[7 years ago]

FLASH! BLAAAST! Rumble—rumble, rumble…

Dark clouds amassed like aggrieved protestors, brooding and ominous. Lightning streaked across the heavens in bold, rebellious slashes, while thunder rumbled deep belly-laughs, mocking the earth beneath.

The palace of Soulnaught, usually a beacon of opulence and power, stood under siege by the weather.

Its towering spires and expansive courtyards, designed to awe and intimidate, were instead beleaguered by gusts that swept through archways and corridors with unruly disdain.

Rain lashed at the stone façades, as if trying to cleanse the palace of its impending new ruler's influence.

The coronation day of King Burn.

Inside, the grand hall was a fortress against the storm’s ire, filled with the rich and the powerful, their garments a tapestry of the kingdom’s wealth.

Yet, the air was thick not just with anticipation, but with a palpable tension, as eyes turned not only towards the throne but also sideways, measuring allies and adversaries alike.

King Belezak of Edensor, a seasoned ruler with a keen sense for theatrics of power, watched the proceedings with a wry, knowing look.

As Burn stepped forward to receive the crown, Belezak couldn't help but note the irony: here was a man who sought to control a kingdom, yet couldn’t command the sky.

Look outside. The storm clashed with the ceremonial grandeur, serving as a crude reminder of nature’s indifference to human affairs.

Burn’s crowning moment was bathed not in sunlight but in the erratic glow of lightning, casting long, sinister shadows that flickered like doubts about his future reign.

As the crown settled on Burn’s head, the thunderclap that followed seemed less an applause and more a warning shot.

Belezak mused silently, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. The pageantry was impeccable, the alliances and betrayals hidden beneath layers of silk and smiles, all while the storm raged unabated outside.

It was, he thought, would be a perfect metaphor for Burn’s rule: tempestuous, unpredictable, and as divided as the heavens above.

The strong will be the winner. The winner takes all.

Despite being a younger son not born to the queen and a child of an extramarital affair, he still ascended to the throne. The bastard of Pendragon, Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon.

Belezak glanced at the older brother standing not far from the coronation stage. Despite seeing his younger brother rise to the throne, he looked unperturbed.

Clarent Soulcrest Pendragon… maybe his fate was much worse than his younger brother.

As the coronation ceremony gave way to the evening's festivities, the grand banquet hall of the Soulnaught palace unfolded as a spectacle of opulence.

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Tables laden with sumptuous feasts stretched across the marbled floor, each dish more lavish than the last, reflecting the new king's ambitions as clearly as the polished silverware.

Candelabras cast a warm glow over the faces of attending nobles, their flickering lights mirroring the cautiously optimistic chatter that filled the air.

From Belezak's perspective, the banquet was less a celebration and more a strategic stage for alliances and displays of loyalty.

He noted the undercurrents of power at play, the subtle jockeying for favor beneath the veneer of cordial toasts. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and rich sauces, mingling with the sharper tang of political intrigue.

Encouraged to indulge in both food and conversation, Belezak navigated the event with a seasoned eye, engaging in dialogues that were as much about probing intentions as they were about pleasantries.

Here, amid the clinking of glasses and the soft strains of court musicians, the game of thrones continued unabated, each smile and handshake a measured move in the grand chessboard of royal politics.

But suddenly…

“King Belezak Edensworn.”

It was a voice, deep and chilling, slicing through the festive din like a blade through silk.

Belezak turned, an eyebrow arching in surprise as he found himself facing Burn, the freshly crowned king of Soulnaught.

The setting was odd for such an encounter, draped in the opulence of the post-coronation banquet, yet here stood Burn, choosing to engage with Belezak over any other monarch present.

The air around them seemed to thicken, charged with an undercurrent of tension that contrasted sharply with the mirthful clatter of the hall.

Burn’s approach was unexpected—strategically puzzling, even. The Wintersin Empire's Crown Prince was here, along with the king of Inkia and other luminaries of equal or greater political weight.

Each would have been a more predictable target for a nascent king’s charm offensive. Yet, Burn’s icy gaze was fixed on Belezak, a king of a prosperous but strategically less crucial realm.

Belezak, ever the observer of royal theatrics, couldn't help but marvel at the audacity—or perhaps the calculated disregard—for courtly protocol.

His response was measured, the tone seasoned with a blend of irony and regal composure.

"King Burn," Belezak replied, his voice smooth but edged with a hint of frost to match Burn’s. "To what do I owe the honor of this... uniquely prioritized greeting?"

Burn's smile was thin, unreadable, the sort that could precede a toast or a duel. "King Belezak, I find the geography of our kingdoms... intriguing. Neighbors across the Sirensong Ocean, yet worlds apart in our methods, wouldn't you say?"

Belezak’s mind raced, piecing together the potential implications behind Burn’s cryptic words.

The mention of geography was a veiled nod to more than just physical borders—it hinted at political landscapes, at the undercurrents that defined the delicate balance of power between their nations.

"Indeed," Belezak conceded, his reply tinged with the caution of a chess player contemplating a risky but potentially game-changing move. "The waters between us do seem to reflect more than just the light of the moon tonight."

“But seriously, though, why me? You could have greeted anyone else here. Is it some sort of safety measure because anyone else would be too difficult?” Belezak curiously—wittily asked.

“I've already mentioned our geographical proximity and our differing methods, yet you still wonder why I approached you first?” Burn responded, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement.

Belezak was now thoroughly puzzled.

“Well, disregard all that I said, because, in truth, it doesn’t matter,” Burn declared, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “In this hall, you are the only one I deem worthy of a greeting.”

Burn turned slightly, his gaze drifting towards the door. “Too much for an icebreaker, Your Majesty?”

Belezak blinked in confusion when Burn left the hall without turning back. He didn’t even look at anyone else, as if they truly had no value.

Belezak couldn’t help but to grin.

“Crazy bastard.”

***

Belezak Edensworn died on his trip back to Edensor after attending Burn’s coronation.