“You take the sword and kill the bastard son! Easy as baking a lemon pie!” said the jock as he did a swinging and jabbing demonstration. “Now you try, Coth. Show us your skills.”

  “But I’ve never wielded a sword before other than a fake one,” Cothbrenias replied, taking the blade from the jock.

  The jock tutted. “A fake sword is a sword nonetheless—the only difference is it will bruise you if you are uncareful with a real one. Rest assured you know their juxtaposition.”

  “Isn’t this a bad time to have a discussion about authenticity?” inquired the woman while she sharpened her dagger. “He's not interested anyway. You’re better off educating a pig.”

  The jock sneered, rubbing his angular chin. “At least a pig has got something to live for. Coth’s reason to live is far different than any woman out there on the street.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Vakkon?”

  The jock, Vakkon, smiled as he finished tightening the cross-straps around Cothbrenias’ chest. “Well, well, well, revealing our names is heresy amongst these lots, Carlia.”

  Carlia pursed her lips, feigning surprise. “You did not just—”

  “I did,” Vakkon said as he walked away from Cothbrenias and planted a kiss on Carlia’s lips. “What are you going to do about it, huh? Stab me in the back like you did last time?”

  Cothbrenias analyzed a large scar beneath Vakkon’s shoulderblade in the shape of a knife, realizing that he was physically and metaphorically stabbed in the back.

  “What would Honestria do with this one besides use his appearance to please his female servants?” Carlia chuckled.

  “Shut up,” Cothbrenias replied in angst. “I can do this. Just give me the sword and I’ll show you that you’re wrong.”

  Both Carlia and Vakkon cackle, holding onto one another as the latter breaks out more violently into tears. “Are you serious?” he said, wiping his eyes. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  Vakkon unsheathes his sword and hands it by the blade to Cothbrenias, who takes it by the handle.

  “You were supposed to take it by the bladed part, child,” Carlia commented, rolling her eyes.

  Cothbrenias firmly grasped the handle. “Why’s that a good idea when I’d end up cutting myself?”

  “It appears as if you have missed the first step in becoming a warrior, and ascending beyond your current limitations.”

  “What?”

  “Allow me to inform you if you are puzzled,” Vakkon began, taking the sword from Cothbrenias’ grasp with ease. “Rule number one of Ascension: never fear pain, for it will guide you down a pathway of misguided blokes and maidens of the night.” Vakkon cleared his throat. “Rule number two of Ascension: always expect pain—for pain is a natural part of the human condition and as a result, necessary to ascension.”

  “That’s a bunch of bullocks!” Cothbrenias retorted, tone breathy as he clenched his chest. “Why would any of this dying and suffering be atoned for by some morbid philosophy of life?”

  “You don’t get it…pig,” Carlia admonished. “This isn’t about following a code of ethics; it’s about survival—sometimes following a certain worldview helps you survive in situations.”

  Vakkon nodded as he extended the sword by the blade to Cothbrenias, who this time, took it by the blade, merely cutting through the gloves and slashing his hand open, causing the latter to wince as fresh crimson smeared on the shiny metal.

  “See? That’s how you handle passing the torch of pain to another. Now all his pain is given to you now,” Carlia announced in a biting tone. “You see how easy it is to achieve just a few steps of ascension?”

  Cothbrenias poured an ointment on his wound, wincing as it bubbled around the slash. “Pain allows me to ascend? What type of freakshow is this, the Honestria special?”

  “You got a lot to learn, child,” Vakkon replies while pushing Cothbrenias down a pit, causing him to slide at full speed and land in a pile of pig slop, which ruins his outfit’s ripeness and the sword’s gleam in the process.

  “You two have got a lot of seeing the outside world to do,” Cothbrenias muttered as he wiped the pig manure off his face. He picked up his sword and wiped some off of it as well, sheathing it and walking with quiet, collected precision in the direction of eternal darkness, a hallway without light or darkness—there was nothing but him and the sound of his ragged breathing.

  A source of light slowly came into distance as he continued until he could see the opposite end of the system, a big beam of light that led him into a vast enclosure stadium in the middle of a coliseum. Around him, the peasants and higherups of society screamed; some booed while some cheered for him, knowing full well exactly who he was. It was not common for the prince to be in some sort of gladiator-like experience, but here Cothbrenias was, covered in manure while he clasped his hands behind his back and looped around a pillar, his boots kicking up dust and sand as he did so.

  “Ladies and gentleman!” shouted an announcer, a large burly man with scruffy sideburns and an exposed underside. “Today, we have a very special guest joining us in the arena! It is none other than the prince and heir to the throne, Cothbrenias Von Zoloto!”

  The crowd cheered in awe at the fashionably dressed Cothbrenias who stood unflappable in the face of all the spectators. Scanning the crowd, his eyes landed on his father, King Zoloto, who gave an indifferent expression followed by a dismissive flick of the wrist.

  The announcer cleared his throat, shouting: “On today’s show, it’ll be Cothbrenias V. Tigress, the most fearsome tiger in all of Bastion Zoloto. Who will it be, Cothbrenias’ head or Tigress’ skin? Tune in in ten seconds to find out!”

  “Slay the tiger and they call you a beast. Let the tiger slay you and they call you weak. Don’t slay the tiger and let it slay itself, and they call you…king” Cothbrenias muttered as he clenched his sword in the direction of distant roaring, readying himself for what was to come.

  The tiger was escorted out on chains by three large Knights of Zoloto; one pulled from the front, one on the left and one on the right. Its mouth was guarded, but there still escaped drool from its gums and sharp fangs, a testament to the beast that must be slain.

  As the tiger was released from its restraints and the Knights of Zoloto ran off before the gated wall behind them rolled down entirely, Cothbrenias aimed his sword in the direction of the charging tiger. In one swift motion, Cothbrenias leaped up into a front flip, completely dodging the tiger as it rammed its head against a concrete pillar, causing it to bleed from its head.

  The crowd cheered as the tiger’s blood blinded it in one eye as it fiercely clawed at the air in Cothbrenias’ direction, indicating that it could still see him with one eye. As was true when it charged against in his direction, only for Cothbrenias to do a rolling motion underneath as the tiger leaped in the air.

  “Rule three,” Cothbrenias began, sheathing his blade and running with his arms behind his back. “Never forget to predict those whose ascendancy does not align with yours. Predict their motions, become them, and then un-become what they lack—ascendancy.”

  Cothbrenias and the crowd of onlookers watched as the tiger rammed its head into a sconce, impaling its head and setting its fur ablaze. The crowd went silent as the announcer blared the horn of victory. Zoloto’s expression dropped from previous indifference into genuine fear as Cothbrenias unsheathed his sword and aimed it in his direction; despite the 100 meter difference between them, Cothbrenias held his grip high at the latter’s direction, causing him the tremor.

  The announcer uncrouched, standing up to clap and shout:“Well, ladies and gentlemen, it appears as if Cothbrenias Von Zoloto reigns supreme over the now defeated Tigress!”

  Cothbrenias saw the gates open behind him, letting Carlia and Vakkon into the stadium center, the two of them with mixed expressions; Carlia entered from his left with an eager expression while Vakkon entered from his right with an expression of challenge.

  “You did well, Coth,” Vakkon said, patting his back lightly.

  Carlia offered an amiable smile as the crowd roared behind them. “There’s still a lot to learn, son of Zoloto. But you have done something that me and my partner here could only dream of doing.”

  Cothbrenias did not smile back; he offered a look of annoyance as he glanced at his father leaving his respective seat, as did many other peasants and higherups who exited the coliseum.

  “What now?” he asked, sheathing his sword on his utility belt and dusting off dried pig feces. “Is there anywhere for me to go without my father’s lineage right to rule killing me?”

  “There’s a place,” Carlia responded with a smile. “You’ll love it in Dale.”

  Vakkon noticed Cothbrenias’ perplexed expression and said, “Dale is a special village district on the outskirts of Bastion Zoloto. It will keep you safe until Zoloto dies. In the meantime, lay off a little on the gymnastic gimmicks.”

  As the two of them walked off, Cothbrenias overheard Carlia say, “When did an isolated child learn gymnastics from? I find that fascinating.”

  “I turn around and ask, but what difference would that make—” Vakkon responded, voice growing more distant.

  “Everything,” Cothbrenias muttered, walking in the direction of the gated fence where Tigress came from.

  ~~~

  Cothbrenias was escorted out the city walls by about a dozen Knights of Zoloto, soon to be under his command, and then was told to walk to Dale where he would be exiled for his victory by Zoloto himself in a decisive mood of defeat.

  April 24th, 1446 (34 years earlier)...

  At age seventeen, Cothbrenias had grown five inches, becoming taller than his father. His hair flew fast around his neck and barely reached his shoulders. He obtained a reputation in Dale for his skills in archery, gymnastics and martial arts. That is when he met a village girl who stood out amongst the rest that flocked to him whenever he was out and about. Her name was Hexarexachrona, a beautiful girl of hourglass proportions with curly blond hair, peach colored skin, and indigo irises. She wore rags that clung to her curves, giving her a more profound and mature build than most women who were on the heavier side in Dale from excessive drinking and eating.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Cothbrenias, still in the same clothes he wore in the slaying of Tigress, albeit slightly refurnished, approached Hexarexachrona slowly, his leather boots clicking against the solid concrete streets of Dale and capturing the latter’s attention. She looked up at him, offering a smile; he too returned a smile. She was unlike any woman he has ever seen, here or at Bastion Zoloto. He had to know more about her before his opportunity with her slipped up.

  “I know now the truth in my heart,” Cothbrenias said in a gravelly voice as he approached her. “It tells me that you are the most lovely maiden in all of Dale and the rest of the world that I have yet to see, but we can explore it together—I know it—so what do you say?”

  Hexarexachrona introduced herself with a giggle. “I’m Hexarexachrona, but I’d appreciate it if you just call me Hexa, as it’s easier to remember.” She was perched on a huge rock slab with her legs crossed, showing her toned, pale legs and bare feet decorated with a crimson polish. She was the most delicate thing he has ever seen.

  The manner in which she presented herself—from resting her shoulder on her pale thighs to resting her sharp chin on her hand—stirred something inside Cothbrenias: affection. He bowed to her when it should have been the opposite way around, and then extended out his gloved hand to her.

  “I offer but a walk amongst the fields of knives and broken glass,” Cothbrenias said, his eyes locking onto hers. “It will do us both great since we know little about each other.”

  Hexa took his hand, standing up as he returned the gesture by grasping hers tightly in his. “What’s the field of knives and broken class, Cothbrenias?” she inquired, testing his poetical prose.

  “A place where what is beautiful and what it ugly intertwined like a black raven and a white swan. I call attention to it because mystery walks in wonder.”

  “I’ll oblige, Your Highness,” she responded with an innocent chuckle. “Just tell me if I need to wear shoes.”

  Cothbrenias glanced down at his own leather boots, then at her bare feet. “You can have my footwear, M’Lady.”

  Hexa giggled, covering her face awkwardly with an embarrassing grin. “Oh please, I’ll be alright. When you walk with your feet all your life, you forget what it’s like to wear shoes. The grass becomes your soles’ best friend. I never had any friends, so I was wondering if you’d like to be mine?”

  “Of course, M’Lady,” Cothbrenias says as he begins to lead her out the village’s walls and out onto a fielded area full of archery arrows and knives from Dale’s monthly, playful games of archery and axe-throwing competitions.

  “Careful,” he said, guiding her past several sharp protrusions sticking up from the ground. “We can turn back and swap the circumstance our feet wear if it is not too late.”

  Hexa grinned. “Like I said love, I have walked countless times through this ‘field of knives and broken glass,’ so I assure you I come in good discretion.”

  “The best awareness of the four kingdoms, M’Lady?” Cothbrenias challenged playfully.

  Hexa tightened her grip around his gloved palm and said, “If you want a challenge, I’ll give you results here.” She reached for his utility belt, untightening its straps as he firmly grasped her wrist.

  Cothbrenias looked her in the eyes. “Passion lies in the privacy of the two hearts involved, not just in the eyes of nature.”

  Hexa’s blushed, looking away. “My apologies. I do not know what got hold of me.”

  Cothbrenias watched as she took a step back, the arch of her foot lowering onto an arrow head, causing her to screech in pain as blood seeped through the foreign entryway.

  “M’Lady!” Cothbrenias shouted, as he caught her. “Your heel has been cut by the field of knives and broken glass. How unutterable this experience is for you.”

  Hexa reached for her heel, but Cothbrenias gently swatted her hand away as he carried her back to Dale, running as her blond curls whipped from side to side in either direction of his arm.

  “My cottage has the necessary components needed to restore your gruesome injury,” Cothbrenias announced as he reached a one-story, badge cottage constructed from brick and concrete; a place that Cothbrenias would call his home since he built it himself from the ground up.

  Hexa looked at the mural designs on the windows. “They’re beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like them here, and I’ve lived here all my life.”

  Cothbrenias set her down, helping her into a sitting position on his front porch made from limestone, and then opened the wooden door as he stepped inside before returning with a box of assorted, homemade medical supplies. He reached into the box and pulled out a handwoven basket full of herbs and packets of spices, as well as a ceramic bowl.

  “Before my mother passed away at the rightful age of thirty, she had shown me a technique that a family friend showed us. His name is Honestria Sheltz, and he is the Forever Ruler of Castle Honestria. I do not know why he holds the title that he does, but it was never my intent to decipher its mystery either. What I know is that his technique for healing wounds like yours is called Starvore.”

  “Starvore?” Hexa asked skeptically, instinctively rubbing her bloodied foot. “Have you ever tried this technique before to see if it is successful on cuts like these?” she asked as she pointed to her foot.

  “Cothbrenias?” she inquired again, watching as he mixed the herbs and the spices into the ceramic bowl and mixed them around with his hand. “What are you doing?”

  Cothbrenias glared at her, then back at the bowl. “I am using Starvore, a technique forged from the heart of the Vast Ultrium Chamber, a pit where youth is restored by the longevity that is mortal strife and moral decay. I intend to harness its properties here to give succor to the fairest lady’s foot in need.”

  “The Vast Ultrium Chamber?”

  “Enough explaining, more healing,” Cothbrenias smiled. “You will be better in no time.”

  Hexa sighed as he removed his gloved hand and dug it into the foundation that is the Starvore liquid. “I hope so, as I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to explore the grass again.”

  “Exploration does not die of injury, M’Lady; it merely enhances it, allowing us to venture to greater lengths that our previous versions could have only dreamed of.”

  Hexa winced bravely as he dabbed the blood around her heel with the Starvore ointment, shaking ever so slightly at his touch. She looked at his gaze, noticing his fair complexion and striking black eye and hair color.

  “My condolences to your mother, Cothbrenias—she must have been a wonderful person.”

  Cothbrenias glanced at the ground between the gap in her legs, then stared slowly up at the fading sunset. “A wonderful person has the power to die and turn someone into the opposite; that is the case of my father, who has changed since her death almost ten years ago.”

  “You were eight when she died?”

  “No M’Lady. Seven-years-old to be exact; I am currently seventeen.”

  Hexa grinned as Cothbrenias measured her feet with his hands, starting from the tip of her big toe to the back of her heel, and then seeing it from the perspective of its length. “I’m the same age as you,” she said with a laugh. “Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all,” Cothbrenias responded as he leapt up and roamed into his cottage. “You may come in if you would like, the atmosphere is replicated to the best of my memory to my own room from Bastion Zoloto.”

  “The most beautiful castle in all the lands.”

  Cothbrenias nodded. “I would give that title to Honestria, but I could see where a beautiful mind such as yours drifts in moments of wonder.”

  “Mystery walks in wonder.”

  “Exactly,” Cothbrenias replied, taking her hand in his as she walked on her tippy toes.

  ~~~

  April 24th, 1447 (33 years earlier)

  Cothbrenias and Hexarexachrona were led to the coronation hallway as Zoloto’s casket was moved to the right, allowing Cothbrenias to stand besides her as the two of them watched in awe as a crowd of poor peasants and rich nobles gathered in the rows of seats ahead of them. Now six foot, eleven inches and age eighteen, Cothbrenias Von Zoloto, with his raven black hair cascading down his shoulders and onto his back, stood there with Hexarexachrona’s hand in his own.

  Instead of the armor he wore two years ago in the arena, he wore an ornate military dress uniform in deep navy blue, decorated with gold buttons, embroidery, and royal detailing. His coat is high-collared and double-breasted, with large gold epaulettes that show high rank, and a white-and-gold ceremonial belt around his waist. A flowing navy cape trimmed in gold completes the look, giving him the presence of an elegant, aristocratic commander. The previous outfit was burned to ashes upon his arrival at Bastion Zoloto, a hallmark of his ascension into kingsmanship.

  “I quite enjoyed the outfit,” Cothbrenias whispered. “It was…heroic for the struggles it endured during my time in training.”

  Hexarexachrona nodded, clasping her ivory gloved hands in front of her waist. “Who do you even begin to look forward to seeing in a crowd like this? Your allies? Your enemies? Your lovers? There’s so much to look for in a crowd full of people but not a lot to find in one person.”

  Cothbrenias looked at her from the corner of his eye, sensing somber in her tone. “Here is not the place to remark on the accomplishments of those who have judged me along the way; this is the place where I judge those as the rightful king of Zoloto.”

  Hexarexachrona bowed to him as she walked down the aisle and took an empty seat, the chattering in the room ceasing immediately as Cothbrenias Von Zoloto stood alone at the stage. An audience like these were ones that expected the king to hold parchment since Zoloto always relied on his bad memory to hold speeches and eulogies. However, the words that were about to come from Cothbrenias’ throat were those that were born from a heart full of woe.

  Cothbrenias cleared his throat, and then shouted: “Bastion Cothbrenias is an appropriate label for a kingdom beneath my influence. For now on, call it by such if you dare refer otherwise to its old title given by my now deceased father!”

  The crowd erupted into chaos at the needless name change, some discarding their shirts and throwing them in his direction. Cothbrenias caught a bra thrown from a random maiden, and crushed it in the palm of his hand before he tossed it on the ground and kicked it, sending a massive shockwave throughout the room.

  The only three individuals who were not participating in this ceaseless event of removing their clothes and tossing them at him were Hexarexarchrona and two familiar faces, Carlia and Vakkon, who were relieved of their arena duties just a year prior. Vakkon gained noticeable weight while Carlia remained in her muscular, toned physique, six packs on display; the two of them were personally invited despite word from the Knights of Zoloto, now Cothbrenias, that their presence would disrupt a crowd of poor and rich folk.

  “Remove yourselves,” Cothbrenias commanded. “Know your new ruler is I, Cothbrenias, son of the now bygone Zoloto, who has killed himself out of fear that I was to duel him from the comfort of his own lavatory!”

  Hexarexachrona laughed to herself, concealing a blush as she covered her face from embarrassment of her husband’s deplorable accolades. “Too much,” she mouthed to him, to which he responded with a cordial nod.

  The three that remained were the aforementioned trio of those with a lack of participation in the loosening of clothes; they three remained seated as Cothbrenias approached the two warriors from two years ago.

  “Well, well, well, child,” Carlia teased, extending out her hand to take his, to which he took and shook up and down.

  “I suppose you are taller than I am now,” Vakkon added, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

  Cothbrenias gave an indifferent expression, one that was the complete opposite of someone who reunited with those that helped him along the way; instead, his expression remained impassive, highlighting the fear Carlia felt as she released her hand from the tightness of Cothbrenias’ grip.

  Vakkon stutters. “Y-y-you h-have—”

  “Ascended,” Cothbrenias finished, walking past them both as he bends down and scoops Hexarexachrona into his arms before he kicks down the door to the room as Knights of Cothbrenias follow after him, ready to be at the command of King Cothbrenias Von Zoloto.

  ~~~

  Present day.

  Honestria laughs as Bernadette tells him another silly recipe Gildhart would make for them when the village of Dale got more bread rations.

  “Yes, he’d make disgusting porridge from yeast and bread crumbs—trust me, I wanted to vomit so hard.”

  Honestria exchanged a chuckle. “When you are like me, all you have to eat here is herbs and spices called Starvore, a compound mixture produced from Star plants and Vore spices; you simply mush them together to create a tangy substance that replenishes the body in the two mediums of sustenance it requires—liquids and solids.”

  Luxthforthian sighed. “I miss having good food back at our time in Bastion Cothbrenias,” he said tenderly, reaching into his bag for a packet of raisins he and Bernadette plucked from the bushes in the kingdom’s center—with the permission of Honestria. “Do you ever think that food itself could be a key component to bringing the sun back?”

  “Indeed,” Honestria responded, hands held behind his back as he led them past several withered bodies and tree stumps. “Food is what brings millions of people from all over the globe together; to say otherwise would be feckless, and only an insolent person would latch onto the opposite notion.”

  “What if the opposite notion was correct?” Bernadette said, tone challenging.

  Honestria frowned. “There is no opposite notion, silly girl.”