Narikas’ hand moved over the remains of his throne. It had been cleaved in half and had its top half missing. The blood and debris had been cleaned from the room, but the signs of Narikas’ defeat remained.

It wouldn’t have happened if you let me take control.

Narikas ignored the raspy voice of the armor, as he did most times. Its voice had gotten louder, and its calls had become more frequent since the fight. That man was right. It had shortened the time Narikas had left.

Don’t ignore me!

Narikas flinched as the armor attacked him with a sharp pain all over his body. It drove him to his knees and made him cry out. He clenched his teeth and waited for the pain to subside, but the gods were not kind to him as the door to his audience room slowly opened. He tried to move to get to his feet, but the pain kept him on his knees.

Thankfully, it was only his most trusted Scribe.

Hilnoa rushed to his side. “Oh no, not again.”

The pain had subsided enough for Narikas to talk, at least. “It’s not that…at least not yet.”

Hilnoa hooked an arm under his. “Here, let me help you up. Your brother is on his way.”

Narikas almost forgot about his pain. “What is he doing here?”

“Not just him alone,” Hilnoa said. “It looks like he’s brought the whole royal court with him.”

He sat in his seat and huffed. The armor’s attack was finally over. “Where is he?”

“Right here,” came his twin’s voice, and a moment later, the King of Azeria strolled into the room. The only difference between their faces was that Rokibor’s didn’t support any scars. He twirled his golden rod of office as if it were a playing stick. He was dressed in his best attire, which he only wore when hosting royal parties or foreign kings. Behind him walked his shadow, the chief Phoenix Protector, Dagon. He was an unassuming man but a better swordsman, Narikas had never seen.

Hilnoa bowed at the waist. “My king.”

Narikas carefully stood, expecting another pain attack. But this time, the armor decided it would give a warning first.

If you bow to him, I’ll put you in the floor.

We’re both bound to him. Narikas reminded the armor. He knew the danger of talking to it, but he couldn’t handle another pain attack. He didn’t want to give his brother the satisfaction. The armor said nothing, so Narikas figured it was okay to bow, but to be safe, he tilted his head to his brother. “My king.”

“You’re in top shape, even if the same cannot be said about this room,” Rokibor examined the room, and his eyes fell on Hilnoa. “Ah, Aunt Hilnoa, didn’t even see you there.” He gave her a tight hug and held onto her for too long. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much.”

“A-And I, you, Your Majesty,” Aunt Hilnoa replied, unsure how to take this unexpected affection.

It was all a show. Rokibor cared for no one but himself. Narikas had heard him badmouth her ever since they were little, just because she favored Narikas over him, or so he thought. It became true when Narikas became the Shadowsteel Warlord, but if she hadn’t become a Shadow Scribe, Rokibor would’ve had her clean the royal latrines.

Rokibor finally let go of their aunt. “You must come visit more often.”

“I’ll try, Your Majesty.”

“But with this war looming, I’m sure we will have enough time to catch up now that I’ll be staying here until Draros and his lackeys have been dealt with.”

“You are?” Narikas asked.

“I am, brother. Come now, you can’t expect me to stay in my palace. It is comfortable, yes, but also nigh indefensible. It would fall to Draros within a week. So, I had a brilliant idea to go to my brother’s indestructible fortress. A fortress that has never been taken, never fallen into enemy hands. What do you think, brother?”

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Tell him he’s not welcome. The armor rasped, and several faces screamed, their hollow screams at the King.

Narikas smiled. “Of course, brother. After all, it is your fortress.”

The armor didn’t like that at all. Narikas fell into his ruined seat and screamed loud enough to make Rokibor jump and Dagon reach for his sword. Narikas clenched his teeth and groaned as pain wrecked his body.

“Oh, dear brother,” Rokibor said. “I can see now how two of Draros’ lackeys were able to humble you.”

Hilnoa stepped towards Narikas and moved her hand through Narikas’ hair lovingly. “Shh, it’s okay. You’ll be okay, son.”

Narikas didn’t feel okay. He felt like he was dying. The pain was so intense that he thought his heart would give out.

Aunt Hilnoa turned to her other nephew. “Your Majesty, Narikas, and I both fought them. They were too strong to be King Draros’s men. They came with a prophecy from an oracle.”

Rokibor waved a dismissive hand as he scoffed. “Ploys of the enemy king.” He stared at Narikas with disdain. “Was he in control of himself, or like this, when he humiliated me and my kingdom by losing to two pathetic-looking archers.”

Narikas’ anger flared, and he forgot about his pain. His armor flared the feelings of anger but kept the pain where it was to make him even angrier. Narikas knew what the armor was doing, but he didn’t care. Rokibor was a spoiled brat given too much power. The souls on Narikas’ armor flared.

Dagon’s grip tightened on his sword as he stepped forward, but Rokibor stopped him.

“It’s okay, Dagon,” Rokibor said. “My brother is undergoing a lot of pain. He’s not himself right now and can’t hurt me, even if he wants to. The armor prevents him. Here, watch this.”

Rokibor walked up to Narikas and slapped him across the face. Hilnoa flinched, and if it were anyone else, she would have written their death in her book. But now, she could only watch.

Rokibor leaned forward and produced his cheek. “Go ahead, get even.”

Narikas trembled to put him in his place, but his armor prevented him from doing so. It held him in place, a prisoner. What? No response. Nothing about getting even. Narikas lashed at the armor. If you’re not going to let me get even, then stop this fucking pain.

For once, the armor listened. Narikas huffed and wiped the sweat off his brow. The pain had stopped, but its memory remained.

“See.” The King said to his guard. “He can’t do anything to me. He swore not to harm me. Isn’t that right, brother?”

“I can’t…” Narikas said. “I can’t do this for much longer. My time is nearly over.”

“What are you talking about?” Rokibor looked at him with scorn. “Are you dying?”

“I will if I continue being the Shadowsteel Warlord. You know what I’m talking about.”

Rokibor glared at him. “You’re saying this now. When we’re days away from a war.”

“A war you instigated.” Narikas stood, coming eye to eye with his brother. “A war that need not come to pass. You can still stop this. Get the queen to pull back the borders and stop the Mistblades. Please, brother, I beg you, or there will not be an Azeria left.”

Rokibor scoffed. “You’re that scared of an old man. Your name is feared more than any other across this world, but all I see here is a man crying out because of a little pain.”

“It’s not a little pain, not anymore. My time is just about over, and you know what will happen if the worst comes to pass.”

The King straightened. “How much time do you have left?”

“Days, maybe I can push it to a week,” Narikas said. “But we need to do the transfer before the war starts because once this war starts, the men cannot lose their battlefield commander.”

“Then more reason for you to keep your head on and not fall into a mewling babe.”

“You can still stop this war!” Narikas roared, making Dagon’s hand go to his sword. “Touch that sword one more time, Dagon, and I will kill you where you stand. I cannot do anything to my brother, but you are a hired sword…and I want to let loose.”

Darkness erupted from Narikas’ armor and covered the room in shadows. Dagon’s hand moved away from his sword as he stared slack-jawed at the darkness around him. It sent a message to the King that even his most loyal servant was more afraid of his brother.

“The queen is not well,” Rokibor said evenly. Gone was his jovial demeanor. He wasn’t so sure of himself anymore.

Narikas looked at all those present in the room. “Respectfully, my King, that is horseshit. I know the queen is not in the palace, and would you leave her in the palace when you brought so many with you? People, you give no shit about. I don’t think so. What did you do to her? Did one of your torture sessions go too far? Huh? Did you kill her?”

“You’re talking to your king,” Rokibor said through gritted teeth. “Know your fucking place! You might be my brother, but that gives you no right to question me like this. Do you want to give up your post before the war? Fine, coward. Send one of your Shades to Nelees and summon Delkoris here. He will come running if you call. You will pass on the mantle of the Shadowsteel Warlord to him.”

Narikas frowned, but inside, his heartbeat quickened. “Delkoris? He’s your heir. It was decided it would go to Heibor.”

“No, I’ve had a change of heart,” Rokibor said. “Delkoris is no longer the Crown Prince. I stripped him of the title before he left for the Blue City.”

“B-But why?” Things were spiraling out of control. This was not how it was supposed to be.

“You ask that? You?” Rokibor got in Narikas’ face. “I know what you did, brother. I know what you told him.”

Narikas gulped.

“Be thankful I didn’t kill the boy.” Rokibor turned and began walking towards the door. “Bring back Delkoris. He will be the next Shadowsteel Warlord.” He smirked. “It’s only fitting.”

“When your death comes, it will be a glorious day,” Narikas barked.

“And there it is.” Rokibor laughed as he walked out the door.

Hilnoa scribbled in her book, and the door closed. “Oh no, this is bad…”

The armor, too, laughed in Narikas’ head. He gripped his hair tightly. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!”

You dare…

Yes, I dare. Narikas shot back at the armor. Now, do your fucking worst.