"For the war that was foretold, for the fleeting children of god

For the living and for the dead, for those that god his body shed

those blessed by the flesh of the one

Rulers of man, they all become

They rein above, they rein with iron chains

But one will stand, as the highest of all

The last chance for man not to fall"

- Mortimmer Equand, The last day of man

Though his knees pained with his strained effort, he still climbed back up onto the training platform. The sight of the dangling logs made his body feel even worse, but he couldn't just give up. A noble does not give up. He calmed his heart with the newfound resolve and ran. He managed to time the first log correctly, running through the empty air seconds before the moving log would throw him down again. He dodged out the way of the second one by twisting his body and jumped below the third one, before it could connect with his torso. He could see the disapproving glare from his instructor, but he paid it no mind. His goal was to finish and he would find his own ways if necessary.

But the logs were the easiest part of the course, one Cormac finished a number of times already. The worse one was upcoming. A bridge of uneven planks, spliced together with rope. That alone would be easy, if the planks weren't rotten through and through. Worse yet, A spinning wooden stick was moving across the bridge. Cormac stopped himself at the edge of the stable structure. You can do this, just keep your footing.

He took off, jumping over the first two planks. As he made contact with the wood, he could feel the plank start to give in instantly. Pressing the plank against the strong rope with his legs, he managed to not fall through the plank, even when it snapped into two. The spinning stick smacked him across the shin and though the pliable wood made the contact a little more bearable, pain flared in his right leg. Seeing his chance, as the stick had to make a complete turn to get him again, he sped up. Jumping mostly on the rope, only touching the planks themselves to dodge out of the sticks way, or to better position himself.

He had a good tactic and was over halfway there, when he noticed that another figure silently appeared. From a quick glance, he could make out a womanly figure, dressed in a fancy red dress, adorned with golden chains laden with gems of all kinds. The long red hair of the lady dropping well past her knees. Mother.

This quick glance was all it took for Cormac to lose his composure. The stick connected with the hurt shin again, producing enough pain for Cormac to think something broke. His leg was swept under him and he fell through one of the planks. Managing to grasp the rope with his arms, he tried to heft himself back onto the track. But the day of training left him weak, too weak to pull himself up.

As he fell on his back, air escaped his lungs in an audible: "Puh!". Before he looked in any direction, he gave himself time to gather his breath, scared to see what look his mother might have been giving him. When he did manage to turn, he knew his fears were well founded.

If he thought before that his instructor might have disapproved, the look on his mother's face was that of sheer contempt. Her green eyes piercing his body like daggers.

"Gather yourself." she said coldly, with no hint of anger or any emotion what so ever.

He quickly hefted himself with his arms and though his right leg protested, he stood on both his legs, looking at his mother. He was blue from red to toe, bruises forming where the logs and sticks of the course had been hitting him throughout the day. His lip was bleeding and swollen, making it hard for him to speak, but he knew he had to speak anyway.

"Hello, mother." he said, nodding his head slightly as a sign of respect. Her eyes did not move an inch from him.

"What can you tell me about today's training results, son." the last word felt poisonous to Cormac, though he did his utmost to ignore it.

"I would say it was fairly successful, I managed to learn enough not to fall on the logs anymore and almost crossed the bridge."

"And you would call that, success?" she asked plainly, her position on the matter obvious. "Do remind me, how many times had you failed on this course already."

"Around a hundred, my lady." answered the instructor quickly.

"Thank you, Forem, but I have asked my son."

"A hundred forty-three..." Cormac said, his voice weak.

His mother nodded, acting like she was processing new information, though Cormac was sure she knew everything beforehand.

"If I recall correctly, it took your brother forty tries?"

"...thirty..."

"Oh, yes. Thirty tries, to cross the whole course. He was thirteen then. Was he not?"

"Yes, mother."

"How old are you, dear?"

"Sixteen, mother."

"Oh? That old? How come you have not crossed the whole course already?"

Cormac's throat tightened and he noticed the sweat rushing down his forehead. He knew where this was going and he feared it. But the lack of an answer might have proven even worse. Although he knew he was walking into his mother's palms, he had no way to avoid it.

"Because I am not good enough yet," he tried, but when his mother's eyes moved not an inch, he knew she would not let him go. Not without what she came here for. "...because I am weak."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

A subsidiary heir, basically a last resort. That was what he had been named today. His younger brother, the talented seed of their family, now his better. Even though Cormac knew that it was coming, the whole ceremony of the succession proclamation still hurt him deeply. He must have held a hope for his parents still. A hope for himself. That maybe someday...Well, that was gone now. He was stripped of the family's name, regarded as unworthy to carry it.

He was Cormac La Bor no more, Now he was just Cormac.

He was lying in his big bed. The light of the moon has been shining for quite some time, but it offered Cormac no reprieve, no rest. Though he was holding that hostage himself. His thoughts spiraled out of control, making him more and more depressed through the night. His end, it seemed, was obvious and in plain sight. He was still a member of the family, even when partly disowned. He could still enjoy the lavish life his family offered. He could drink, he could hunt, he could...

Cormac resigned with a sigh. His aspirations were gone and that was it. No reason to dwell on it. He turned on his bed, closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.

---

Cormac's head pulsed with pain, his memory hazy. Whatever he was doing yesterday has been lost to time. He got up from his bed, the clunking of bottles following his movements as they fell out of the sheets. He lazily moved through the room to his mirror and was met by his reflection.

His dark black hair was glued together by sweat and drink. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks were inflated with fat, his nose riddled with black dots, making it swell. His beard wild and untrimmed. His belly was hanging over his member, shielding it from the light. Small pieces of food were caught in his chest hair, though he paid that no mind.

He climbed into the wooden tub and started cleaning himself, the big ceremony was today, so he had to at least look presentable, as his mother put it. He cleaned himself thoroughly for once. This was once in a lifetime day after all and he would never shame his brother. Whatever ill-will he might have cobbled together throughout the years, none was pointed at him. His brother treated him with respect and with...pity.

After he was clean, Cormac brushed his hair and stylized his beard. He put his best clothes on, a yellow jacket over a white shirt, black fancy trousers and matching dark leather boots.

Though the look at himself in the mirror offered a much better reflection, Cormac's heart still sunk. Whenever he thought about it, he regretted everything. His whole life really, along with his birth. He did not regret it as much as his mother, Cormac was sure, but he still knew his end was of his own making and he was proud of nothing, other than his siblings.

He shook his head and put on a smile. This was his brothers day and he would not let his mood sour anything. Additionally, he would never allow his mother to see him like this. She did not deserve the gratification for what he became.

The ceremony hall was giant, the biggest room Cormac ever saw. If a dozen men stood on their shoulders, they would still have trouble touching the ceiling. And the width of the room was enough to host a gathering for all noble families of the region, along with their closest valets. Huge pillars made of polished were strong enough to hold the weight of the sky, the windows were riddled with mosaics of painted glass, showcasing the ancient myths and legends. A red carpet of expensive linen was placed all over the floor and the tables and chairs were of mahagony, but were themselves engraved with pictures and symbols.

When Cormac walked into the room, he saw his honored brother talking to a group of people. His chest, arms and legs were covered by decorative gold armor, the plates polished enough to reflect his surroundings. Red tunic showed itself underneath his armor, with a matching pair of pants. He waved at Cormac when he noticed him, bringing the attention of his company with him.

Their mother wore a dress with her traditional colors, crimson red. Her hair made into a long ponytail, adorned with golden rings and yellow petals. Her smile disappeared at her sight of him.

Cormac looked at his mother with an obviously exaggerated smile, he then turned to his brother, now wearing a genuine smile. Cormac was surprised himself, but he was glad for his brother. Especially now when seeing how gleaming he was, Cormac actually felt joy.

Steeling himself for the conversation that was bound to come, Cormac strode to his brother.

"Eamon! The man of the hour!" said Cormac when hugging his brother.

"I am glad you came brother." replied Eamon with a smile.

"Could not miss it for the world. Where are..."

"Interesting," cut off his mother "You did not betray such a sentiment when you missed his wedding."

Cormac sent an annoyed glare at his mother, who seemed content with his reaction. But when she noticed Eamon looking at her in much the same way. Her smile gave way to a frown. Eamon just shook his head and grabbed Cormac's shoulder.

"Where are your vassals? Shouldn't they guard you?" asked Cormac.

"Some are around here, some have free time. It's a festive day, I wanted them to enjoy it in a way they wanted." Eamon said, though he nodded in a direction where a huge man was standing. Looking awfully out of place. Must be one of the brawny ones.

A shout from a crowd caught Eamon's attention.

"Sorry brother, I will be back shortly." said Eamon as he disappeared in the waves of people.

Cormac turned awkwardly back at his mother and her entourage.

"Why have you come?" the mother hissed. "You are a stain to this family, a stain to your brother."

"Glad to have met you again too, Melissa."

"You will call me mother." she spat in anger. When she realized heads were turning into their direction, she regained her composure. "You should be content with what we provide to you and not show your face. You are to be forgotten, not seen."

"And yet here I am. Funny how things can turn out is it not, mother?"

As much as she must have been boiling inside, Cormac was unsuccessful with his poking. She did not raise her voice nor look at him differently then she usually did, with utter disdain.

Cormac left the conversation soon after, there was only so much disapproval he could stomach in a day and he was reaching his quota. The ceremony was beautiful. In the end, all of Eamon's vassals made an appearance. The group of seven looking far more comfortable with each-other than the adoring fans.

In a surprising twist, the king Arvar himself made an appearance. He was also the one that handed Eamon the medal he obtained by defeating a great cyclops and he kept company for his brother throughout the rest of the festivities.

Cormac made a silent escape from the celebrations with a bottle of strong spirits. He walked all the way to the city walls. As a lot of nobility was gathered, there was no one walking on the streets other than guards. A disgrace Cormac might have been, he was still far too above the guards for them to tell him anything, so he was granted entry to the walkway on the walls right away. He excused a pair of guards from their station and sat himself on the bench.

The view was immaculate. This was his favorite lookout spot in the capital, because he could see all the way through the lake valley. With the Copper mountain pass to the left, as well as Phoenix mountains to the right.

It was the one thing he got used to when he had to attend these types of ceremonies. Sneaking away here.

As he was slowly getting down to the very end of the bottle, he was watching the moon, like he always did. He was not looking for anything in particular, but it still helped him. It cleared his thoughts, calmed him down and washed all the unpleasantness of the world off of him.

His gaze was interrupted, when something erupted in the distance. It was a small explosion, all he could make out was a cloud of smoke suddenly emerging from somewhere far far away. The air steadily grew in strength as the cloud came closer and closer. A sense of something far worse than he ever felt overtook Cormac and without realizing it he started screaming.

---

He awoke into his own screams. He was in his bed, the first rays of light slowly appeared from the east. It took him a few minutes to figure out what happened, but then he ran to the mirror.

It was still his young, lean, bruised self. Whatever that...dream was. It felt very real.

Cormac looked out the window, over the lake. He couldn't see too far, but he would see the cloud from this point. There was nothing.

Cormac took a few deep breaths and calmed himself down. A new day was waiting for him.