"I'm dying" Raven lamented. "only a kiss of true love can save me "
"Best I can do is a high five of semi- cordiality"
After a lifetime of house arrest, River Verlice attends his niece's first birthday banquet, expecting nothing more than a quiet e...
In the dimly lit Shrine of Vorine, Lucian Verlice, The King of the North, loomed over the obsidian altar. His fingers tightly clenched the hilt of a dull sword.His gaze, harsh and unyielding, bore down upon the unsightly infant—a red, wrinkled bag of skin, slick with blood, and a white layer of waxy goo.
He was mewling softly,too weak to even muster a loud cry. He seemed to be begging for his mother's warmth-to be held.
The king dragged a trembling palm down his face, wiping off beads of cold sweat. His knees trembled, and he clenched the hilt tighter, hoping it would smooth out his breath. It was becoming shallower with each passing second. He inhaled sharply, letting the smell of blood and incense suffocate him.
In this very shrine of Vorine, on this very altar, he had presented his firstborn son before the gods six years ago. Swathed in white and gold ceremonial robes, the baby had taken blessings from the Northern God.
He reminisced about that day.
Oh! How happy he felt, cradling the sleeping child in his arms. How pride had filled his heart when God had spoken to him, telling him the prince was a courageous one. The child was hence named Valor.
That cherished memory of the past bled into the bleak reality of the present.
Today he had waited, praying for heavens to accept his second son as a part of his bloodline. He was hoping the gods would bestow a fitting name on him, like they had done for hundreds of past generations.
But the gods were silent.
For children of God, their names were their pride, for it was heaven that had named them. It was a prophecy, it was a reward, and it was a blessing. It was their names that acted as their right to the throne and heavenly lineage.
By refusing to name this infant, the gods have taken away his right to the throne, his place in the family, and his right to exist. He would be a nobody, a ghost of a person, and a black mark on his father's reign.
Killing him was mercy. He would suffer a far worse fate, alive.
Lightning flashed outside, momentarily illuminating the altar. The River Blues he had offered that morning, hoping for the safety of the mother and child, had withered miserably.
Their vibrant blue petals have gone a dried blood brown, a mocking nod at everything that led to this fateful moment.
A pair of bright cerulean eyes flickered in his memory. They were speckled with golden sunlight, full of warmth and love. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to push them to the back of his mind. But he knew those eyes were going to haunt him for as long as he lived.
All this could have been avoided. But it was far too late now.
The King felt as if heaven had abandoned him as well. Could he have done things differently? Something—anything he could have done to avert the disaster that occurred today?
He wiped his eyes roughly, feeling wetness in them. His heart galloped, pounding frantically against his ribcage. He raised the sword over his head, breath held, and nerves steeled.
One swing. And it will all be over.
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Hii..thank you for taking you time to give my work a read. I really appreciate it! I hope you stay with us on up coming chapters as well.
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