The Shards of My Soul

A Crown of Lies

Iselvheim, 21th of Einmánudr, 816 A.C.

War is a slippery slope.

Raiden knew this better than most, and ever since he'd Ascended, he'd started to understand this even better.

He clasped his hands behind his back and gazed at the young boy he had seen grow into a man, a leader, and a monarch. The winters had been kind to him, transforming the formerly scrawny, timid boy he had been into a broad-shouldered, clear-minded, and sharp-witted young man.

Now, finally, after twelve years of preparation to ascend the throne and fulfill the role he had been destined for, he was to be crowned.

It felt like only yesterday he'd been a boy.

Ceyx Thorden was dressed in beautiful attire, a pair of white, satin trousers and a tunic set stitched with golden thread. Over the tunic, he'd put on his lamellar armor, fitted to his chest that protected his thorax and abdomen. His golden hair was cut short and combed neatly into place, leaving the sharpness of his crystalline eyes naked with only the long and curled dust-colored eyelashes framing his eyes. There was a subtle stubble over his jaw that he hadn't bothered to shave in the morning.

He looked as much like a king as any Crown Prince could ever look.

He looked ready.

The young prince adjusted the light-brown furred cloak over his shoulders, fastening the brooch encrusted with the kingdom's coat of arms — the two hammers crossed over a round shield with the images of a wolf and a crow on each — to secure it into place. As his eyes lifted to the body-long mirror in front of him, a titillating excitement mixed with a glazed fear glowed in his eyes. It was the look one reserved for times when life was placing a challenge he knew, deep down, he was ready to take on, although an inner doubt made it hard to yearn for it fully.

Wiser than his age would suggest.

Raiden noticed the expression on his brother's face and, with a slight tilt of his head and a narrowing of his eyes, he understood that Ceyx had the necessary qualities to become a great king, more than any other evidence he could find. Without the influence of his father's toxicity and with the guidance of his mother's intelligence and wisdom, he would develop into a suitable ruler, bringing prosperity to his subjects and the Continent. To be honest, Raiden liked to believe that his years of training were what made him so powerful and self-assured — just like a ruler should be —, but he was aware that there was more to it than that.

Raiden had been right, before.

Ceyx was ready to wear a crown.

He'd been born for this.

And he would excel at it.

"What are you staring at?" Ceyx questioned, voice rough.

He stood before Raiden, blue eyes cool and face impassive, though a small curl at the corner tipped his lips in an endearing smirk. His back was straight, his posture perfect as he stared at himself in the mirror, and at Raiden at his back through it.

Pride blossomed in an unexpected bud on Raiden's chest.

"Are you ready?" Raiden asked, keeping his voice low and even.

He wasn't sure why he bothered to ask at all. No one would be ready to assume the power Ceyx was about to claim as his own. Still, he wanted to make sure that Ceyx was aware of what it meant to take the crown and the throne. No matter the fact that both were his by birthright, it was a responsibility he'd shoulder at a quite young age to the end of his days.