--Responsibility--

The Citadel of Draxurio

The King of Draxurio stood at the edge of a pond that surrounded by transparent crystal rocks. In the center, the seed floated steadily, small yet impossibly radiant with its five golden leaves gleamed with a light of its own that reflecting on the water below. He watched the most precious treasure of their family which it also remained to remind him to his unwanted responsibility.

This wasn't how it was. He was never meant to sit on the throne. It was his grandfather, a man known more for his iron fist than his wisdom, who made that decision on his deathbed. The former king, a tyrant in every sense, ruled the kingdom of Draxurio for over six decades with firm hand that silencing dissent and brokering fear. On his deathbed, with eyes as cold as the winter that grasped the northern lands, King Edmond pointed a withered finger at his grandson, Adheesh, commanding him to be king. His last words were not of love or guidance, but a strict order.

“K-Keep...the seed...safe.”

The young boy, didn't fully understand the weight of those words, was definitely not prepared to rule. The seed—what was it? A relic? A symbol? He was left with a lot of questions, and though decades have passed, those questions remain. Now, as an old man, the mysteries of the seed still confuse him. What was it about that seed that held such importance? What was the matter with it, that even a tyrant obsessed over its safety?

He remembered the first time he laid eyes on it. It was just after his grandfather’s death, on the day of his ascension. While others enjoyed in the ceremony for the new king, his thoughts were not in the celebration but drawn to the secret sanctum his grandfather had guarded by. A place restricted to all but the old king, and now to him. The moment the crown touched his head, the sanctum became his obsession. He didn't stayed in the halls of celebration, nor did he bask in the glory of his newfound power. Instead, he slipped away, driven by a compulsion he couldn't name.

When he finally entered the sanctum, there, in the center of the room, surrounded by crystal rocks, he saw it—a seed, floating impossibly in midair. He was astonished by it. It was magical. How else could a mere seed defy gravity, glowing with a gilded light? It was unlike anything he had ever seen, and in that moment, he understood why his grandfather had kept this place so fiercely guarded. But even with all its wonder, the seed made him uneasy. It was a burden passed down to him, one he didn’t fully understand.

Now, after all these years, he stood there, still staring at that seed, no closer to understanding its true nature. He had ruled with the wisdom age had granted him, far removed from the cruelty of his grandfather, yet the seed remained a riddle.

The door of the sanctum made a noise, opened, and an old man as aged as the king himself, entered. He carried a leather bag and had a circular glass perched over one eye, the kind used by scholars and those who studied ancient texts. As he stepped forward, he bowed respectfully and addressed the king.

“Your Majesty, King Adheesh.”

The old man was Clementé, the king’s old friend and former tutor. He had just arrived in the capital from Dravana. The king had heard of Clementé’s return through the Duke, who had been his student many years ago, just like the Duke’s son now was. King Adheesh had sent an order to bring Clementé to the palace immediately. There was something more important than a reunion that something that couldn’t wait until after the parade for the harvest festival in Draxuropolis.

Clementé was well aware of the seed in the palace too, having spent many years trying to study its nature. Today, he wasn’t alone; the king had invited also a cleric, Rufus. "Your Royal Highness."

The purpose of this small meeting was clear. King Adheesh had summoned the two men who, alongside him, were among the few who knew of the seed’s existence. Even the temple, with all its mysteries, knew of the seed. The king needed to inform them of something strange he had noticed—a dark spot on one of the seed’s leaves, something that had not been there before.

Rufus, the cleric, was the first to act. Before he approached the seed, he paused and bowed his head in prayer. It was his tradition, one deeply rooted in the beliefs of the temple. To Rufus and the temple, the seed was a divine gift from the gods and goddesses, a sacred connector between mortal and immortal beings. His prayer was short, but sincere, a plea for guidance and understanding as he prepared to observe the seed.

After his prayer, cleric carefully stepped into the pond, moving toward the seed that floated at its center. The water rippled around his legs as he moved, each step slow and measured, as though the pond held secrets he might disturb. His cassock soaked up the water. His usually holy attire was now heavy and drenched, the fabric dragging with each motion as he moved closer to it. His movements were careful that filled with great respect for what he believed was a holy relic. To him, the seed was more than just a plant—it was a living link to the divine, a reminder that the gods, though silent for millennia, had once walked among them.

The king watched but his thoughts were different from the cleric’s devotion. He didn’t share Rufus’beliefs, nor did he put much stock in the tales of gods and magic. Because for him, the seed was the only piece of the past that held any truth. The legends said that gods and magic were real, but they had vanished after the death of the first ruler of the kingdom and left behind only stories. The king had always been doubtful, believing in what he could see and touch—except for the seed. That was the one thing he could never fully understand, and now, with this new dark mark appearing on its leaf, he feared it might be the beginning of something even more mysterious.

Clementé joined Rufus. He adjusted his glass and leaned closer to the floating seed. His keen eyes narrowed as he observed something look terrible.

“Your Majesty, I must bring something to your attention,” he said. “one of the seed’s leaves has begun to petrify.”

He pointed to a single golden leaf, its edges had an unnatural gray, a stark contrast to other leaves. After a long moment of inspection, he straightened, his movements careful to avoid disturbing the balance of the water around him. He walked after Rufus toward the King, his steps heavy, and his wet clothes slapping against his legs. And when he finally rose, water streaming from his soaked garments.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"The seed is dying…."

Rufus lifted his head to see azure sky above through the glass roof of the sanctum. "This is no ordinary change. It is a sign. Great gods and goddesses, if this seed is truly your gift to us, grant us the wisdom to understand this sign and protect what remains of your blessing.”

The King glanced skeptically at the cleric. Rufus always speak of gods and their blessings. But what if this was not a sign from them?

“Your Majesty, I cannot help but feel that the changes in the seed are a divine message. The gods and goddesses have always communicated through signs and symbols, and this seed is their way of speaking to us now. The petrification of the leaf—it’s a warning. Perhaps we have drifted too far from their teachings, and they are calling us back.”

King Adheesh stepped backward from the side of the pond and turned around to face Rufus. “You’ve always spoken with such conviction about the gods, Rufus. But what if this is just a natural occurrence? After all, the world is full of mysteries that we’ve yet to understand. Why must everything be tied to the divine?”

“Your Majesty, the gods are in everything. The sun that rises each day, the rain that falls, even the seed that floats in this sanctum—all are manifestations of their will. We are but mortals, and our understanding is limited. The petrification may seem like a mere natural phenomenon, but it could be a call for us to return to our faith, to seek their guidance more fervently.”

The kingdom faced some real threats, and the king knew them well. Drought had dried up the northern fields which leaving people desperate for food. Bandits had become bolder on attacking merchants and disrupting trade. The lords were growing uneasy, their complaints growing louder and more frequent. And the latest, the wall incident.

“And what would you have us do? Should we abandon reason in favor of rituals and prayers? The kingdom faces real, tangible threats—droughts, famine... Can we truly rely on the gods to solve these problems?”

Rufus gestured widely with his right hand that letting his wide sleeve of his cassocks fly out and making him look like spreading a giant half-wing. His face was taut with conviction. “We should not abandon reason, Your Majesty, but neither should we abandon faith. The gods and goddesses may not intervene directly, but they provide us with the strength and wisdom to overcome our challenges. The harvest festival is upon us, a time when we give thanks for their blessings. Perhaps, by honoring them, we can gain their favor once more.”

“The festival... Yes, it’s a time of celebration, of giving thanks for the harvest. But it’s also a time for the people to feel secure, to know that their king is taking action to protect them.”

Protect the people? The thought rung in his mind, bringing with it a wave of doubt. He had been crowned king at fifteen, thrust into a role he hadn’t been prepared for, and now, decades later, the weight of the crown still felt as burdensome as it had on that first day. How long could he protect them? His mind slipping to the news that had reached him only last night—the death of the sentries at the Eastern border. Their bodies, broken and lifeless, were now being mourned by their families.

The king’s gaze moved from Rufus to Clementé, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. Clementé’s eyes were focused on the floating seed, his brow slightly furrowed as if lost in deep thought. There was something in the way Clementé stared at the seed that confused the king. It was as if the scholar wanted to share something.

“And that's why it’s important to balance both. Let the people see that their king respects the traditions and honors the gods. It will strengthen their faith and give them hope. At the same time, your actions...your leadership will show them that you are addressing the issues that threaten the kingdom," Rufus replied.

King Adheesh listened, and for a moment, he found himself thinking that perhaps Rufus was right. There was wisdom in what the cleric said, a logic that resonated with the responsibilities of a king. What would be the purpose of calling a cleric like Rufus from the temple if he doubted everything he said about the gods and goddesses?

Still, Adheesh’s doubts were deeply rooted, born from a past that had distanced him from the religious fervor that many others held dear. He had seen too much suffering, too much loss, to place his faith in unseen deities. Perhaps it was the hardships of his youth—the constant battles for power, the loss of those he cared about—that had hardened his heart against the divine. The gods, if they existed, had seemed silent during the darkest times of his life. And so, he had learned to rely on himself, on his own strength and judgment, rather than on prayers and rituals.

Time passed, and now they were walking down the grand hallway of the palace. The morning light passed through the tall windows. Rufus bid farewell to King Adheesh. With a respectful bow, he turned and made his way back to the temple. The king watched him go, then shifted his focus to Clementé, who had been quietly following behind.

It had been three years since their last conversation, and now Clementé had returned to the capital from Dravana. His arrival had nothing to do with the harvest festival or meeting with his former student, the Duke's son. Instead, Clementé had come with a far more important concern: the drought in the northern regions.

“So, Clementé, tell me...what have you learned about the situation in the north?”

“Your Majesty, the north is facing an unprecedented crisis. Last winter, the snow that usually blankets the region barely fell. There was some snowfall, but it was sparse and melted away quickly. The usual reservoirs of snow that feed the rivers and streams in the warmer months were never replenished. And now, without that water, the land has dried up. Crops are failing, and the people are struggling," Clementé said.

The northern regions had always relied on the winter snows to sustain them through the year. Without it, they were vulnerable to drought—a threat that had now become a harsh reality.

Clementé continued. “This kind of natural phenomenon is rare, but it’s not unheard of. Particular areas in the north have experienced something similar in the past, though never on this scale. I came back to the capital to find a solution..."

The drought was more than just a local issue—it had the potential to destabilize the entire kingdom if left unchecked. Clementé’s return, though unexpected, might be the key to addressing this growing crisis.

“....and the solution I seek...may not be entirely related to natural occurrences.”

King Adheesh, who had been listening, narrowed his eyes as he placed his right hand above the left hand behind. “Are you saying that you, too, believe in the tales that others speak of? Like what the temple claims?”

“I wouldn’t say that I believe in tales outright, Your Majesty. But I’ve spent many nights reading and trying to understand the contents of ancient texts. The languages are difficult, the meanings often obscure, but from what I’ve gathered...there is one conclusion I cannot ignore.”

The king raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue.

“The seed,” Clementé said slowly, “may be protecting the kingdom from something—something dark."

Just then, a servant approached them, bowing deeply before speaking. “Your Majesty, the parade is ready to begin. The people are waiting for your signal.”

The king looked out toward the palace gates, where the distant sound of drums and horns signaled the gathering crowds. The parade, a grand celebration of the harvest festival, would only start once the king gave his approval. King Adheesh turned to the servant.

“Inform the attendants that I will be there shortly."

The servant bowed again and quickly departed to relay the king’s message.

The king turned back to Clementé. The conversation was far from over.

“At the feast tonight, you must tell me everything you know, Clementé. I need to understand what we are dealing with.”

The scholar nodded respectfully.

Tonight might bring answers or raise even more questions about the true nature of the seed. But how much did Clementé truly know?