Sivi restlessly shifted upon her marble throne, one eye on the proceedings in front of her and another scanning the doors leading into the hall. She had not bothered to change nor eat, spending her time frantically searching for Kirie. But even now, Kirie was nowhere to be found.

Ever since she was a child, she had looked upon her mother's throne with awe and reverence. The glorified chair was carved from one solid block of marble with intricate engravings and indents that brought a beautiful depth to the otherwise flat throne. Although the thrones embellishments are no longer present, stripped and sold for a pretty penny, the beauty of the old carvings still remains. From afar, it could be mistaken for the throne of a wealthy, considerate Queendom; elegant and delicate, but made of common materials. Sivi twisted her posture again, no one had ever told Sivi just how uncomfortable the chair was.

In front of her, a young man turning twelve was having his Blading Ceremony, a bishop of the Divine Path was dealing with the ancient rites involved. If the boy was of nobility, her Ministry might have deigned to send a cardinal, but for a low-born—Sivi hated that word—a cardinal wasn’t necessary, even if it would have been proper. Nevertheless, the cardinals were busy, easing tension in the few cities Sivi had left with their honey-laced promises and lies. And that, though Sivi didn't like it, was the Ministry’s highest priority task.

“Your Majesty. Please, give this child your blessing.” the bishop bowed low. He wasn't supposed to show deference to her, the most he should've done was an inclination of his head. The upper echelons of the Divine Path Ministry were only allowed to bow to the Conclave. Sivi brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, hiding her moistening eyes. She was unworthy of such unyielding loyalty.

Why couldn’t her people just leave and forget about her? Why didn’t they take flight and set their roots elsewhere, in greener pastures? Why did they stay? She drew her eyes around the once-magnificent throne room, studying the eyes of the onlookers. In each one of them, whether it be blue, silver or green, whether it be scarred, naked or pure, they looked up at her with devout fidelity. In their eyes, she was there Queen. And until they moved on, Sivi would be there Queen. Only when they moved on would Sivi rest. Forever.

But for now, she was there Queen.

Sivi magnanimously stood, smoothing her nightgown as she steadied herself. Her mouth opened. What was the boy's name? It didn’t matter, she only needed to put a show.

She raised her hands, spreading them out to the side until she reached her full wingspan. Red-gold flames flickered alight, stretching fingertip to fingertip. The flames gently rolled over the poor boy and caressed him. His clothes singed lightly, torn, grey fabric turning to a charcoal black. The flames travelled up his body and collected in a halo above the malnourished boy. Then it grew brighter, magnificent red and white light became so blinding that Sivi had to close her eyes. Then the light, and the flames were gone.

Sivi sat down onto her uncomfortable throne, she ignored the pain in her butt and back and schooled her face into a warm smile that, hopefully, hid the sorrow beneath.

The ceremony continued, the bishop droned on and on, speaking ancient words and completing ancient rituals. It was hard not to yawn and fall asleep. Sivi found her eyes wandering, first to the edges of the room, to see if Kirie was to be found. She never saw her. Then, she found herself appraising the one painting she had left in her room.

An old, oil canvas, an e-span in length. It depicted the war between the four Creator Gods and the Demon Lord. If she were to sell it, she’d probably be able to survive a few weeks without worrying. But if she were to sell it, her ministry would undoubtedly leave. And if that were to happen, the precarious balance she had nurtured since ascending to queenhood, would topple in an instant. She grudgingly tore out all thoughts of selling the piece and dragged her attention back to the ceremony. A good thing, as it was about to end.

The bishop abruptly cut off from a mantra of ancient words and snapped his tome shut. “It is time for the last phase. The drinking of the blood.” The bishop was sweating as he turned to face Sivi. his chest rose and fell like the shifting of the tides.

Sivi soundlessly got up. She wanted to stretch but that probably wouldn't be the wisest choice since they were in the middle of a formal ceremony. She wanted to be a kid again.

The boy dressed in pitiful rags was kneeling on the floor, neck arched and eyes closed. Not a sliver of him moved, not even a quiver. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Sivi flourished her hand and a cold dagger fell into it. She placed her hands above the boy’s open mouth, she managed to prevent any shaking.

“Let your unwavering faith guide him true.” The bishop whispered.

Sivi sliced her wrist. Blood spilled out, dripping into his open mouth. To the boy's credit, he didn't flinch. Sivi counted the drops. One. Two. Three. And four. She withdrew her hand when the boy—who undoubtedly was counting too—snapped his eyes open. Sivi held her bleeding hand out and waited. Nothing happened. No handkerchief, no disinfectant, nothing.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Sivi remembered Kirie wasn't there. Sivi did her best to hide her grief. She needed to go find her. She stumbled backwards. Luckily, no one saw, they were all too busy staring at the boy. She fell into her terrible throne and glance at the aquamarine ring on her index finger. It faintly glowed. She felt her wound close up. She touched her hand to her face. It was cold, fresh and slightly wet, the wound was completely gone, not even a scar was left.

“You can do it, Jay.”

“Listen to your mother, Jason. Just like you practiced.”

Jason started to glow. First his eyes, then it spread outwards until his entire body was enveloped by a wispy yellow illumination. It threatened to consume the whole room, but just as the glow began to travel past the confines of Jason’s body, it faded into darkness.

It was as though the daylight was sucked out of the room. When the typical luminosity returned, Sivi saw a rusted dagger in front of Jason.

He started to cry, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m a disappointment.” Jason took the dagger in his hands like a child would do a teddy bear. Sivi cringed, one sliced palm was enough for today. “I—I promise. I—'ll go out with my blade and bring back something worthy of you.: Jason, prostrated himself, his salty tears pooled under him.

Sivi looked to Jason’s parents. They don't make eye contact with her no Jason. They looked at each other, motionless, stupefied. How would her mother, the late Queen, how would she have handled the situation?

Sivi stepped to the child and knelt in front of him. She took him from his shoulders and lifted him to make him face her. She knew of only one way to deal with a crying child. It was how her mother had dealt with her. It started with a smile; she made the smile ooze as much warmth and kindness as humanly possible. Then an affectionate forehead tap. Followed by the cock of your head. Jason stopped crying. To finish it off, a big, warm, bear hug.

“It’s alright,” Sivi whispered. “No one is mad, no one is disappointed,” she continued in soothing tones. Sivi started to stroke Jason's back. She wanted to say more, but couldn't find the words. But that was fine. Because slowly, Jason began to unravel and loosen up.

Sivi didn't know how long she stayed there. She didn’t know how the onlookers felt about her sudden act of presumptuous affection. All she knew was that she would’ve stayed there a lot longer if it weren't for the interruption.

“How cute,” a narcissistic voice sounded from the entrance. Sivi jerked her head up, her cold gaze settled on a man ragged, ugly face, place atop of unholy black and silver livery. Oily, black hair fell to his grime-covered nose as he took off his steel helmet. A Hawk of the Empire, rather low ranking and weak, but despite his personal shortcomings, his affiliation with the Empire makes him a variable that should be treated with care. At best, a Hawk was an annoying, brainwashed fool. At worst, a Hawk was a self-conceited, little prick who relies on the name they hold. This was, obviously, a case of the latter.

“Can that blade cut butter?” The Hawk cocked his head. “Wasn’t this a beautiful palace. That's what I’ve been told. What the word. Dump. Yes, that's the one. Your palace looks like a dump.” The Hawk, mockingly bowed, a surprisingly good bow, “Your Majesty.”

“Can I help you?”

Sivi surveyed the room. At her unwavering subjects, at the mortar and brick, her forefathers had placed down. She was a Queen. But what type of Queen was she to be? Her question had just tumbled out of her mouth, the mouth of a Queen, trained since childhood to maintain a modicum of propriety and decorum, especially towards foreign countries. But looking at her people, Sivi wondered. Was she being the Queen that they wanted? Did they want her to bow and scrape to survive? No. They wanted what Sivi wanted. To bring Cheolyra back to its former glory. That's why against all of Sivi pleads, they stayed. They didn’t need a Queen who would lower her head to any threat. Even if doing so is the surest path to survival, did her people want just survival? Her people didn't want Cheolyra to only get by appeasing the empire. They wanted Cheolyra to thrive and grow stronger. I weak-willed queen wouldn't accomplish that. No, they needed a Queen they could rely on, lean on. A compassionate Queen that could be ruthless if need be. No beating around the bush, no honey-laced words. Only sheer cold efficiency. And in this case, efficiency equalled brutality.

Sivi cleared her throat, “What do you want, Hawk?” The Hawks eyes widened a fraction as if bewildered that she would take such a pithy tone. In her mind, Sivi made observations on the hawk and ascertained his personality. She looked at his clothes, the way he stood, walked, and talked, the way he reacted to her actions and her people's actions. After factoring these variables and many more, a burning rage began to kindle in her heart. She’d tear this Hawk apart.

To his credit, the Hawk recovered from her caustic tone with surprising servility that was almost befitting for a Queen. Almost. “I am a mere messenger for what's to come. The great Emperor of the Empire—may none ever breathe his name—has deigned to send a Firebird to…” He fumbled and licked his lips, finding the right words to say. “...to remodel this Kingdom.” The onlookers growled unkindly but the Hawk didn’t seem to hear. And if he did, he didn't care.

“Where’s the Firebird?”

The Hawk flinched backwards and glowered. Sivi suppressed a laugh. “His brilliancy decide that he would likely destroy this Kingdom if he didn't get what he wanted in under ten seconds.” The Hawk spat in rage. He still didn't hear the intensifying growls. “I am here to facilitate that exchange. I’ll give it plain to you morons. Submit to me, or face the consequences.” Several weapons appeared in the surrounding crowd's hands.

The Hawk laughed, “What will you do? Attack me? Need I remind you, I currently represent the Empire. An attack against me would be an attack against the Empire.”

Sivi clenched her fists behind her back and ground her teeth. She didn't need another problem