“One empire and four kingdoms occupy the Arcadian continent. Together, the four kingdoms only control one-tenth of the land, with the rest under the dominion of the Arcadian Empire. Nargoz north, Orloth south, Sogard west and Drucia east. Though they nominally maintain sovereignty, all four pay massive, yearly tributes to the Emperor of Arcadia—sole sovereign of the continent’s five billion citizens,” a woman nigh-identical to Alina told Kilian while a replica of Viktor sat at her right. 

 

Facing the two, Kilian lay on his stomach, enjoying the brush of a gentle spring breeze within a verdant prairie. It was in moments like these that he discovered a passion for cramming.

 

“And what does this year represent?” Alina’s replica asked. 

“The 3,018th year of the Arcadian Empire, 50th year of Emperor Niklas’ reign, and the time of my 18th birthday,” Kilian said like a well-programmed automaton while his attention shifted between the two.

 

“The three grand eras that preceded?” Viktor’s copy chimed in.

 

“First, the Theocratic Age ruled by the clergy. Second, the Holy Rebellion led by the Grand Orders whose leader, Eginolf von Skoll, went on to establish the Arcadian Empire. And last, the Eternal Night that back then saw the death of half the human race.”

 

“Why does the empire maintain the four kingdoms?”

 

“No one kn--”

 

Before the words ended, a foreign grip forced Kilian out of the dreamland, returning him to his room where his body floated in a magenta bubble. With a light explosive sound, the bubble popped, and Kilian tumbled on his bed.

 

“As the future Duke of Kars, how can you spend hours idling in a Dreamscape? Shame on you,” a mischievous voice came from Kilian’s left. But even without turning, he knew who it belonged to.

 

“You have three seconds to roll out of my bed before I make you a single mom,” Kilian replied, but still didn’t turn to face the voice’s owner. With a snort, she leaned over, locking her sapphire eyes on his as her wavy black hair fell at either side of his face.

 

“And how would you do that?” Anke asked and leaned in, eyes still glued on Kilian. Her lips closed on his, and at first, he didn’t evade, welcoming her with a few gentle kisses before tugging on her lips with his. But as the kiss grew more passionate, and Anke stuck out her tongue, Kilian flipped her on the other side of the bed and replied:

 

“By entertaining your hopes long enough to get you pregnant and then abandoning you like the cunt I am.”

 

It was always like this. Across the six years since they first met, Anke would run after Kilian and get rejected daily. Sometimes she’d chance on him wrestling with Klaus’ assassins, and they’d fight them together. Yet, she made no progress. At first, her wounded pride drove her. Now it was a mix of conflicting emotions she couldn’t handle.

“We’re getting married, though. There is no escaping it. In a few months—at best—we will be married,” Anke stated the facts they both knew so well. Before they could walk, the marriage was set in stone. And though surnamed von Karsten, Anke was heir to Arcadia’s highest-ranked noble. Legions would divorce their wives to secure her hand in marriage. Yet here she was, bound to someone with zero interest.

 

“I said it before, it won’t happen,” Kilian replied, kissed Anke’s cheek, and got out of bed—another one of those cruel reminders that they could be many things, just not lovers.

 

…

 

The six years deadline had reached its end, and having mastered all of Klaus’ lessons, Kilian was now prepared for magic. But as he crossed the icy-blue hallways leading to the duke’s study, Kilian knew that of all the things he learned, acting came first.

 

Day and night he wore masks of sarcasm, of treachery and cynicism, facing subjects, guests and relatives alike with the same smile—while burying his loathing in the recesses of his black heart.

 

Those six years in Kars carried more weight than his 22 years on Earth or the 12 years in his tribe. They redefined his mind and perceptions, turning him into an individual he could no longer recognize. Bits by bits, madness crept in.

 

At the entrance of Klaus’ study, two guards stood, clad in amethyst, crystal power armors that covered them from head to toe. Thanks to Klaus’ strength, resources and leadership, Kars by far possessed the highest technological level of Orloth, and ranked third among the empire’s top cities—another reminder of the gap between father and son.

 

“Greetings, Junior Duke. His Grace is waiting for you,” the two said with polite bows and sidestepped to let Kilian pass. As soon as he reached it, the door opened for him. In the study, Klaus sat at his office table, with a bearded old man facing him. Ignoring the visitor, Kilian stepped toward Klaus, arms crossed behind his back.

 

“Your Grace,” Kilian bowed toward his father, making both the duke and his guest turn toward him.

 

“You still call your father by his title? What are you? A soldier?” The bearded guest said, and Klaus smiled at the words.

 

“Grandfather, you sneak into the duke’s study early in the morning or late in the evening. Matter of fact, you’re the only one with the privilege. Does that make you his private cock-sucker? Mhm?” Kilian countered, making the old man’s eyes twitch.

 

“The duke is the duke, so out of respect I call him Your Grace. He doesn’t care, why do you care? Mind your goddamn business—unbelievable.” Shaking his head to and fro, Kilian shifted his eyes back to Klaus. In Kars, this bearded old man was a mystery. He came as he pleased and left just the same. And while none ever saw his face, he’d been by Klaus’ side since he was a child, tutoring him in magic and more.

 

In fact, many assumed that he was the true foundation of Klaus’ meteoric rise—Kilian jokingly called him grandfather.

 

“Impudence!” Enraged, the man leaped on his feet, towering above Kilian at almost 1.9 meters. But knowing that with the right skillset, shapeshifting was child’s play, Kilian distrusted the old man’s current appearance. 

 

“What? You can’t handle me with words, so you must use your fists? Barbarian! This is Kars, not the imperial arena. The 31st century, not the dark age! Here we have laws that protect children from mad bitches. If you don’t behave, I will call the cops!” Kilian placed his hands on either side of his hip and bawled at the elder’s face.

 

Reeling back from the words’ impact, the cloaked man stared dumbfounded at Kilian. Although by now, he should have gotten used to Kilian’s ways, he couldn’t believe that Klaus could raise such an anomaly.

 

Seeing the show end, the duke beckoned for Kilian’s attention.

 

“Enough. The King of Nargoz is dead, skinned alive and left to rot by the emperor this morning.” The words snatched Kilian’s attention, and he spun toward Klaus, “Skinned alive? Nargoz rebelled?”

 

Ranking among the most brutal execution methods of the Arcadian Empire, execution by flaying was reserved for rebel leaders. But how could the tiny Nargoz dare rebel against the empire?

 

“No. The annual tributes were just...three days late,” Klaus replied, making Kilian’s eyes widen in disbelief.

 

“Now that’s a man that knows how to make himself respected.”

 

“You really think so?”

 

“No. Unless there’s a bigger plot here, he’s just a fool. But how does that affect me?” As he observed the prompt exchange between Kilian and Klaus, the bearded man frowned and fell back on his seat.

 

“The Grand Prince of Nargoz is an old friend of mine. Go and reassure him of Kars’ support. Lay the groundworks for an official alliance and bring me an exclusive trade deal for orstalph and zuri sales. Your team and bodyguards await. When you return, we will summon the kinsmen and handle your Dra Root Ceremony,” Klaus said and pushed a letter of credence toward Kilian. 

 

Inwardly, he sneered. Having been by Klaus’ side for so long, Kilian knew that under the guise of an assignment, he wanted him out of Kars. But since he’d long been plotting a trip to Nargoz, he didn’t object.

 

“Do I have full negotiation powers?”

 

“Anything is fine as long as it doesn’t disadvantage Kars.”

 

“Very well, as you command, Your Grace,” Kilian half-jested before leaving for Nargoz.

 

“I don’t understand. Nargoz will be wiped out within three years. An alliance has no use,” the bearded elder said.

 

“Although King Erik remains docile, since I became Grand Justiciar of Orloth, the elder princes allied with the imperial aristocracy and some of my dissatisfied vassals to plot my house’s destruction. I may not care for Orloth’s forces, but imperial nobles and princes require more considerations. I need a few days to handle them,” Klaus replied with a lopsided smirk.

 

“If every time it truly matters, you send him away, what’s the point of all this training? The Gate will never open,” the elder sighed, Klaus’ smirk vanished, and a dreary pause followed.

 

“Of all people, I thought you’d understand.” Flinching at the words, the elder lowered his head and faded in a swirl of amber winds. Alone, Klaus reclined in his seat and closed his eyes.