Death: The Fall of Endsville

Chapter Three: An Unwanted Family Reunion

Richard stood at the head of the long oak table, the flickering light of the torches casting tall, distorted shadows on the stone walls. The faces staring back at him—his aunts and uncles—were grim, their expressions ranging from barely concealed pity to open calculation. He felt the weight of every gaze. The air in the room was heavy, thick with tension, but he could feel something else too: expectation. They were waiting. Waiting for him to make a mistake.

No one called him Little Richard anymore.

Arthur stood to his right, silent but close, his presence a steady anchor in the storm brewing in the room. His older brother, though young himself, had an intensity in his gaze, as if he could see the rot beneath the surface.

"Richard," Ramon said, breaking the silence, his voice smooth but cold. "You've lost your parents. We all have. It's a tragedy, and I understand you're still processing it. But this is no time for a boy to sit on the throne. The kingdom needs strength, leadership. It needs a king, not a child."

Ramon's words hung in the air like a challenge. He sat back in his chair, his thick arms crossed over his chest, the flickering firelight catching the sharp lines of his face. Richard met his gaze, swallowing the fear bubbling inside. Ramon had always been a presence—a dominating figure in their lives. Now, he seemed more dangerous than ever.

"I am the king," Richard replied, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands beneath the table. "And I will rule, just as my father intended."

Ramon chuckled, a low, condescending sound. "Rule? You barely know what it means to rule, boy. Do you think sitting in your father's chair makes you fit to wear his crown? The people need someone they can follow into battle, someone who understands the complexities of power. What do you understand, Richard? What have you ever understood about power?"

Richard's face tightened, but before he could respond, Aunt Cindelle's voice cut through the room like steel. "You'd do well to remember your place, Ramon," she said, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Richard is the rightful king. And you are nothing more than a usurper in waiting."

The words were a spark, and suddenly the room was alight with tension. Ramon's face darkened, and his fist clenched on the table, but he kept his voice measured, though the fury was clear beneath it.

"My place? My place is with the crown, Cindelle. I was born to rule. Look at me, look at this kingdom. I've led armies, made decisions that shaped our borders, while this boy was playing in the gardens."

"He's more fit to rule than you ever were," Cindelle spat, rising slightly from her chair. Her voice was sharp, unwavering. "You've always coveted power, Ramon. Always looking for a way to worm your way into the throne room, even when no one wanted you there."

Ramon's eyes blazed. "Watch your tongue, or I'll cut it out. Or better yet, I'll beat you to death right here in front of everyone."

The room froze. His threat hung in the air, a weight that seemed to press down on everyone. Cindelle's eyes flashed with fury, but before she could retort, Norr, her husband, stood. His movement was slow, deliberate, the scrape of his chair against the floor loud in the silence.

"Enough," Norr said quietly, but his voice carried the weight of a man who knew violence well and did not fear it. "You speak like a brute, Ramon. Like a coward who hides behind threats because he lacks the intelligence to argue his point."

Norr stepped closer to Ramon, his gaze unflinching. "If you think you can frighten us, you've mistaken who you're dealing with."

Then, without warning, Norr's hand shot out, and he slapped Ramon across the face—hard. The sound was sharp, echoing off the stone walls. Everyone in the room held their breath. Ramon's head snapped to the side, his cheek reddening, but he did not rise. He did not move. His eyes, however, darkened with something far more dangerous than rage—calculation.

"Sit down, Norr," Ramon said, his voice low and deadly. "Before you regret it."

But Norr only smirked and returned to his seat, crossing his arms casually. "I think I'll stay right where I am. But know this, Ramon—if you lay a hand on my wife, you'll lose more than just your pride."

Ramon didn't respond, but the look he gave Norr was filled with the promise of retribution. Richard felt the room shift. This was no longer just about words. It was about survival.

The rest of the council sat in stunned silence, watching the exchange like spectators to a gladiatorial contest. Richard's heart raced. He could feel the power dynamics shifting, each word, each gesture, carrying more weight than he had anticipated. He turned to Arthur, who had been quietly observing the entire scene.

"We need to talk," Arthur whispered, motioning for them to leave the chamber.

Once they were in the privacy of Richard's chambers, away from the eyes of their family, the brothers faced each other.

"That was... tense," Arthur said, running a hand through his hair. "Ramon's hungry. You saw it, right? He's already thinking of ways to take the throne."

"I know," Richard said, his mind racing. "He's going to come for me, and he won't stop at words."

Arthur paced, his brow furrowed. "It's more than just that. Didn't you feel it in the room? The way they all fell silent? Like they were waiting for something. They don't trust you. They think you're too young. And Ramon knows that. He'll use it."

Richard frowned, sitting down heavily. He hadn't missed the way their aunts and uncles had seemed to quietly support Ramon, their silence speaking louder than words. Except for Cindelle, they had all been too willing to see him fail.

"They were ready to let him take over," Richard said softly, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Arthur's gaze sharpened. "Of course they were. They're opportunists. But think about this for a second, Richard—what if Ramon's push for power started before today? What if... what if he had something to do with our parents' deaths?"

Richard's breath caught. The suggestion was brutal, but it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility. "You think he killed them?"

Arthur shrugged, but his expression was dark. "I'm not saying it's him for sure, but it's too convenient, isn't it? Our parents die in the most gruesome way possible, and suddenly he's ready to step in and 'save' the kingdom? Maybe it wasn't just him, either. Did you see how quiet they all were, the way they looked at each other? It's like they already knew."

Richard's mind whirled. Could it be true? His own family, conspiring against him, conspiring against their parents? The memory of his parents' torn bodies flashed in his mind, the blood, the violence. It hadn't felt like the work of outsiders. It had felt personal. The anger, the brutality—was it the act of a family divided, a coup in the shadows?

"What if they're all in on it?" Richard whispered. His voice was soft, but the words hit like stones. "Ramon, our aunts and uncles... maybe it wasn't just about power. Maybe it was something more."

Arthur looked at him, his face pale but determined. "We have to be careful. We can't trust anyone."

Richard's gaze drifted to the window, the night beyond dark and still. His mind churned, piecing together the fragments of a truth too horrible to face. And yet, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

"They killed our parents," Richard said, his voice shaking. "They killed them, and now they're coming for us."

Arthur nodded grimly, his voice barely above a whisper. "And if we don't find out who it was soon, they'll finish what they started."

Richard turned back to the fire, the flames reflecting in his eyes. The pieces were beginning to fall into place, but the picture they revealed was one of betrayal and blood.

"We're next," Richard whispered.