T H I R T E E N

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"The army mourned the loss of their leader,
and the older brother was promoted
to the rank of Commander,
while the younger brother became a Captain."

Bayne's tombstone was a rather... grand thing, Xenor had to admit.

A slab of polished stone embedded in the dirt, with intricate curls and the crest of the Avalon family engraved on the surface— a shield with a royally cursive 'A' and a pair of swords crossing it, with a mountain lion on one side, a dog on the other, and a dragon above (it was ridiculous, considering how dragons didn't exist). White lilies were scattered on the ground around it, their petals drooping like they were mourning as well. A small stone cross was nestled behind it, and a wreath of roses and carnations were hung on the cross, like a necklace.

Xenor grimaced, averting his eyes down.

He quietly read the epitaph on the tombstone, and breathed out softly, closing his eyes.

In Loving Memory of
King Bayne Avalon
Dearest Husband
Beloved Father
Wise and Benevolent Ruler

Beloved father, huh...? Xenor tucked his hands into his pockets, staring at the words again. They stared back at him, just empty words on a stone, and a strange, choking emotion welled up inside him.

It was the same emotion he had felt when he'd argued with Storm, some weeks back.

"I would rather trust a complete stranger than you!"

Unbelievable, Xenor thought, pressing his lips together. Absolutely unbelievable. It was outrageous. An image of Tesarah Starrod flashed through his mind, and he gritted his teeth. His little brother trusted a commoner more than him.

A bloody commoner.

He expected to feel anger at the thought, to feel a wrathful hatred towards his brother. It was ridiculous, how Storm did not trust him.

He was his brother.

He was his family.

And yet, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

That strange emotion continued to thud within, and he gnawed on the inside of his cheek in frustration, trying to beat it out. Get out, he thought, taking a hand out of his pocket and clutching his chest, right over his heart.

He felt it thump— in a rather erratic pattern, alarmingly— under his palm, under his skin and flesh, nestled in the cages of his ribs.

Get out.

He breathed in deeply, hoping to calm himself.

The emotion dulled, withered, and he continued to strangle it. Throttle it. Demand for it to leave him be and never, ever, return.

Xenor released a pent-up breath, shoulders sagging.

Bayne's grave continued to stare at him.

"Stop staring at me, Father," he murmured, dropping his head. Yet, he could still feel a gaze lingering on him, watching him, and it made his skin crawl with invisible bugs, turning him cold as his insides clenched.

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