The northern edge of Former Alaska was guarded not by ice, but by white stone. A castle of impossible scale rose where glaciers once ruled, its spires catching the morning light like sharpened pearls. Around its base, the capital city of Atlantea breathed with life—children wove through market stalls, fishermen mended nets salted by the sea spray, and the great 400-foot wall stood silent sentinel against a world that had already ended once.
Inside the castle's dining hall, Lord Nega Poseidonis was losing a war across a breakfast table.
"—and if you think for one moment that I'll just sit here while—"
The spoonful of soup froze midway to Nega's mouth. His wife Aleya's voice had become a familiar backdrop to his meals, a storm he'd learned to dine through. But this—this was different. This had teeth.
Ryan this, Ryan that. Gods above, did the boy have any idea the tempest he brewed from miles away? Was he the only man on earth with a son?
"You're not listening to a word I'm saying." Aleya's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp as shattered glass.
Nega lowered his spoon, the broth suddenly tasteless. "I am," he said, and the lie tasted familiar. "Every word."
She shot to her feet, chair screeching against marble. "Maids!"
Two women in dove-gray uniforms appeared soundlessly.
"Clear it. We're finished."
"But my soup—"
"Your soup is cold." She snatched the bowl from his hands, passing it to a maid without looking. "Like your concern for your own blood."
The humor drained from him then, leaving something tired and exposed. He watched the steam still curling from his abandoned meal and felt a absurd pang of loss.
"Aleya," he began, rising to meet her.
"Why?" The word was a weapon. "Why must you make me into some hysterical mother? Our son is not safe."
He moved toward the door, grabbing a bottle of wine and a glass from a watchful servant—a small rebellion. ""Cliffhaven was a backwater town with a backstabbing, gluttonous Duke playing governor." Arachis is a fortress. It's run by a King, for fate's sake. Winston could probably stop the tides if he put his mind to it."
She followed him into the bar room, her presence a heat at his back. "And yet an artificial null walked its halls. Your impregnable fortress. Breached."
He stilled, the wine bottle hovering over his glass. The memory was a cold stone in his gut. "Don't," he said, his voice low. "Those reports... what little Winston couldn't bury... I still see it when I close my eyes." He finally poured, the red liquid like blood in the crystal. "But they handled it. They *crushed* it. That's what matters."
"Cliffhaven was crushed yesterday." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and that was worse than her shouting. "They found the Rikash's body nailed to his gates. There wasn't even a single survivor."
The wine tasted sour. "What would you have me do, Aleya? Pull him out? Bring him here to hide behind walls instead of there, where he's learning to be strong? What protection is better than a King?"
"He's newly ascended," she said, the fight leaving her, leaving only a mother's fear. "I hear things. Whispers. That his control is... untested."
"A king is a king."
"Then send Baraccuda."
His glass hit the bar with a sharp click. "Your shadow? Your personal sword? You'd really send your own—"
"There is no one else I trust more with his life."
The fight went out of him then, replaced by a weary acceptance. He ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. But you'll have a full detail from the royal guard. I won't have you walking these halls alone." He reached for the bottle, a peace offering. "Now. May I have my drink back?"
Aleya took the glass from his hand instead, her fingers brushing his. She downed the wine in one go, a faint, victorious smile touching her lips. "You may not."
---
The wind on the helipad bit with a coastal chill. Baraccuda stood at attention, the twin black tattoos down his face like cracks in marble. The aircraft behind him hummed with latent power.
"I'm sorry to do this," Nega said, his hand firm on the man's shoulder. "But the Queen's mind is set. And my peace... well, it has a price."
"The Prince's safety is my purpose, my Lord. As is the Queen's." Baraccuda's bow was a precise, military thing.
"I've asked Winston for his permission. Don't make me regret it." Nega looked past him, toward the horizon where his son was. "It's a long haul. The world is... broken, between here and there. A few days, even pushing that thing to its limits."
Baraccuda simply nodded. "I will see it done."
The aircraft's engines whined to life, a scream that drowned all other sound. It rose, graceful and alien, then shot forward—a silver dart into the gray sky.
Nega watched until it was a speck, then a memory. He turned to the aide at his elbow. "Assign the Queen a new detail. The best we have. I want them with her before I take my next breath."
He walked back inside, the fortress walls feeling less like a shield and more like a gilded cage. The weight of the crown, the weight of fatherhood—they were the same.
"I can finally have peace," he muttered to the empty hall, and the words sounded like a prayer.