The water washed down Luevo's back. A wellspring of life, it was fermented with herbs and sweet-smelling spices that soaked into his dark skin and buried into his locked hair. Yet the prince thought nothing of it as he stepped out of the deep basin and onto the cool marbled floor. A towel had been set on his stand, as had his night clothes – soft, lilac robes, along with the silver tiara that would adorn his forehead when he went to his chambers. The prince’s movements were mechanical as he dried himself off and donned his robes. They were little comfort for the torment boiling in his head.
He remembered the ceremony like it was yesterday.
Because it had been yesterday, actually.
But that was beside the point.
The whole of the Ionica had been there – or as close as one could get to as many without completely shutting the country down. Peasants and witches, soldiers and guards, nobles and their servants, all of them were massed in one great crowd in the courtyard of the royal palace, spilling out into the streets, extending to the very gates of the capital. Luevo's father, the king, was there too. Stately. Wise. His golden blade strapped to his side, the Gemini Crown adorning his head, he was beaming at the crowd as the populace watched the air shimmer and roil above them, coalescing and twisting into a singular form.
The Lady of the Wind, in robes that, to Luevo's delight, hid little and revealed much. Her sightless eyes fell on the crowd as she levitated over them. The crowd held still, the atmosphere pregnant as she began considering each and everyone of them, gauging their worthiness.
Worthiness to be Kimao, Carrier of Life. One who was full of soul and passion. Who would carry the burdens of the entirety of Nesona on their shoulders to create new lands for the plane.
To be honest, Luevo hadn't been worried. He was just shallow enough to be none of those things.
So imagine his surprise when the Lady of the Wind pointed at him.
“You,” her voice was distant and the clouds above seemed to curl at her words.
“Me?” Luevo let out a laugh, “Me?! A funny joke, my Lady! A jest! Go on, choose the real Kimao! Go ahead!”
Yet she was already disappearing, bits and pieces of her blowing away like the leaves on an autumn willow. Luevo kept laughing, though his chuckles became more desperate and forced, then disappeared altogether, as he saw the crowd turn to him. A ripple of faces. Thousands of eyes. Even his Father had a look of shock on his face. Luevo's heart fell.
So, suffice to say, yesterday had pretty much been the worst day of his life. Luevo noted his hands had been clenched, his trimmed nails digging bluntly into his palms, creasing deep lines that had begun to bleed. He strode out of the bathing room and into the great halls of the palace. Servants bowed their heads in deference as he walked past them, the royal guards stood straighter and saluted, even the guildmembers that his Father had been using as hired muscle were reverent, giving him deep bows – though he was not sure if that was out of mockery or pity.
For the prince saw pity in everyone's eyes as he went past them. How he hated that. They could at least have tried to hide it. Luevo’s clenched fists tightened even more, a whining sort of pain aching through his hands. He made his way to the throne room, a grand, open air place at the very top of the palace. Spiraling, marbled pillars stood tall, holding aloft a pointed, pyramidal roof. Between them, like the bars of a cage, one could behold the entire city below, an urban expanse of stone and light that sprawled out near the horizon, before it was overtaken by the honeycombed farms, then swallowed by the land Luevo's ancestor had made a thousand years before. The capital was ringed in by a valley of warmth, though beyond the spiked mountains was a whirlwind of snow and ice.
Luevo leaned against one of the pillars, pointedly ignoring the golden throne behind him, staring out towards the horizon.
“My son.”
The King's voice was deep and warm. And so very annoyingly so. Luevo could hear his Father's footsteps, heavy and strong, and he felt a large, four-fingered hand perch on his shoulder.
“Father,” he said.
The two of them stood in silence. Spioa began whistling around them, just barely visible in the night air, drifting and poking at the pair. One of them began tugging at the King's short beard before she realized who it was, giving a bow and cascading back into the wind.
“You haven't said a word since you became Kimao,” his Father said.
“Because I am not Kimao. Not yet.”
“Once the Lady has chosen you, you are Kimao, whether you feel so or not,” the King removed his hand from Luevo's shoulder, standing beside him. Luevo stood taller than his father now, a fact that normally amused him. Now, though, it was just a bitter reminder of what he had to live up to. King Soluum was barrel-chested and barrel-bellied, though he carried himself with all of the grace and awe that a monarch demanded. He was still wearing his navy blue royal cloak and robes of his station, still had the glittering, star-studded Gemini Crown atop his head. To the outside, he was every bit a king as could be told in stories.
To Luevo, however, he was an old man who was now scratching his nose.
“Well?” Father asked, “What do you think? How do you feel?”
“Ha! How do I feel?” Luevo chuckled darkly, “Now he asks me.”
Soluum was quiet for a moment, unsure of how to prod Luevo further.
“My son-”
“Please, don't patronize me-”
“I know that you are upset.”
“Upset?” Luevo shook his head, “No, I am not upset, Father. Angry? Yes. Annoyed? But of course.”
He turned to his father, glaring down at him.
“I know what you're trying to do, old man.”
The King, used to such slights, rolled his eyes. He turned away and began walking towards the center of the throne room. Luevo heard him mutter, “Here we go.”
“You roped the Lady of the Wind into this, didn't you!” Luevo strode forward, “You knew I would be chosen, didn't you?!”
“You know that I did not,” Soluum said, “You know as well as I that the Lady of the Wind keeps her own counsel-”
“Her own counsel? Damn coincidence, then, that the crown prince of Ionica is chosen to do this task. A commoner would be better suited – more attuned to the land. Sturdier than a prince, for sure. It's their role to be the carriers, not me-”
“Luevo, please-”
“None of that, Father!” Luevo screamed, “None of it! You… You just want me out of here, don't you?”
“Of course not, my son-”
“You hate that your eldest didn't become the backbone of the line, like his Father before him,” Luevo said, “You're disappointed in me, and now you want me out of the way.”
“Not true, Luevo!” Soluum said, “I-”
“What are the qualities of the most esteemed Crown Prince?” Luevo said, gesturing to himself, “Do you not like my preening? Is that it? The way I walk? Or sleep? Or eat? Maybe it's the way I clean my teeth, that's why you're disappointed. That I don't know the first thing about using a sword, is that it?”
“Nothing like that, my son.”
“Then what is it?!” Luevo’s eyes were wild as he glared at his Father, trying his damned hardest to bore into his soul, “You just want me out of here, don't you? So that I'll die on this... fool's errand! So that Tona can take the throne-”
“None of that, boy!” Soluum stomped forward, his normally stone face contorted into a sudden fury. Luevo's words lost their luster, and he found himself stepping back as the King jammed a finger into his son's face.
“Do not ever, ever imply that I would kill my own son. Nothing like that, you inconsiderate boy!”
“F-Father,” Luevo said, “P-Please, just-”
“Just what?” Soluum said, “Just what?”
He turned away and walked back into the center of the throne room.
“The Ritual of Chaining is bigger than you and me, Luevo. It's bigger than the entire kingdom! This isn't about the petty squabbles of the royal line. Without the Kimao, Nesona does not live. Does not breathe. Without the Kimao, my son, Nesona would be nothing but bones and stories. A dead plane.”
Luevo glared at his father, slinking ever so slightly away as the old man turned his back on him.
“And the Lady of the Wind chose you to be Kimao,” Soluum continued, “No one else. It is a burden, but one that will prepare you, I think. You will one day be King, Luevo...”
He had heard this speech a hundred times before. Back when he was five, the words, familiar as summer, had steadied his gait and heart. Now, they were stabbing and prickling, and Luevo wanted none of it. He was already at the staircase that led back down to the palace...
“You will rule Ionica, and with it comes a maturity that you are lacking-”
The King turned around to see Luevo walking down the stairs.
“Luevo!”
The prince turned around.
“Approach,” the King commanded.
Rolling his eyes, Luevo walked forward, bringing a knee to the ground and lowering his head.
And found that his father knelt down beside him, bringing a hand to his chin and lifting his head up. Father stared at son.
“Luevo, this is a role that you cannot ignore. Not like the others. Not like what you've done in the past. The Amber Foundation will be here tomorrow, and we will have the Ritual of Chaining in the evening. Are you prepared?”
“As prepared as I ever shall be, old man,” Luevo spat, “Now leave me be. I have much to think about.”
Soluum considered his son's words, staring at him for a long time. Then he nodded.
“Very well, you may go.”
Luevo got up, shot one last venomous look to his Father as Soluum wearily walked to the throne. Then, with a sigh that was more broken than tired, he went down the stairs.
***
It had not been an enjoyable trip.
Joseph drew his coat tighter around him, glaring at Nole, who was scratching his armpit as he and G-Wiz sauntered down the path to the Traveling Point. Shetavalk patted Joseph on the shoulder, giving him a sympathetic smile before he moved to take point. Archenround's thick, serpentine tail cut a deep path through the sand behind them. She cut a distinct figure as she went, her entire bottom half a serpent’s, twin blades strapped to her back, her yellow eyes scanning the distant horizon for any trouble.
As though it mattered to Joseph right now. All he could feel right now was the ache in his legs from the long journey.
Two days cramped in the Dreamer's Lament, passing through various Traveling Points and to worlds Joseph could only have dreamed of. Through the skies of Melmaen, the Dreamer's home, with her sisters of wood and magic in the sky. Through the broken tunnels of Kwaln, where the sun was a myth. Through the Silver Eye once more, bringing back those dark memories aboard the station over Ermen III. And now to Duma, a dead plane, used as a passage to Nesona. All around them was desert. Old ruins dotted the landscape, a few of them mere feet from the road the Federation had paved across the vast expanse. Crumbling things, Joseph supposed that they had once been temples or castles. A few towers. All of them to waste, now.
Not that it mattered, because Nole in front of him was laughing at the sight of one of them.
“It looks like a dick!” the troll laughed, “Look, G! Don't ye think so?”
“It... kinda does, actually,” G-Wiz let out a chuckle, “Cut or uncut?”
“Oh, uncut, definitely! Like a great big mushroom! Bahaha!”
Joseph shot Shetavalk a look, trying to will the Spioa to spear him in the throat. Shetavalk just shook his head in a good-natured way and continued walking.
“At least someone's enjoying the trip,” Joseph muttered.
“What was that, Noodle?” Nole called back.
“Nothing, big guy,” Joseph said, “Nothing.”
Thankfully – and for the first time – Nole left it at that. He had been prodding and needling Joseph since their journey began, and was around seventy percent the reason why it had been such a difficult trip.
But they were almost at their destination. A slight wavering in the air was the only sign of the Traveling Point to Nesona. Two guards were posted to either side of it – native Nesonans, with dark skin and ivory-white marbled armor. Their spears were like Shetavalk's – long poles with needle-pointed tips, and square-shaped shields were strapped to their left arms.
“Greetings!” Shetavalk said as they approached, “Good day and 'morrow!”
“Sir,” one of the guards said, “I recognize you as Shetavalk, of the Spioa.”
“Indeed,” Shetavalk grinned, “And I am ready to reunite with my people, if only for a little while. But I forget myself. To business.”
He gestured to the rest of the party, “I come, with my companions, as the Amber Foundation. We've business in Nesona and with King Soluum.”
“Very well,” the guard said, “If I could see some credentials...”
Shetavalk produced a small card, handing it over. The guard gave it a look-over, before giving a nod and handing it back.
“Very well,” he said, “Standard laws apply, both Federation and Ionican. Leave your wars at the door, you come to Nesona as friends, or not at all.”
“Of course,” Shetavalk said. He turned to the rest of the group, “Come along, now. Nole, please don't pants Joseph.”
Joseph spun around to see the troll directly behind him. The bastard was kneeling down, oar-like hands curling a few inches away from his pants. Joseph glared as Nole began barking out a laugh, shouldering him out of the way as he walked towards the Traveling Point.
One dizzying, acidic experience later, and Joseph felt his feet on solid ground, which immediately gave way as he sunk ankle-deep into white snow. The dry warmth of the desert was replaced by the shivering cold of Nesona. Joseph blinked at the sudden brightness of the early morning, narrowing his eyes as he trudged forward. They were on the very edge of a valley ringed in by mountains, the peaks of which were caked in white. Rather abruptly, the mountains plunged downwards towards honeycombs of farmland, segmented in various shades of gold that surrounded a capital city. A tower dominated the center, rising above the single-story buildings of the urban expanse. Its top ended in a point, as though it were a pyramid that had been smeared upwards.
“Shetavalk!”
The voice pierced through the calm morning day. A large boulder of a man stepped forward. He was in royal blue robes that brushed against the snow yet never seemed to trail. His short beard was tightened in a knot on his chin, a knob that swayed as he approached Shetavalk. He patted Shetavalk on the back – and Joseph glimpsed he only had four fingers on his hand, the ring having been cut to the knuckle at some point in the past.
“My liege,” Shetavalk said, only wincing a bit from the pat on the back, “I hope you are well.”
“As well as I can be,” the king's voice was rich and smooth, and his violet eyes fell on the rest of the party, “These I do not recognize, Spioa.”
“Members of my guild,” Shetavalk said.
“A guild!” The king's voice was full of mock surprise as though he hadn't been the one to hire them. Joseph felt a painful pang of agreement as he saw Nole roll his eyes, “What are your names? Your planes?”
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He rounded on Joseph, “You! You don't look like you're from around here.”
“Because I'm not,” Joseph deadpanned.
“What's your name, Zwame?” the king asked.
“Uh, Joseph.”
“Joseph,” The king nodded, “And your plane?”
“Earth.”
“Never heard of it.”
“My King,” Shetavalk piped up, “But we do have business, do we not?”
“Oh, of course, of course,” the king said, “Come along, now. The Kimao is waiting for you. We shall have a feast! A celebration for the arrival of the Escorts who will protect the Kimao on his journey.”
He began making his way down into the valley. He had come alone – a strange realization, one that Joseph gave a quizzical eyebrow to Shetavalk too. The Spioa merely let out a chuckle.
“King Soluum is like that,” he said, “'The Man of a Thousand Men,' they call him.”
“Looks like one, too,” G-Wiz commented.
“Hush, Galatea,” Shetavalk said, “Not that he's sensitive about it, but one should not insult the King.”
“Even when goin' to the guillotine,” Nole said.
The Spioa gave a disappointed sigh, “Shall we go?”
***
He could see them now, through his spyglass so helpfully perched from his bedroom window.
Outlanders, all of them. Well, save for the Spioa – he was talking with Father like they were old friends. The fact that Soluum carried no weapons always irked Luevo – better to be realistic than eccentric. But he was the King – and his commands could not be interceded.
Which was why Luevo was locked in his room, like a damsel in an old Kelstondan tale. The thought rankled his stomach. He should be out in the city now, going to his usual haunts. Not that his chambers were bad, necessarily – Luevo had quite a few fond memories here.
No, he decided as he glared down at the kid in the blue jacket, it was about freedom. The right to choose to be where he wanted to be. And how Luevo hated it.
Of course, he was locked in here by choice. He had been the one to lock the door, after all. But he was still trapped – not by anything physical, but by the duty that would be required of him. The prince had considered running away – but going out into the wilds was precisely what Father wanted, wasn't it? Better to stay trapped in the palace then let the old man get his way. He heard a knock on his door.
“My prince,” the servant's voice was muted through the wood, “The King wishes for your presence.”
“Wishes, requires, demands. All the same word,” Luevo muttered, “Tell him his dutiful son will be arriving soon.”
He got up and unlatched the door's lock, opening it up. The servant made a hasty bow before she began leading him through the palace. Luevo followed her at a leisurely pace, taking his time to inspect each pillar and each artifact his ancestors had collected on their travels. All of them he was used to. He knew the detail on every shield, every sword, even the disguised energy rifle his grandfather had smuggled from the Silver Eye. Yet he stopped at each one, inspecting every piece, procrastinating the day away with a knowing smirk on his face. The servant, wisely, said nothing.
***
“My son, Prince Luevo,” Soluum said. They were in the throne room now, having gone up the myriad steps to the very peak of the tower, just beneath the spike roof. It was open air, and the city extended out in every direction around it. The King had an outstretched hand, a broad smile on his face that faded as the prince failed to make an appearance.
“My son,” Soluum said, “Is Kimao.”
“Oh, dear,” Shetavalk said, “Quite the burden for one so young.”
“He is twenty years old,” Soluum said, “That is Tona you think of, my younger son.”
“And where is Tona now?” Shetavalk asked.
“Studying abroad, like his brother before him,” Soluum said, “Tenford University, a fine place.”
The king's answer was half-hearted, and his smile had been replaced by a somber, dark look as he got up from his throne and paced the room.
“No call, no show,” Joseph said.
“Indeed, young Joseph,” Soluum said. He stepped over to the edge of the throne room, just before the staircase, glancing out towards the city, “To be frank, Amber Foundation, you have your work cut out for you, with the prince here...”
And Joseph heard him striding forward. He turned to see a tall young man with dark skin, his hair tied back in intricate knots and braids, a silver tiara adorning his forehead and looping around his temples. He was also wearing nothing but a pair of white undergarments, giving a smirk at the king. Soluum went quiet.
And then gestured to him.
“My son, Prince Luevo,” he said, “The Kimao.”
Shetavalk strode up without missing a beat, extending a hand, “Greetings, my liege-”
Luevo slapped the Spioa's hand out of the way, “I have made my appearance, father. Must I do anything else?”
“You will be at the feast and the Ritual of Chaining, like we agreed,” Soluum muttered, “Now go, leave me to my shame.”
“Nothing shameful here,” Luevo said. He looked over at G-Wiz, and Joseph noticed his pecs rising and falling like waves, “Only glory.”
“God, kill me,” G-Wiz said.
A spark died briefly in the prince's eyes. Still smiling that arrogant smile, he winked at G-Wiz, gave a nod to his father, and began walking down the stairs back into the palace.
“Quite the problem, indeed,” Shetavalk noted.
“Ye want me to break him, Sheets?” Nole said, “Just hurt him a wee bit, set him straight-”
“You'll do no such thing,” Shetavalk admonished. He turned to Soluum, “Forgive me, Nole is-”
“Right, perhaps,” the king said, “Luevo is...”
“A right arse,” Nole said.
“Nole!” Shetavalk said.
Soluum offered no counter, however. He merely continued to stare out, eyes scanning for something far past the horizon, his silence creating an awkward tension that did not break even as he began to speak.
“The Ritual of Chaining will take place after the feast tonight,” his announcement came out somber and sad, “Please, you are my guests. Enjoy yourselves. My servants will take you to your quarters.”
No one answered. G-Wiz opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped at a glance from Shetavalk. A pair of servants came up the long stairway to collect them. The Spioa cast one last look at the King, before making his way down. Joseph and the rest followed.
***
“'Easy job,' my arse,” Nole growled.
They had been given two rooms – one for Archenround and G-Wiz, the other for Joseph, Nole, and Shetavalk. All five of them were crowded in the men's room musing about their journey – and the future to come. A plate of dark, scented bread had been put on the nightstand by Joseph's bed – a bed Nole now occupied, the troll scratching in between his toes and putting whatever gunk was there between the sheets. Shetavalk was giving him a stern look as he continued grumbling.
“Lad's barely an adult physically, still a wee one mentally,” Nole said.
“Not much different from you, Nole,” G-Wiz replied, “Why, I remember when we went on our first job-”
“Shaddup, G,” Nole warned, “Not in front of-”
He nodded at Joseph. Joseph shot him a nasty smile.
“Enough,” Shetavalk said. The Spioa sat on the floor, back against the wall and his legs crossed. His spear rested between his head and shoulder, point just barely scratching the gold-painted sandstone wall above him, “Nole, that bed belongs to you now. Joseph, you'll take his.”
“He's been in both of them,” Joseph said, “I'll just sleep on the floor. Less maggots that way.”
“Watch it, Noods,” Nole said, “Ye ain't out of the woods yet.”
“People, please,” Shetavalk said, “There will be enough stress as is on this journey...”
“So you agree, then?” G-Wiz said, “That Luevo's a bitch.”
Shetavalk went silent, filmed eyes staring hard at the floor. Nole let out a frustrated laugh and flicked a piece of dead skin at Joseph. The place he was scratching was healing fast, Joseph noted.
“If Shetavalk is feeling annoyed, then we're all in trouble,” the troll said, “What do ye think, Archenround?”
The serpent-woman shrugged.
“That's fair,” G-Wiz said.
“We should begin getting ready for the feast,” Shetavalk said, “And the... very long journey ahead of us.”
Joseph had to give the Spioa a sympathetic smile at that.
***
Distant and away, far broken rainbow seas.
The Grim Walker stepped forward out of the gate most ancient. Sniffed the air. Felt the air turn from dead and stale to rich and new. Invigorated. Life-full. Duster swishing with each motion he made, he took to a knee, hard fingers brushing the soft ground. Snow, beyond that dirt that was teeming with life. His eyes glared emerald, scanning microbes that wriggled in the cradle of creation. New, still. As though they had been born yesterday.
Such was the nature of Nesona, the Grim Walker knew. A cycle of rebirth. He rose up, blinking away the final waves of disorientation that came with planar travel. His quarry was distant – the gate only took him so far into the lands of Nesona. At least it was the same landscape. But the Grim Walker would be walking yet.
It was not a mystery who the target was. His employer had been specific. The Kimao. Whoever it was, peasant or prince.
For better or worse, the prince.
More than simple destabilization. The prince being chosen as Kimao added dimensions to this particular job. But the Grim Walker did not care. He was paid not to.
It made for the more interesting story.
So as he strode forward, boots breaking snow, wind he could not feel battering at him, he smiled. A great game was about to begin.
***
The food was good, at least.
“Roondal, it's called,” Shetavalk said, “Shellfish from deep within the Cradle Mountains, in underground rivers and lakes.”
“It's saltier than I imagined,” Joseph said, picking meat out of a claw, “Crabs where I'm from are sweet. Well, the ones I've eaten.”
“Salt collects in pools, wash-offs from the mines above,” Shetavalk said, “Adds a bit of variety, doesn't it?”
“And it's somethin' else I can't eat,” Nole said. Most of the food here had salt, and the troll was avoiding most of them with a bitter vehemence. All that was on his plate a salad and...
“Your favorite bread,” Joseph gave the troll a lopsided grin, “Eat up, big guy. We have a big day ahead of us.”
Nole glared at Joseph, “Tough words from a weak mouth, kid.”
Joseph just gave him a hard smirk. Nole continued to glare, taking a bite of the dark bread and pulling a face.
Shetavalk had taken to pointedly ignoring their conversations. He steered Joseph's attention away, pointing a fork at the prince. Luevo was now dressed in royal regalia – long, flowing white robes, his hair tied in an impossible crown of knots and braids that ended in a ponytail. He looked gaunt, as though he hadn't eaten in a long while.
“He's barely touching his food,” Joseph said.
“I don't blame him,” Shetavalk said, “The weight of being Kimao must be difficult to bear...”
“And the fact that he looks like a giraffe,” G-Wiz commented.
“That...” Shetavalk sighed in defeat, “That too.”
King Soluum was keeping a jovial air, a desperate turnaround from his somber attitude earlier. Shetavalk had said he was known as the King of Joy, always with a smile on his face in front of his audience. Laughing, purple wine splashing on his conveniently purple robes, his golden crown slightly askew on his head, the king had an energy about him, a singularity that pulled everyone in. And quite the audience he had, too – a vast array of nobles from across Ionica and beyond were here, all of them in robes ('the style,' Joseph mused), a rainbow festival of color and excitement. As they finished their meals, Joseph saw many of them were getting up to join the king in his festivities. The night dragged on, and became drunker and drunker – and more wild as a result. Someone began playing music, a soft flute that was soon joined by drums, then a guitar. More and more people got up to dance.
“Yeah, I'm feeling this,” G-Wiz said. She cast a glance over to Shetavalk, “Mind if I...?”
“I don't see why not,” Shetavalk said, “Just don't break anything, alright?”
“Relax, Sheets,” G-Wiz spun her keytar off her back, “This won't be like Amzuth. Or Prime. Or Talmadia. Or-”
“Alright, alright, go along, now!” Shetavalk laughed, “And Joseph, get up! You've been sitting down long enough.”
The electronic, popping notes of G-Wiz's keytar joined in the chorus, adding an electric energy that, although grating, Joseph had to admit combined well.
“Alright, not bad,” Joseph said. He got up, “I can work with this.”
And he joined the party, which soon turned into a whirlwind of dancing and music. And wine. The wine, Joseph noted, tasted good, then began to taste like nothing at all as the feast became more and more... no, not unhinged. Manic, a joyful energy that buzzed in the air, a celebration of life that permeated into his very soul, which dazzled and flashed in his stomach. He was aware of dancing, of laughing with random nobles in the crowd, of crying at some sad story or other. It was a release of the tension from the long road here, an unwinding of his insides as the music played, electric and warped by his drunkenness, yet relieving all the same...
It was nearing the end of one of G-Wiz's pieces that Joseph was sitting down, resting an arm on some golden chair – the King's? He wasn't sure. A few nobles gawked, then laughed as they merged back into the army of colors below. Joseph wasn't sure how well he could see...
“Enjoying the party?” a voice caught his ear.
He turned and saw Luevo. The prince had an easy smile on his face, though it did not quite reach his eyes.
“Ah, you,” Joseph said.
“Your prince.”
“I'm 'Merican,” Joseph chuckled, “Sure, they hate me, but what can you do?”
“I have heard of your... America,” Luevo said, “You're from Prime, yes?”
“Nope,” Joseph said, “Nope, Earth.”
“Ah, so a long ways from home then, aren't you?”
A cold, constricting sadness began to take hold of him. Joseph slumped a bit, “Yeah. A long way. I hate it here. I want to go home.”
“Don't we all, you stupid little man,” Luevo chuckled, “Don't worry, if all goes well we'll all be dead by morning, if the poison in the wine takes hold.”
Joseph's eyes widened. Luevo let out another false laugh.
“A joke,” the prince said, “They have jokes where you're from, don't they?”
“Funny ones,” Joseph supposed, “Funnier than you.”
A pained look crossed across Luevo's face, “Right. I'll be going, then. And you should know, you're sitting in the old man's chair.”
The prince slunk back into the crowd. Joseph looked down, feeling the alcohol drain out of his body as he realized he had moved onto the golden throne that had been set up in the meeting hall for the feast. He felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder.
“Enjoying the view?” Soluum's voice soft, his breath peppered with wine. Yet there was no anger.
“Sorry,” Joseph said, “I didn't mean-”
“No, no, it's alright,” Soluum said, “It's just a chair.”
“And not a crown,” Joseph said.
“No, pray you never wear that. It's far too...” the King's voice trailed away. The two of them beheld the crowd below, and Joseph knew that Soluum's eyes were watching the white robes of Luevo in the mosaic sea as he made his way out of the feasting hall.
“Protect my son,” Soluum said, “Please. Even after everything. He's still... He's still my son.”
The King sounded very much like his own father, after the long arguments the two would have when Joseph was younger, tired and at his wit’s end, completely unsure of what to do or what to say. Joseph watched as a guard approached Luevo, whispering something in the prince's ear.
“I will,” Joseph said, “I'll try.”
Luevo clutched his stomach as he stepped to the side. A large cauldron was being carried into the center of the room.
“Thank you,” Soluum said, “Now, you may want to get off the throne...”
“Oh, right.”
He got up off the throne, making his way down the dais as the crowd parted before the cauldron. The music died. The people sobered. G-Wiz hopped down from the table she had been posing on. The wind blew in through the windows, taking on a life of its own – Joseph almost swore he could see small arms pulling themselves through the air. Servants had opened up the roof's window high above – the full moon's gaze cast light into the room. It was the only source – all of the torches had been snuffed out. Luevo stepped into the center of the chamber, just before the cauldron. It was an old thing, a bowl of stone that had been carved by nature alone. The prince cast his robes off, leaving his chest bare as he stepped forward. His face was inscrutable, glass-like as he stared up at the moon.
Soluum's voice boomed through the hall.
“Luevo Medrooma,” he began, “You find yourself bound as Kimao. What say you?”
Luevo was silent.
“I say what say you!”
“I am...”
The room became uncomfortable. A few members of the crowd coughed as Luevo simply stood. He took his eyes off the moon and stared at the King. Soluum's eyebrows furrowed.
“You say nothing, my son. Let the truth bare. You do not want this, do you?”
“No,” Luevo's voice, a quivering whisper, still echoed like thunder through the hall, “I do not.”
Any residual energy from the feast died with those words. Joseph felt the entire host sag, a certain exhaustion overtaking them. Once more, the prince was shirking his duties. Disappointing them.
“A poor answer,” Shetavalk said behind Joseph.
“A poor prince,” Joseph muttered.
“It matters little what you want, Luevo,” Soluum's voice cut through the stone-solid silence, “This is a duty that extends far past all we know. Without the Kimao, we have nothing. And you know this. You cannot wriggle free, as you have before. It is time to stand tall, my son. Stand tall and proud, and be the symbol you are meant to be.”
An ocean of emotions passed Luevo's face. He took a step forward – a sure one, at least. He put his right hand into the air.
“Come, my guardians,” he said, “Come, join the Kimao as he summons the creature of the land.”
“That's us,” Shetavalk said. Together, the Amber Foundation stepped out of the crowd, approaching the cauldron and the prince. Now that they were close, Joseph could just barely make out the cauldron's contents – dust from some dead place, the very sight of it making his stomach go cold. Interlaced with it was something silvery, glittering like the stars above. Luevo turned his nose as the guildmembers approached.
“A knife,” he said, “I need a damn knife, if you're making me go through with this.”
Archenround produced an old, beaten-up dagger, and handed it over. Luevo took it, curling his hand around its edge, squeezing and pulling. Joseph winced as a thin stream of dark red blood wept out and down into the basin of the cauldron.
Silence.
Then the dust began to curl, taking in the silver and swirling into a whirlpool. Something began to grow out, a bulbous form swiveling upwards, slow as an old man on a cold winter's day. Multiple eyes began opening across its dark mass, semblances of arms, a diamond-shaped head which the eyes traveled to and converged around. Its voice was high and thin.
“Sensu'ala, ko rein lee.”
“Even in death, I am alive,” Shetavalk translated. The creature nodded in recognition at his words. Then one tentacle-like hand wrapped around Luevo's open wound and crawled in, the entire form twisting into the thin cut. Luevo convulsed, falling to the ground and curling into a fetal position. The crowd winced as he began to scream, high-pitched and filled with agony. Joseph stepped forward, stopping as Shetavalk's hand shot to his shoulder. The Spioa shook his head.
“Give him time,” he said.
So he watched. Minutes passed as Luevo wailed, the creature seeming to twist every bone in his body, poke at every muscle, an invasion as it settled into his form. Then the pain seemed to cease, and he stopped moving. He was drenched in sweat, his hair askew as he began to pull himself up, a hand reaching towards the edge of the cauldron to support himself.
***
Luevo glared up at Soluum.
“What did you do to me!?” he screamed.
“It is the ritual of the Kimao,” Soluum said, “You are the Carrier of Life. And thus, you carry Life.”
The prince could feel it wriggling through his body, just under his skin. It whispered those damnable thoughts in High Ehnfeln in the back of mind. It chuckled at his thoughts, reading them like a book.
“Get it out,” he said, “Get it out!”
The king ignored his words, “Thus do you bear Life, Kimao. Now, rest.”
“Get it out, you bastard!”
The old man ignored his words, ignored the wincing of the crowd at the flagrant insult.
“I don't want this!” Luevo screeched, “I DON'T WANT IT! I CAN FEEL IT BURNING WITHIN ME!”
He turned to the Amber Foundation. The troll had a smirk on his face, the serpent was impassive, and the other three were wearing expressions of pity. Luevo stepped forward – Gods, each step was leaden and awkward – and he grabbed one of them by his blue jacket.
“Burn it out of me! Get it out! PLEASE!”
“Ah,” the guildmember – more of a boy, stammered.
Luevo tossed him to the side, appealing to the crowd.
“You've deceived me! All of you!”
“It is time now, for you to rest,” Soluum's voice, calm and commanding, “To rest, for the journey ahead of you. Through the lands of Nesona, towards the horizon, and beyond the possible. But for now, Luevo-”
“Damn you! All of you! From the Heavens down to Hell!”
“Rest.”
Guards grabbed him by his arms and began to drag him out.
“Damn you!”
They were quick, dragging him through the crowd, which broke and parted as they went. Everyone's expressions were of pity – damnable pity.
And Luevo could only roar in answer.