"Son, I am pleased beyond words that you're eager to show your respect, however..." the late King's statue stopped talking. His voice faded into the background as his statue began to move, the arms and legs bending and stretching as if it were alive, the hands clenched into fists and the eyes rolled back and forth, searching.
"However," he continued, "the Rite has rules. One must abide by them in order to gain victory and win the throne."
The statue then turned to the five heirs. The eyes glowed a brilliant crimson, the pupils dilating until they became a single, dark slit, the irises pulsating.
"The first trial is the Test of the Land—Hege'Ya, where the five of you must prove their loyalty to the kingdom." He paused for dramatic effect. "You must prove your loyalty not with words, but with dominion. Bring back seven tokens—one from each of the Seven Regions of Brunel. Earn them through diplomacy, conquest, or deceit."
A heavy silence followed. It seemed that the King had finished speaking and that no further questions were needed.
"Excuse me, father," Alisha's soft voice resounded throughout the garden, breaking the awkward atmosphere. "I have one question. Is there a time limit?"
The statue shook its head, a gesture that appeared almost human-like, the shoulders slumping and the arms hanging loosely. "There are no restrictions. However, I would advise you to not delay. After all, a dog that cannot fulfill his owner's demands is no more useful than a dead mutt."
Alistair laughed at the blatant insult. The fact that it had come from his father only made it funnier. The others did not seem to share his amusement. They stared at him as if they had never seen a laughing madman in their lives.
He jumped off the statue's shoulder, landing on his feet gracefully despite the height of his fall.. With no ceremony, no farewell, he walked past them toward the garden's exit.
But as he passed, he spoke—not to them, but to the air:
"The grass and mountains are the bones of Brunel.
The blood and flesh of its people are its soul.
A king who does not love the land loves nothing.
A ruler who neglects the people rules over a tomb."
He smiled to himself. "Well then, farewell."
"Hey, Alistair," Julius called out to him. He turned his head slightly and met his gaze. "Why did you come back?"
"What do you mean?"
"Your declaration. Why did you declare loyalty to the Kingdom instead of our father or the Gods?"
"Because I'm a loyal son—to Brunel. Not to our decaying father. Not to absent Gods."
"…That doesn't satisfy me," Julius said, brow furrowed, something that Alistair couldn't help but be perplexed at. The boy had grown, he guessed. "You've always been strange, Alistair. But this? This isn't just strangeness. This is intentional. You're calculating. What do you gain from serving a kingdom that gave you nothing? Are the rumors true? Or is it something worse?"
"Good question. Why protect something that never loved you back?
Why sacrifice for a country that exiled you like a blemish?"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Maybe I'm just too weak to stop loving it. Maybe I'm a fool.
Or maybe… I'm a masochist who finds meaning in pain."
"Aren't you afraid that such a path may lead to your own demise?" Aluin chimed in with a glare that could freeze hell itself.
Then, Alistair laughed. Not a laugh out of madness nor defiance, rather a pitiful and pathetic laugh. The kind of laugh that a battered man would do sitting alone in his dark cage.
"I think everyone is born with a reason. A role. Mine is to serve the land. That's all there is to it."
"And if that role kills you?" Aluin pressed.
Alistair looked once again to the clouds he loved so very much.
"You see, my sweet siblings. There's no Gods in the heavens who can save me. No angels who will answer my prayers. I am but a damaged soul, just like a shattered cup. My pieces scattered on the cold floor. But even a cup can be put together. So why not a man?"
He turned to them once more.
"I won't die. Because I have found meaning in my broken self.
And that, dear Aluin, is why I don't care. Not about the crown, and certainly not about father's approval. All that matters to me is to continue to serve the people and the land. We are not the same. The four of you were born into this legacy. I was created for it. I am not your brother—I am your curse."
The statue had gone still. Its head tilted, as if staring at its eldest son.
"And, curses, as I was told, cannot be broken." With that, he took a step and vanished from the sight of the world. In an instant, the skies cleared and the wind returned, as though the weather had changed to accommodate him. As though nature itself had acknowledged his presence, or perhaps welcomed it.
"Where do you think you're going?" Eulalia snapped. She stomped her feet in a tantrum. "We are not done here! Hey, can't you hear us?! Don't you ignore us!"
"Our fight just started, little princess." His voice whispered as leaves of gold and red fluttered in her wake, circling her and her sisters and brother. They danced around, twirling, whirling, until finally they were blown away. It was a mesmerizing and beautiful sight, and it brought tears to the eyes of many in the audience, but the young princess didn't know what to feel, not anymore.
"What a fool." Eulelia spat.
"Do you really think he's a fool?" Aluin inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes. Do you disagree, brother? He's clearly a madman, no matter how you look at him. He's an arrogant, selfish, egotistical bastard. Who in their right minds would dare to defy tradition, and more importantly, our Father? He is a traitor to everything that we hold dear, and I refuse to accept that we share blood. That monster... He's not worthy to bear the Branier name."
Alisha sighed, pinching her brows. Her expression was a mixture of exasperation and disbelief, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly, a small crease forming between her perfectly plucked eyebrows. "Eulalia, you are mistaken. Our brother is no madman or a traitor. If anything, his actions were the most rational course of action. By insulting the traditions of our forefathers and spitting at our late father's face, he was able to get the entire population of Brunel to focus on him, and him alone. Whether they support or hate him, he has gained an incredible amount of influence over their minds and their hearts. For now, his words and ideas are all that they will speak and write about. His deeds, whether good or bad, will shape the fate of Brunel."
"He did that intentionally," Aluin added. "That's his style, after all. Everything is a game, a chessboard. He is the player, while the rest of us are his pawns, waiting to be sacrificed when necessary. He has not forgotten a single thing that had happened to him. Even the smallest of incidents and accidents. To him, everything is an experience. Every mistake and failure is another lesson learned. A chance to learn and improve. I don't believe there's anyone alive that could surpass his understanding of the world, not even the great scholars of the south."
"My, Aluin, since when do you respect Alistair so much?" Alisha asked with a hint of surprise in her voice. "If memory serves, the last time the two of you talked to each other, you had thrown a knife at him."
Aluin chuckled, shaking his head in response. "Respect him? Of course not, dear sister. I simply understand him. Just because I know how a poisonous snake functions doesn't mean that I'd allow one near my bed. Well, I say that but..."
"He is the only thing we're talking about." They said in unison. Their faces broke into matching smiles.
A man with no army is no general. And the only thing the first heir has is himself. He was a man with no name, no family, no past, and no future.
His only identity was a number, the number of his birth.
Number one.
A prince who had never existed.
Yet was still—impossibly—alive.