King Rega IV sat hunched over a stack of grim dispatches, the flickering lightbulb casting long, skeletal shadows across the throne room. Commander Vihan, a man whose face seemed permanently etched with the weariness of a losing war, stood stiffly beside him, pointing his finger at a particularly bloody tally.
"As you can see, Your Majesty, the losses at the Crimson Pass were… substantial. Another five hundred gone. And the Northern tribes show no signs of relenting." Valerius's voice was flat, the tone of a man reciting an unpleasant truth he'd delivered countless times.
Rega tossed the parchment onto the table, the sound echoing in the vast chamber. "Five hundred more. For what? Because my father, in his infinite wisdom, decided that free ase training for the general populace was… a drain on the royal coffers. Now we have a generation of soldiers who can barely conjure a decent shield spell. Why exactly are we even fighting this bloody war, Vihan?"
Vihan shifted uncomfortably. "It was… your father's will, Your Majesty."
Rega fixed the commander with a look that could have frozen magma. He debated, for a fleeting, dangerous moment, whether the man's staunch loyalty to a dead tyrant outweighed his usefulness. Before he could voice the dark thought, a nervous shuffling at the entrance of the throne hall drew his attention. A young servant, eyes wide with apprehension, stood just inside the massive oak doors.
"We're busy," Rega snapped, already reaching for one of the sleek, dark handguns holstered at his hip. "Go before I use you for target practice."
"Sir, I have… urgent news," the servant stammered, his gaze darting between Rega's menacing weapon and the imposing figure of the commander.
Rega sighed, the air leaving his lungs in a frustrated gust. "Fine. Go ahead. But if I deem this some trivial palace gossip, I'm shooting off one of your ears. Out with it." He leveled the handgun, the faint hum of contained light magic barely audible.
The servant swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "There are… multiple reports, Your Majesty. Of a child… with a green ase affinity, sir."
Commander Vihan's eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible! They are extinct."
"Are they not?" Rega echoed, his finger still resting lightly on the trigger. "The reports… are they credible?"
"Yes, very credible. Several nobles witnessed the attribute stone turn green themselves, sir," the servant said, his voice trembling slightly. "The last confirmed sighting was over two decades ago."
"Yeah, okay," Rega said, already losing interest and subtly adjusting his aim. "So what? A rare aseborn child. What does this have to do with me or the war effort?"
"Uh… well, your father… he made it of the utmost importance to inform him immediately if one was ever found, sir," the servant said nervously, his eyes pleading. "He… he authorized an award of two thousand gold coins for just information leading to finding one. Twenty thousand… for anyone who brought one in alive."
Rega's hand stilled. Twenty thousand gold coins was a king's ransom. "Twenty thousand? Why? Why would we offer such a ludicrous sum? Why exactly do we need a green aseborn?"
The servant could only shrug helplessly, his face a mask of terror, certain he was about to become intimately acquainted with the king's firearm.
"Go," Rega said abruptly, waving his gun dismissively. He hadn't actually intended to shoot the poor fool, but the surge of frustration was potent enough to make him reconsider if the servant lingered. "Just… get out of my sight." My father was a damn fool, Rega thought darkly. I should have put him down ages ago.
Commander Vihan stood silently, his usual military stoicism wavering slightly. "Sir… did you want me to continue my report on the disastrous troop deployments?"
Rega sank back onto his throne, the weight of his kingdom, his father's legacy of madness, and the baffling news of a aseborn child crushing him. "Proceed, Vihan," he said, the defeat heavy in his voice. "Proceed with the litany of our failures."