1214-01-07
I walked through the halls. Before me stood a towering door that led to my father's room.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Come in, my son," my father's voice called from within.
I stepped into the room, a space both grand and somber. Red and white dominated the decor, their stark contrast filling the chamber with an air of authority. In the center of the room a table with two chairs. My father, frail and sickly, sat at one side, a chessboard meticulously arranged before him. Behind him loomed a massive bed draped in red sheets and leather accents, and beyond that, a window offering a commanding view of Pallas.
I closed the door behind me.
"Take the white pieces," my father commanded, his voice rasp.
Looking down at the all-too-familiar board, I picked up a pawn. "Pawn to E4," I announced, settling into my chair.
My father responded without hesitation, his hand steady. "Pawn to E5."
"How are you feeling this morning?" I asked, my voice soft.
"Good," he replied, though a cough escaped him as he reached for his next move.
"Knight to F3," I said, the sound of pieces sliding across the board could be heard.
"Knight to C6," he countered.
"Bishop to B5," I played.
"Pawn to A6."
I adjusted my bishop to A4. His knight leapt to F6. A flurry of moves followed: I castled short, he developed his bishop to E7, I brought my rook to E1 and he moved his pawn to B5.
"Why did you summon me?" I asked finally, breaking the rhythm of the game as I moved a bishop to B3. "Surely not just to play chess."
"Why did I interrupt your time with Liora?" he countered, a small smile forming as he placed a pawn on D6.
I flushed and avoided his gaze.
"No," he admitted, voice quieter. "I wanted to talk with you."
"About what?" I laughed, moving my pawn to C3.
"The war with Wara."
The game continued. He castled. I moved a Pawn to H3. His knight sprang to A5, threatening my bishop. I countered with C2.
"You're just like Pallas," he said suddenly, his voice wistful as he studied the board.
"You played chess with her?" I asked, surprised.
"Of course," he said, his eyes brightening at the memory. "Though I hated playing with her. Always losing."
He moved his pawn to C5.
"That's not how I remember it," I said, moving my pawn to D4. "You beat me every time."
"I remember every game I've ever played," he said with a smile, "and every game I will play."
"Queen to C7," he said, ignoring my comment. "I saw the battlefield as my chessboard."
"Why don't you want me to fight?" I asked, moving a knight to D2.
"You've only known peace," he said, coughing again as his C pawn took on D4.
"Is that such a bad thing?"
"Peace requires strength to protect it," he replied, voice heavy with experience. "You come to understand these things as you age."
"What else have you come to understand?" I laughed.
My C pawn took on D4. His bishop moved to B7. My pawn pushed to D5. His A rook slid to C8. My bishop moved to D3.
He didn't answer immediately, instead moving his queen to C5. His silence was louder than his words.
"Do you truly want peace, Adrian?"
"Of course," I said without hesitation.
"If you want peace, why don't you take Ghar?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.
"Ghar?" I blinked, startled. "Why?"
"Knight to B3."
"Knight takes B3."
"Queen takes B3."
"Bishop takes D5.
'Pawn takes D5."
" After King Addo's death, Ghar was plunged into war, a conflict that has lasted for the past 18 years."
"But wouldn't that lead to more bloodshed? They'd resist."
"And would that be so terrible?" he pressed. "Unity can be forged in struggle."
"The deaths would be terrible," I said firmly. "Is unity worth that cost?"
"Adrian, hundreds of soldiers—both ours and theirs—will perish in Dios."
"Yes, but we can save Dios. We can reclaim our land."
"Is that the only reason?"
"No." I paused, "I want to be strong."
"Strength," he murmured.
My father's face remained impassive as he slid his F rook to E8.
"You seem distracted," he remarked, watching as I moved my bishop to D2.
"Not at all," I replied.
He responded with a casual pawn move to H6.
"Bishop to F5," I said. "You never truly answered my question."
"Which one?" he asked.
"Why did you summon me?"
He didn't reply right away, placing his rook on C7. "Perhaps to test your resolve."
"A Rook to C1," I countered.
His queen took on D5.
"What are you thinking?" I asked, moving my rook to C7, capturing his.
"You're young, Adrian," he said, moving his pawn to E4. "You don't yet understand the weight of the crown."
"Then teach me," I pressed
"There are some things only experience can teach," my father said, his voice heavy with wisdom and weariness.
"Experience?" I asked, curious.
"Yes," he murmured, a hint of pride and regret in his tone. "In my prime, I would have fought them all."
I chuckled softly, unable to suppress my amusement. "I think you need rest, Father."
Rising from my seat, I rang the small bell on the table. The sound to summon the maids after I took his queen with mine.
" After the death of your mother I had come to learn that true strength doesn't come from the sword, Adrian. It comes from—"
A knock interrupted him. His hand hovered over his knight, but instead of moving it, he tipped over his king.
The door creaked open, and behind it stood the familiar faces of the maids, doctors, cooks, and, as usual, General Hector. The maids carried fresh sheets and linen, the doctors had their medical equipment in hand, and I noticed them checking my father's temperature. The cooks brought in plates of food. And Hector—he strode in like he owned the place, his presence too familiar and too unsettling. The father of Liora.
"Oh, Adrian," he whispered, his voice low and sharp. "When I return, this board will burn."
I stood slowly, watching as my father was carefully moved to his bed. Hector's smile twisted at the edges, an unsettling grin that always sent a chill down my spine. He was never a man I fully trusted.
I quietly closed the door behind me, escaping the scene.
I had heard stories of my father, Aldric, the Warrior King. A man I never met. They say he conquered not for riches or glory, but because the chaos fed something inside him. And part of me wonders—was it true? Was he the kind of man who only wanted to watch the world burn? Or was he more than the stories, more than the war? I may never know, but I feel his blood in my veins, that restless, seething urge to fight, to destroy, to rise above. Maybe the world should come to fear me, too.
I made my way to the flower garden, hoping the solitude would give me clarity. I took a slow walk, allowing my mind to clear, hoping the quiet would help me make sense of everything swirling in my head.
WHUUSH
As I passed a patch of violets, a shadow moved in the corner of my eye. I turned, and there she was—Shino. She stood a few paces away, her posture perfect, eyes fixed on the ground in a quiet, respectful bow. Her long black hair cascaded down her back, almost blending into the shadow of the trees behind her. Her eyes, dark as the night, met mine as she straightened, and I felt a flicker of recognition.
"Welcome back, Shino," I said, my voice steady. "Where have you been?"
She didn't speak immediately, and for a moment, I wondered if she'd hesitate. But she never did.
"I've been in Tobe," she replied, her voice calm. "They plan on remaining neutral in any conflict with Wara."
I nodded, taking in the information. Tobe—peaceful, distant, and cold. I knew her roots ran there, even though I couldn't place exactly how she'd come to be by my side. She looked younger than I was—about 18, I guessed, though I had never asked her age.
I thought about her words, about the quiet strength she exuded. "Will you be commanding troops, or are you here to protect my father?"
She tilted her head slightly. "Whatever you wish."
I looked up at the sky for a moment, trying to clear my mind of the war that loomed over us. When my eyes returned to her, I spoke softly. "My father needs protection."
She nodded.
I looked up at the sky. High above,a dragon soaring effortlessly through the sky.
I turned back to Shino.
She was gone.