Winter's frost carved Espeto's tragic memory into every corner of Helios' being. The king, having revealed the origin of the Strassfey lineage, expected something in return: his nephew's honest opinion on the tale that defined their house.
"Nothing is entrusted in vain. Now that you know our story, what do you make of it?" the king asked, his curiosity faint but present.
Helios answered without hesitation. "Honestly, Your Majesty, love seems the most twisted of all concepts."
The king, intrigued by his supreme commander's answer, paused. To him, love was the axis of existence, weaving fates, fuelling action, and giving meaning to life itself. Yet the god-king did not linger on sentiment; the reason for summoning Helios was far more essential—not only for himself, but for all of Auronis.
"Your answer deserves meditation, nephew. Let us hope the cruelty of this weather does not dull our discernment when the time comes," the king said, sealing the discussion on the Espeto Mimosa.
Leaving the painting behind, the sovereign ruler walked to the balcony, steps light but deliberate, revealing the true purpose of his summon.
"It may seem irresponsible for a ruler, but I care little for Auronis' fate in this war. What profit is there for a predator in hunting a dead prey? Despite the supposed clarity of your report, I know the war is already won," the king said, tilting his head back as he regarded Helios with indifferent eyes. The words chilled the warlord to the bone.
"Your Majesty…" Helios began, but the king would not pause for explanations. He continued:
"Be it Hoffens, Dovaka, Engelia, or Mythcraft, all fell under your command—a feat worthy of praise and elevation, magnificently accomplished before I summoned you. All that remains is the consolidation of the conquered territories—a mere exercise for a powerhouse such as the Night Dreads. Am I not correct?" A glare lingered in the king's eyes—dark and impenetrable, like the heart of night itself.
Knowing contradicting the king carried a price, Helios chose a careful path. "Your Highness is indeed right. But, if I may ask, how are you aware of every precise event on the battlefield?"
The frost that had claimed the balcony crept further, partially freezing the Espeto Mimosa and the king's resting place. Turning fully to his nephew, the god-king regarded him with a gaze sharp enough to pierce the dimming light, considering the question itself blasphemous.
Winter's bite lingered in the air as the king answered, his aura striking enough to faintly warm the room.
"Why do you ask? Because… I'm the king. It's that simple. What else could it be?"
Helios, aware of the god-king's insight and the cunning inaccuracy of his own report, focused sharply, every sense alert. The king, however, did not seek to unsettle him. With an ancient proverb, he eased the tension, shifting the subject without abandoning the weight of the conversation.
"Among the children of the cradle of the West, within the noble Akan tribe, there is a proverb I have long been accustomed to," the king began. "It claims that fresh water only comes from the mouth of the fish. In other words, no one can uncover the truths of your heart better than yourself. I also know of your secret affair with my daughter, Princess Victoria…"
The revelation brought a sudden weight back to Helios' chest, yet the monarch continued nonchalantly.
"Though it is… incestuous, I approve it."
Relief washed over Helios, mingled with a strange, unnameable sensation, brushing against his skin like a whisper he could not name.
"The Strassfey blood is scarce. It was shed to secure our current dominance. Yet it must never be diluted or eradicated. It must run thick and pure in the veins of future generations."
Caught off guard, Helios glimpsed the deepest layer of the god-king. The fog clouding his mind lifted; through subtle expression and posture, he saw the king reveal his own human imperfection.
"My days are numbered, nephew. I am but a shadow of what I once was, perhaps of what I have always been: a frail king," the monarch confessed, a faint, unsettling smile brushing his lips.
Helios' eyes widened. Words repeated themselves in his mind: "Stop… stop speaking in such manner… you are a god, not a mere mortal!"The revelation shook him—the realization that even divinities are prey to imperfection. Yet he could not bow to it. Clinging desperately to his own sense of godhood, he steadied himself.
"Even though I am yet to consecrate her," the king continued, "it is evident Victoria is my incontestable heir. My vision is her seated as sovereign of Auronis, with you by her side, your experience and knowledge solidifying her rule. Such is my will."
"So," the king asked, frost clinging to his body, "what do you think of my will, nephew?"
Helios absorbed the weight of the king's words. Only now did he grasp the full purpose of his summons. It was not merely to verify his reports, nor to assess the precision of his battlefield accounts. The king had intended something more subtle, more profound: after ten relentless years of war, Helios needed to live in Auronis, to breathe the life of the kingdom beyond the battlefield. A week of peace—a week removed from war's constant chaos—would allow his mind to clear, his judgments to be measured, and his answer to be grounded and rational.
The days he had spent with Victoria, though unforeseen by the king, became the living lesson he needed. Through her, he glimpsed what true love was, and in doing so, his understanding of the king's question deepened. The tranquillity of Auronis, combined with this unexpected experience, had granted him clarity—one that could never have been achieved amidst the fires of war.
Helios exhaled, cold and calm, letting the wind cleanse his mind before he spoke.
"To teach your majesty of our kind's history, of the religious beliefs we once held under captivity—the Lord of the Keys—would be sacrilege. I have always been fascinated by that cultic ideology: all hurdles symbolized mythic doors with sacred locks. Each lock has a key assigned. The prayers and meditations addressed to its deity were a way of life, elevating one's existence to the highest spheres of enlightenment, where all keys—answers—lie. Questions and answers intertwine; for just as there is no fire without smoke, a hurdle without a solution isn't a hurdle. And a question without an answer isn't a question."
The king, seeking to uncover the mysteries of Helios' heart, let his mind race to infinity, weighing and probing the depths of his nephew's words. They were words of polished wisdom.
"To be honest, I had an answer to this question long before your majesty summoned me back. But it seemed incomplete, lacking clarity… at least, to my liking," Helios spoke calmly, his gaze briefly resting on his cold palm. Then he approached the king, his presence pushing back the cruelty of the night's frost.
"But the time spent with Victoria, the story of our ancestors carved into that grotesque painting, and your own fragile health, uncle… all proved my answer to be indeed perfect. I was never wrong to begin with," Helios continued, his words delicate, his gaze both empathic and vague, until he stood face to face with his uncle.
The boldness in Helios' stance was enough for the king to read his mind, yet he refused to accept what had been foreseen.
In that moment, if Mother Nature revealed herself as an impartial frost impaling the dark night, then silence reigned unchallenged. Yet, without warning, a subtle, continuous sound pierced the fragile harmony of the king's chambers. Hugging the king tenderly—a gesture learned from the princess—Helios murmured into his ear, sending a shiver down the monarch's spine:
"Love is the essence of tragedy."
Following his words, crimson droplets kissed the king's sacred floors—too pure to be wine, thick enough to be blood, too sacred to be shed. A dagger, concealed by Helios beyond even the Abaddons' zealous vigilance, had been the instrument of the king's wounding.
Shocked beyond belief yet composed, the king felt his majestic blood drain, weakening him enough to bring him to his knees before a man of far lower standing.
Helios had stabbed him in the chest, avoiding vital organs. He did so believing that the last words of a figure once considered a god-king were as precious as the purity of rain and the illumination of the sun upon the heart of any field that graced the earth.
For one so precise in reading the course of nature, this outcome had long been foreseen among countless possibilities. Yet, even as his rationality confirmed the reliability of his observation, the sovereign ruler heart could not fully accept that Strassfey blood could prey upon itself.
As his strength abandoned him, his body teetering on the brink of collapse, he tipped forward. Before the cold could claim him, Helios caught him mid-motion, cradling his weight and preventing the fallen god-king from collapsing completely.
With diligence, Helios carried his uncle to bed, covering his dying body with heavy sheets to shield him from the cold, the dagger still planted in his chest. The king, dancing on the edge of death, breathed a fragile cadence—his breath already a melody hinting at a requiem yet to come—and, sensing its approach, clung only to the essentials of the moment.
He summoned the strength to voice a question that had long haunted his thoughts.
"What could surpass victory and honour for a warrior, nephew?" the king asked, his breath heavy, streaked with blood. The question was profound, so much so that Helios momentarily questioned the mortal etiquette he had imposed upon the king just moments before.
"I went as far as to honour you for your unyielding service—blessing you with my daughter's hand, offering the power of the crown upon a silver platter to fill the emptiness that tortured your soul. You are, and will forever be, my beloved nephew. Yet it was not enough. What is it that your heart truly desires, Helios?"
With serenity, Helios seated himself beside his fleeting uncle. Setting aside the might of a warrior, he took the king's hands in his, holding them with delicate care, before pressing them to his lips in a gesture of profound reverence.
"Your Majesty—you are, and will forever remain, my beloved uncle. That is beyond dispute. To grasp the scourge of flame upon one's skin, one need not recount an epic—only endure a single, vivid touch. I believe the culmination of my experiences will finally fill the emptiness within me."
"What of Victoria?" the king asked, his concern for her breaking through the haze of pain.
After gently setting the king's hands at rest, Helios turned away and walked back to the frozen balcony, where Auronis lay stretched beneath the winter night. He exhaled slowly, releasing the chill that weighed upon the moment, casting aside every emotion he deemed a hindrance to his fate—revealing, at last, the nature he had forged upon the battlefield.
"Uncle, tragedy is the curse that lingers in the shadow of every Strassfey who dares to love. My father—your younger brother—and even Your Majesty himself fell to it, just as our ancestors did. Victoria will, without doubt, be this malediction's final victim, sealing this accursed cycle once and for all. I shall break the chain that binds our bloodline by casting beneath the sun the very emotion I have always deemed cancerous. If your death legitimizes my ascension to godhood, then Victoria's death will complete it. I promise you this—she will not suffer."
"So… that is your answer?" the king murmured, his vitality ebbing away, as Helios remained silent.
As his eyes slowly closed, a single thought echoed through the king's fading mind:
"Father… I failed."
***
The King's Domain
The Abaddons and the Night Dreads were taken aback when song—soft, delicate—drifted through the king's domain. It was Princess Victoria, her voice carrying a joy so pure it seemed almost misplaced within these walls. She passed the guards stationed before the king's chambers faces of death, subordinates of her lover, standing as living barriers.
Victoria was unversed in military codes and the hierarchies of war. To her, there was no distinction between Abaddons and Night Dreads. In her eyes, they were just guards—men sworn to serve her father, the king.
She had long hesitated to confess her affair with the supreme commander to her father. Yet that night, knowing it would be Helios' last before returning to the battlefield, she resolved to seek her father's blessing. She believed such a gesture would seal their love—and grant Helios a safe return.
Fearful of punishment, the guards nonetheless yielded to her authority, allowing the heir of Auronis passage into the god-king's chambers. Once inside, Victoria closed the door at once, shutting out any chance of prying ears or wandering eyes.
What first struck her was Helios' presence. He stood alone on the balcony, unmoving in the cold, gazing out over Auronis. The sight unsettled her. She had not expected to find her beloved in her father's chamber—least of all at such an hour.
Before the princess could even think to call out to her beloved, something far too striking to ignore seized her attention. Droplets—thin trails of blood—led toward her father's resting place.
Confusion and wariness eclipsed her joy. The cruel winter no longer seemed to touch her, as though her body had grown resistant to the cold. Calmly, almost unwillingly, she moved toward her father's bed—a motion precipitated by Helios' words.
"Hasten your steps," he said without turning, "lest you miss your father's final words."
Before Victoria could fully grasp what she had heard, a familiar voice reached her.
"My dear princess…"
It was the king—calling his beloved daughter, perhaps for what seemed to be the last time.
Victoria rushed to him without hesitation. The sight of the dagger buried in his chest, of blood still streaming from the wound, shattered her composure. Tears spilled freely.
"Father—what has happened to you?!" she cried, before turning toward Helios. "What is the meaning of this, Helios?"
Even as she spoke, she pressed her trembling hands against the wound with careful restraint, fearful of worsening the injury as the dagger remained embedded in his chest, her touch guided more by dread than force.
Helios, who had stood motionless on the frozen balcony, engaged in what he deemed a profound meditation—enduring the cold without complaint as he watched over Auronis—was stirred by her voice. He knew that whatever answer he gave would mark the true genesis of the path he had chosen, one he would walk without guidance or reprieve.
Without his consent, his body betrayed him.
Tears escaped his eyes.
Though his weeping carried no sound, no overt grief, the mere act of it startled him—if only for a fleeting instant.
Winter, indifferent to his turmoil, claimed his tears at once, freezing them upon his cheeks. When the warlord finally turned from the balcony to face the king's domain—and the woman he was meant to love—the frozen remnants were carried away by empty, merciless winds.
"What is this, you ask?" Helios said calmly. "Can you not see it for yourself? This is the future!"
"What kind of future are you speaking of?" Victoria asked, tears streaming down her face.
"Your father—my uncle—though once divine, is now a relic of a fading age. His passing gives birth to a new era: the unification of the world through fire and blood."
"Are you serious?" she cried. "Is that why you stabbed him? Helios—why would you betray your own blood?"
"There is more to this war than territory," he replied. "Though I have already won it, the greatest burden still lies ahead. Our victory is my greatest creation—and what better hand to preserve it than mine? The king ruled as a divine monarch, but such an order no longer suits these times. With a heart weighed down by resolve, I struck him down. The hardest choices are not made by men—they are imposed by the heavens, upon those who must rise beyond the mere mortals."
"What about me, Helios? What about me?" she cried. "Are you going to cut me down as well? What do you make of the days we shared? I thought you loved me!"
Helios regarded her with quiet nostalgia as she pressed him, the last four days they had spent together unfolding in silence within his mind.
"I will not deny it," he said at last. "Those days with you were the most peaceful I have ever known. Though they stood outside our customs, it was you—without question—who taught me what love truly is. For that, you have my gratitude."
His words only deepened Victoria's confusion, feeding the fragile hope she clung to in the midst of despair.
Then Helios destroyed it.
"And that," he continued evenly, "is precisely why I must cut you down, Victoria."
"What… did you say?" she whispered.
"In a world ruled by power and dominion, your love would fester within me," he said. "It would weaken my resolve, stain my purpose. Just as I spared your father a disgraceful end claimed by decay, I will spare you in advance from the fate of becoming my undoing. For alive, you would be the crack through which all my enemies would reach me."
He met her gaze, unwavering; "You are my sole weakness."
"You call my love a weakness?" she asked, her voice breaking beneath the weight of his words.
With a vacant gaze steeped in an indifference without precedent, Helios answered Victoria's question with silence.
He did not need words.
Understanding that silence, her mind emptied, her heart fracturing all at once. As she sank into despair—deep enough to mirror Espeto's descent before Khādiʿ—the cold hand of her dying father closed around her trembling fingers, kindling a fragile spectre of light within the darkness.
"Victoria…" the king called softly.
She turned to him at once.
"To every man, his path," he said, his breath faltering. "And Helios has chosen his. Though it is poisoned, it is his alone. Forgive me… yet I name you the heir of Auronis."
Her breath caught.
"As its rightful queen, you must protect your motherland—and, if fate demands it, the world itself—from the hands of your cousin. For a world stripped of love is a world already dead."
"Why are you saying this, Father?" she cried. "Stay with me! Ruling has never been my calling—there is no way I will survive this!"
"It is alright," the king answered, smiling gently.
They said that, at the edge of death, one's life unfurled in a flood of memories. Yet as he rested his hand upon his daughter's head, only a single moment surfaced in King Victor's fading mind—the day he had first held Victoria as an infant, her tiny fingers curling around his own.
"Do not fear, my daughter," he whispered. "You will be a magnificent queen. No matter the realm in which your mother now sleeps, I know she is proud of you… as I am."
His strength ebbed.
"We will watch over you from above. Do your best."
And so it was—smiling, bathed in his own blood—that the man once revered as the most powerful ruler of his age yielded to serenity, entrusting the future of Auronis to his legitimate heir, his one and only daughter.
After a long struggle against denial, Victoria finally acknowledged her father's final breath.
The realization broke her.
A thunderous scream of despair tore through the king's chambers, violent enough to pierce stone and soul alike—an alarm that instantly set the Abaddons and the Night Dreads on edge.
"Father!!!"
Drawn by the princess's cry, the warriors burst into the monarch's chambers. Before they could even grasp the shape of the scene before them, Victoria's voice rang out, sharp and absolute.
"Arrest this man! He murdered the king! He is a traitor to the crown!"
As winter continued to spread its merciless frost without regard for any living soul, time itself seemed to slow down within the chamber.
On one side stood the Abaddons—sworn shields of the king—struck first by dishonour for having failed their sovereign, and then by disbelief. Before them was a man they had never once suspected of even the faintest seed of treason. And yet… they knew the princess would never cast such an accusation lightly, least of all upon the Supreme Commander.
On the other side stood the Night Dreads, seized by confusion. They had marched through hell under Helios's command, yet the king was a figure before whom even the monarch of the forest would bow. The weight of what they were witnessing defied comprehension.
Then Helios looked at them.
A single gaze—cold, absolute, merciless.
His aura surged, stirring something buried deep within them, forcing their minds to return to the words he had once spoken, four days earlier at the fountain. Words that now resurfaced with brutal clarity.
"For in exactly five days, the world shall be turned upside down. Only then will we learn whether we are carved from the same wood."
The sentence settled deep within the Night Dreads, heavy with memories of gratitude. Their Supreme Commander—distant, severe—had nonetheless been the very reason they still breathed. In that moment, though he spoke no further, they heard the unspoken invitation clearly: a return to the battlefield they had always known.
The Abaddons, on their part, reached a calm and resolute conclusion. Helios was to be arrested. In their eyes, his guilt was beyond question.
But they never had the chance.
Medraut moved first.
At his signal, the Night Dreads struck—swift, merciless, and precise. Blades tore through flesh and bone, decapitating the first line of Abaddons before they could even raise a cry. Heads flew like crimson ornaments, limbs scattered across the floor, and the air filled with the metallic stench of blood. Those who still breathed fell in convulsions, their bodies a chaotic tableau of shattered honour and shattered flesh, leaving the king's chamber drenched in the carnage of betrayal and obedience alike.
Blood splashed across Victoria's face and chest, warm and unforgiving, carrying with it the last proof of her father's authority being erased. In that instant, a single thought—born of terror and despair—tightened around her heart and began to choke the life from her very being.
"Am I really going to die here? Is this the end!?"
"You chose the right path, Medraut," Helios praised his loyal servant, acknowledging the other men in the room with a glance.
"Thank you, my Lord. We shall follow you to the ends of the earth, if you desire. But I must ask… what of the princess?" Medraut inquired.
Slowly, Helios unsheathed his sword and approached the trembling Victoria.
"His majesty… has succumbed to his illness," Helios said, his voice calm, yet carrying the weight of inevitability. "And Princess Victoria… unable to bear her father's passing, has ended her own life."
With a respectful bow, Medraut and the Night Dreads fell in line with their commander's command, their silence acknowledging the grim truth of the moment.
Victoria, lost in shock, stared blankly at Helios, unable to comprehend that the man she loved—her only love—was poised to take her life.
With grim resolve, Helios raised his sword.
"Farewell, my one and only weakness."
But before he could execute his judgment, a strange, whitish, glittering kaleidoscope began to swirl through the king's chamber. The phenomenon bewildered Victoria and the Night Dreads, yet Helios felt a stir of familiarity deep within him—an untamed hatred awakened. Rage flared in his heart, and a shadow of surprise crossed his face as he questioned what he was witnessing.
"Sorcery?"