She grew up in the clutches of poverty; He was raised in the lap of luxury.
She hated nobles; He couldn't be bothered with commoners.
Her heart hidden deep in thorny vines; His one burning in his sleeves.
She was the recently orphaned flower seller;...
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Great Expectations
Akira's POV
"You will have to take the lead, Akira."
Uncle Alver's words echoes in my mind like a curse. It wouldn't go away, wouldn't leave me alone. I felt as if that one sentence would haunt me for life.
It was so easy for them. To replace him, to give his position to somebody else. It was just that easy to declare one of the most powerful mage of all time presumed dead.
They didn't even go inside the castle to make sure.
Inayat was wrong.
Lord Leonidas was going to win now. That too without any competition.
The Grand Vizier is under investigation for his past. Lord Abbas's loyalty is under scrutiny after the incident with the Sultan's assassination. The Grand General is said to be mentally unstable after losing his son. Inayat is being sent to the borders. Aunt Meda was framed for illegal weapon supply. It was obvious at this point, all of dad's loyal people were getting removed one by one.
The people were happy though. They will finally get a new Grandmaster. They will get the war they had asked for.
My father was replaceable. His views and beliefs were replaceable.
If this wasn't enough, I'll have to replace him as the family head.
If I don't, one of those vultures whom I call relatives will sit on my father's seat.
I try to wipe the tears of anguish staining my face in the darkness of my room. But they keep rolling down against my will. So I just let them wet my pillow.
The fog of frozen silence that has settled over our house makes sense now. It's not like I was complaining. The silence hid mom's muffled sobs.
I clap my hands. The tiny fire imps wake up from their slumber and light up the room. They stand straight inside the lanterns.
My eyes fall on the mess of unfinished paintings in my room. I gently move the pile to take out a particular one from the very bottom.
It was one of my very few finished pieces. The painting was a whirlwind of vibrant colors. They were almost as bright as the smile on Dad's face in it. He was kneeling in front of uncle Alver who was removing his Diadem. Behind him was the throne of the Grandmaster waiting for him to claim it. I had named it "Genesis."
My nostalgia soon turns into a rage as I think of the fickleness of that cursed throne. I throw the painting towards the wall and it hits with a deafening sound.
I could sense someone knocking urgently on the door. But I ignore it in my rage.
The spark of my wrath soon burns ablaze. I fuel the fire even more by throwing more paintings on the wall. An enraged scream leaves my mouth as I punch the wall. The fiery imps burn with more ferocity with their fangs bare and fists punching their glass prison. Their shrilly scream fuels my rage at everything.
