Iselvheim, 25th of Ýlir, 806 A.C.
Raiden thought he would feel something when faced with the image of his end.
With the reality of his death.
Instead, he felt nothing as he stared at the Drakkar where the empty coffin that should have carried his body was currently being loaded with the utmost care.
For a royal coffin, his couldn't be more plain.
Carved from the wood of the trees of the Hvitstein Mountain, its wood shone pale ivory like the mountain's ice atop its peaks, elegantly closed with a golden lock, and a straight line had been painted in a pale golden around the top to provide a seal of undisturbed peace for his soul. To his people, the importance of such a tradition was absurdly important, even more so in his case, when his body wasn't there to be veiled over, buried, burned, or mourned. It was his soul his people were saying goodbye to, the spirit of their young prince forever lost to the veils of Valhalla.
He thought the notion incredibly naive.
But, as the dead prince his people believed to be in need of eternal peace and, thus, of no noble importance for his opinion to be taken into account, he had no choice in the matter.
All he'd managed to choose was the coffin.
White and golden as tradition called it, but made of polished, smooth wood. No carvings. No runes. No coat of arms.
After all, what should've lain inside had he truly died was not a prince. Nor a king. Nor an heir. Not even a royal.
Only a boy.
He often wondered if anything would be different if he were truly dead. If any part of the ceremony held in his honor would have been any different. Or if the fact that he was here to see it all and judged it with eyes that cared not for the fact that his name was whispered in consternation, would make any of this any less gruesome or morbid.
He doubted that was the case.
His eyes looked upon the crowd of people that'd gathered on the Royal Quay, trying to determine if it was grief that made them sniff and sob as the burial horn sounded from the palace behind them, perched on the mountain — like with all royals who'd died before him, the horn was blown from the top of the southeast towers to alert the entire city of the death of a royal member and the state of mourning of the kingdom. But the tears his people shed and the wails of lament they released were indeed true enough when he heard the compassion with which they spoke his name amid the whispers all around him.
"Such a beautiful, healthy young boy," he heard a woman whisper to her female entourage, most like maidens of a Fru of a noble house.
"He was such a lovely young boy. Carried himself so honorably," a man that looked like he'd seen many winters was commenting with a younger man that resembled him too much not to be his son.
"What will be of Arszden without him? With the King gone, he was supposed to assume the throne as he came of age, but with his death, Arszden will be vulnerable, without a king and with an heir that will only be old enough to take the crown winters from now," another Jarl silently spoke to his wife, his tone grave, suiting the gravity of the political situation his death left Arszden in.
Ceyx was, indeed, still young, but as heir, he'd carry a great responsibility from now on, even if he wasn't to be crowned king for a few winters to come.
As expected, the nobles saw that vulnerability and they loathed it. They knew that no strong kingdom survived long without a king on its throne, for in the absence of one, others would come charging for the crown to sit it top of their own heads, whether they were Jarls on the former king's ranks or neighboring kings of the Fourteen Kingdoms, but Raiden knew that no one would dare defy Arszden once it became known that his mother would assume the role of Queen Regent.
Unlike many noblewomen who married into the rule of a man's crown, his mother had been born as an heir in her own line of succession to a throne. Despite having been born as the seventh daughter in a line of succession of a total of eleven children, Queen Jordhanna of Eldoria had been nurtured just as dedicatedly for the throne of her own family as the rest of her ten siblings, which meant she'd been educated in all matters regarding and involving the ruling of a kingdom, even more so when her royal lineage was one of the oldest, strongest and wealthiest. Against the noble Jarls' expectation, she'd excel at ruling the kingdom in a way her husband had never done.
But that didn't mean the danger of a succession crisis was completely out of the question.
Or of war. Or unrest. Or regicide.
All three posed real threats, something that'd plagued Raiden's mind ever since the decision had been made, but he knew he couldn't back out now. He had other matters to concern himself with. Promises he made and deals he'd accepted.
"It's a bit morbid that you're here, don't you agree?"
Raiden hadn't heard him approach, but the question alone made him recognize his former mentor. As always, Kerim showed up whenever he wasn't expected, standing shoulder to shoulder with Raiden whenever he knew his presence was needed. It was the type of situational and emotional intelligence that Raiden couldn't properly understand and, at times, envied. Still, he devoted his attention for a few seconds as he inspected the man, his attire entirely white as the burial tradition demanded, though he had a weapon that looked like an ax sheathed in a scabbard at his back and a longsword strapped to his waist.
Times of mourning apart, Kerim looked as ready for battle as always.
Raiden smirked. "You don't seem to be staying far away from here, either, are you?"
"In case you haven't noticed, I tend to be wherever you are," he answered in a modulated voice, his tone low so no one could hear him but Raiden. "You might not know this yet, but I've been personally tasked with your protection as of today, which seems quite odd to me since you're officially dead to everyone who might be mildly interested in killing you."
Personally tasked with his protection?
Of all people, Kerim knew that Raiden didn't need anyone's protection, much less his, the very man who'd trained him and taught him all he knew, but he didn't argue. Despite all that'd transpired in his past, Raiden knew Kerim was loyal to him no matter what happened — more so than he was loyal to whoever had ordered him to be Raiden's guard —, or what title he was given for his presence to be justified, and that seemed to be enough to quiet whatever rebellion or exasperation the words had fueled.
Raiden snorted. "I'm assuming that order came from my mother?"
"She fears for your life no less now that the entire world believes you are dead," he commented, crossing his arms above his chest and giving a long look at the crowded quay with its shaking white banners of mourning where his mother was surely surrounded by the Royal Guard watching the ceremony with his brother. "That ought to give her some credit, no?"
Raiden's brows fell in a deep frown. "Some credit?"
"She knows you can take care of yourself, but she insists that you must be protected, for even the greatest warriors can be caught off guard."
Raiden tried very hard to keep the emotions from showing on his face, but he failed miserably when he felt a muscle jump in his jaw. "I won't rebel against her orders, if that's what you're interested in knowing."
"You won't?"
Raiden snorted. "You sound surprised, Kerim."
"Well, usually you're all too eager to refuse everything that comes from your mother," he explained, changing his weight as if commenting such a thing made him uneasy. "I thought you'd follow the pattern with this, too."
Raiden was tempted.
But no.
He wouldn't.
No matter how much he resented his mother, he was tired of war. He needed some semblance of peace, particularly now, when there was so much to prepare for. Whatever qualms he had with her needed to be put aside for the common good of the kingdom and its future king. The time for Ceyx to reign would arrive soon and the three of them would need to remain united for what was to come, if they wanted to survive the battle that would soon be at their doorstep.
"No." Raiden shook his head. "I have no intention of doing that."
"Good," Kerim replied, his tone relieved. "I'm sure she will be glad to hear that."
Raiden arched a brow. "I'm assuming that means you speak to her frequently."
It wasn't a question nor a speculation, simply an observation.
An uncomfortable shift from Kerim confirmed Raiden's suspicion, which made him sigh tiredly. "What else have you been discussing, if I'm allowed to ask?"
Kerim stared out at the mournful crowd around them, silent.
Raiden resisted the urge to shake the information from him, but with another deep breath, he managed to keep his temper in check.
Always keep your temper under control.
"I understand the circumstances are… unusual," Kerim finally said. "But your mother and I have the same goal, which is seeing Arszden through the upcoming war safely. That means keeping strong and steady during the grieving news of your death and then preparing for what comes next."
"And what does come next?" Raiden questioned, his gaze following Kerim's to the crowd around them.
"The obvious threats are war and rebellion within our borders," Kerim explained. "Until Ceyx is king, and even after that, there will be those who'll see opportunity in this tragedy. The death of the heir to the throne gives room for whispers and conspiracies. Your father wasn't particularly loved by the people, and his closest relatives weren't very dear to him, which means they may try to steal the crown. We must ensure they all understand the price of their ambition before they do something that can't be forgiven or force us to do something equally as radical."
Raiden nodded, processing Kerim's words — they made perfect sense and, in fact, it was exactly what he'd expected. "And what of Ceyx?"
Kerim seemed to hesitate before replying. "He needs guidance… and time to grow into his responsibilities. For that, he also needs stability, even if a forced one."
"Which means he'll be even more heavily guarded than I am, particularly since he is not capable of even protecting himself yet."
"Yes," Kerim agreed. "And more importantly than all of that, he'll need you."
Despite all the bitter feelings towards his mother, that was one thing Raiden could never deny. No matter how intelligent and knowable his mother was, some of the things about being king couldn't be taught by one who'd never been in a line of succession as the heir. Despite the hate his father had felt for him, he hadn't neglected his responsibilities in teaching his heir how to properly assume the throne when the time came. And even though he had worked hard to achieve what he wanted by forcing himself upon his own wife every month at her most fertile days, he had always made sure that, if his efforts failed, he had Raiden ready to take on the role he never wanted him to have. That meant that, despite every part of him wanting to hate his father for the things he'd done, he couldn't truly hate him for preparing him.
And he couldn't ever hate him for giving him the knowledge he needed to make Ceyx a great king.
"I am not my father, Kerim."
"Neither should you be."
Those words gave Raiden's response a small pause, swallowing the tight lump that made his lungs burn to breathe. "There are some things I cannot teach him."
Kerim moved to come to Raiden's other side. "You only need to teach him the things he needs to know to rule. Whatever else your father has taught you is for you and you alone," the older man said, voice gruff and low. When Raiden refused to look at him, he placed his hand on Raiden's shoulder firmly, lifting his eyes to the horizon instead of pinning them on Raiden as he spoke, once more reading into him more easily than he ever would enjoy anyone being able to. "Despite everything your father did to you, you have a good heart. One of the best I've ever seen. You've survived and endured things I wasn't sure a living being could withstand. All the time you spent in exile didn't turn you into him and that is the greatest testament to your strength."
Raiden found that he couldn't force himself to answer, his gaze fixed on the mournful ceremony playing out at the dock.
What Kerim was saying was, as he expected, the truth, but that very same truth was a very heavy weight that burned in his chest, like the air before a storm, charged and volatile, waiting to strike. No matter how much Raiden wanted to shake off his father's influence, it lingered like static in the air, an invisible force that held him back from fully embracing himself and his path.
"You can guide your brother to be a better man than your father ever was. You can raise him to be a good king and make good choices. Ceyx needs to learn empathy and kindness… the things a king needs to rule his people with justice and fairness. And above all else, you, and only you, can show him that power does not mean tyranny."
Raiden whipped his head at Kerim, surprise mixing with awe as his heart stuttered a few times.
Kerim had always been quite observing, more so than Raiden ever felt comfortable with. His gaze was sharp and knowing, like a hawk soaring high above, able to see everything without being seen. From the moment they'd met, he seemed to understand even the most hidden parts of Raiden, making him feel exposed and vulnerable in a way that was both unsettling and eerie. He'd never grown used to the way Kerim could see beyond the barriers he created around himself and how he seemed to know, deep within himself without a shadow of a doubt, exactly who Raiden was when even Raiden himself didn't. When they'd met, it was one of the things he'd quickly learned to hate about Kerim, and only after he'd grown close to Nikka and somehow found a way to tolerate Kerim did he understand the true nature of the man's observance and how it wasn't meant to be prying into one's mind and soul, but simply the stating of his own way of seeing the world around him.
But he had never seen the truth in Raiden better than he did now.
And he'd never made him feel more uncomfortable for it than precisely now.
"And what if I can't?" Raiden's voice was barely above a whisper, but the intensity in his eyes carried it across.
This fear of failing his brother, of letting down an entire kingdom, weighed heavily on him.
It was a brand new fear for him.
"You can," came Kerim's unwavering response. "You've been groomed for leadership since you were born. Whatever speck of ruthlessness your father might have planted on you, you carry your mother's strength and intellect in tenfold. You've grown it through all the trialing things you've had to endure. And most importantly, you have something your father never had. You are willing and humble enough to have learned from your mistakes, something that he never did."
Releasing a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Raiden nodded.
He felt the weight of it all pressing down on him like the cold stone walls of the palace behind him. He'd known the day he Ascended that he couldn't continue being the Crown Prince of Arszden, but when he'd come up with the plan to announce his own death, he hadn't thought of how difficult it would be to be there for Ceyx and his mother when this moment came. He'd misjudged the weight of the responsibility he'd inevitably have to shoulder.
And he'd unknowingly ignored it until now.
"What makes you say that?" Raiden asked, genuinely curious.
"Because I've seen it," Kerim replied simply, shrugging as if the answer was obvious. "In all these years that we've known each other, I've seen who you truly are behind all those walls you put up. You may try to hide it but I've seen it."
Raiden was speechless.
"I know you think I don't mean this, but I do," Kerim continued in a slow voice, which Raiden guessed meant he was seeking the right words to use. "You show kindness even when the creature you're trying to help has once sunk its teeth into your hand and you endure the hardships of all the decisions you make even when the ones that benefited from them turn on you. Those are all qualities your brother desperately needs if he is to grow into a great ruler."
A strange feeling caught on fire inside Raiden's chest.
To be honest, Raiden couldn't help but feel touched by Kerim's words. No one had ever seen through him so easily before — except maybe his own father, though from a completely different perspective. And while his father had used that knowledge to manipulate and control him, Kerim saw it for the unbridled power and potential it held for the world around him and how it could touch others' lives and choices.
"And yet —" Raiden let out a dry chuckle. "Here I stand, the man who faked his own death to escape the responsibilities of a kingdom. How befitting of a king, isn't it?"
Kerim scoffed lightly. "You seem to forget why you did it. You didn't fake your death out of cowardice, negligence, or even spite. You did it to protect those you love and to ensure the throne goes to the one who is the rightful heir. And if that's not fitting of a king, I don't know what is."
The older man's words seemed to echo in Raiden's mind long after Kerim had fallen silent, his eyes remaining locked onto the funeral ceremony unfolding before them. "You're right," Raiden finally whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft lapping of water against the dock. "But it's one thing to say it and another entirely to believe it."
"Then show everyone the truth." Kerim's tone was assertive, almost demanding.
Raiden turned towards him, his brows furrowing in silent question.
"Show Ceyx that true strength lies not within one's ability to conquer or oppress, but in their resilience, empathy, and ability to be just even when others are not. Show him what it means to wield power without abusing it. Show him you gave him the throne because you love your people and your kingdom, not because you wanted to spit in your father's grave. Show him you abdicated because you want to make this kingdom a better place and earn your place in it by protecting it from the creatures that will try to destroy it."
Raiden looked at him for a long moment before nodding slowly. "I didn't honestly expect you to come here, to be honest, even with my mother's orders to become my personal guardian," he said, trying not to show how much comfort it brought him to have Kerim by his side. "I know you were partially against the ceremony and the entire plan."
Kerim shrugged nonchalantly. "I needed some air."
Raiden smirked at that, his eyes twinkling in the soft glow of the sunlight. "Just air?" He prodded.
Kerim sighed, a small grin dancing on his lips. "Maybe a little more than just air. Despite being against it, I thought you could use some company." He dipped his head to the sea. "I know this isn't easy to see."
It wasn't, indeed.
Raiden's eyes travelled once more to the spectacle unfurling before them. The people, all dressed in white and golden, mourning, standing in front of the open sea where the the boat was waiting to be launched into the raveling seas and embraced by the dark abyss of the unknown tides. It was hard not to feel a pang of guilt and regret, knowing that he was orchestrating his own funeral, allowing others to grieve over a death that had never happened, but then, just as Kerim had mentioned, he remembered why he'd planned it all.
He nodded to himself, acknowledging Kerim's comment. "It's not easy. But sometimes, you have to tear down the old to make way for the new."
He felt Kerim's gaze shift from the ceremony to him. "That sounds oddly wise," he commented dryly.
"I've had a few weeks of being dead to think about things," Raiden replied with a small smile playing on his lips. He watched as Nikka, dressed in her own take of the kingdom's mourning attire, slowly approached through the crowd. "You should be in the palace, resting."
"Trying not to get teary at your own funeral?" She jabbed, her voice steady but her eyes were slightly shiny, though she stood with her usual grace and poise, like she hadn't been nearly fatally wounded only a few days before.
She moved like a bird through the crowd, her white and golden-accented dress the perfect mix of somber and stunning. As she approached, her dark hair seemed to catch the light of the fading sun, making her appear both ethereal and grounded in the reality of the moment. The dress she wore was long, adorned with intricate beading and embroidery, with a shy, respectable illusion neckline and her long, dark hair had been pulled back into an elegant half-up and half-down updo with pearls woven throughout. At her waist, the dress formed an intricate corset, stitched with golden thread corset that hugged her frame beautifully, concealing the fact that she'd been at death's doors days ago by making her appear immaculate. As she made her way through the crowd, people respectfully bowed their heads or offered words of comfort for her loss and her recovery. Despite her somber attire, she exuded the same level of quiet strength and grace she'd always carried since Raiden had met her.
Raiden laughed softly at that. "It's morbid enough without crying."
"I second that," Kerim grumbled under his breath. "Nikka, you hate funerals."
Nikka shrugged. "It wouldn't make sense to be here for most people." Her gaze drifted over the scene, catching on the tiny boat that cradled Raiden casket, ready to be cast out onto the open sea. "But unlike most people, I've known that Raiden Thorden has been dead for a long time. And even if a part of him still stands with us today, this is my opportunity to mourn that boy and honor the man he's become."
"Fair enough." Kerim suppressed a smile as he stepped back slightly, allowing her to take his place beside Raiden.
For a moment there was silence between them as they watched the funeral rites continue. The air around them was heavy with grief, and even if their own hearts were untouched by such despair, there was a weight that draped itself around their shoulders all the same after Nikka had reminded them that Raiden indeed had parts of him that'd been dead for a long time.
After a while, Nikka turned to him, her eyes holding a glimmer of unshed tears that Raiden suspected were not for present-day him. "It's a beautiful ceremony," she said in a low voice. "Despite everything, they loved you."
"I'm aware."
A faint smile curled at the corner of Nikka's mouth at his response. It struck Raiden with sudden force how grateful he was for her presence here, how reassuring it was to have someone like Nikka beside him who was unfazed by his supposed death and who knew him so well.
Her presence was a reminder of how much he'd changed and how far he'd come since the day the two had met, so long ago. Back then, Nikka had been the first to tell him that the skin he lived in wasn't the only thing he was. That the name he had been born with wasn't who he was. That he didn't need to keep molding himself to the wants and needs and liking of the people around who'd shaped the bitter, angry boy he'd been at the time. That he didn't need to hold on so tightly to the fabled truths of the identity he'd had slapped onto him from birth. Nikka had been the first person in the entire world who'd told him that he needed to figure out who he truly was, beneath the years of abuse and indifference. She'd been the only one who'd told him that he needed to look beyond the hurt and the trauma, to the boy underneath and tell him that he had one chance to decide who he wanted to be.
All those winters ago, he'd chosen to be a man.
And that's what had brought them all to this moment.
Raiden lifted his arm and Nikka slipped comfortably underneath, accepting the hug fondly as she leaned her head on his shoulder tenderly. Raiden could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest against his ribcage, her hand settling gently on his chest as the other coursed around his waist. He kept himself immobile as he enveloped his arm around the back of her shoulders, the contact as comforting as it was familiar after all the time they'd spent together, feeling his chest inflame with the feeling of her petite frame against him and how grateful he was for it.
"Thank you," he whispered as he dropped a slow kiss to the crown of her head.
Some of the people around them gave them a few glares at the interaction, but they both ignored it. Over Nikka's head, though, Raiden saw that Kerim was looking at them as well, a softness invading his eyes that Raiden had never seen before. It had never been a secret that there was something between him and Nikka, the very same thing that had made them instantly befriend one another after they met and the reason why Nikka's words had so fervently changed Raiden's trajectory. But he'd never acknowledged it before, and neither had Kerim. For the most part, the old man knew that Nikka's life was her own to live and make decisions with, so he'd never meddled in such matters — something for which Raiden couldn't admire him any more greatly than he did —, but now Raiden could see the pride and the fear in his eyes. As any father should, as firmly as Raiden knew it, Kerim could see all the possible futures that would potentially unfold if Nikka ever decided to tangle herself any further into Raiden's life. Against Raiden's pleasure, she was already too involved, which had been the reason she'd nearly died recently, and the thought of how close he'd come to losing her was a reminder that the power he had was a responsibility he carried that would never truly let him have a life like that of mortal men's. For that reason alone, he could never dare to dream of ever letting her do something as dangerous as trying to evolve their friendship.
Her response was to squeeze the arm around his waist.
Raiden rested his chin on top of Nikka's head, giving Kerim a quiet stare that said more than his words ever could, letting the serenity of his feelings and the conformity he felt towards them quiet the old man's worries for his daughter. "You're lucky you're too stubborn to convince otherwise, because if I wasn't sure you'd murder me before I could, I would be carrying you back to the palace right now."
She snickered. "I don't think even you can walk with a dagger sticking out of you."
He chuckled, a throaty sound vibrating against her cheek. "That's precisely my point. Even I might have trouble managing that, and that's the only reason you're still here."
"That's a little harsh, don't you think?"
"You're a little harsh," he groaned, rolling his eyes.
She pushed herself away from him, making him feel the loss of her warmth with a disheartening coldness. "All I'm saying is that I'm fine. I feel fine. I'm standing here. I don't feel any pain and the wound is almost healed." Her hands guided themselves to her midsection, settling there above the dress's fabric before she pushed them away to her sides as if she realized what she'd done. "There's no need for neither you nor my father to play the super-protective male role."
Kerim smiled, stepping up to Nikka's side. "You are indeed your mother's daughter."
The three of them laughed.
Raiden followed the horizon line, where the ceremony continued as Nikka settled back into his side, his arm circling her waist effortlessly and rejoicing the return of her warmth and comfort.
Honestly, Raiden had never dreamed of ruling — in fact, it was something he had actively avoided —, but Kerim and Nikka hadn't been wrong when they said that watching the entire world grieve him wasn't easy.
Usually, people were truly dead for this part.
Hidden by the shroud of death, they were shielded from bearing witness to the raw and tumultuous emotions that engulfed the living — tears streaming down cheeks, hearts burdened with sorrow and remorse, fingers pointing in accusation, hushed murmurs of suspicion. This moment belonged solely to the living, a peaceful and harmonious ending to the unavoidable grief that came with the farewell. It was a poignant interlude, a flickering glimpse into what was once reality and what could have been, shaped later into what truly was. The air hung heavy with unspoken words and lingering regrets, a temporary escape from the harshness of finality.
Before it lifted like a cloud and all became whispers robbed by the wind.
To Raiden, however, this was more than all of that.
To Raiden, this moment was the closure of a life. A life he lived, hated, endured, survived and ended. It was the culmination of a journey, a bittersweet finale to a life filled with struggle and pain. In this moment, he felt the weight of all his experiences, both good and bad, pressing down on him as he watched the world he had known fade away. His heart was heavy with the knowledge that this was the end, and yet there was a sense of peace in knowing that he had lived and loved and fought until the very last moment. His life was a story, and this was the final chapter, a moment of quiet contemplation before the last page was turned.
A final sigh in the symphony of his existence.
A comfortable silence settled between them as they overlooked the docks from the back of the crowd. The normally bustling city was subdued today, its people likely contemplating their future as much as Raiden was.
"You both came hoping for a fight, though, didn't you?" Raiden eyed the weapons strapped to Kerim's hip and back and then followed the silhouette of Nikka's dress, imagining the number of weapons she had stashed underneath it with easy access.
Nikka's lifted her gaze to Raiden and then followed his to her father.
Kerim's laugh was muffled as he put a hand against his mouth to smother the sound, coughing over it. "A fight?" He managed to get out, still shaking with laughter. "Is that what you think I came here for?"
Raiden found himself silently chuckling along with him, the sound mingling with the distant murmur of the crowd.
"Only if you count a battle of wits. I have to admit I do have quite a few of those with you," Kerim replied, his laughter subsiding into a soft smile. "But, sadly, no. I came here because whether you're a king or a commoner, dead or alive, you're still you and trouble follows you everywhere. So, though I don't hope for any number of things, I do believe in proper preparation."
It wasn't so much the words that Kerim said, but the sincerity in his voice that struck him, because Kerim didn't say that he was still his king, his royal heir, his prince, his superior, his apprentice or even his friend.
To Kerim, Raiden had never been any of those things.
He'd only ever been precisely what he was now to the rest of the world.
A boy.
"What he said," Nikka gently agreed, nodding in her father's direction. "I've had enough fighting for a lifetime, but I came prepared anyway." She smacked her hand in Raiden's chest jokingly. "Not all of us are lucky enough to be born being a weapon. Most of us, actually, have to carry them and even then, there's no telling if they'll get us through another day."
Raiden looked down at her, remembering how close he'd come to losing her only a few days earlier. Though he was moderately accustomed to losing people, he couldn't imagine what living without Nikka would be like. Ever since the two had met in Stalsgard, Raiden had never quite been the same and the imprint she'd made on him had never washed off. She was the closest thing to a friend Raiden had ever had and, aside from his family, she was the one he would do anything for.
Raiden nodded, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Swallowing, he found that the surge of emotion swepping over him made him unable to speak. He simply stood there, staring at the sea as he let their words sink in and although he knew he'd never be able to pay back everything that the Nartevs had done for him, he would spend the rest of his existence trying. It took him some time to find his voice again.
"I owe you both my life," Raiden finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper as it was carried away by the gentle sea breeze.
Kerim turned to look at him and Nikka then, a serious expression overlaying his usually playful face. He settled a hand on Nikka's arm as he spoke. "No," he said softly. "You don't owe us anything. This isn't about debts or obligations. It's not about truth or secrets. It's about you. It's about the boy sent to me in chains that I held in my arms for two days before he stopped screaming long enough to look at me with wise, weary eyes. Even then, he had the strongest spirit I'd ever seen, but he also had a fortress of walls that a life of abuse had built him."
He'd heard the story of how Raiden had come into Kerim's tutelage in Stalsgard, but he never failed to feel a small spark of surprise at hearing him mention the deplorable state he'd been in when he was dragged to the fortress and how Kerim had, even then, cared for him. How he'd seen something in Raiden worth protecting and mending and caring for.
No matter how many times he'd been told.
"Joke's on me, really, for ever believing you'd accept my resented, embittered anger and not do anything about it."
Kerim's hand squeezed his daughter's arm, giving her a warm smile. "That was all Nikka's doing."
Raiden smiled and Nikka chuckled into his chest.
That wasn't strictly the truth, but while Nikka had played a very important role in softening the pain hiding on the other side of the walls of his fortress, the truth is Kerim had come into Raiden's world at the worst moment of his life and he'd started the work that would transform Raiden from the boy he'd been to the man had walked inside the palace's walls nine winters later, ready to move on.
Kerim had cracked his walls.
Nikka had crashed them down — after Kerim had smashed holes into them.
The first time Raiden had laid eyes on Kerim, his initial reaction had been distrust and hate. Kerim had a knack for pushing Raiden, even then, by forcing him to deal with the things that made him sick to his stomach and face the problems that he constantly shied away from. He hadn't ever logically decided it, but a spark of unease and suspicion ignited within him, like a switch that'd come on without his permission. After the late king's abuse, it had felt like an invasion of some kind, like Kerim kept banging on the carefully-risen walls he'd built around himself to protect his heart from anyone that might try to bulldoze them. But the truth is Kerim was like a battering ram, relentlessly tearing against the walls, forcing Raiden to change and adapt himself into different shapes and sizes until he found one he felt comfortable with.
Until he found one that he could live in.
Until he felt comfortable enough to let the walls crumble.
Until he learned to live with the outcome of all the abuse and all the pain.
Until he rose walls of another kind, that strengthened instead of weakening him.
Kerim hadn't just earned Raiden's trust through unwavering loyalty, he had bestowed upon Raiden a sense of belonging that he had never experienced before, as well as, above all else, a feeling of acceptance. From the first moment, when Kerim knelt by Raiden and held the boy in his arms as he battled his father's poison and the scars of his torture, the man had embraced Raiden in a way he'd never been even tolerated before. It was a gift that Raiden would forever hold close to his heart, a bond forged in the trying times of Raiden's never-ending misguided battle for his own identity.
It had provided a safe environment where Raiden could finally find who he truly was.
And he'd never know how to thank the old man for that.
"I think it's safe to say I learned it from you, Father."
"Even if so, the patience it took to make him find serenity once more is not something you got or learned from me," Kerim said. "You got that from your mother. Something that was born with you."
And he was right.
He looked away, staring out at the sea.
Where Kerim had shamed through the walls and gotten inside to see the wreckage of what remained within them, Nikka had come and gently swept away the rubble and the blood, erasing all the remnants of his past so he didn't have to walk through them every single day. With her help, he found a semblance of peace with everything that had happened to him. He made peace with the abuse, the torture, the dehumanizing, the objectifying and the indifference. Piece by piece. She picked up the shovel and carted out every piece of garbage, wiped away every tear and drop of blood, stitched back all the wounds, cut out all the festered scars, and comforted each nightmare. And when she was done, she looked out at the walls around him, cracked and weathered by her father's work before her, and she gently tore them all down, putting away each boulder, each barbed wire and every concrete slab. Then, piece by piece, Nikka put him back together, until the man who stared back at him in the mirror looked like a completely different person, rearranged by her kindness and her patience in letting him figure out how he meant to use all the things she'd cleaned out and all the things she'd kept to shape himself into someone new.
Someone better. Someone conformed. Someone at peace.
If he was standing here, somewhat whole, it was because of her.
Raiden frowned at the water, watching as it shimmered with the fading rays of sunlight. He felt a lump rise in his throat, an unspoken reaction to Kerim's humble words. But then he looked at his mentor's face — that kind, weathered face that had seen countless battles and tragedies — and he knew that saying 'thank you' would be pointless.
The sun was setting now, staining the sky with splashes of orange and pink. The soft murmur of the city behind them and the crowd in front of them seemed to fade into the background as Raiden watched the sun sink beneath the horizon. The quiet waters of the sea shimmered with hints of the colorful sky above.
"It's strange," Raiden finally said, breaking their shared silence. "I used to hate this city. It was a cage. Even when I was free, it felt like a prison. But now…" He trailed off, struggling to find the right words.
"But now you see it for what it truly is," Kerim finished for him.
Raiden nodded slightly. "My home."
Silence enveloped them once more as they all took in this newfound sentiment.
Kerim broke it first. "It's not just about where you come from. It's about where you belong." He turned to face Raiden directly, eyes glistening under the fading light of day.
Nikka's bright, blue eyes met his. "And you belong here."
"Your story doesn't end with this sunset, this funeral, or the coffin set to sail in your honor," Kerim finished. "It begins anew tomorrow."
Raiden listened to the words and for the first time since he was a boy, he felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. Despite all he'd endured, all he'd lost and won, his story wasn't over and he was, finally, exactly where he belonged.
Home.
Wasn't it the strangest thing that it was the same he'd once said to be anything but that?
The crowd suddenly hushed and the queen's voice rose above it. "We've lived through many tribulations and tests these past days," her voice was hauntingly somber as she spoke and, with his better hearing, he had no trouble hearing her, though he wondered how everyone else did. "Not only did I loose my son to the fog and darkness, but we've all lost our Prince, and this world has lost the single most beautiful ray of sunshine that ever walked the ground beneath our feet."
Silently, gazing upon the scene he'd seen his father perform many times, Raiden wondered if his mother was saying these things because she indeed believed in them or simply because she meant to augment the ceremony.
Raiden guessed a mixture of both, most likely.
But he had to hand it to her.
She was a good spokesman.
As his mother continued her speech, a part of Raiden cracked open, raw and painful. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the half-moon divots of his fingernails biting into the flesh of his palms. His mind echoed with memories from a lifetime ago. His mother's sweet lullabies and comforting presence, his father's harsh words and rough hands. The brutality of the past was too painful to relive, but it didn't stop the memories from flooding back, from infiltrating every recess that he had so carefully closed-off.
He felt Kerim's hand on his shoulder, its weight grounding him in reality.
Raiden looked up at the man who had become more of a father than his real one ever was. Kerim's eyes held an understanding that only shared pain could offer — two living testimonies of survival within the dark pits of human cruelty. "It's okay to feel, Raiden," Kerim said quietly. "Even if it hurts."
Raiden nodded slowly, taking shallow breaths to hold back the tidal wave of emotions threatening to crash through him.
Nikka's arms squeezed. "She's doing what she must."
Raiden's chin lifted stubbornly.
So was he.
His mother's voice carried on, weaving a tale of the lost Crown Prince who had been taken too early from this world. "It's with great anguish and sadness that I stand here before all of you, staring at this empty coffin where I cannot lay his body to bid it the eternal rest my beautiful boy deserved. Still, it would sadden me even more if his death wasn't somehow heralded, so the entire world knows it as well as the Gods above, who sought not to protect him from the evil that lurks in the shadows." She stopped, turning her head over her shoulder behind her, and through the swarm of people standing on the quay, her eyes found him as if drawn to him. "Instead, let us all show him our love for him as we bid farewell to his spirit, keeping the memory of his kindness and innocence close to our hearts."
Raiden didn't know what he was expecting.
But certainly not what he saw.
The queen turned to the Drakkar and, with the help of the servants and her Royal Guard, stepped onto the Drakkar, reaching her trembling hands to the coffin. Once they landed upon the white top, she lowered her forehead onto it, her small body shaken by sobs that Raiden knew weren't entirely fake. Her nails raked gently over the wood as if she wanted it to truly be his body that she was embracing.
A shiver coursed down Raiden's spine.
Despite knowing that this scene had been carefully orchestrated, the sight of his mother weeping over the empty coffin struck a chord within him. He couldn't deny the truth in her tears — some part of her, whether it be large or small, was truly mourning his death, even if not in full. Instead, she was saying goodbye to the boy he used to be. The son who had once loved and longed for her affection and concern had become just a distant memory as he'd started loathing it instead of cherishing it.
After all, now, she loved a boy he no longer was.
And he'd become a man who couldn't bear the weight of her love.
He couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow for what had become of their relationship. Of the people they'd once been. Of how everything had turned out.
Of how he couldn't forget, even if he'd somehow ever found the courage to forgive.
Finally, she righted herself, pulling her long hair behind her back, and, straight as a nail, stepped off the Drakkar. She looked back one last time at the coffin before turning to face the crowd. Her voice echoed across the quiet harbor. "May his spirit find peace," she whispered, her words carried on the evening breeze.
The crowd echoed her sentiment in a ripple of murmur and whispers.
The Drakkar, with its lonely coffin, was pushed out to sea by a group of soldiers, each one looking as somber as the next. Flames were sparked to life on hastily assembled torches that lined the quay and were then thrown onto the boat, setting the wooden vessel ablaze.
Raiden watched as the flame-licked ship drifted farther out to sea.
He felt like he was watching parts of himself floating away — parts that had been ravaged by anger, betrayal, and pain. His old self. His past. But as the ship grew smaller in the distance, swallowed by the darkness and shimmering waves, a strange serenity started settling in him.
Closing his eyes, Raiden tipped his face up to the sky, letting a single swirl of wind blow over his skin, letting the simpleness of such a caress ease the beast clawing at its cage inside of him, wanting desperately to escape from the memories he kept locked within and the emotions he'd long learned to clot around his once bleeding heart.
His mother.
Oh, how he missed her.
His mind futilely tried to recall the sweet scent of her hair, the softness of her touch, the lightness of her laughter. So many winters and countless battles had dulled those memories, made them faint echoes in his ever-darkening world. Even the sound of her voice was becoming a soft whisper, drowning under the thunderous roars of war he'd faced.
He opened his eyes to stare at the glowing pyre disappearing beyond the horizon.
The burning ship seemed to take with it the remnants of who he had been, that young boy who believed in love and hope, surrendering him to the unavoidable fate.
A hardened warrior scarred by the realities of life.
He could still hear her soft sobs carried by the wind as she took her place alongside Ceyx watching the Drakkar float away into the horizon. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, but he knew he'd never do that again.
Not anymore.
His hands would never again hold her or embrace her. Though the burn of betrayal had eased, it hadn't been extinguished, and as long as it was so, he'd never be able to withstand more than her presence.
Not before long, the flame finally died down in the distance, leaving only a smoldering ember on the black canvas of water and sky. A symbol of his past extinguished, never to return.
Turning back towards the crowd, Raiden saw everyone beginning to disperse. The funeral was over. It was time for life to resume its pace again.
But for Raiden, it felt like an ending rather than a return.
An ending not only of a man's life but also the end of a chapter in Raiden's existence. It was like stepping into another world, one where familiar faces were foreign.
A clean start.
At once, the sun hid behind a band of dark, gray clouds. The bright, blue sky from minutes ago became ashen-gray, reflecting the silver waters of the lake beneath it. Fog lifted from the lake, thickening like mist through the air. The wind picked up, carrying a stale scent of warmth that Raiden recognized almost immediately. The lake waters, peaceful and barely undulating moments ago, turned violent like the ocean's high tide, bustling the Drakkar. As wave upon wave hit the bow, each greater by the minute, water flew into the unmanned Drakkar, and, soon after, rain started to fall from the skies and the stuffy sound of thunder from afar didn't take long to follow.
Whispers rose among the crowd as they, too, understood the change.
Kerim's wide eyes immediately turned to Raiden, the question written very clearly in his eyes.
Was he doing that?
He was not.
Raiden shook his head once in an almost imperceptible denial gesture.
Kerim blinked. "What's happening?"
Raiden lifted one shoulder. "I don't know. Something's wrong." His eyes wandered up to the skies and even though he didn't know what was happening, he could sense the energy in the air crackling with tension. Raiden signaled a guard standing several feet to their right, managing the crowd and keeping watch of the perimeter, who approached gingerly. "Kratos," Raiden greeted. "Take Nikka back to the palace."
She turned to face Raiden, eyes narrowing. "Wait —"
"Of course, Sir." The guard immediately nodded, putting a hand on Nikka's lower back.
"I can take her back —"
"No." Raiden's eyes met Kerim's over Nikka's head. "I need you here, in case something happens."
"I can —"
"Please," he interrupted, voice low as he gently lifted her chin, meeting her diamond stare. His lashes lowered, hiding his eyes from the emotion and the fear he felt for her life when he had the memory of her near death so fresh on his heart. "I need you to be safe."
She swallowed and nodded. "Okay."
Nikka turned swiftly and accepted the supporting hand the guard offered her as she began running back to the palace.
Raiden turned to look at the quay —
A flash erupted from the heavens.
Lightning.
A single thunder came crashing down into the earth and just as it rolled down, it became evident where it would strike.
The Drakkar.
A unison of surprised exclamations exploded within the crowd.
The thunder came down dead-center into the Drakkar, igniting the wood into immediate flames before the eyes of the entire kingdom. The crackling of fire carried all over the silent bay and the ember of the flames ignited the water, making the silver waves look like sparkling live embers. The mast toppled to the side and the white sail was quickly devoured by the fire, turned to ashes within seconds. The atmosphere darkened and the wind picked up, making the flames engulfing the Drakkar gain life, quickly owning the boat until its wood glowed with amber light. The bow and prow were both consumed by the fire, the strike of the thunder burning through most of the wood, and, soon enough, the Drakkar broke in half, the coffin within burned to ashes and rendered to evermore oblivion.
Within minutes, only remnants of the Drakkar could be seen as it sunk into the depths of the lake.
As the Drakkar completely sunk, a single bundle of a wooden plank engulfed by flames remained as more thunders rumbled in the skies.
Another lightning bore down from the heavens and as it struck upon the last remnant of the flames, sending the lump of wood into the water's depths, the disappearing flash of blue light formed the shape of two crows, whose iridescent wings beat in quick succession as they lifted from the ocean, beaks opened, wings spread and shrill crowing erupting from their vocal cords until they reached the heavens.
Raiden held his breath.
Hugin and Munin.
And then, they disappeared.
Raiden blinked.
The screams came first.
Chaos ensued all around the quay, but both Raiden and Kerim remained where they stood, drenched to the bones, as they both kept their gaze on the sinking Drakkar and the sky's horizon where Hugin and Munin had disappeared. People scurried away around them, their terror as sharp as a knife.
From the mist and the fog over the lake waters, a figure emerged.
Raiden recognized him the second he laid eyes on him.
Odin.
His father was here.
The figure was striding through the mist, seemingly walking on the surface of the water, his long cloak billowing behind him. His gaze scanned out over the remains of the ship, a hint of approval in his grizzled face and Raiden noticed that he had a patch over one eye that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen him. A raven perched on each of his shoulders, each bird's eyes radiating a glow of their own, piercing through the gathering darkness.
What'd happened to his eye?
Raiden watched entranced, hardly breathing as he witnessed the spectacle before him. He was dimly aware of Kerim gripping his arm tightly beside him, whispering some ancient prayer under his breath, but Raiden couldn't turn away from the vision of his father striding through the night.
Odin stopped where the Drakkar had been moments ago, stooping to pick up a piece of charred wood that still bobbed on the surface of the water. He held it aloft, studying it in the dimming light. Then with a swift gesture, he cast it back into the lake, his stern gaze never wavering.
The onlookers became silent as Odin raised a hand and pointed haphazardly in Raiden's direction. Even if Raiden could have believed the action was meant to be random, he could see there was unequivocal meaning behind it that only those aware of Raiden's true identity could understand.
"He shall return," Odin announced in a sodden voice.
Raiden felt a rush of adrenaline, his heart pounding against his ribs. He stood rooted to the spot, his stormy eyes meeting Odin's one good eye. The world around him faded into an insignificant hum, and it was as if the two stood alone on the quay, eye to eye, father and son, god and mortal.
Odin's voice echoed through the chilled night air once more. "He will return."
The words rang in Raiden's head, echoing through the chambers of his mind. His stomach twisted, and his heartbeat quickened. It was a promise. A vow. His father was announcing to the crowd of people watching him that the prince they'd just bid farewell to would return. He should be thankful his father wasn't announcing he wasn't dead, otherwise, this entire situation could derail entirely.
The crowd remained silent, their eyes wide with shock and awe at what they were witnessing.
"He will not ever be lost to any storm," Odin continued, his voice now firm and resolute. "For he is of my blood, and no tempest shall claim him. Nor shall death. He shall be the lightning among the darkness and he will return when the shadows linger the closest. Worship him, for he will return to stand between this world and all that is evil, to be the sword that will break apart the dark when the war for this realm comes."
The crowd murmured amongst itself, whispers spreading like wildfire. Confusion swam in their eyes while a strained silence hung over the quay.
Raiden could barely hear Kerim's confused question over the buzzing in his ears. "What in the hell is happening?"
Raiden didn't reply.
He couldn't find the words.
He felt a chill creep up his spine that had nothing to do with the rain or the wind.
What had his father done?
Odin's booming voice echoed across the crowd once more, as if carried by the wind itself. "This is your time of calm before the storm. Once he returns, the fate of this world will be decided and the fate of all Children of Clay shall be settled. Pray that he comes with grace and kindness in his heart," he continued, his words taking on a disturbing tone of warning. "For if he doesn't, your Lost King will see the sins of this world paid in blood."
The words hung in the air before being swallowed by a deafening crash of thunder and a blinding flash of lightning.
And then there was silence, heavy and pressing.
Odin lowered his hand and turned away from the crowd, his cloak rippling in the wind. With slow and deliberate steps, he turned and vanished back into the mist from where he had come. The ravens on his shoulders gave one last piercing cry before following their master into the foggy abyss.
And then there was silence.
A deafening silence that encompassed everyone present.
What had he done?
Raiden found himself blinking rapidly as if waking up from an intense dream. His heart pounded in his chest with such intensity it echoed in his ears. Yet all around him was stillness — an eerie calm after the storm.
Kerim broke free from Raiden's side to join in helping those who seemed most affected by the spectacle just witnessed. Some people were crying and praying, while others just stared emptily at where the God had disappeared, seeing how the fog lifted from the lake just as quickly as it'd come and the sun broke through the stormy clouds above.
As the sunlight filtered through the dissipating clouds, casting an ethereal glow over the once chaotic quay, Raiden was left all alone contemplating his father's words. He tried to understand their implications, but it felt like staring into an abyss and hoping to decipher its depth.
He walked until he stood at the edge of the water, where he bent to pick up a piece of charred wood from the Drakkar ruins that had washed ashore — a solitary reminder of the vessel's tragic demise and the meaning of its destruction. He twirled it between his fingers, feeling the rough bark against his skin.
He was alive and he'd return.
The crowd around him was gradually regaining its composure but Raiden's mind was far away, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts.
Odin's promise echoed in his ears. He felt an odd sense of vertigo at the memory. They stirred an undefined fear in him and, oddly enough, sparked a glimmer of hope. But even as he tried to make sense of this paradoxical feeling, he realized he couldn't comprehend the enormity of what Odin had proclaimed.
His eyes lifted to the sky. "What have you done?" He whispered to the God, though he wasn't sure if he'd listen.
I merely made sure you understand your duty, Odin's voice whispered in Raiden's mind in response. You dream of a life of peace and simplicity, but that is not the path for you, my son. You chose to abdicate your power as a human king and I've stood by your decision, but that does not change who you are. You cannot ever forget who you are and what you were born for. This is your wyrd, and when the time comes, you will rise through the storm to save this world.
His head started to shake from side to side, denying the words he didn't want to believe.
He didn't want this.
He didn't want this wyrd.
He didn't want any of this.
Want it or not, it is yours and it cannot be changed, Odin reminded, voice rough. You must will your strength to become as unyielding as steel to face what's to come, because darkness gathers close, my son, and only you can stop it.
As unyielding as steel.
Steel.
Why did that word keep coming up?
Raiden fell to his knees on the quay, the realization that even when he'd thought he'd nearly escaped from the Seid's designs, he'd only managed to get himself even more bound to it hitting him.
When Raiden reopened his eyes, it was to see his mother's and brother's gazes settled on him and though he could almost read the questions in their eyes, he couldn't force himself to answer them, because the truth was he'd been trying to run from the madness of his own wyrd and only ended up reminded that he couldn't ever truly stray from it.
And thus, the legend of the Lost King was born.
The savior to rise from the storm and bring peace to the world of Midgard.
His fingers tangled in his disheveled hair, tugging in frustration, feeling the pointless urge to rip it from his scalp, unable to come to terms with the truth laid bare before him so suddenly, shattering all the hopes he could've had for the future that'd never been his to plan.
Because, ultimately, that was the truth behind his entire existence, wasn't it?
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from his lungs.
The reason he could so easily be robbed of all the things he wanted was because none of it had ever actually been his.