I woke up to an odd state of sensations surroundings me. First off, my hands were entrapped inside some sort of massive block of concrete weighing them down. The block was dark, coated with a layer of hard, cracked steel, with golden edges on every corner, weighing as heavy as two mountains stacked atop each other. There wasn’t a chance my hands were coming off the ground. I couldn’t even feel my fingers.

Another feeling swam over me, one with a light pressure pulling down on my ribs. I tried to take a deep breath, but that tightened the pressure even further, swallowing me in a never ending hole of agony. It must have been from the blow to my solar plexus, or so I thought. It was aggrivating.

All my clothes were still intact, as were my bandages. A smokey smell lingered off of them, making my stomach grumble and ache for some burnt toast with butter. A pinch of salt would be nice too, but given my current situation, it would be a long time until I had the luxury of a well-cooked breakfast.

My surroundings consisted of nothing but grey walls, a grey floor, and grey ceiling. A metal door with a tiny iron window stood tall in front of me, and a small wooden bucket sat in the corner of the room with a few towels and white cloths.

I had a solid feeling of where I was, and once the door squeaked open, my speculations were confirmed by the wooden-fingered fat man that walked in.

A glorious smile shot across the king’s face as he witnessed me on the ground, my knees bowing towards him. “Cairo, Cairo, Cairo…” He coughed, limping. Parts of his red and golden robes were burnt off from the explosion, and his crown had a tiny dent on one of the tallest tips.

The door shut behind him, as did the iron window, and after double-checking that not a soul was watching us, King Richard II took his crown off, gently placing it on my head.

I felt the cold touch of gold shiver down my skull, and I shook it off, spitting on it as it rolled back towards him.

He picked it up, dusting it off with his newly implanted sausage-sized wooden fingers, laughing in a facade of old-man screams. “I did the same when the crown was handed down to me…” He whispered, wiping my spit off the side of it.

With the look on his face, I knew I wasn’t leaving here alive. I sighed, “If you’re planning on killing me, torturing me, starving me, humiliating me; just do it. Get it over with. No point in prolonging the inevitable. I know you aren’t planning on keeping me alive.”

“No, no, no.” He shook his head, “There’s no fun in that. You need to learn… Learn what it feels like to fight against me.”

I closed my eyes, ignoring him, waiting for the pain. “Do what you must.”

I wasn’t looking, but I could tell he was smiling. He had to have been, or else there wouldn’t be any satisfaction gained from keeping me here.

“Although torturing you was the most favorable option on my table,” he grabbed my chin with his polished thumb, “Unfortunately, for today, I would just like to have a little gentleman’s chat.”

My eyes sprung open, squinting, observing him. My ankles began to ache in the position they were in, and my ribs began to twinge as he swindled my body left and right with his finger.

“It was a great relief knowing you were still alive,” He started. “I do not know how I would go about my days knowing my dearest friend was gone.”

“I’m not your friend.” I replied, my face and eyes both as flat as a floorboard.

He chuckled, nearly choking himself in his own pitiful noises of old age. “But you are my friend, perhaps my only one.” He paused for a moment, knocking on the door to signal for the guards outside to bring a chair into the room. As they did, he flopped himself down as if he sat upon his own throne, resting his head against his prosthetic palm. “I’ve never taken kindly to people that call me their friend.” He sighed, his breaths as shallow as mine. “But it has been interesting to me, when those so called friends begged for their life, and only wished they hadn’t crossed me.”

I kept my voice in my thoughts, calming my silence.

“Since we are here now, I might as well ask you to join me. No harm in a simple question between two very knowledgeable men.”

I gave him a dull look for my response.

He nodded, quite fond of my decision. “I thought so… Well, if you try to escape, you won’t succeed in doing so.” He gestured towards the cement block around my hands, “That fine piece of entrapment there is called Fool’s Gold. A fabulous item my dearest boy came about not too long ago. Not only does it prevent you blasted Gifted from using their dumb-for-nothing quirks and magic tricks, it weighs roughly a ton.” He then reached into his pocket, pulled out a tiny silver key, and tossed it at my face.

As it bounced off my head, It felt like a finger flicking my forehead. A quick burst of vibration, followed by a dull numbness engulfing my already dizzy head. “Care to unlock this?” I looked down upon the block.

He laughed, the fat on his cheeks flapping up and down. “You’re a funny man Cairo. A man that would do very well as a general for my army… Ever since the old one betrayed me, I’ve been in a drought without a rightful commander to lead my forces.”

I sighed again, my voice aching for any sort of beverage. “Alastor…”

“Precisely,” he raised an unexpected brow, “How did you come about that name? That little weasel knows how to hide from my grasp far too well.”

“I’ve heard rumors,” I lied. Luckily, he bought it, but I had a feeling he was lying as well. Lying about something I shouldn’t know of.

“Interesting.” He mumbled, beginning the slow tap of wood against wood on his armrest. “It’s tough you know? Sitting on a throne all day, making decisions.”

I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or truthful. With the tone of his voice being so engulfed by coughs and amusement, I wasn’t certain.”

“My beloved wife passed away thirteen years ago,” He started again. “Quite a tragedy. Her heart was frail, too frail… She wasn’t fond of my ideas of the Gulag. No, she hated it. Her eyes never met my gaze again; she was disgusted. But I gave her a choice, and she chose her own life over my plans…”

My eyes dropped to the floor. He killed his wife, for she was the only one with a kind heart. I never understood such actions. To take a life—especially of someone you love—for the sole purpose of filling one’s greed. No matter how hard I tried to understand, I couldn’t.

“Tell me something Cairo. Did you come about a man named Beljuan? Dark-skinned, giant-like, tough with speech.”

I thought for a moment, hesitating my response. However, my time was like an hourglass at this point. Any minute would be my last, and every minute reached closer and closer to the final one. “I did. he was a warrior, a good man.”

“Hmm… So even Beljuan was bested… Very peculiar…” His smile vanished. He wiped a drop of sweat trembling down his cheek, flicking it away like he did with unloyal servants.

“Tell me something,” I ordered. “How long did you plan to keep us down there in the Gulag?”

King Richard II seemed baffled by my question. His mouth curled ever so slightly, and another drop of sweat rolled down his wrinkled cheek. “As long as it took… You were all being turned into weapons of war. With Gifted monsters leading our frontline, my army would be unstoppable… Nations would fall under my shoes… Countries would surrender their wealth to my chambers… Armies would fall within my grasp...”

I thought to myself for a moment again. Was a life like that really worth living? If everything is at your grasp, what more could one want out of life? If all the riches, women, and people were at your command, what is there to live for?

Out of the miserable life I have suffered through, there was only one thing I ever wanted. Although I wouldn’t necessarily comprehend what to do once I have found it. Perhaps that question should be left aside for now, for as I, did not have the answer.

However, as slow and gruesome as my days of chores and field work were, my times inside of Rina’s bar were the uplift of my lonesome days. That sweet flavor of Fo kept its taste inside my mouth every day, and there wasn’t much else to look forward to after that. However, something inside of me felt as if it wasn’t the Fo that I so eagerly longed for, but something else… Something much closer.

“Can I ask a favor?” I asked him.

He coughed a chuckle, then nodded. “What would you like? A steak with some strained red wine? A chest of gold and your freedom along with it? A woman to satisfy your last hour left alive? What would you like?”

I sighed, “There is a piece of paper, folded in the left-most back pocket of my pants… May I ask you to read it for me?”

He smiled, bowing sarcastically from the confinement of his chair, then slowly standing up through the strains and cracks his bones were meddling with. The block of concrete weighing me down was the only reason he obliged to my request, hence why I asked in the first place.

However, due to his lack of mobility, he opened the metal door and called for a slave to do the honors.

Without a moment's notice, a barefoot little girl hustled inside, her face beaten, and her clothes more dirty than mine. Her hair barely reached past her chin, and her eyes were dry from previously worn tears and agony. Bruises and scrapes covered her arms and legs, along with a few patches of dry blood and dust.

She quickly ran beside me, did as I requested, and handed King Richard II the paper I asked for. He swiped it out of her hands and shoved her outside, watching as she tumbled and fell across the cold floorboards beneath her.

“Find your happiness.” He read aloud, then tore the paper to shreds, laughing hysterically. “That was your request? To find your happiness?”

His fat body planted itself on the chair again, and the tapping continued. “You are a joke, Cairo.”

I sighed, mentally agreeing. My eyes focused themselves onto the torn piece of paper I carried with me for twelve years. Inevitably, I knew he would rip it. I wanted him to. Because for me, the happiness I needed wasn’t something to find. It was something that would find me, wherever I was.

I needed King Richard II to rip up my only remains of what I had from before the war. For it was he who took everything away in the first place. He was the one who imprisoned me in a physical, and mental cage. I needed him to free me by breaking the bars with his wooden hands. And so, he finally did. He even stomped and twisted his foot a few times against the torn paper shreds, just to add that extra bit of seasoning to the already completed dish.

My face kept it’s plain composure; there was something missing. The final step for freedom. I needed the key. Not for the Fool’s Gold, but to unlock the happiness inside me. Unfortunately, King Richard II wasn’t the key I needed. That key was somewhere out there—outside the castle—fighting, awaiting me.

“Shall we wrap this up?” he asked me.

I nodded.

King Richard II clapped his hands together, echoing a thunderous sound of clashing wood throughout the tiny chamber we were in. His fingers shook against each other, and the door swung open again.

This time, the little slave girl had a rusted machete in her hand, one that seemed far too familiar. She dropped to her knees in an instant, holding the aged blade out for the king to grab.

Her hands were barely holding the blade up, and her eyes were shut tightly beneath her hair. However, as the king swept the blade from her hands, her face jerked towards me for a split second, and her eyes locked with mine.

I only saw her eyes for a moment, but they were gentle. Dark as ripe plums, but soft as dandelions in an open field. They were an exact replica of Alastor’s eyes, which could only mean one thing. This was his daughter, Laena, it had to have been. The one I promised to free.

She quickly jerked her head away as she noticed me staring, running out of the room with blisters and scrapes against her feet.

It took a few seconds for the king to fully grasp the machete, but once he got the hang of it, he swindled it in the air like a hooligan. “Ironic isn’t it,” He coughed again. “Here we are, seven years later, only our roles are reversed. A little poetic justice, don’t you think?”

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I kept my silence. There was nothing left for me to say.

He set the machete down on his lap, sitting back in the chair comfortably. “I was originally planning on killing you, slowly and gracefully. But I reconsidered. I think a more righteous act calls upon an eye for an eye. I’m sure you’ve heard of it?”

I nodded mentally, my chest rising and declining in short, empty breaths. It’s not the pain I was afraid of, but rather the satisfaction he would get from stripping my hands off. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved nothing.

“Last chance Cairo,” He put the blade against the block weighing me down. “Join me, lead my army. Or, lose your most trusted tools, just as I lost mine. For without them, nothing else matters. I have come to learn that far too well.”

Astonishingly, he was right. Without hands, one can never touch again. One can never feel the same. Even the softness of plucked soil wouldn’t have the same effect as it did before. Food would taste differently, as would anything being carefully prepared. Without touch, nothing matters.

I held my breath, my heart pounding through the roof of my already damaged ribs. “Get it over with.” I said as my teeth gripped tightly, and my body tightened every last bit of strength it had.

King Richard II fiddled his body off the wooden seat, grunting and coughing loud huffs of musty air. Grabbing the machete, he towered over me as my hands remained locked to the ground like roots from a tree.

He edged the machete against my scar, smiling wryly. “Perhaps you’ve had enough scars in your lifetime… It would be best to get rid of their torment upon your soul.”

His words stabbed through me. Swinging the machete against my neck, he said his last goodbye, and I shut my eyes, waiting for it to finally end.

I waited, waited, waited, and nothing happened. I felt no machete against my neck, no pain, no suffering. Was I dead? Did it happen so fast I didn’t even realize it? My hands were still locked onto the ground, so I couldn’t have died. No, not yet at least.

I freed my eyes from darkness, my heart pounding through my damaged ribs. The machete King Richard II was holding dropped to the ground, making a loud clunking sound against the hard stone, shattering the already rusted blade into pieces.

The king’s hands were trembling, smacking against each other like wind chimes in a field of wind. His face however, was something else.

Sweat toppled over his eyes and wrinkly skin with waves of fidgeting nerves. His skin was as pale as snow, and his lips jittered and jolted. A knife was placed against his throat, one that didn’t belong to me, nor the king.

That’s when I noticed a man standing behind him, one that emerged from the shadows. “Shh, shh, shh,” Whispered the man engulfed in black and shade, edging the blade between the countless rolls of laziness against the king’s throat. “You make one sound, and yer dead.”

King Ricahrd II Gulped, his spit edging against the blade as it traveled down his neck. “What's the meaning of this—”

“No, no, no!” The man dug the knife into his skin, slowly letting out a few drops of blood, but nothing more. “No talking.” He commanded, spinning himself around towards me. It was Tesla, slightly wounded from the conundrum at the courtyard.

I felt my heart settle its rapid beats, but to gain a full breath of relief, I would need much more than a hero to save me. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

Tesla smiled, “Following the plan.” He quickly squatted down beside me, his knife still pointed at the king. He then picked up the small silver key, and wedged it inside the Fool’s Gold. The block of black and gold popped open like a treasure chest, and my hands felt the dusty air envelope them once again. I cracked my fingers, loosened up my joints, then thanked him with a silent nod.

“GUARDS!” King Richard II yelled at the top of his lungs, and the metal door flipped open with a loud slam.

Tesla jumped behind the king again, practically drawing a painting on his neck with the blade. The King’s face twisted back into desperate shock, making him look like a baby without his mother’s breasts to feed on.

Those were his true colors, his true skin, his true persona, and what he was on the inside, beneath all the jewels and gold, a baby. I’ve never realized it until now, seeing his face a single swipe away from death. All his power and might just vanish, and he’s nothing more then a fat man underneath a golden crown.

Two guards barged in, but as they witnessed their precious King Richard II as a hostage, their weapons dropped without Tesla commanding them to do so. “That was simpler than I thought it would be…” Tesla mumbled, forcing the King to walk out. “Now then, guide us to the Vault of Glass. And if any guards dare to follow,

He gestured towards the armored soldiers, “your king’s head will be found in the center of the courtyard!”

“I c-can’t!” King Richard II stuttered, his voice like desperate cries. “The Vault will only answer to me, no o-one else is a-allowed in!”

“Well then,” A smile shot across Tesla’s face, “That’s why you're still alive, and not rotting as a corpse on the ground.”

The king gulped again, shooing the guards out of the way, and slowly leading us to his private chamber.

As we traveled through countless hallways and hundreds of pointless turns, we finally reached the final path towards the King’s Hall. It was a large, wide, marvelously crafted arch from the central tower to the outskirts of another small cylindrical tower. The archway seemed so long it looked as if it was a bridge between two countries.

On the archway, looking left was the capital, and all the rooftops and streets one could ever hope to see all at once. Looking right were endless valleys and mountains, stretching as far as the ocean horizon. It truly was a sight to see.

Guards kept their fair distance away from us, however, the second one of them picked a weapon back up, Tesla would further threaten the king’s life with more drops of vile blood.

Tesla kept his blade close against the king’s neck, but his eyes followed me, and his steps directed forward. “You wanna know why Sylvester didn’t tell you the entire plan?” He asked me, his eyes dropped their concern. “He knew you’d act like you did. He knew damn well you’d want to go after him,” He gestured towards the fat man in the crown under his grasp. “If he assigned you to specifically go after him, there would be no surprise. The element of shock and awe is the most vital part of any plan, and it’s how all his plans become successful.”

Personally, I knew Sylvester’s plan was odd. I ignored it at the time, but realizing it now, the plan was almost perfect. Tesla must have used me as bait to get in touch with the king’s shadow, hence how he was able to find me. The only thing I failed to understand is why they saved me, and what good would it do. “What is your reasoning for coming after me?”

Tesla pushed the king forward, ordering him to walk faster. His gaze quickly darted back towards mine, “Heh. Without you, the plan wouldn’t work, because it ain’t over yet.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Whatever do you mean? This bastard is at your command, and you now know how to get inside the catacombs. What else are you possibly searching for?”

Tesla chuckled, monitoring his steps. “We too have a search. A search for something that's far more than an item or riches. We want peace, and if peace is the outcome of cruel and devious violence, then so be it. We will do what we must.”

“You’re all fools!” The king barked, but after a good nudge from Tesla’s blade, more cries and weeps escaped from the deep chambers of his throat.

As we continued across the archway, a clear view of the royal courtyard could be seen far below us. The hole that was created by Sylvester’s explosion was heavily guarded by dozens of guards, and the surrounding area was blocked off by further officials. Crowds remained scattered throughout the premise, and the sun gleamed brightly through the countless open windows in the archway.

Just as I was about to look away, something caught the corner of my eye at the last second my gaze remained on the courtyard. Inside the crowd, a hooded, mustached-man remained as still as a statue within the empty faces demanding answers. Although it was from a great distance away, he dropped his hood onto his shoulders, and looked at me, curling his mustache.

Tesla noticed it too, stopping his slow ascent with the king.

Sylvester looked up at us, waved, then smiled. He mouthed something I obviously couldn’t hear, but whatever it was, I knew the next part of his plan was about to initiate. He suddenly reached into his pocket, and took out three black spheres this time, throwing them at the guards by the massive hole.

Nearly seconds later, catastrophic explosions scattered through the entirety of the courtyard like a display of orange lightning strikes. Guards were sent flying against walls, smoke filled the air like a chamber of fog, and screams were so loud they could be heard in the faint distance of my ears.

I jerked my head towards King Richard II, and the look on his face was one I would never forget for as long as I lived. It was fear. Fear that only haunts, never receding. Fear that drives a man mad, fueling the fire for infinite nightmares. Fear that natured itself from the duality of man.

His eyes couldn’t stop blinking furiously, as they failed to believe what they were witnessing. His chin held all the droplets of sweat in place, and his golden red robes had slipped off of his shoulders. His pride and honor began to shatter like glass, and all that was left was his life, and the brainwashed people believing in it.

After the smoke began to reside, more guards began to arrive from the castle walls, blocking and mitigating the damage. Their foolish attempts only led to more innocent lives being endangered, forcing more and more screams from the public.

In the midst of the smoke, a massive wave of water began rising from the ground. Eyes and faces instantly locked onto the magnificent site of ocean waves on dusty cobblestone, and all the fires across the bordering houses of the courtyard were disposed of. All thanks to a single girl, and her craftsmanship with the Gift of Flowing Water. Rina emerged from the smoke, her face as dull as ditchwater.

Any guards that battled against her were sent flying with scourging waves. Kalvin joined her on the frontline, and they rummaged through the defending forces, their eyes on the castle walls below me.

“What is this blasphemy!” Barked the king, escaping Tesla’s loose grip and galloping against the edge of the arch. Tesla did nothing to stop him, letting him witness his kingdom beginning to crumble.

“Funny isn’t it?” Tesla drew a thin line across his mouth, his eyebrows low. “The things we take, and the things we steal, mean nothing to us but our own gain. Yet once we get robbed of our most precious items, our lives begin to crumble along with it.”

King Richard II slammed his wooden fist into the wall, breaking some of his already loose fingers. “You know nothing! You’re all a bunch of pigs! None of you deserve anything!”

Ah, I thought. The second stage of grief, anger. I knew it far too well.

Tesla stuffed the knife against the king’s throat again, one more yell away from ending this bastard’s life. “And what gives you the right to tell us what we can and can’t have.”

The king’s face sunk, his eyes as wide as the holes in the courtyard. He shrugged against the wall, merging himself with the sculpted windows as Tesla nudged him further back. “Get going, we don’t have all day.” Snarled Tesla, his blade urging to enter the king’s heart.

I limped over and tapped Tesla on the shoulder, “Don’t bother,” I lowered his knife. “He’s not worth your time.” I whispered, grabbing the king’s silver strands of hair—loosening his gravity with my gift—and flinging him across the arch into the giant almond-coated doors on the other end. As my hand swung across my body, the pressure on my chest pulled me down onto my knees, forcing me to breath slowly, and take a very careful approach to any sort of movement.

Tesla helped me up, dropping his knife on the ground. “How are you feeling?” He asked, swiping my bandaged arm over his shoulder.

“Fantastic,” I said sarcastically. He didn’t laugh, and I didn’t expect him to.

We both made our slow descend from the peak of the arch, all the way down to where the king remained perched against the doors. Coughs and weeps escaped through his throat, and his wooden hands wouldn’t help his bodyweight. Without his robes, and his crown rolling away from him, he looked like a pig in the dirt. A satisfying sight for my eyes.

“Can you walk?” Tesla asked me, stepping over the king.

I nodded, barely regaining my balance as he let me go. Although my hands were free from the Fool’s Gold, my ribs felt like its next victim. My body swayed, and my nostrils flared excessively. I needed a bed, one that will hold me tightly for the next month or so.

Tesla rolled the king on his back with a heavy grunt, then perched him up on his sweaty arse. “I didn’t come here to watch you roll around on the ground. That outcome is only after you give us access to the Vault.” Said Tesla, pushing himself against the giant doors in our way.

King Richard II coughed again, struggling to get himself up on his feet. “Grrr.” He growled beneath his breath, his throat clogging all the hatred.

As Tesla barely managed to push the doors ajar, the King forced himself off the ground with his stubby legs, and his Hall presented itself to us like red curtains in a play.

First, a magnificent looking apple-red carpet laid below our steps, leading all the way to the King’s personal throne on the other end. Surprisingly, with such a large space, there wasn’t much to look at other than the carefully sculpted pillars holding up the place. Shadows casted themselves along the back corners of the Hall, which is exactly where Tesla focused his attention. King Richard II noticed it too, gritting his teeth and tightening his cheeks.

Tesla placed the knife against the king’s throat again, and we began our march into the shadows behind the throne, loud explosions from the courtyard continuing to fill our distant hearing.

Our first step into the shadows casted by the windows showed nothing more but darkness and a silhouette of a large, box-like object. Specks and flashes of faint sunlight reflected off the box, partially blinding our near-sighted vision.

“You’ll never break through the glass!” The king gulped, wiping the small trace of blood on his neck against his chin. “No one knows the entrance but me, and I’ll die before you get it!” He coughed, slightly laughing.

Tesla cocked the knife away from the king, stepping closer, his quest to find the Vault coming to a hardened end. “The Vault of Glass…” He whispered, placing his hands on the giant glass shelf of erotic items and trinkets.

The Vault of Glass seemed to represent a giant shelf-like box, made entirely of a strange clear-like material. It looked and felt exactly like glass against the softness of my fingertips, but as I gave it a light tap with my knuckle, it’s as if it was constructed entirely of diamonds and gold.

Inside the Vault were four shelves, each one having different items. The top shelf held all the vials of blue and red Alastor talked about, with enigmatic neon green ones as well. The second shelf had an old, wretched book with missing pages, a golden egg the size of a cauldron, and a tiny diamond-shaped object I had no memory or understanding of.

The third shelf had a tiny vial of blood, an empty spot the size of two wine bottles, and a small black key laying sideways on the edge. The fourth and final shelf had a glass bottle with an odd looking ship inside it, a dark brown horn of some sort, and a tiny tree growing out of a pot. The tree had miniature green apples hanging off the branches, and some were fallen on the soft soil in the pot.

I slowly backed up, watching as Tesla searched for any sort of clue to get an opening. He tried stabbing it, kicking it, peeling it, but nothing worked.

“You can try all you like,” The king started, backing away from us mysteriously. “You’ll never get inside.”

Tesla’s expression grimmed, and just as he was about to charge at the king, two hands emerged from the shadows, clapping against his temples with speed as fast as sound.

Tesla, eyes blurry and head wobbling, dropped to the floor like a dead man.

I quickly loosened the pressure in my knees and hopped back, carefully observing as footsteps turned into a pair of leather boots, and those hands revealed a dark green uniform to accompany them.

A warden emerged from the shadows, his eyes as dark and humid like a prison cell. It was the same man who knocked me out with a single blow, and given my current circumstances, this wasn’t looking too good.

“I don’t reckon we properly met before,” He started, his voice as hard as stone. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, My name is Hendrix.” He bowed, stepping on Tesla’s body as he approached me. “My Gift is called the Third Eye, and my loyalty lies with King Richard II. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”