Ranun took a long-needed breath. He was wary stepping across into the charred district that used to be Central Falcon Hill. The fires were contained and quenched overnight. The civilians inside the city were forced to evacuate the capital but had returned home in the morning. The fires reached a few homes, but Ranun had already installed a stimulus for those whose homes and businesses burned down.

The most he could do was provide them the funds necessary to get by in this challenging time to come.

He walked inside the land of ash. Buildings once painted orange and white were now black like death itself. City crews still cleansed on every corner, gathering the ash in plastic garbage bags to haul it out of the city in what would be a multiple-day effort. But what plagued Central the most wasn’t the ash but the bodies. All six hundred of them speculated to be inside, with only a hundred or so confirmed found.

Six hundred deaths. This… accident hit more than just Ranun. It struck everyone off guard; the tragedy came seemingly out of nowhere. Now everyone was afraid. Some speculated that it wasn’t an accident at all but an act of terror. Those claims were unfounded. Why would anyone do this?

Nearing City Hall, Ranun stopped by the source of the fire, a powder factory down the block. The gunpowder they produced inside sparked, and apparently, the explosion tripled the size of the building. The fire had a head start devouring the city from the inside out. Ranun found a pile of rubble in front of him, one of the few buildings that fully collapsed.

Most buildings had either hard stone or steel supporting the integrity of the structures. However, some buildings got hit worse—the faces of walls removed with crumpled interiors scattered into piles of soot and ash. Of course, as Ranun walked down the block, the building remaining taller and more sound than the rest was none other than City Hall.

Still, more bones showed than flesh, as naked steel twinkled where orange paint had once bed. The four corners of City Hall once had four spires. They had two now, one in the northeast and the southwest. The other two fell, their long lengths smashed into the buildings adjacent to City Hall. Ranun shook his head.

Ranun greeted two men by the front door of City Hall.

“Your Majesty,” the taller one said. “We are scavenging for any important documents inside.”

Ranun nodded, though, at the moment, he couldn’t speak. Even to his people. Bitter sadness boiled inside him, drowning his sinking, heavy heart. Lost for words, he brushed past the two men to reach the inside.

So little air was inside that he struggled to swallow it all, despite countless holes missing from the walls venting a slight draft. The air carried into smoke, and the smoke carried over to thick fog. Everything inside seemed dead. Ranun checked his favorite jacket around his shoulders, noticing it was now stained with soot and will likely be ruined forever. The hints of what the color used to be faded entirely.

Orange, like the color Aidan Payne used to represent, decayed to the black he represented in Dormoor now.

Odd how the mind brings up the wrong things in the wrong moment.

Ranun went up the stairs. Steel-built, fortunately, as it held even through the flames. He walked up to the second floor, securing his steps before he committed. His office was down the narrow hallway near the opposite end of the building. One door remained where the other melted and crumpled up on the floor. More than Ranun wondered through this floor, though nobody Ranun knew who worked inside. Tens and tens of people were scattered around, measuring the distance from wall to wall. Others checked the floor. Then, Ranun heard smashing.

He hurried over to check out the noise. Someone brought a sledgehammer to a wall, demolishing it down. They were renovating City Hall, preparing to rebuild it.

“What is this!” Ranun demanded. His voice felt sour, bitter to speak. His frustration evident by how they reacted to being yelled at. “What do you think you’re doing!”

“We…” a short, round body figure spoke first. He took two steps forward, dropping to a knee. “We are repairing City Hall.”

“Why?” Ranun asked. “Did I ask you to?”

“Sir, it’s your own—”

“No!” Ranun cut him off. “Are you city or private?”

“City, sir,” the bricklayer said. His job did general maintenance around the city, repairing public parks or any building that needed fixing. “We thought we should start with City Hall since it’s… well, your facility, sir.”

“Do you know how many people work inside this building?” Ranun asked.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said shyly. “I’m afraid I don’t know that information off the top of my head.”

“Well, I do. Fifty people are employed to work here, depending on if you count the kingsguard or not. Do you know how many people worked in Central overall?”

“No, sir, I do not.”

“Tens of thousands. I don’t need this building to do my job or lead this kingdom. But others in this city need their job to stay alive. The faster we can get them back to work, the quicker we can heal as a city… as a kingdom.”

“So… we should drop our repairs?”

Ranun nodded. “While there are buildings, other than this one. that are black in color and not in orange or white, you are forbidden from entering this building. So, clean up, and get the hell out of City Hall.”

“Yes, sir!” the manager said. He turned to the men watching with anticipation. “You heard the man. We go to the buildings next door! Move it! Move out!”

The men assembled at an efficient pace, and in only a few minutes, they left Ranun alone. He searched for his office. Bags filled with ash were off to the side of the hall, waiting to be disposed of. Ranun sighed, walking through the mess of destruction before him.

Ranun turned the knob to open the lone door, but the latch was seared off, the door falling to the floor, exploding the room in smoke. He stepped inside, shuffling his Soulsmithed boots through ash to reach his desk. His chair was a skeleton of its former self, with all of the plastic melted off, leaving only the steel frame. He sat down, expecting to break it underneath him, falling into a bed of ash. It held him up, whatever that was worth.

Damn it! Ranun pounded his head against his table, which miraculously survived, though it had lost a leg near the front, only kept level by a steel toolbox giving weight to the opposite corner. I should have been able to do more. No, I should already be doing more. How can I live like this? I’m a hypocrite. I tell off the bricklayers for helping the wrong person while I sit here, unable to help anybody.

Six hundred deaths, more likely to be confirmed later. So soon, too, after Igor, now twice as many died to the fires than they did to the massacre. What was Ranun supposed to do? How could he help his people? The only way Ranun could was through the government, using the leadership of political power. Central focused on production and retail, so many jobs would ultimately be lost, even after the repairs finished.

How much money could Ranun give away to help these people? While he slept in a mansion, how many people had to sleep without blankets or bread in their stomachs? Ranun pressed his face into his palms, succumbing to stress and worry. So many people counted on him to fix it all. They thought that Ranun alone could do everything for the city.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Ranun felt his hands getting wet, drenched in the sweat from his face. He lifted his head, noticing that water was still dripping, black like oil, mixing with dirty ash masking his face. No, he wasn’t sweating. Tears. After sixteen years as king, Ranun finally broke doing his job.

“It was supposed to be easy,” Ranun sniffed, speaking to nobody. He was alone, stuck in a room of ash. “Gordon said I would be the best. That nobody could do it better. That I was the one to finally make a difference. But people are still dying!”

Even his voice started to strain.

“What can I possibly do! I’m a fraud! A FRAUD!”

Ranun took a deep, deep breath. “IS ANYONE OUT THERE! I’M A FRAUD! A FAILURE OF A KING! I DON’T DESERVE IT! YOU DON’T DESERVE ME!

He settled down, realizing the situation he was in. He… couldn’t give up the crown so easily. After all, the crown likely melted in the fire anyway. Ranun hopped off his chair to lay down on the floor, deciding to rest in the ashes of his failures.

“Ranun?” a feminine voice spoke from outside. “Are you in there?”

Ranun refused to speak. He still lay on the floor, face feeling like he had rubbed his cheeks on a piece of coal. The voice woke him, though he hadn’t opened his eyes, keeping them closed in hopes he could find more sleep. He was lazy today for the first time in his many years pretending to be king.

That’s right, I’m only pretending. So. Why. Can’t. I. Stop?

He deserved one day off. He had snapped, broken down, a few hours of sleep cleared his mind a little bit. The sadness after wasn’t as bitter, though it still left him with no motivation to continue the day. What could he even do? All of the work he wanted to do, he couldn’t. All of the work he could do was gone to the flames. Ranun decided to sleep a little longer—

A shot of pain stuck him in the stomach. A heel. Ranun sprung his back up, snapping his eyes open to see a heel twisting on his stomach, opposite of where the curse swelled black on his gut. He looked up the slender legs over him, seeing the most beautiful face in the world—that of his wife, Calace.

“Calace?” Ranun asked. He smiled despite his current state.

“Ranun,” Calace said, removing her heel. She chose to wear a white dress, despite the collecting ash forming on the fabric. “Where have you been? I’ve been searching all over for you.”

“I’ve been… sleeping, I guess. I’m sorry. It’s wrong of me to sleep, especially on a night like this, isn’t it?”

“Oh, Ranun,” Calace extended her hand down, helping Ranun pull himself up to his feet. She gripped around his lower back, embracing him as he stood. Her blonde hair had a fragrance unlike anything in this world. “Your body needs some sleep. You lied to me this morning when you said you slept through the night, didn’t you?”

“I…” Ranun looked away. “I’m sorry.”

Last night, Ranun stared down the top of his roof until the sun rose. He had time for about four hours of sleep, though he denied them all. He had stayed up all night until the fires squashed, only arriving home a few minutes after Calace. She helped with the fires as well, directing and leading the firemen in the north end.

“It’s not alright,” Calace said. “You can’t keep killing yourself over this job.”

“I’m not killing myself,” Ranun said. “At least, I’m not trying to.”

“But you are,” Calace shook her head. She pressed her head on Ranun’s chest. Her sadness pierced his heart, and the worry in her eyes tightened his chest. “Every night, I worry it’ll be too much for you. You’re…”

“Growing weak?” Ranun finished her sentence.

“No,” Calace lifted her head off of him with a frown. “You’re bearing too much. First Igor and now the fires, you have to know that you can’t do everything, even as the king.”

“A better king could, though,” Ranun said.

Calace gripped Ranun’s soot jacket. She tugged on it, bringing him a step forward. “There is no better king than Ranun Spring.”

Ranun frowned. “And why is that?”

“It rhymes,” Calace grinned, releasing his jacket. “But no, Ranun, you genuinely care. Your city needs you, and you know that. And you want to help; I know you do. But there’s little you can do that you aren’t already doing.”

“That’s the thing, Calace. What am I doing? You just walked in on me sleeping, doing nothing for them.”

“You’ve promised housing to those who need it,” Calace said. “You are putting the repair of other buildings before your own. Few in Falcon Hill are more upset about the fire than you.”

“I want to be out there,” Ranun said. He now sunk his forehead on top of Calace’s hair. Only she could comfort him like this. Her hands wrapped around him, cradling him like she once did Aeryn when he was young. “I want to repair the cities with my own hands. Help these people myself.”

“I know you do,” Calace said, bringing her hands up to the back of his head. “It’s okay to be emotional, so long as you are reasonable too. Soucrest needs not a king who would shatter himself into a million pieces for his kingdom, but a king who remains whole, doing everything he possibly can to help.”

Ranun nodded. He separated two steps back, noticing he had dirtied her dress with his filth. “I want to help. I really do. I have two plates in front of me. I have the three hundred deaths from Igor and the six hundred deaths yesterday. What do I tackle first? I can’t forget about Igor, even now. Damn it!”

“You’ll do the right thing,” Calace said. “I trust your judgment. Everyone does, Aeryn, your brother, even Symond, they all admire you. They know no matter what you do; you’ll do what’s best.”

Ranun nodded. They entered a long pause. Silence, though her presence alone gave him a glimpse of happiness, even among the darkness around him. “You know,” Ranun started. “I was thinking about retiring—”

“Absolutely not,” Calace frowned.

“Calace…”

“You’ve had years to quit,” Calace said. “Years! And you are not going to give up only when it gets tough. That’s not the Ranun I married. That’s not the Ranun that fixes.”

Ranun smiled, being told off by his wife. She was always the strongest out of the both of them, at least emotionally. “It was too easy for too long, wasn’t it? I guess it’s about time things got difficult around here.”

Calace grinned smugly. “What’s easy for you is a nightmare for others. You don’t give yourself enough credit, Ranun. But, that’s what your wife is for.”

“Thank you, my love,” Ranun reached for her soft, delicate hands.

She leaned forward, kissing him. “I’m going to help cook some meals at the shelter. I’ll see you later. Reach out for me if you need me.”

“Alright,” Ranun smiled. “See you at home.”

“Goodbye, Ranun. I love you.”

“I love you too. Goodbye.”

She left through the hole where his door once was. She stopped, bringing herself to a halt. She turned her head back. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I was nearby when the fires first started. I ran up here and gathered what I could, but it was too heavy for me to carry out of here. So I put what I could in that toolbox.”

“You ran inside during the fires!” Ranun shook his head. “Are you insane?”

“No, I’m your wife,” she grinned before leaving down the hall, waving behind as she walked through ash in her nice heels.

Ranun reached for the box. The table toppled when Ranun dragged it closer. Ranun propped the desk with his knee. He pulled with all of his might, but the box jammed on something, probably its melted metal. He assumed anything inside was, at the least, slightly damaged.

He pulled out a small, six-inch dagger from a sheath stitched to the inside of his jacket. The metal blade was dyed purple, matching the color of Gordon’s Soulsmithed sword and Ranun’s family flowery crest. This dagger, however, didn’t have the Soulgem power of being indestructible like Gordon’s sword. He carefully approached the crease of the lock, trying not to bend the dagger as he jimmied the lock.

Click, Ranun heard. He pulled on each side with his hands, busting the toolbox open. He let out a sigh of relief before digging through.

The first thing he pulled out was a flip knife, given to him by Aeryn for Ranun’s thirtieth birthday. Aeryn was only around eight years old at the time, but Ranun cherished this gift a lot.

The next thing Ranun picked out was a picture frame taken shortly after Ranun’s birthday. It was a miracle that it was still in decent shape. Ranun, Calace, and Aeryn posed in casual clothes, taken the morning after Aeryn’s elementary-grade graduation. Aeryn held a small wooden toy sword in his hands, posing like a soldier. Ranun’s left and Calace’s right hand rested on Aeryn’s shoulders, while Ranun’s right hand and arm reached around Calace, reaching for his hand to touch her stomach.

It hurt to look at the picture of a once happy moment and finding only sadness in the details. Ranun set it down—face up so not to ruin the face—and quickly moved his gaze onto something else so his emotions wouldn’t get the better of him for the second time in one day.

He pulled out more mementos, rings, and presents given to him by Gordon, Symond, and other figures in Soucrest’s high command. He appreciated all of them.

He reached in, grabbing the last object inside. His fingers stabbed on one of the object’s nine diamond spikes. He pulled it out, recognizing it immediately without looking. Surprisingly, his crown remained whole, the gold still intact, surviving the fire like the rest inside the toolbox. Ranun lifted the crown and brought it to the top of his head, attaching it.

It just didn’t fit. It didn’t feel natural to Ranun. He took it off. “Maybe another day,” he said before standing up, smiling. He spoke to nothing and nobody but himself. It felt liberating, talking out loud instead of in his mind. “Right now, the city needs me. Igor needs me. And… I suppose that girl in Dormoor needs me too, doesn’t she?”

Ranun stretched his arms.

Well, he thought. There’s nothing in here I can do, with everything being burned and all.

Ranun walked through the crumbling shell of what was once City Hall, moving onward to find Symond at the Soucrest Elite Agency building. Ranun couldn’t be the king he wanted to be. He had no other choice but to embrace that reality. But he could be the king Soucrest needed him to be. A king that worshiped his people as much as they worshiped him. A king that serviced the people he ruled over.

The Great King had work to do—the work he could do—so he marched onward, wearing not the crown on his head but his heart on his sleeve.