters.

"I'm not sure there's a way I can explain that to you, Kerim."

"But haven't you missed it here and wished to come back?"

He really hadn't, honestly.

Despite the initial hatred Raiden had felt for the man, the winters that'd gone by had made them companions in some strange way he couldn't explain. Raiden would never understand why Kerim had accepted to come to Stalsgard when he could have been doing so much more important and interesting things anywhere else in the kingdom, but the man had always had an edge of softness to his bluntness that made him grow in Raiden's heart. To an extent, he had become what Raiden could probably describe as a 'friend', though he loathed the meaning of the word annexed to anyone's name after all he'd been through. Despite his callous training and his unmerciful lessons, he'd been a mentor and a father to Raiden in ways he'd never had, before. He'd tried to protect him and shelter him from as much as he'd been able and, partly, it'd been because of him that Raiden had survived all this time. He'd never understand why he'd stayed for nine winters, loyal and dedicated to the vow he'd taken to the King — because only the Holy Gods know he certainly hadn't signed up for any of it —, but he was glad Kerim had stayed.

Raiden scoffed. "I thought I wanted to come back."

"But?"

"Time made me realize I actually haven't."

"But you've missed it?"

Oh, yes.

He had missed it — dearly.

He thought he knew what it felt like to long so very much for something, before.

As a young boy, he'd found it to be unbearable. To want. To desire. To yearn. To crave. Those had all been words he'd used for the hunger he'd used to feel. A hunger so innocent, so genuine, for love and comfort, that it used to make him dream of caresses, kisses, hugs, and kind words.

But the truth is that type of longing was ugly. Incessant. Shaped like two hands around a throat.

His.

For nine winters, that very same hunger had been there, stronger than ever, whenever he took a gasping breath and suddenly realized that the very same thing he had always wanted more than anything was the exact same thing that was killing him all along.

"I did miss it." His chin lifted to the mountain ahead of him with its white, glassed peaks from the gathered, fresh, unthawed snow. "But then I realized my throat was scratched raw from all the lies I'd been fed all my life." Raiden's heavy gaze settled on Kerim, making the older man push in a breath at the cold, unaffected glow in the young man's golden-blue eyes unlike any others' he'd ever seen before. "And then came the day I realized that what I thought were roses have actually always been thorns all along, given to me with pretended love but poisoned to kill me the second I stopped being valuable."

"How is it that you just managed to answer my question and only give me more questions, instead of answers?"

Raiden smiled, but it wasn't heartfelt, because as far as he was concerned, the lies he'd been tangled up in were not only his ruin but also his salvation. Like all things, he knew the truth couldn't be hidden forever and he also knew — probably better than most — that the second they became known, his life would end, which inherently meant that more important than everything else, they weren't only his to tell.

There was a time he'd be ashamed to admit he yearned for that day.

Right now, he wasn't.

Kerim sighed. "Fine. But don't you want to see your family again? Your mother?"

Kerim was poking at the jailed crow — his beast — inside Raiden's cage and even though it had been quiet ever since that day, so long ago, quite frankly, he feared the day it was let out from the confined walls of its bars.

Because it was going to run wild.

It was going to snarl.

It was going to destroy.

"I haven't seen her in winters."

"I know you haven't, but that doesn't answer my question."

Raiden looked at the fighter beside him, now trotting along at his horse's pace to keep up with him. His eyes then flew beyond him to the guards flanking them and a sigh left him, long and pained, exactly like someone carrying a heavy load with no sign of having a place to put it down. "I won't give you another one."

"So, you would rather have stayed in Stalsgard for the rest of your life?"

No.

"Yes."

Kerim inhaled. "You don't mean that."

Raiden's nostrils flared as he narrowed his eyes, a sharp edge creeping into his voice. "You know I hate that sentence," Raiden growled under his breath, the muscles in his jaw visibly tense. "Also, after all this time, do you still not understand that I never speak my words lightly?" His voice dripped with venom, laced with years of frustration and disappointment.

"I know. I'm sorry, but it's just…" Kerim shook his head, and the sigh that left him made Raiden's skin prickle uncomfortably. "What scares you so much you'd wish to stay there instead of coming back to your family and your kingdom and facing them after nine winters of being locked away?"

The fact that it's not my family, nor my kingdom.

"What scares me…" His jaw clenched as the horse neighed softly, moving its long neck restlessly. "Is what I will do."

There was a pause.

"To them? Or to yourself?"

Raiden's words left him in a whisper as he felt the quiet burning begin as the doors to the castle appeared in his line of sight, mere feet away from him. "To the world."

With a grunt and a light squeeze of the horse's sides, he picked up speed through the pebbled ground, no longer muddied by the winter's permanent rains. Instead, small flowers grew on the lands, curling their beautiful, fragile, young petals towards the sun, them, too, yearning for the love of something unreachable. He didn't look back to see what Kerim was doing or the look on his face, but he knew the man had been rattled by his words. But he'd never lied to Kerim — not intentionally, at least — and he didn't want to start, now.

Because the truth is there was something inside Raiden.

The crow.

Something wild. Something untamed. Something dangerous. Something ravenous.

A caged animal clawing to get out. It'd been too weak back when he was young, innocent enough to be tricked into going inside its own cage and staying there at the littlest of incentives. Then, nine winters ago, it'd grown enough to be dangerous enough to let itself loose, but it'd been rendered silent by the pain of the day both it and Raiden had lost everything, being stripped of all that made either anything at all. With the pain, it backed into the cage, healing its own wounds like that would protect it from the truth unveiled that day, cawing softly in the bounds of its bars but remaining nonetheless. And for the winters that'd followed, it'd always been there, barred within its cell, but with its talons and beak ready to strike out, so that as soon as it saw any breach or escape, it could take it to break out.

Only, it never simply wanted to escape.

It wanted to settle old blood debts. Debts as old as it had lived, for all the things both it and Raiden had been forced to endure. After all, the crow had had over two decades to build an entire fortress of rage and it was only a matter of time until it came crumbling to the ground.

And when it does…

Raiden could feel it in his very blood that it was going to bring havoc.

It was coming to destroy.

"If you're so worried about that, why did you come?"

Kerim's loud voice amidst the sunny afternoon made Raiden's spine crack as his muscles tensed. He looked over his shoulder, watching the man trot to catch up. "You sound like I had any choice."

Kerim tipped his dark eyes to Raiden, smiling calmly in a softer way than Raiden would have expected from a seasoned warrior. "If I'd been told about you, I would have believed that. But I've seen what lives inside of you, boy, and I've seen with my own eyes what you are capable of. So, what I believe is that no one would be able to force you to do anything if you were ever given a single reason to resist."

Raiden snorted. "That's a nice fantasy, but it's just that, unfortunately. A fantasy." He pulled on the reigns, slowing the horse to a canter again, as the door grew nearer. "Resisting is all I've been doing, Kerim, and look where it's gotten me. I'm right back where I started, in the hands of the one man who could've been my father and instead decided to make me his villain. He holds the power and the wealth of everything I stand to inherit one day, but he's already demonstrated that he can take it all away, including my right to live and to my freedom, so I've learned better than to defy him, by now."

"That is stupidity." Kerim shook his head vehemently. "Life is riddled with options and decisions. Your position as heir —"

"Means nothing."

When I'm not truly his heir.

His mind spoke the rest of the sentence he'd been warned to never utter to a single soul, but his lips merely articulated the part of it that was innocently vague — as he'd been trained half to death to do.

"You see too little, boy."

"And you know too little, Kerim," he shot back, slightly offended the warrior was chastising him for accepting the wyrd of his life without fighting back, leaving himself at the will of the King without even a whisper of rebellion.

If only he knew…

He hopped off the horse, offering his reigns to one of the guards who quickly followed him coming down from his mount. More followed, converging in a half circle around him. He gazed upon each of their faces, remembering how the three that'd dragged him away from his father's chambers — bleeding and probably half-dead —, were still here, having remained in service of the quest that'd exiled him in Stalsgard for the past nine winters.

His hands fisted at his sides.

Raiden knew Kerim thought he had hopelessly and stupidly given up, but if the man knew the whole truth beneath the well-buried secrets the royal family kept, he'd understand why Raiden was powerless.

"I was never given a choice. I am, today, what was made of me, and that might look lovely on the outside, but it's actually very much not because the day I was born, whatever control I had of my own life was taken away from me," he spoke with a cold, clean-cut certainty that bit into his heart, the truth so sharp it could've cut a path through his very soul if only the blade could ever reach that deep. "But I've learned to deal with that. Learned to accept it. And you, of all people, don't get to stand there, after nine winters of what you put me through, and tell me how I should feel or act."

He started to move —

"Any heart tends to harden off after a lifetime of living inside a life two sizes too small, deprived of oxygen and space to breathe." His voice was low, barely audible as he spied a quick look to the sky, lips pursing. He made a small pause, swallowing. "Your heart is no different, Leif, and though you may have forgotten what it's like to burn within, I expect the day will come when you'll fight for more than your own life."

Leif.

Raiden shivered, lips parted in shock. "What are you —"

The door opened.

Raiden whirled around without thinking, looking at the crack in the door and the features of his mother as she brushed through the gap until she was standing in the golden sun outside, dressed in a salmon-colored dress that made her hair shine redder than he'd ever seen it, resembling a shade of strawberry he'd only ever heard described before. Her eyes searched the courtyard incessantly, her fingers twitching at her sides as she wiped her palms against her dress and then rose one to her chest as if to squeeze her heart. When they found him, behind nine winters of scars and wounds, he felt like a child once more, looking up at those known, dark-green eyes that had always felt like home to him.

"Raiden."

The same old, traitorous hope flowered in his chest, but his crow quickly reminded him of her visit to the dungeons of Stalsgard, seven winters ago, when she'd told him his full story.

The exact same hate and anger from that day, so long ago, crawled over his skin, now.

He could taste it, electric and sour, exactly like his anger. They held the same smell, too, exactly like the burning of the betrayal he'd felt that day when his mother finally told him the truth. Both had lived within him, bitter and dark, for all these winters, and now, seeing her standing there with a clear hope in her eyes that all would be well only made the lightning light up like a wildfire inside him.

His blood boiled.

He loathed her. He loathed this place. He loathed his life. He loathed his family.

He wanted it all to disappear. To go away. To evaporate.

How could she stand in front of him, after all this time, and look at him with hope? With longing? With love? When she'd shown him none all this time? Like she wanted to make amends? Like she wanted to erase the last nine winters? Like they could all pretend the past hadn't happened and they were all a family instead of each other's banes?

How could she?!

"Leif." Kerim's tone was low, the warning quiet, but it was enough to still all the aggression in his blood.

He took in a breath through his nose, willing his heart to slow down. He could still hear the wails of the crow, fiercer and stronger than ever. However, slowly easing the boiling in his blood made the crow's anger simmer down as well, taking away the fuel that made it rebel.

Be the desert, he repeated to himself time and time again in his mind the mantra he'd fed off of in the last nine winters.

His mother's eyes widened and her lips parted. "Leif?" She repeated the nickname sourly and he wasn't sure if she didn't like it or if she understood its meaning and didn't like it instead.

He'd be willing to bet it was the first option.

It'd been a nickname he'd adopted a long time ago, chosen the very same day the Queen had told him the truth about his own story.

Be the desert, he repeated to himself time and time again in his mind.

He lowered his lashes as he focused on taking deep, focused breaths through his nose, hoping they'd settle his blood and soften his heart just a little more.

"Get it under control."

Raiden's heart fluttered dangerously as it slowly lost its rampant speed.

"You won't gain anything by getting angry, right now. You're back. You're home —"

"I told you before." Raiden's eyes popped open, his gaze meeting his mother's and even though his words were directed at Kerim, they weren't for the man himself but for the woman before him who was still looking at Raiden like she wanted to hug him until she made all that was wrong, right once more. "This isn't my home."

The Queen's hands recoiled against her heart as if she meant to hold the halves of her broken heart together. "You don't mean that."

Gods, he really loathed those words.

He wasn't sure what led people to assume that when he meant, in fact, every single word he'd ever said in his entire life.

There was no point in saying words, after all, if one didn't mean them.

He didn't answer and, by the Queen's gasp, he realized that was as much of an answer as he needed to give for her to understand perfectly.

"My baby…" Tears shone in her eyes. "You've grown… I've longed so much… to see you… to hold you…" She shook her head. "You have no idea how it's pained me to have you away from me all this time."

Raiden's mouth opened but his brain had no words for him to speak.

Seemed he had even less to say than he'd thought.

The sun's glow was beginning to hide behind the tall Hvitstein Mountain, making the ice glisten in the light so majestically that he felt like he should be committing the image to memory in any way he could. Yet, he found himself closing his eyes to the sound of the quiet tree branches snapping and the leaves rustling in the warm breeze as the world around him recognized his return much like he did the world he'd left behind so long ago — by slowly, tenderly reacquainting to each other, almost like getting to know each other again.

It was a process he'd anticipated all the while he'd been away.

More so than the pretend family he'd left behind.

He inhaled the scent of deep, burnt incense and the flaming smell of freshly-caught fish and found himself suddenly reminded of how he'd sometimes climb the watchtower outside his chambers and sit with his feet dangling off into the precipice on the ledge to watch the sun rise above the mountain's peaks, seeing how the first rays of sunshine would make the snow glow and gently melt away into frost. He usually then leaned into the wall and curled up on the ledge of the tower to see the boats arriving at the docks below, filled with freshly caught fish and weary sailors ready to go home to their families and the warmth of their homes. He'd used to wonder if he'd ever be like those men, coming home to his family with bangs under his eyes, longing for the embrace of his own wife and the glee of his children.

He'd never believed he'd live long enough to have any of those things.

Before his mother caught him one day and had the tower sealed off when he was eight, that used to be his favorite place in the castle and his only habit. After that, she forbid him from going up to the tower, and even though he'd wanted to fight her and demand that she went back on her decision, he never had.

Like he had never debated anything, before.

Raiden looked up to the mountain's peak, feeling his entire being fall into his fierce, obstinate quietude once more.

The one he'd fought with claws and teeth for nine winters to crush.

But the same one he'd mastered since he was a toddler.

This had been an ability he'd mastered quite early on in his life, mostly because it'd been his way of dealing with the hardships of his humane life before he learned the reasons he'd been forced to endure it. To him, staying silent had been more than a means of survival. He'd done it not only because he knew opposing would bring consequences that would ultimately be harder to deal with than the reason he'd resisted in the first place, but because he recognized the rationality in choosing his battles carefully. He'd done it out of a lot more than spiteful resentment or bitter anger because those had always seemed like petty reasons to keep his mouth shut. To him, it'd been a way to mature and grow to become someone willing to accept the hand he'd been dealt all the while learning what to do with it. Even as a child, he'd known he couldn't fight back every single time he felt like he'd lost something or had had something taken from him. Freedom had been a right he'd learned to appreciate as less of an innate law and more like an acquired privilege that could be taken from him at any moment.

Thus, he made it a point to only risk it when the potential reward outshone the peril it'd place him in.

"Your father wants you taken to the throne room."

His mother's voice cut through his thoughts and memories thundering inside of him. "What for?"

She flinched at the darkness pooling in his voice. "He wants to welcome you back."

"Of course," Raiden snorted, rolling his eyes. "It will be a vastly warm welcome, I'm sure."

"You were never a cynic, Raiden. Did all this time truly manage to turn you into this embittered, resented man before me?"

His hands fisted until his fingernails bit into his palms. "How would you know? I don't remember you ever caring enough to notice, and I certainly don't recall you being there these past nine winters to see what I've had to become."

Her features sharpened and her jaw flexed with unrestrained anger. "That's not true. I have always loved you more than my own life," she seethed, eyes hard, seething green.

His face hardened, muscles tensing. "Loving someone means protecting them."

"And didn't I?"

He said nothing, staring at her.

The Queen looked away, changing her weight. "Raiden…" Her face twisted with both anger and pain. "You were the one who told me to get out and never return."

He felt the crow screeching, scratching at the bars of its cage, and even though the sound wasn't that deafening, he could feel the iron slowly bending with its waves of rage.

One inch closer to getting out.

"And I meant it."

"Then, why throw it in my face, now?"

"I'm not," he said. "I'm only telling you that you can't stay away for nine winters and then expect to meet the same person you left behind all that time ago." His lashes lowered. "At least if you had come back, I would've known you cared."

"I thought you wanted me to stay away, Raiden. It's what you said! If you didn't mean it, why did you tell me not to come back?"

A corner of his lips curled up in a sneer as his eyes narrowed into slits. "It's funny how I'm the one who's been stabbed but you're the one pretending to still be bleeding."

"I see." The Queen flinched. "Is cruelty really all you've been reduced to?"

"If you think this is cruelty, you should have seen what I've endured," he seethed under his breath. "But if what you call cruelty is the boundary I am placing between us, then yes, this is what I've been reduced to." His eyes pierced his mother's, inching a single step forward in menacing proximity that made her jaw work, though she didn't step back, her bravery clear in the small tilt of her head and the lift of her chin. "Because at least this way, you won't be able to keep lying to me."

"Raiden, I never meant to lie to you —"

"Is it forgiveness you seek, Mother?" He interrupted, stepping into her space, speaking the word 'mother' but making sure it sounded as poisoned as the thorns she'd been slipping down his throat all his life.

His hands grabbed her arms, but he was careful to be gentle — even in his rage. He might be many things and he may even have become others, but he wasn't violent and he wasn't an abuser.

There were lines not even his anger would lead him to cross.

She tipped her head back to look him in the eyes, and the hurt that flashed across hers made him almost flinch.

He inhaled sharply, speaking through a raspy throat. "Is that what you want? My forgiveness? My understanding?"

Her lips parted with a breath —

He swallowed, smirking deadly. "I can give you that. I can give you absolution."

Her eyes crinkled as tears sprung, and he could tell that was exactly what she'd expected. "That's all I want. Us to be a family," she whispered.

That's exactly what I would gladly have torn myself apart to give you nine winters ago.

He rushed to tell her the truth about what was to become of their relationship from then on. "I can pretend I don't hate you." Raiden tried to ignore how his chest burned at the hopeful look in her eyes. "But I will never get close enough to let you hurt me again. Never."

"Leif…"

Kerim's one word pulled him from the edge, once more.

The Queen lifted a hand from her heart and Raiden noticed it trembled so much it was a wonder she could direct the movement anywhere at all. Her eyes were hooded, but her intention was clear as she reached her hand to his face —

He pulled away before she could touch him and assessed the pain that flooded her eyes as she realized he'd rejected her, the same he had that day in the cell.

Had she truly ever believed he'd let everything just go back to the way it was? That he'd forgive and forget?

He might forgive her because he knew how much she'd suffered through all his infancy at the King's mercy — just as he had.

He'd never forget, though.

He let out a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest and even though the sound was beautiful, it sounded as demented and deadly as if he'd yelled. "Did you really think I would ever be able to love you again? I can forgive, but I will never forget what you did."

She recoiled her hand into the safety of her chest once more like he'd burned her and her eyes roamed his face, judging and weighing, tracing the character of this cold man he'd become. "When were you ever taught that love can die?"

"Never. No one ever taught me that," he whispered so only she could hear him, and at that moment, he barely recognized himself, cold and heartless just as he'd always sworn he'd never allow himself to be. "But in the end, I never had to be taught anything." He inhaled. "I learned it."

The Queen gasped and flinched, falling back a step further beyond the castle door. "I don't believe that. You're still my —"

"Mother?"

The voice that'd interrupted her soon became known as a boy ran out from the dimness of the castle and suddenly crashed into the Queen's legs, circling her hips with his bony arms. His chin settled against her thigh and his face lifted to her as one of her arms automatically circled his shoulder.

"Ceyx…" She whispered, dismayed.

If not for the eyes and the age, the two boys could've been twins.

They carried the exact same features. The exact same build. The boy had to be around eight winters old, already tall for his age, but still lanky and bony in structure. Both had blonde hair, wavy but not exactly curly. Raiden's was long to his shoulders since he'd lacked the incentive to cut it over the last winters — as he had his beard —, but Ceyx was cut shorter around his chin, though neither one had styled it in the traditional braids or ponytails typical to the men.

If Raiden closed his eyes, he could picture himself at Ceyx's age exactly like the boy before him.

If not for the eyes, blue in their entirety and not with specks of gold like Raiden's, they would be identical. The boy's resembled the ocean under the midday sun, whereas Raiden had always looked more like the ocean water right where it was deepest, when the sun had already gone down but the faintest light still lighted the skies with a storm threatening to wipe through when the stars were already visible in the sky. Still, they shared the same shape of slanted eyes and curled lashes, with a jutted chin and prominent cheekbones. And the stubborn rise of the boy's brows was perfectly mimicked by Raiden's.

The boy's brows furrowed as he inspected Raiden, still standing on the outside of the castle with Kerim at his side, both petrified by the appearance of the young boy. "Mother, who is he?"

The Queen settled her gaze on her son. "Ceyx, this is Raiden," she told the young child, lowering herself to stare into his blue eyes.

He leaned in, settling his hands on her shoulders to whisper in her ear, even though Raiden still heard. "Why does he look like Father?"

Raiden felt Kerim stiffen at his side into what felt like a slab of stone.

To his surprise, though, Raiden didn't take the boy's comment too harshly. He'd always known he and the King looked like — which made sense since, technically, they shared as much of each other's blood as Ceyx and his father did. Ever since he was a boy, Raiden had seen the resemblances and he was not blind to the fact that, if put side by side, they could almost be replicas of each other, quite like it happened with Ceyx and his father.

The Queen's silent gasp, accompanied by the quick, fearful gaze she shot him, made Raiden's heart stutter and the crow howled wildly in the corners of his chest in response, hating the burning pain.

She spoke in a calm and low voice to the boy — so very gentle. "He came to visit us."

Raiden straightened, new burdens sitting atop his shoulders, his disappointment so heavy he wondered if the earth would swallow him whole because of it. In truth, he felt like he'd been stabbed right through the ribcage all over again because as he stood there watching the woman he'd once called mother actually be a mother to that boy, he wished he could go back to the time when he'd been the one she protected.

Through now he knew her protection was really only deception, pillared on lies instead of what truly was real. And despite not being at all completely heartfelt, he realized that he sort of hated her for that — the lies and the omissions —, because if only she'd told him the truth as soon as she could, he wouldn't have spent half of his life lying in a crown of thorns thinking her lies had always been a bed of roses.

That's why, now, seeing how she'd failed to tell the truth, once more, made him hate her even more. Because even though nine winters had passed, she still stripped of the right to the truth like it was her decision what her own son deserved to know about himself and his history.

Past mistakes don't teach lessons as long as they're repeated choices.

He stared at Queen Jordhanna.

And right then and there, he decided that it was time to cut his bonds. To be freed of the shackles tying him to a woman who saw him as a child she needed to permanently shelter and protect from the world around her, like her lies and her omissions would make the truth disappear. Like it would change the reality he lived in. Like it would somehow turn him into someone he was not. There wasn't any lie capable of doing that and he saw that, now, just as he'd seen it winters ago. He saw it, now, standing there, seeing her work her kind words on another being as innocent as he'd once been, yearning for the comfort of a mother who he thought loved him more than anything in this world to the point he trusted all she ever did or had done was for his good.

But it'd all been a lie.

He'd once heard someone say cleaning the wound is often more painful than the cut itself.

They were right.

But he now forced himself to do it, certain that it was time.

Because as long as he remained locked in the same cycle, he'd never evolve from the past he'd been stuck in all these winters. It didn't matter if he'd been born for this wyrd. If he remained silent and complacent. Nothing would ever change. His existence would have no meaning. His life would hold no value. He couldn't make himself accept that. He'd been born for a reason. If nothing else, to live. His life. His choices. His decisions. That was a right he'd earned simply by having been born. It was a right he was entitled to as a being. It'd taken him all this time, but he understood that, now. Being silent had been his way of surviving all these winters and he didn't regret it, but as long as he kept quiet and took whatever blow was thrown at him as a sign that he was meant to be a punching bag, that's what he would be.

And he had had it.

He was done.

There was nothing in this world that could force him to willingly stay within a home and a family that used and abused him. A family that feared the truth so much it trapped him within an assorted range of distortions of reality, piled up over the winters like dust in an abandoned house to morph all the truth into a full reality of tumbling decay and death. They'd lied all these winters, about who he was, who his father was, and even what his purpose was. That'd been their choice. Not his. He'd never been given the chance to agree to the secret or dispel it. It'd been forced on him all along and despite knowing it ultimately was his secret as well — now that he carried it with him, too —, he knew he didn't want to live in its shadow anymore.

So, he decided to walk away.

He knew his walking away would give room for many more lies to be told. He knew that his said family would make up some lie about his disappearance, and ultimately, it would give birth to a story that wasn't entirely backed up with true facts. But he'd always known history was, at its core, merely a myth shaped by the tongue of both the conquerors and the survivors, so he accepted whatever outcome may arise from leaving his history to be told by those who'd certainly not outlive him.

He preferred that to the torture and the ruin and damnation.

He preferred having to bear the lie than having to live it every day — he'd done that for long enough.

His 'parents' never seemed to learn their lesson.

He was walking away because he had finally learned his.

The boy lifted his gaze back to Raiden. "He doesn't look happy to see us," he murmured to his mother.

The Queen changed her weight, pointing her glare to Raiden.

Kerim's discomfort was like a knife against Raiden's throat.

Forcing himself to relax, though, Raiden took a single step further, kneeling on the ground in front of the boy he'd probably never see again — his brother. He smiled calmly, letting the quietness inside of him rush through his being until it bled into his features. "You'll understand this when you're older, one day, Ceyx. I hope," he started in a hushed voice but he felt the stares of the Queen and Kerim in his posture, their attention undivided on his words. "We mortals don't get to choose our wyrd, but we're blessed with the opportunity to pave it. Sometimes, it may seem cruel and it can hurt so very much —," he stopped, his gaze flying to his mother fleetingly. "But we have to keep going. Because while the wyrd tends to lead the willing, it also drags the unwilling, and there's no greater pain than that of enduring your own wyrd."

The boy tipped his head to the side. "I don't understand."

Raiden placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Remember this, Ceyx. We are all born to live. To make decisions, mistakes, choices, and sacrifices. Don't ever let anyone make them for you," he emphasized, ignoring his mother's sharp intake of breath. "No matter how much you trust or love them, it's your life and you are entitled to the right to choose it." He squeezed his hands around the boy's flesh, forcing him to raise his ocean eyes to his. "Do you understand?"

The boy's lip trembled but he nodded firmly. "Yes."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes."

"The wyrd leads the unwilling and drags the unwilling. Never forget that." He rose to his feet and brushed past the boy and the mother who quickly reached her hand to him, pushing him to her side like she meant to protect him from the words Raiden had just told him. He stopped, though, a few steps beyond them, looking over his shoulder at the boy whose eyes were still glued to him, bright and open, filled with an understanding he wished someone had offered him when he was that age. "And don't ever let yourself be dragged, Ceyx."

Like I did, were the three words missing from his sentence.

The Queen's eyes welled with tears. "What are you — Raiden, what are you going to do?"

What I should have done a long time ago.

Like the world had tumbled into slow motion, he turned, giving his back to his brother and his mother, leaving them to their own wyrd and whatever they would make of it. He couldn't allow himself to be dragged anymore and he was, finally, going to let himself be led.

Finally.

The last flash he had of the small boy's eyes asked him if he wasn't afraid and even though his heart was beating very fast in his chest, the crow was rattling its cage more than ever, now, relishing the fact that he'd finally stopped letting the world use him as a punching bag. It cawed and wailed, beyond rejoiced that it was going to have its own opportunity at freedom, now. Raiden wasn't sure that was the truth. But he was willing to find out.

So, of course, he was afraid.

Everyone is afraid of something.

He knew that once the crow was out, it would never go back in its cage and he was terrified of what it would do when he let it roam free, but everyone's afraid of something. His greatest fear was that the crow, once let out, would bring destruction upon the world, but if the world had damned him for all his existence all the while he'd kept the crow caged in tight, then wasn't it time they all paid for that offense? Wasn't it time that he proved their fear was rightly placed? Wasn't it time he let the crow out, so they could all attempt to redeem themselves and fail?

Wasn't it time he let what was meant to be, finally be?

He'd been dragged all along.

And now, he wanted to be led.

He walked the path to the throne room like a madman. He remembered the path, even after all this time. The last time he'd been there, he'd been dragged through the castle walls, but he still remembered painfully clearly.

As he brushed the doors open, what he saw didn't phase him or surprise him.

It'd been what he'd expected all along.

He was in the exact same room he'd been nine winters ago, before the King had sealed his fate in the snow lands of Stalsgard. Atop the dais in front of him sat the same white throne, shouldered by the sculptures of a wolf on one side and a white crow on the other. The same walls surrounded him, as well, where the history of the kingdom of Arszden and the royal bloodline was written. And the tree he'd only ever seen that day now carried a name under the paintings of King Demir Thorden and his wife, Jordhanna Leistra.

Ceyx Thorden.

His brother.

On the dais, sitting upon his throne, was the King, surrounded by soldiers, Ruhn, and the King's Visir, Navier Edevane. He heard Kerim's voice talking, as well as the rustling of all the soldiers that'd escorted him to the castle, but he ignored it all.

In a second, he'd jumped up on the dais and crossed it until he stood in front of King Demir, who'd risen to his feet.

The man smirked. "Raiden."

It was the first time the King said his name, Raiden thought. Or he'd forgotten the time he'd said it first. It didn't matter, though, because now he cared not for the King's affection or care.

He noticed how time had changed the King, though.

His hair at his temples was now graying, a clear sign of age. There were small chicken feet in the corner of his eyes and deep, violet bangs sat under his eyes. He looked older and more tired than Raiden had ever seen him and even though he cared not one bit for the King's health or lack thereof, he found himself breathing in the stench of death lingering on his body. It was a pungent smell, one he'd only learned to catch and understand in his winters at Stalsgard. It reminded him of the smell of a wolf he'd once found half-frozen in the snow, the creature only half-alive, death corroding its insides, but still breathing. He'd been able to hear its faint heartbeat, at the time, but he knew it was only a matter of time before it withered, too.

The King was dying.

He couldn't tell how long he had to live. Nor in what condition. The only thing he knew was that the King was sick and he wouldn't get better ever again.

His days were counted.

Had that been why he'd had him returned to the capital?

He didn't care, though.

He'd come here merely to tell the King his decision and to warn him he wouldn't deviate from it.

Not ever again.

"Leif!" Kerim yelled.

For the first time, the name didn't ease the burning inside of him or the crow still ramming against the bars.

Maybe because he was in complete control.

He didn't move, but before he could push another breath into his lungs, a blade sat at his throat, the metal cold against his skin.

He was almost ashamed to admit it was a comfort.

"I am frankly hoping not to have to get my blade stained with your blood, today, Prince Raiden," Navier Edevane growled in a raspy tone that made Raiden's skin crawl.

Lord Edevane and Raiden had always had a complicated relationship.

As a tall, broad, but bellied man from the massive banquets held at Court and the comfortable life of the castle, Navier Edevane was as much a threat to Raiden as a single puppy cub would be to a lion. Even as a child, Raiden had never been fond of the man. Not only because of his role in Raiden's old life as prince, but because the man was simply detestable. He enjoyed the power and prestige granted by his place in the Thorden family's Court and he enjoyed far too much the freedom the King offered him to operate however he pleased within it. As a boy, it'd been the Visir's job to educate and scholar the young prince, as he was sure it happened with Ceyx, as well, but other than teaching him how to be insufferably obnoxious, Navier Edevane had never taught Raiden anything.

He heard the sound of blades being unsheathed, which meant that the soldiers that'd escorted him had taken out their own swords. He heard as each of those men, most of which he'd come to almost know as brothers, prepared to fight in his aid, keeping their oath to protect him even against the very same man that had made them pledge to that same vow.

More loyal than his own mother had ever been.

Kerim ushered words of peace to the men, keeping them immobile, but Raiden could still hear the sound of their elevated heartbeats, prepared to battle their way through a bloodshed, if need be.

Edevane's eyes swiped through the armed soldiers defending Raiden and a deep scowl set in his mouth as he realized they no longer seemed to work for the King.

Raiden sharpened his gaze on the man, smirking. "You better hope I don't get the chance to stain it with yours, Edevane."

Raiden heard the unsheathing of several more swords from their scabbards.

He ignored the sound.

The blade didn't move, but he could see in Edevane's eyes that the threat reached him, making the hand that held said sword tremble. "I don't believe making empty threats is a good way to go about this, Raiden. You have much to lose by playing your cards wrong, here, today."

He could feel multiple sets of eyes on him, but he remained unaffected by the attention. "And yet, you're the one with a sword to my throat."

"Step back from His Highness, Prince Raiden," a soldier commanded from his right, voice gruff with aggression.

He looked at the guard from the corner of his eye.

He didn't recognize the man, but the glint of the silver crest of the kingdom told him he was most likely the Captain of the Arszden army. The man stood tall and immovable, wearing a full, heavy white stone chest plate armor adorned with an embossed crest and chain mail under it, and was garbed in a dark blue cape over his shoulders. His leather boots were scuffed with mud and there was a belt of swords at his side, each gleaming in the light of the room. His face was strong and stern, his dark eyes piercing like daggers. His eyes were like steel, hard and unyielding, as he looked at Raiden with fierce determination.

What he was doing here was beyond Raiden's wildest speculations, but he guessed the King feared him enough to have called in the strongest of his cavalry.

Raiden wanted to laugh.

If only the deplorable king of the humans knew how little these men could do to stop him…

Raiden's eyes met Edevane's. "I'm not a child anymore, Edevane."

"You've grown tall like a warrior," he confirmed and Raiden noticed the King's head swiveling to the side almost as if his interest had suddenly spiked in the conversation. "But you are still only a child. One who, to the kingdom's chagrin, keeps failing to understand that his place is to do as he's told."

Raiden's head tipped to the side in a mockery. "Does that include allowing myself to be kept in exile for nine winters?"

Edevane smiled. "Whatever is needed to protect the kingdom."

So, his exile had been to protect the kingdom?

How dare he?!

Quiet anger burned within, but he kept it in check, waiting for Edevane's reaction. "Then, I believe I've fulfilled my purpose." He lifted a brow. "Don't you think?"

"I wouldn't dare to assume so. This time away clearly didn't make you any more compliant than you were as a boy, so it was probably just wasted time."

Wasted time?

He called nine winters in exile a waste?

Rage blossomed in Raiden's chest, making a growl emerge from deep in his throat. "I am trying to be polite, Edevane," he warned darkly, voice hoarse. "But if you don't move that sword away from my throat, I will murder you where you stand."

"He has a blade to the Prince's throat, my Lord," Rhun whispered silently in the King's ear.

The King did not react to the words, seeming to be tempted to see how far the situation escalated before ending it.

Despite eyeing the soldiers at Raiden's back wearily, Edevane didn't waver. "Did you come to murder the King?"

"Did I come to murder the King?" Raiden echoed, astonished by the idea. "I was summoned here, in case you've forgotten. Ordered to come, actually. It wasn't my idea, nor my wish to come here."

"And yet, the way you stormed in here did not suggest that you've come with the best intentions. So, did you come to shed blood?"

Raiden smirked. "How foolish would that be of me?"

Edevane's eyes narrowed. "You're playing a dangerous game, here, boy."

"Actually, I think it's time you shut up, now," Raiden seethed under his breath.

Edevane opened his mouth —

Raiden launched.

Edevane tried to react, but he was too slow.

Before he could fight, Raiden head-butted him in the forehead and palmed the pommel of the man's sword, nearly ripping it from his hand. Edevane stumbled from the attack, unprepared, nose bleeding profusely. Raiden then felt the weight of the sword, before turning the blade on the Visir and putting the tip against his throat the same way he'd done before.

His palm was cold from the contact with the hilt of the sword, but the metal felt comfortable in his hand. Like an extension of himself. It was a sensation he'd grown to love deeply, not only because it made him feel strong and capable in ways he'd never felt before, but because it reminded him of the path he'd tracked to get here.

Because he'd never been a fighter before.

As a child, he'd always chosen silence over arguing. Running over fighting. He tried to keep himself under the radar of his king's anger so he could keep the peace. At the time, going unnoticed was his way of making sure he tipped the scales in his favor, by not startling the waters. Now, he was a man. He'd outgrown hiding in the shadows as he let the world deal its cards right in front of him, playing hands that commandeered his life without him objecting or opposing.

He was done.

Lord Edevane placed a hand against his nose, trying to stem the bleeding, though it didn't seem to help much.

"Leif." Came Kerim's warning.

But he was in perfect control.

"So, it's revenge, then?" Edevane lifted his chin proudly, stepping in front of the King — whether purposefully or not, Raiden didn't know or care. "You want revenge for spending all this time in exile?"

Raiden winced and before he had time to think better about what he was doing, his closed fist flew at Lord Edevane's face. His sharp howl of pain was met with satisfaction when Raiden heard the crack of a bone under his knuckles.

Eat that, bastard.

"I said it was time for you to shut your mouth," Raiden's voice didn't raise a single octave, but fury whispered through every syllable he spoke and there was something sharply dangerous about the quietness of a fury as strong as his.

Kerim sighed behind him, followed by the whistles of his soldiers.

Even though they were accustomed to violence, seeing it come from Raiden fazed them.

He looked down at Edevane, now a bloody pulp on the floor, whimpering like a rabid dog with a broken leg, holding his nose while it bled and tainted his clothes and the flooring vivid red. "Please, Lord Edevane —," he started in the same still-quiet tone from before. Edevane lifted his eyes to Raiden, who smiled wolfishly at the man. "— be wise enough to get the hint, this time."

Rhun's eyes broadened in shock.

Squaring his shoulders, Raiden smirked and it was quite clear to everyone in the room that the look in his eyes was meant to make everyone question just how little of him was human and how much was something more — so much more. And the grin on his lips only confirmed that there was power unlike anything ever seen inside of him.

Something powerful enough to par even with the Gods.

A soldier rushed to help Edevane still on the ground, placing a tissue against the blood gushing out from his nose. The captain of the army and the rest of his men started to inch closer to Raiden, probably aiming to contain him before he did anything else.

"Enough!" The King finally yelled. "Everyone stand down!"

Everyone in the room stilled.

The King lifted a hand to freeze everyone in the room, lifting his chin almost as if he could see Raiden standing before him, for the first time in his life. "Raiden, I have to say that even though I've wondered what to expect of you, I did not expect this."

"It's been a long time, King Demir."

"I never expected you to come with revenge in your sights."

"I have absolutely no desire to get revenge."

The King arched a brow. "Then, what do you desire?"

"You're the one who ordered me to come. Isn't it more fitting that I ask you that question?"

The King's lips thinned. "I see you wish to defy me, and if that's truly all you intend, I don't know why you bothered to come, at all."

Neither do I.

"If you demanded my presence and expected that I arrived with anything but contempt for you, I don't know why you bothered to call me, at all, either."

The King's lips morphed in a bemused smirk. "I hoped you'd hold your hatred long enough for me to explain my reason for asking you to come here."

"Well, before you explain yourself, let me just clarify the situation for all of us. I did not come here to make peace with you."

The man lifted a fair brow. "Then, I assume you wish to make war?"

"No." He arched a brow. "I can smell it on you, you know?" Raiden's head tipped to the side, giving the King an observing look, the same smell he'd felt when he'd come in now growing stronger as he inhaled. "How long have they given you? Your healers and physicians?"

If the question surprised anyone in the room, no one showed it, which meant that the King's illness wasn't a secret to his most trusted circle.

The King flinched as if Raiden had slapped him, face morphing into a deep scowl, and his eyelashes brushed closed as shadows crossed his features. "Do you care?"

"No."

The King's heart stuttered against Raiden's ears. "Then, why point it out?"

Raiden's grin was halfway a smile and halfway a threat. "Because you have no idea the joy it gives me to know your own vileness is eating away at you." He leaned in closer, his breath ruffling a few hairs on the King's temple. "And I will fucking rejoice when you die," his voice was cold, unyielding like steel, making a shiver course through his spine.

The King's body trembled. "I see the winters at Stalsgard have sharpened your tongue quite effectively." King stepped back and Rhun's hand instantly reached out to steady and guide him, which he brushed away, shoulders tensing. "What gives you the right to defy me this way?"

Raiden squared his shoulders. "I'm not your son."

The blunt words only gave the King a few seconds' pause as he saw no one seemed surprised by them and instead were taken in a less literal way. "You cannot —"

"And I have every right to say and do whatever I want after you exiled me for nine winters in the snow."

Silence tensed in the atmosphere around them and he could sense the small crowd gathered watching them stilled all movement, waiting for what was to come.

For the storm about to strike.

He heard footsteps just as the Queen and prince walked inside the throne room.

"That might very well be so, but you are still under my —"

Raiden's eyes lifted to the King's shoulders, watching the shoulder pads of his black vest, adorned with golden winsome patterns. "You are not my king, either. I don't owe you anything, not even the air I breathe because if you'd had it your way, I never would've lived past my birth."

The King's blue pupils dilated as anger flared through his eyes like a fracturing light. "You are nothing if not a stain on my family line, you worthless mongrel, but you will address me with the respect I am owed, boy!"

Raiden forced in a deep breath to calm the rage sweeping across his veins. "No, I am not a stain on your family line. What I am is tired of all the lies and the games," Raiden announced, voice harsh but determined enough to be as unbreakable as steel. He pointed at the child hiding behind his mother's dress. "Did you tell him the truth? Of how he was born? Why he was born? That he has an older brother who's been exiled his entire life in the snow lands?"

The boy's eyes widened.

Both the King and Queen said nothing.

Of course.

Of course, they hadn't said anything. Why would he expect any different from them? Neither of them had ever told the truth. He couldn't believe he'd ever expected them to tell the truth, now.

"After all this time…" Raiden laughed, shaking his head because none of what was happening was comical, but he found that he had to laugh in order to grasp it. "You keep making the same mistake… thinking, one day, it will stop being a mistake." He leaned in close to the King's ear. "And it won't."

Demir rose his hand, palm open —

Raiden's fingers closed around his wrist hard enough to bruise. "I thought I had already made it clear that I am not a child anymore, Demir," Raiden growled in a raspy warning. "That means I don't cower before you, or anyone, anymore." He let go of the King's hand abruptly, watching the man stumble a step from the force of the movement, even as he'd barely used an inch of his full strength. "You can't control me anymore and you don't possess anything that could possibly force me into submission anymore. You made sure of that nine winters ago."

Two of the soldiers circled the Queen and the terrified child holding on to her.

Raiden wanted to laugh at the weak show of strength. "That's your version of a threat?"

"If you wish to —"

"I do not wish anything," Raiden cut off, voice rising an octave. "I'm leaving. Your son can grow up and be king. I won't intervene. The second I leave out that door, I won't come back," his voice faltered as his eyes flickered to the woman he'd once called mother and wished he could tell her to come with him, but he knew she never would, not now that she had a child to protect. "And it will be like I never existed."

The King snickered and the sound was nauseatingly disgusting. "Are we really repeating history, Raiden? You're not leaving."

Raiden stepped back. "You'll have to kill me to stop me from leaving. Are you willing to risk the wrath of Odin to do that?"

The man's eyes narrowed threateningly. "You can't imagine what I'd risk."

"Then, kill me and be done with it," he encouraged, pointing at the boy who held every resemblance to his brother, except for his eyes, blue like his father's instead of his own amethyst blue. "You have an heir, now, so you can stop this sick, twisted game you've been playing. Finish what you started the night you were cursed." He took one step forward, bringing himself closer to the King. "Do it."

"Raiden, stop!" The Queen yelled.

"I'm not scared of dying, Demir. I've been close to death a few times, if you recall," his voice lowered to a deep rasp. "If you want to kill me, then this is your chance. You won't get another."

"Father, please!" The child yelled, running up to the dais despite the Queen's screams to stop him. He was held back by two soldiers, though, keeping him a few feet off to Raiden's right. "He's my brother, Father, please! Don't do this!"

The King froze before Raiden, scarred eyes widening though his head didn't move to the origin of the sound, his expression becoming blank as he registered the boy's words.

Raiden looked at his mother, bewildered.

She lifted a shoulder. "It's his choice."

It was, but he'd never thought the boy would rise to defend him.

"What is it going to be, Demir?"

The soldiers all stepped an inch closer, hands on their swords. If given the order, most would follow through with it, and they'd be hard to fend off, but Raiden could do it. He could fight his way out, if he needed to. He'd had nine winters of training.

He'd become very good at this.

"Demir, he is your son!" The Queen begged and a sense of déjà vu raced across Raiden since all three of them had been right here before. "You have a choice, today, to make right all the wrong you've made. You have the chance to seek forgiveness for what you did when you tried to kill him as a baby and if you do, maybe Odin will redeem you. Maybe he'll give you back your eyesight." She stepped forward, hands tangled together almost in prayer. "Please, Demir, this isn't the way… please, listen to me."

Raiden blinked.

Please, listen to me.

Something shone in the King's eyes and tears began to well in his eyes — the first tears Raiden had ever seen in that man's eyes in all his life. "Then, go."

"Demir?"

Raiden fell back a step.

"Just go and never return!"

Raiden's heart was hammering against his ribcage, and his ears thrummed with his blood rushing through, cutting off the rest of the world. His breath entered and left quickly, burning his windpipe and his lungs.

I'm free.

Time seemed to slow down as he started to turn. Like someone had hit a slow-motion button on the world. He knew it was too good to be true. He knew it had to be a scheme of some kind. Demir wouldn't let him go. This was some new scheme to torture him. To punish him. Because murder was an unjustifiable crime. The crime that cannot be forgiven or forgotten. He'd already been cursed for that once, he wouldn't risk it again.

Would he?

His right foot lifted off the ground —

A popping sound was heard, and then something whizzed by Raiden's head, slamming into the ground of the throne room off the dais. Tiny pieces of marble from the ground cracked and shot through the air, hitting Raiden's legs. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew what had just wheezed past his head, narrowly missing him.

An arrow.

Raiden's breath escaped him.

And that was the last time he breathed before the arrow tore through his chest.

Searing pain laced through him, stealing his breath. The force of the blow jerked him forward and he toppled to one knee, completely broken apart. Shot through the chest and completely unaware of how he was still conscious. Maybe because of the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Or maybe something else. He couldn't be sure. What he did know was that it wasn't because they'd missed the shot.

"NO!"

Soon enough, Raiden was on his knees before the King.

Light burst behind Raiden's eyes, and then darkness threatened to pull him under and take him away. The world dimmed, growing out of focus as he blinked. He held his breath, incapable of moving his chest to take in the air because doing so made the pain rise exponentially. A pool of something wet and warm formed on his clothes, going down his chest to his legs until it started to puddle under him, painting the marble with a pool of crimson. He placed a hand on the floor and raised the other to his chest, looking down and touching the blood, watching his fingers come away red with it.

Gods.

"Raiden!"

The screams continued in the background.

He wasn't listening.

The arrow had pierced clean through. The pointy end was sticking out the front of his chest, perfectly aimed at his heart. Black-pointed and deadly-looking, it was sticking out of his chest gruesomely, as his blood poured from the wound.

He counted his heartbeats.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

The world tilted around him. Dizziness threatened him into nearly dispensing the contents of his empty stomach all over again on the floor. A bitter taste lay at the back of his throat, only now it was also accompanied by the rusty taste of his own blood. His ears were ringing. His heartbeat was erratic in his chest, pumping against his ribcage like a bird flying for its life into the skies.

Raiden held his breath.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

Slowly, when he couldn't hold on any longer, he forced air into his lungs in a long drag.

Thirteen.

A scream burst out of his mouth, tearing through the castle.

Fourteen.

Raiden curled his body forward, in a feeble attempt to protect the wound and stop the pain. Blood gushed out, falling directly on the ground. Sounds started to trickle in, but the only thing at first was the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears. Slowly, sounds like the chattering of the crowd and the sound of steps flooded in, muddled at first, but then increasingly clearer.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.

Raiden shut his eyes.

Eighteen.

He felt the King come to his knees before him, one hand supported on Raiden's shoulder. "Finally, you'll meet the fate you were spared from the day you were born," the man whispered in Raiden's ear, voice filled with the most bitter of poisons. "May you die and reunite with your father, so he'll remember to never again defy me."

Breathe. Just breathe, Raiden said to himself, trying to tamper down the pain. He took a shallow breath, that got stuck in his throat. Breathe, Raiden.

He growled, placing a hand atop the end of the arrow sticking out of his chest. Raiden saw the eyes of countless people in the room widen in surprise and awe, and before he could doubt himself, he pushed it out.

Don't stop breathing.

His scream tore through the castle's walls.

Breathe.

His head toppled back, giving him the image of the King standing before him as he died.

In and out.

The arrow fell from his limp fingers, tumbling on the ground with a sickening metal tingle and rolling a few feet away from him until it stopped as if held by an invisible force.

Just keep breathing.

He winced —

Above him, he saw the King smiling, satisfaction written on every line of his face.

Rage blossomed in his chest, stronger than it'd ever been before, and, suddenly, the sound of a screech filled him from within.

It's loose. It's free. It's finally free.

His crow was never really a real thing.

It was always just a personification of the muzzled parts of him that were never human — the parts of him that'd always been locked away just out of reach, not because they were dangerous or of his own volition, but because someone had taken them from him.

So he'd never know.

So he'd never learn.

So he'd never become exactly who he was always meant to be.

At least, not until the time came for him to be it.

His skin started to glisten with a blue shimmer. Lines of fluorescent power enveloped his shoulders and exposed arms, circling his hands the most, moving like wandering threads of life — or death, more accurately. The energy cracked and sizzled, powerful and potent. He could feel the current slowly flowing through his bloodstream as well as he wondered if his veins shone with electricity, too, the same way they felt hidden inside his entrails. His entire body tingled and burned, stronger than ever before.

Like lightning.

Raiden felt the crow finally tearing from its cage, cawing as it clawed its way out of the depths where it'd been hidden since the day Raiden had been born. It seared through him, its speed, anger, strength, and power so potent it smelled of burning flesh, making him want to throw up — or maybe that was just the pain. It lashed through doors, tore down walls, crumbled stones, and destroyed houses. It raced through forests, taking down trees and stepping over fallen leaves. It boiled in his very blood, coursing through his veins like a poison that not only killed but burned every part of him until the pain and the power mixed together.

Raiden placed one foot on the ground.

Then, the other.

Then, with one hand supporting him on the ground, he came to his feet.

He heard the King gasp before he grabbed the man around the collar of his fancy dress shirt and held him there, breath uneven, composure gone, bravery forgotten. He heard soldiers moving, footsteps echoing, and swords swiping, but a wave of his arm made them all fall back a few feet almost as if a wall of air had pushed them back.

He was furious.

He could almost taste it. His anger. Blasting around him like lightning in his veins. It electrified his body, and made him feel powerful and strong.

Deadly.

Tingles sprouted along his skin, and his eyes seemed to grow even more purple in the light of the throne room.

Voices grew, shouting, and suddenly people were screaming, the sound of their fear so shrill that his ears ringed.

Rage consumed him.

He'd never felt this way before. In fact, he wasn't sure what was making him this angry, whether it was the pain, the death threat to himself, the blood he'd already lost, the arrow he'd pushed from his own chest, or the fact he was just done with being at the King's mercy. In good honesty, he didn't think it mattered. Raiden clearly had blown the circuit in his brain that was supposed to tamp down his anger and dampen his temper.

He was a loose cannon now.

Raiden's shoulders squared and his chest puffed out in confidence as he locked eyes with the soulless, blind eyes of the man he'd one day wished he could've called father.

He wanted his father to see him.

Raiden kept his focus on the King and the soldiers around him. A fight had already ensued, but he could feel their essence around him, the life streaming through their veins calling out to him. To him, they were like bugs flying around, fragile and crushable.

And he wanted to crush them badly.

He could hear that the soldiers from Stalsgard were fighting the royal soldiers, so he kept his attention on the King.

"I want you to see me, Father," he growled under his breath, hearing the gasp the King made as he nearly choked on the air he wasted breathing. It was the first time he'd called the man 'father' in over nine winters and the King panted at the word. "I want to be the last thing you'll ever see before you die."

The wind picked up, pushing his hair around his head.

Raiden closed his eyes.

He'd never done any of this before. Hell, he wasn't even sure how he knew he could do it. But before he knew what he was doing, he felt it.

The power.

It cackled like electricity inside of him, sizzling and brimming just under the surface. Thunder rumbled inside of him, brushing to the surface as his emotions called them. To him, it felt as natural as breathing. The thunder was a part of him. An extension to him. It molded around him like a cloak of both serenity and exhilaration.

It made him feel alive, sizzling inside of him, yearning to get out.

He stood, feeling out of place and unsure. He closed his eyes, letting the energy course through him like a river. He felt it bubbling up from the depths of his being, an ever-growing force that rose like steam, each spark alive with possibility. With every breath, his power intensified until he released it like lightning on a summer night — thundering in its exuberance and crackling with excitement. It was exhilarating, this newfound strength that engulfed him like a shield of fire, radiating outward and protecting him from the world beyond.

He smiled.

But then, within seconds of the power brimming inside of him, he felt it. A cord. A bond. Tying himself to the King's essence, deep within his chest. Like a flame, it glowed a bright amber, almost like a torch lighting the way. He could feel the lightning in his blood moving like a small serpent through the King's body, wagging its tail as it slowly made its way through the throngs of obstacles that appeared before it and Raiden was surprised to see that he didn't need to guide it.

It knew where it needed to go and needed no guidance to get there.

He blew a bolt of lightning through the cord tightening them together and heard the King's scream as pain lashed over him. Without needing any sort of direction, the lightning reached where Raiden wished it to go. It surged through veins, branching off like tendrils of electricity that spread throughout the King's body.

The King's eyes.

The bolt seemed to have a will of its own as it rose through bones and muscles, reaching deep inside like an invisible entity that found its way to its desired destination with pinpoint accuracy. The power radiated from within him, radiating outward in waves until his entire being was consumed by its energy.

Inch by terrifyingly painful inch, each of the King's scars disappeared. His screams accompanied each disappearing line, his head bowing back as his voice stretched itself hoarse from screeching. Raiden heard with pleasure as he watched then the deformations in the King's eyes disappear until both blue pupils stared right back at him from the King's orbits.

When it was done, Raiden felt physically exhausted but also powerful in a way he had never felt before. He turned to look at his father, who stood motionless and almost lifeless before him.

His lashes fluttered up.

Raiden could feel the intense emotions coming from the King — sorrow, anger, fear, and pain — coursing through him like rivers of liquid fire and he realized something at that moment. Winters had gone by and despite all that Demir had done to Raiden, they'd never understand each other. They'd never see eye to eye.

But they didn't need to.

Raiden didn't need that.

Not anymore.

But in that instant, all that separated them melted away as if they had never existed at all. What remained was an understanding that transcended words or actions. An understanding that came from within their souls — one which signified that no matter what happened or how much time passed, they would always be connected, though they'd never be father and son to each other. The Seid had bound them together — or rather, Odin had — but while that bond would never fade, it finally dawned on Raiden he didn't need such a bond to exist and define himself.

Raiden opened his hand and let the sore excuse for a king drop to the ground in a heap.

Raiden had only ever seen the King's eyes mutilated. Scarred. Maimed. He'd never forget the sight. But nothing was more gruesome, or as delightful, as seeing the terror in those blue eyes so alike his own, widened with fear so pure and raw it could ignite the darkest shadows. The lightning roaming through Raiden's veins ignited the blue of the King's eyes as he darted them around, dumbfounded that he could see again.

"What did you do, wretched boy?" Demir yelled.

"I made sure you knew what your firstborn son looks like before you die."

Demir crawled back on his hands and feet until he was at the edge of the dais with nowhere left to go.

It felt good to see this man finally where he deserved to be.

The gutter.

A few soldiers breached through to Raiden, crossing the barrier the soldiers from Stalsgard had created to keep them from Raiden.

"Attack!" One of them roared.

Raiden changed into a fighting stance, arms and knees bending, hands fisting. In his hands grew two long blue swords, which he brandished like metal swords. When the first soldier moved, he rolled over himself and let out one of the swords, which zapped across the air at an incredible speed, hitting the soldier in the chest.

He grunted and fell to the ground.

The others looked baffled.

Then, mayhem was installed.

Five of them came at him and Raiden became a blur of movement — kicks, punches, and throws.

He slashed the throat of the first who came within reaching distance of him. Then, when another flung himself at him, jumping up to gain momentum, his sword poised to cut through bones and flesh, Raiden raised a hand in the air and flicked his wrist back. The soldier stopped inches from him in midair and then flew backward, his body cracking off the wall and then falling on the floor, immobile.

He whirled around and saw another two who were coming, hot and fast, with swords poised to carve through his heart. They were too close for him to fight them off, so he knocked the two of them out with a lightning bolt. The sound of the lightning striking was so grave at such a close distance his ears ringed and his skin sizzled with the energy. It descended from the sky, threatening and bright, blistering with energy, and hit the center of the two soldiers' chests.

They toppled down.

By the Gods.

He jumped up when one tried to cut his head off while he was on the floor, his back arching gracefully in a perfect back flip. Lightning struck the soldier, passing inches away from his feet, and the soldier's sword fell on the floor as he toppled to his knees, eyes wide and mouth open in pain.

He landed on a crouch, his hands expanding over the ground to keep his balance.

At such commotion, the entire fight around him stopped and all the royal soldiers turned their attention to Raiden, coming for him, all remaining twelve of them.

He snapped his arms to the sides, making more lightning emerge in his hands, glowing in the sun shining in the sky. Moving his left arm back, he sent a bolt in the direction of a soldier who was coming for him and then jabbed the hell of his hand against the other's chest. Rising to his feet, he punched yet another soldier who decided to try his luck against him, making blood come out of his nose, and another bolt of lightning fell from the sky.

He yelled until his body fell limp on the floor.

Two more came at him and he skidded to the floor on his knees, kicking one in the chin and the other in the knee. One of them, though, as he went down, managed to grab ahold of his clothes and nearly made him lose his balance and eat the ground, as well. Rolling over himself, he punched the soldier in the nose, the satisfaction pouring through his blood when he heard the sound of bone breaking. His knuckles were bruised, but he welcomed the pain. Blood ran from the soldier's nose, which he held as if he could stop the bleeding with his hands and he used his distraction to pick up a sword from the ground and use it to push it through his chest.

He fell without a sound.

He threw a few more daggers and suddenly, only one soldier remained.

The Captain.

"What are you?" He whispered.

Raiden's smile was cold and shiver-inducing. "I am what I was always meant to be," his mouth turned into a sneer. "And you and your men are finally what you were always meant to become. Ash beneath my feet."

His eyes widened —

With one lightning bolt, the Captain was a pile of bones and skin on the floor.

Raiden's eyes scanned the room.

He couldn't describe it properly. It was more than gruesome. It seemed like the kind of stuff one would have nightmares about. Bodies covered the ground. There was blood everywhere. Red blood. Their bodies littered the ground among their forgotten swords that'd never drawn blood.

Raiden whirled around.

All he could see was death. Destruction. Suffering. The sight was so macabre it made his stomach roll and he had the urge to retch on the floor at his feet.

"Leif!" Kerim's voice called.

"Raiden!" His mother yelled. "What are you doing?"

"Astonishing…" King Demir whispered behind Raiden.

That was one word for it.

Raiden whirled back to the King, jaw hard into a straight line as he stalked forward to the man, now rising to his feet from the floor.

His eyes followed Raiden's approach. "Killing me won't make you king."

"Who says I want to be king?"

Demir's eyes moved over Raiden's face, trying to find the lie in his words and apparently finding none, or choosing not to voice it. "You are still the heir."

The harsh laugh that came out of Raiden's lips felt like the sound of a blade being sharpened. "As amusing as your lies might be, I'm not really in the mood for them, right now. We both know I was never your heir. And I don't want to be." Raiden shrugged. "But for what it's worth, the kingdom will be much better off without you running it."

"My time hasn't yet come, Raiden," he said, his pupils dilating as he realized the peril he was in. "If you kill me now, you will leave the kingdom unprotected, without a king on the throne. Would you really risk that? All for the pleasure of killing me before my time?"

Raiden smirked wolfishly. "A king will rise to the throne, don't worry," his voice lowered a few octaves as he stood before the King, eyes on his frame, so fragile and weak, scared and terrified. "I'll make sure your absence won't be felt, Father."

"Raiden, you cannot —"

Raiden's fist silenced his plea. "I will never forgive you. I will never love you. But I will never forget you, King Demir Thorden," Raiden's hand on the King's collar shook, but he squeezed the metal in his palm harder, letting the coldness of the silver slip into his skin, making the lightning a bit fiercer, braver and that much more powerful. "You made me what I am and every time I look in the mirror from now on, I will always see a monster, but at least I'll always know I am less a monster than you were."

The King blinked, genuine tears in his eyes. "You look so much like me…" He lifted a hand, his fingers touching a strand of blonde hair that'd fallen across Raiden's cheek. His touch was soft, smooth, careful even, like someone trying out petting a lion for the first time. "My dear boy, if only you knew how I loved you —"

His words were cut off by a low moan.

Blood gushed onto Raiden's hand, the sword in his grip now dipped to the tip into the King's chest.

Raiden leaned forward slowly. "If you ever loved me, it was never in a way I could understand. And I sincerely hope you've loved him more than you ever loved me, so he won't live the rest of his life scarred like I am by it."

It was a killing blow.

Raiden knew that.

The King knew that.

But as they both stared at one another, a silent understanding passed between them, for all the truths silenced within both their souls had sealed the fate they'd both created.

Because, more than death, what Raiden was offering his father was a merciful death.

One which many would say he didn't deserve.

Because the sickness that'd taken him had rotten him inside and there was nothing that could save him. Not even Raiden. This death, at least, saved him the pain of meeting the worst end a being could ever experience, of endless suffering, trapped within a body that would soon fail him completely.

Raiden was giving Demir Thorden the one thing he'd never given his son before.

Mercy.

Raiden rose to his feet, wobbly and unstable, standing above the King, breathing heavily as the blood dripping from his hands stained the floor underneath. He stared at the body below him, remembering all the pain this man had caused him and his family over his lifetime.

The broken promises, the torturous lies, the bitter control.

Raiden was certain he would never be able to forget any of it.

But then a low moan caught his attention and with a start, he realized that King Demir was still alive — barely. Raiden's heart skipped a beat as he watched the King struggle to take shallow breaths and saw an expression of shock on his face.

At that moment, Raiden finally realized that despite all of his wrongdoings, King Demir had never actually expected that Raiden would be the one to deliver him his end.

With one last goodbye glance between them, Raiden slowly turned from the King, feeling tears welling in his eyes but refusing to let them fall for the man who'd tortured him for his entire existence.

He looked around at the wreckage that surrounded them before turning back to face Kerim, the soldiers, his mother, and his brother.

Oh, dear Gods, what had he done?

Just as swiftly as it'd come, the lightning disappeared, and the pain and blood loss of his own wound returned.

He took two steps before he collapsed on the floor.

"Raiden!"

A hand landed on the wound, applying pressure.

"I want my brother. I need my brother," a voice whispered above him and he opened his lids just enough to see the boy, Ceyx, above him, frantic blue eyes wide and energetic, skin bathed in blood up to his elbows. "Alive."

Raiden chuckled, but the sound ended in a grimace when pain lit him on fire. "I know." He lifted a hand to brush hair out of the boy's face, so mature and yet so young. "But you have your mother," he whispered weakly. "You'll do fine. You'll be fine."

The boy — his brother — smiled, eyes a sweet, clear sky blue like pure heaven. "You'll be okay. We'll make you better. It'll all be okay."

He exhaled.

If only it was that easy, little brother.

Raiden's eyes drifted shut —

"Raiden!" A voice yelled.

He popped his eyes back open, seeing his mother on his other side, her hands put together into a fist with tears streaming down her cheeks. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she'd just hit him to get him awake. Ceyx had fallen back on his heels, his hands and arms covered in his older brother's blood.

"Come on, sweetheart, you can't close your eyes," she crooned, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his forehead. "You're a God! You can't die. You won't die," she kept repeating those words but Raiden wasn't sure who she was trying to convince of that, because the pain felt very real, as did the blood bathing him. "Odin!"

The sound of his father's name made Raiden shiver.

"ODIN!"

"Why are you calling him?" Someone asked.

"Because it's time," was the feverish, frantic response from the distraught queen.

Raiden could barely keep his eyes open, now, and even though he wanted to make the effort to see his mother and brother for the last time, he couldn't bring himself to.

"I'm…" Raiden's voice died and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. "It's getting harder…"

"Shh, it's okay." His mother kissed his temple just as his brother reached to hold his hand tight. "You'll be okay, my love. I'm here. We're here."

Raiden inhaled sharply —

And he never breathed out.

His eyes drifted shut.

My son, at last, I can speak to you, a voice he didn't recognize whispered in his mind, deep and smooth, making a warmth course through him. I have always been here. I have watched over you and shall do so, to the end of days. You are my son and though this is an ending, worry not, for this shall not be the end.

The voice was right.

Raiden could feel it, too. He was dying, but it wasn't anything he thought death would feel like. Like what he'd felt that day, nine winters ago, when he'd nearly been mortally wounded.

This was somehow different.

It was an ending, but it wasn't the end.

Because the crow… it was free.

He'd been right.

At last, he was what he was always meant to be.

As the bars gave away and the crow dissolved itself into Raiden's very blood and soul, something was born, that day. Something that defied logic or law. Something that couldn't be explained. Something he'd always feared lived inside of him, but that he'd never imagined would truly see the day when it'd be allowed to roam free. Something far stronger, more powerful, and more valuable than all other things in the universe.

More than a person or a creature, it was a part of the great reckoning.

A… God.

A balance.