Gab Kingdom — Capital City — IrasVal
In the pure-white castle that represented the splendor of the Kingdom of Gab, the mood was dark.
The halls were quieter than usual.
Servants spoke in whispers.
Guards stood at their posts with solemn expressions.
Black cloth covered several of the royal insignias.
The kingdom was mourning.
Yet even amidst the grief—
Prince Adrean Gab was working.
The mountain of a man who had always considered himself strong as steel was doing his best not to bend.
Reports were stacked across his desk.
Military assessments.
Border reports.
Casualty lists.
Diplomatic correspondence.
And, sitting directly on top of everything—
A report concerning Lucien's death.
Adrean stared at it.
He had been staring for several minutes.
He finally closed his eyes.
A knock came at the door.
Adrean didn't look up.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Footsteps entered the room.
Adrean finally turned.
There stood his father.
King Helvos Gab.
The king looked older than he had before the Red Tide.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that someone who knew him well would notice.
His shoulders seemed heavier.
His eyes carried exhaustion.
Yet he remained composed.
"Have you been well?"
Adrean looked at him.
"I am trying."
Helvos nodded.
"That's all anyone can ask."
He walked toward the desk.
Several chairs stood nearby.
Rather than taking the one opposite his son, Helvos chose the chair beside him.
For several moments—
Neither spoke.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
It was simply the silence shared by two people who didn't know what to say.
Eventually—
Adrean looked toward his father.
"Father."
Helvos turned.
"Tell me something."
"Anything."
Adrean looked down at the documents.
Then slowly closed the report in front of him.
"Why did you raise us as brothers?"
Helvos remained silent.
Adrean continued.
"Not as rivals."
The king's expression changed slightly.
Adrean stared at the closed report.
"Every royal family I've ever studied has done it differently."
"Princes compete."
"They gather supporters."
"They build factions."
"They cultivate armies."
"They try to make themselves indispensable."
He gave a quiet, humorless laugh.
"Sometimes they even kill one another."
Helvos said nothing.
Adrean finally looked at him.
"But you never allowed that."
"You made us brothers."
"Why?"
The king took a slow breath.
"Do you think this would have been easier if I hadn't?"
Adrean considered the question.
"No."
"Then why ask?"
"Because I want to understand."
Helvos looked toward the window.
Beyond the glass, the capital stretched beneath the fading afternoon light.
"The answer begins with my father."
Adrean remained silent.
"When your grandfather died, I was not the eldest son."
Adrean's eyes narrowed.
"No."
Helvos shook his head.
"I was one of several."
"And your uncle Solar was another."
"The succession had already been decided on paper."
He paused.
"But paper does not decide who sits upon a throne."
"People do."
"And people have ambitions."
Adrean slowly leaned back.
Helvos continued.
"When your grandfather died, the family fractured."
"Brothers chose sides."
"Cousins raised armies."
"Nobles bought loyalty."
"Generals changed allegiance."
"The palace became a battlefield."
Adrean's jaw tightened.
"And you survived."
"Yes."
"At what cost?"
Helvos didn't answer immediately.
When he finally did—
"Your mother."
"Your aunt."
"Several of my brothers."
"Most of the people who had once called themselves family."
Adrean lowered his eyes.
Helvos's voice remained calm.
That somehow made the story worse.
"I remember being told that I needed to choose."
"Choose which brother to trust."
"Choose which brother to betray."
"Choose which family member should live."
"And which one should die."
He looked toward Adrean.
"I was young."
"But I understood something."
"What?"
"If becoming king required me to turn my family into enemies..."
"...then the throne was already too expensive."
Adrean remained silent.
Helvos continued.
"Your uncle Solar and I survived."
"Not because we were stronger than everyone else."
"We simply refused to kill each other."
Adrean looked toward him.
"You trusted him."
"I did."
"And he trusted you."
"He did."
Helvos smiled faintly.
"That was enough."
A long silence followed.
Then Adrean asked:
"So when Lucien and I were born..."
"You were afraid."
Helvos nodded.
"Very."
"Not of either of you."
"Of what everyone else would do to you."
Adrean's expression softened.
"The nobles?"
"The court."
"The military."
"The families surrounding the throne."
"They would have taught you to compete."
"Then they would have taught you to fear one another."
"Then eventually..."
Helvos looked down.
"...they would have taught one of you that the other was an obstacle."
Adrean said nothing.
Helvos leaned back.
"I refused."
"Why?"
"Because I had already seen what happened when brothers were raised to believe that only one of them could matter."
His eyes hardened.
"I would not repeat it."
Adrean looked down at his hands.
"You made us share everything."
"Not everything."
Adrean smiled faintly.
"Almost everything."
"Your tutors."
"Your meals."
"Your military instructors."
"Your celebrations."
"Your punishments."
"You even made us train together."
"You complained about that."
"I hated it."
Helvos smiled.
"I know."
Adrean laughed quietly.
For the first time in days—
A genuine laugh escaped him.
It disappeared quickly.
But Helvos noticed.
Adrean looked toward the floor.
"What about the throne?"
Helvos understood the question.
"When did you decide that I would inherit?"
"I didn't."
Adrean looked up.
"You didn't?"
"I decided that whoever proved capable of carrying Gab would inherit."
"Whether it was you or Lucien."
Adrean stared at him.
"You would have given the throne to Lucien?"
"If he had been better suited."
The answer came without hesitation.
Adrean's expression became complicated.
"Then why did everyone assume it would be me?"
"Because you were stronger."
Helvos paused.
"But strength alone was never enough."
Adrean looked toward the report.
Lucien.
His brother.
His friend.
His rival only in games and training.
Now gone.
"And now?"
Helvos didn't need to ask what he meant.
"Now you are the heir."
Adrean closed his eyes.
"I know."
"And everyone will expect you to become your grandfather."
Adrean opened his eyes.
Helvos's expression hardened.
"They will tell you that strength means never bending."
"That grief is weakness."
"That mercy is weakness."
"That hesitation is weakness."
"They are wrong."
Adrean stared at him.
"A king is allowed to grieve."
"A king is allowed to love."
"A king is allowed to doubt."
"But eventually..."
Helvos placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
"...he must decide."
Adrean swallowed.
"And if I fail?"
Helvos looked directly into his eyes.
"Then you fail."
Adrean blinked.
The king continued.
"You will make mistakes."
"You will lose people."
"You will make decisions you regret."
"That is what ruling means."
"But you will not face it alone."
Adrean's eyes lowered.
"What about Lucien?"
Helvos became silent.
For several seconds—
The king struggled to answer.
"He was your brother."
"He was my son."
"And he will remain both."
Adrean's jaw tightened.
"I should have protected him."
Helvos immediately shook his head.
"No."
Adrean looked at him.
"You cannot carry every death in this kingdom upon your shoulders."
"But I—"
"No."
Helvos's voice was firm.
"Do not turn Lucien's death into a punishment for yourself."
"Honor him."
"Remember him."
"But don't destroy yourself trying to resurrect someone who is gone."
Adrean looked away.
Outside, the bells of IrasVal began to ring.
Slowly.
Mournfully.
The sound traveled through the palace.
Helvos stood.
Adrean remained seated.
Before leaving, the king stopped beside the door.
"You asked why I raised you as brothers."
Adrean looked toward him.
"Yes."
Helvos smiled faintly.
"Because I wanted at least one thing in this family to survive the throne."
Then he left.
Adrean remained alone.
The bells continued ringing.
He looked down at Lucien's report.
For several seconds—
He did nothing.
Then he opened it again.
Not as a grieving brother.
Not entirely.
But as the future king.
And for the first time—
He understood what his father had spent his entire life trying to prevent.
The throne did not destroy families by itself.
People did.
And now—
It was his responsibility to make sure Gab did not become another one.