THE KING IS DEAD

20

VI. Save the Soul
° • ♚♛♜♝♞ • °

❝SO HE HAS GONE.❞
*ృ༅*. 𝕾𝖎𝖑𝖛𝖊𝖗 knows why Shadow has disappeared. Knows why Espio has brought him a message bearing one word: Sayonara.

Espio does not need to answer the question that is disguised as a statement; his bowed head says enough.

His bowed head also says too much.

"He has not abandoned me." There is no need to convince himself of this. Silver stands from his chair to be level with the chameleon, edging toward defence. "I know not his methods, but I know his disappearance is for my safety."

Espio meets his eyes—honey-gold that matches his own—and the chameleon is unreadable. It gives Silver anxiety, unhelpful thoughts of random scenarios of what could be said.

"Shadow Lancelot is no traitor," he enunciates. Silver wants to scream it.

"He left the service of the Emerald Crown to serve under a human," says Espio smoothly. "Traded Green Hills for Soleanna. Traded a king for a princess. It is unclear where his loyalties lie."

"That does not make him betrayer." Not like someone we know. Silver's hands become fists as the mere breath of the idea of Sonic.

"But I find it makes him untrustworthy." This is no disdain or mistrust in Espio's tone; he is merely expressing a concern, an opinion. "Why is he not with you, at your side, to protect you from the Exile? Your knights know the protocol. As King, you come before ev'rything." A pause, a whisper, a grim reminder. "You come before his human lover."

In his chest, Silver is seared with white-hot fire. It takes all of him to restrain a blooming temper. Not at Espio, but at the chameleon's repeating of a vicious and untrue rumour. "She is not his lover. Only his love."

Espio shrugs, unbothered. It makes no difference to him.

"We know nothing of the Exile. He is unpredictable. You are in danger. Have you a plan, my King?"

"Not a proper plan." He has no shame in admitting this, as weak as it makes him. "I am simply waiting for him to show, if he will." He pats the sword clipped to his hip. "I wait for him to come to me."

Silver meets Espio's matching eyes. "And if he comes, I'll cut off his head."

That, at least, wrenches a smile out of Espio.

♚♛♜♝♞

❝HE IS COMING.❞
*ృ༅*. 𝕰𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖔 steps out of camouflage and into the twilight beside his king. Silver hardens, stiff as stone.

"Are you certain?" The fear in his throat doubles at Espio's nod. Only three twilights have passed since Shadow disappeared; this is the fourth.

Bad things usually happen in fours. Four is death.

Silver's terror triples with a horrible thought.

If Sonic is coming here, then Shadow is dead.

Instantly, Excalibur is in his hand, withdrawn from its grand sheath at his hip, winking in the dusk. The King's Sword, the blade passed down to every king and queen of Sonic's blood, will be the death of him. Silver swears this, vows it.

"Let him come," he tells Espio. "If I die, it is for my friends." For Amy.

The chameleon nods before melting into the background. He is there, unseen, unknown. He will remain hidden, only stepping in when needed.

Silver makes preparations. Orders the knights, makes ready for battle. Dressed in armour that shares his name, Silver sits upon the throne with Excalibur draped across his knees.

This is where Silver waits.

Waits for Sonic.

Waits for death.

The sun sets; the moon rises.

. . . The Exile stands at the bottom of the dais.

♚♛♜♝♞

❝THAT DOESN'T BELONG TO YOU.❞
*ృ༅*. 𝕬𝖗𝖊 Sonic's first words before battle, punctuated by a snarl. "That sword is mine."

"Then why did you cast it aside when you fled?"

The question receives no answer.

As the moon looks down in horror, casting everything in silvery blue-black, Silver sees Sonic's changes, feels the strange power, the cold wickedness.

Silver also sees the blood, the wound. Drip-drip-dripping down Sonic's hip, leg, shoe, pooling on the tiles. Dripping through gloved fingers from where he cradles the damage.

Shadow did not go down without a fight, without the last word, without leaving his mark. This brings Silver a small comfort.

This gives him courage.

"You've taken another piece of my heart to the graveyard," the young king tells the villain.

"And I'll be taking the rest." But Sonic's threat is laboured. He struggles to breathe. His blinks are slow and often. "And my sword."

Silver wonders if Sonic has come here to die. He certainly looks the part; he is in no shape no fight, not when he gushes blood.

The young king stands from the throne, gripping Excalibur tight; his wrist burns.

"Where is Shadow?" So he can bury him proper, when it is over, if he survives.

A weak smile blooms on Sonic's lips. He falls to his knees, head hanging low. His panting has grown to a wheeze.

"Where I left him."

Silver dares step closer to the fallen hedgehog. Excalibur does not shiver in his hand.

"I heard you guys wanna flip a coin." Sonic can barely keep his head on his shoulders, the breath in his lungs. "On who gets to kill me."

"What of it?"

A wheezed laugh. Sonic melts to the floor upon his back, eyes on the ceiling.

"It didn't matter . . . in the end. You both have. He poisoned me . . . and you will cut off my head."

Poison. Shadow cut him, struck him with a tainted blade. The irony, the poisoner becoming poisoned.

"Tell me you will, kiddo." Kiddo. It almost guts Silver, bringing back the past, back when Sonic was his friend, when he was true . . . if he ever was. "Tell me you'll cut off my head."

Silence, save for Sonic's wheezing.

On the edge of Silver's tongue are four words. They hold different meanings, they are separate prayers.

One for his own soul for what he must do.

One for Scourge's soul, who lies unavenged and forgotten in the dirt.

One for whatever remains of Sonic's.

One for the father, who died in fear of what would become of his sons in his absence.

Only chaos, Silver knows. Only death. So a prayer goes to him, as well.

Silver takes a deep trembling breath and whispers—