Chapter 23 – Father and Son
The throne room of Zuvendis was built to awe — high columns carved with the histories of kings, banners draped from the rafters, the throne itself raised upon steps of obsidian. Tonight, it felt like a tomb.
Arthelion stood at the center, armored in plates of gold and black, his crown set aside. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, knuckles white beneath the gauntlet. His breath was steady, but each exhale carried the weight of dread. He had fought wars, slaughtered invaders, silenced rebellions. But this — this was the reckoning foretold when Maniakes was still in swaddling cloth.
The doors groaned. Hinges screamed. Then they burst inward, crashing from their frames as shadows spilled into the chamber like smoke. They curled along the walls, whispering in tongues older than men.
Through them came Maniakes.
He moved with slow certainty, as though time bent to his steps. His armor glimmered faintly with crimson veins of light, his blade trailing ash that burned the floor wherever it touched. And his eyes — those eyes — seared into Arthelion's soul, twin fires of wrath and sorrow entwined.
Arthelion's voice cut the silence, steady but laced with iron grief.
"You should not have come here, boy."
Maniakes tilted his head, the faintest echo of a smile ghosting his lips.
"You call me boy… after throwing me to die in the mud? After cursing me before my first breath? No, Arthelion. I am no longer your son."
The king lifted his sword, pointing it toward him. "You are still of my blood. And it is my blood that must end you."
Maniakes' laughter was hollow, echoing against the chamber walls. "Your blood ended me long ago."
He raised his blade. The shadows shrieked. The torches guttered and went out, plunging the throne room into crimson gloom.
The clash came like thunder.
Steel met steel, sparks scattering like stars. Arthelion struck with the precision of a king trained for war, his blade darting with deadly intent. Maniakes answered with raw, overwhelming force, every swing of his cursed weapon tearing stone, cracking pillars, sending shockwaves through the chamber.
The throne itself split in two beneath a single strike.
Arthelion ducked a swing that shattered an obsidian column, the shards slicing across his cheek. He countered with a thrust that scraped Maniakes' side, drawing a hiss of smoke instead of blood. Maniakes retaliated with a backhand that sent the king sprawling across the steps, armor dented, lungs burning.
"Even now you fight for them?" Maniakes growled, advancing. "These people you let rot while you feasted in your hall? You abandoned me, Father, and you abandoned them."
Arthelion struggled to his feet, his sword still in hand, his voice ragged but unyielding.
"I did what I thought would save them from the curse you were born to bear."
Maniakes' blade lowered, his face shadowed, unreadable. Then his voice deepened, bitter as poison.
"And tell me, Father… did you save them tonight?"
The king faltered, just for a breath. And in that hesitation, Maniakes surged forward. Their blades met once more, and the throne room shook under the weight of destiny.
Outside, the screams of Zuvendis carried on the wind. Inside, father and son fought beneath the broken banners of a kingdom that would not survive them both.