Date: July 17, 542 After the Fall of Zandra the Dishonorable
Two days had passed since Kazai visited the academy. Two days during which he barely slept, sorting through reports, signing decrees, and meeting with those who had yet to decide where their self-interest lay. Hlis reported on the progress of construction and supply deliveries.
Today, Kazai decided to personally inspect the longhouses—the very buildings intended to shelter families who had lost their homes during the recent wars and purges. They were being built on the outskirts, where before there had been only rotting swamps and the rare hovels of outcasts. Now three long, low buildings of dark stone and wood rose there, connected by covered walkways.
The morning was cold but clear. The fog had lifted, and the Dead Swamp revealed its true features for the first time in a long while—grey, grim, but no longer as hopeless as before. Kazai walked along the trodden path, his boots leaving clear prints in the damp earth.
Hlis, as always, followed him.
"How many families have already moved in?" Kazai asked without turning.
"Forty in the first house, your majesty," the Adept replied. "Thirty-five in the second. The third is still empty, but people from the outlying villages are supposed to be brought in this week."
"Conditions?"
"A roof overhead, a hearth, a shared kitchen. Each family has a separate room. A dining hall and washrooms for all. The children have been enrolled in the academy, the adults work on construction sites or in the workshops."
"And how are they?" Kazai stopped at the entrance of the first house.
"Afraid," Hlis answered honestly. "But grateful. Many are sleeping for the first time in years not in filth or under the open sky. There are, of course, those who complain—not enough space, poor food. But they are few."
"Send the complainers to the logging camps," Kazai said coldly. "For a month. If they don't understand—forever."
"Already done, your majesty," Hlis allowed himself a brief, almost invisible smile.
Kazai entered.
The corridor was cramped but clean. The walls were painted in a light color, and the sparse oil lamps cast yellow glimmers. The smells of porridge and bread drifted from the kitchen. Somewhere a child was crying, somewhere men were arguing—ordinary, rough life.
When they saw the King, the residents froze. Women clutched their children, men lowered their gazes and backed toward the walls. No one knew what to do—bow, fall prostrate, or flee. Kazai decided for them.
"Carry on," he said, walking toward the far room. "I'm just looking."
He glanced into one of the family rooms. A small space, two cots, a table, a chest. On one cot sat a young woman with a baby in her arms. Beside her, a girl of about five. Both stared at the King with wide eyes.
"What's your name?" Kazai asked the woman.
"Leyra, your majesty," she whispered, growing pale.
"Husband?"
"Killed in a raid, your majesty. Half a year ago."
"And you're raising the children alone?"
"Yes, your majesty."
Kazai was silent for a moment. He looked at the woman, at her trembling hands, at the fear in her eyes. She was waiting for a verdict—maybe he would throw her out onto the street, maybe take her children away. But Kazai only nodded.
"You're managing," he said. "That's good. The Kingdom needs people like you. If you face difficulties, speak to the commandant."
He left, leaving the woman bewildered. Hlis was already waiting for him in the corridor.
He walked through the whole house, glanced into the kitchen, the common dining room, checked the water and firewood supplies. Everything was in order—as much as was possible in the Dead Swamp.
The second house was noisier. Mostly families with children lived here, and the children, unlike the adults, were not afraid of the King. They ran through the corridors, played tag, hid around corners. When they saw Kazai, they would freeze for a moment, then grow bold and study him with curiosity.
One boy, about seven years old, ran almost right up to him.
"Can you really summon spirits?" he asked, craning his neck.
"I can," Kazai answered.
"Show me?"
"No time," Kazai neither smiled nor grew angry. "Go play."
The boy ran off, and his voice, ringing with delight, echoed down the corridor.
"Look, he said he can! He really can!"
Kazai shook his head and headed for the exit.
"The children are our future, your majesty," Hlis said when they stepped outside. "And they are already drawn to you."
"They are drawn to power," Kazai corrected. "Like everyone. And I am its embodiment. Nothing personal."
He looked at the third building, which was still empty. The builders were finishing the interior work, and new families were to be moved in within a few days.
"Hlis," Kazai said. "When you're done with your tasks, find the Seer. Tell him I agree to go."
"You've decided, your majesty?" the Adept asked, a shadow of worry in his voice.
"I've decided it's time to learn the truth," Kazai answered. "About the place he's calling me to. About what awaits me there. And whether it's worth going."
Hlis wanted to say something but thought better of it. He bowed.
"It shall be done."
They returned to the Hall of Ancestors as the sun was already sinking toward the horizon. Long shadows stretched across the paved street, and the Dead Swamp once again sank into grey twilight. Kazai ascended to his chambers, shed his cloak, and sat by the window.
Hlis remained standing by the door, not daring to break the King's silence.
"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?" Kazai asked without turning around.
"I think, your majesty, that you always do the right thing," Hlis replied.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I can give." Hlis paused. "I believe in you. I have believed since the day I first saw your eyes. You weren't mistaken then. You won't be mistaken now."
Kazai was silent. He looked at the lights of the new houses, at the shadows of the guards patrolling the walls, and thought about how he would soon have to leave all of this behind. For a time. Or forever.
"Hlis," he said at last. "Prepare everything for my departure. In a month, I set out."
"Your majesty…"
"Don't argue," Kazai interrupted. "You are staying in charge. Watch over the Kingdom."
"If I don't return," Kazai turned to him, and there was no fear in his eyes, "the crown will be inherited by whoever is worthy. You know who that is."
Hlis flinched.
"I will not allow you not to return," he said firmly.
"That's not for you to decide," Kazai replied.
He turned back to the window. Hlis understood the conversation was over, bowed, and left.
Kazai remained alone. He watched the setting sun, and his thoughts were far away—beyond the mountains, beyond the forests, in the place where the strongest of his people had once perished.
He was not afraid of death. He feared only one thing—that his Kingdom would crumble without him. But Hlis was a loyal aide. And the children, those who had looked at him with awe today, would raise their swords tomorrow.
Kazai smirked and closed his eyes.