Death can easily be administered to anyone regardless of how successful they were in life.
A god agrees with the nihilist in this story.
There are many tragedies in this story. Many fortunes arising, too.
But the god and the antichrist don't car...
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Purgatory
Unknown Place, Rigilante, Saprea
I'd guide you through the events which led Sandro to being left in purgatory, but honestly, there's no other way to describe the events other than to plainly say he was kidnapped at a brothel a week after the coronation.
His first thought as rough hands sat him down in a chair, bound his wrists behind his back, and chained his feet to the chair, was that he was not going to die.
Whoever they were, they intended to keep him alive, otherwise, he would've already been dead. He was chained in manacles, so clearly he was the bigger threat.
When Sandro was ten, his father explained that Cassius was born to lead after their late brother. It was Sandro's duty to protect his brother no matter what. At thirteen he began training. At eighteen he became an officer. The position was of great importance to him, but when he was an officer, he watched how the chief, Tygh Arcinov, functioned as the King's eyes and ears both within and outside the walls of the palace.
The chief would often interrogate people, torture them if needed. Sandro learned what it meant to hold someone hostage. For one thing, this person or persons wanted something. Information? Money? And since they caught him so easily, that told him that they'd been watching him for some time, picking up his habits and schedule. These people could've been watching him for his entire life. He had no idea what they were capable of. He didn't know what kind of surveillance they had. For all he knew, they were probably more powerful and pervasive than the kings-guard.
He didn't see anyone again until they reached the outskirts of Rigilante, when the door to the coach suddenly opened and someone slid into the seat opposite him. In his wake, someone yanked the sac from his head and his vision was clear. There was a small source of light that came from the ceiling. His senses sharpened and he realized that a horse was trotting on cobblestones.
He kept his eyes trained on the little crack of the window visible between curtain and coach, hoping to catch a glimpse of a street sign.
The man in front of him studied him for a long moment. "It's three in the morning. We're stopping for coffee, would you like any?"
"Black with whiskey and brown sugar, please," Sandro said unwittingly. "Where are we?"
He saw the fingers of the man's gloved hand clench, but when he spoke, his voice was as cold and smooth as ever. "We're entering Rigilante," he said. "When we are greeted by the innkeeper, you will not say a word about this little excursion."
Sandro wondered why they were on the coast with so much green. It could only mean they were close to Belauros. "Do I know you?"
The man's lips curled in a tight, bitter smile. "Of course not," he said courteously. Then he knocked on the roof of the coach and it rolled to a stop. "When we arrive, you'll say your hellos, then plead exhaustion and insist that you wish to stay here in the carriage. And if you do anything reckless, you won't survive."
