The Exiled King | ✔

Chapter 17 - The Silver King Awakens

"Aranel! Retract your ice! Do you know what you've done?!" Nicon growled, feeling a resurgence of anger as Aranel opened his eyes.

His breath crystalised and he could scarcely feel his fingers.

"Nicon? What's wrong?" Aranel mumbled, blinking.

He looked innocent of all the horror he had wrought.

Nicon tried to regain his composure and hissed, "You've frozen the whole of Silvardor, Aranel! Every man, woman and child... even the animals were not spared! You and I are the only living beings here!"

Aranel's eyes widened and he frowned.

"T-That can't be... surely not?"

Nicon huffed, "You need to control your powers and retract your ice, Aranel. Maybe some of our people can still be saved!"

Aranel jumped and nodded quickly. His brow furrowed and he closed his eyes as he gathered his mana. Instantly, Nicon felt the temperature of the room rise. Aranel grimaced as his ice melted and the water slithered up around him, absorbing into his chest. Seeing the pace that the ice was melting, Nicon strode to the window to see if the environment had changed.

He was astounded to see that everything else outside was slowly melting at the same pace as the ice indoors. The reason Aranel had been struggling so much to melt the ice in the room was because he was simultaneously melting all of the ice in Silvardor.

His power is incredible, Nicon thought, And his control is not bad either. How did he lose control so badly?

Time passed slowly. Nicon stood near Aranel silently, allowing the young king to concentrate, but never interrupting. When he sensed Aranel's mana begin to falter, he poured his own mana into him, supporting him silently. He watched like a hawk as Taeriel's face thawed, then the rest of his body. Nicon immediately checked for a pulse, but found none. He immediately sent a jolt of mana through Taeriel, hoping that he could be resuscitated.

Please... Aranel's too young to live with that kind of guilt...

Taeriel's chest heaved and his heart restarted and Nicon let out a sigh of relief. He'd only held onto the small sliver of hope because his frozen sleep had been magically induced. His heart soared as he realized that the elves could be saved—that Aranel hadn't murdered the whole kingdom.

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Aranel nearly toppled over, but he caught himself and surveyed the room. It was the same as he remembered—though perhaps a little soggier. Taeriel lay stiffly on the floor with Nicon sitting beside him, with his back to Aranel.

"Father...?" He whispered hoarsely.

Nicon turned and answered steadily, "He's fine, Aranel. He's alive."

A look of concern flitted across his face and he asked, "Are you alright? Honestly, I never expected you to retract all of your ice at once."

Aranel slumped back on his bed, grimacing at the wet sheets, and mumbled, "My brother's dead, Nicon. This power I have... is his."

Nicon's gaze softened and he got up and sat beside Aranel.

"It's your power now, Aranel. You cannot change what has already happened. You should embrace the power you have and use it for good," He said quietly.

Aranel turned his head to avoid Nicon's stoic grey eyes and muttered, "I know. I-I should have handled it better, but it... it just came with no warning. One moment I knew he was alive somewhere and the next... all his powers became mine and I knew he was dead!"

Nicon was silent for a moment, then said with uncharacteristic awkwardness, "I'm sorry for my... earlier outburst. I failed to consider your perspective."

The corners of Aranel's mouth curved up in a small smile as he turned back to look at Nicon.

Nicon stood up and started stretching with a groan, then said, "Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, you and I have a lot of work to do. Every single creature in Silvardor needs an injection of mana to restart their hearts-"

"I didn't... kill anyone?" Aranel asked cautiously, sitting up.

Nicon paused, with his arms raised in the air, then answered, "No. Even when you lost control, your magic never lost your kind nature. You haven't killed anyone, Aranel."

Aranel seemed to deflate as his shoulders slumped in relief. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"I-I'm so glad..." He whispered.

"You may have second thoughts tomorrow," Nicon joked with a grin.

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Reviving Silvardor took a lot longer than a day. To conserve their mana, they defrosted some horses and rode them closer to the edges of Silvardor so they didn't have to spread their mana as far. It was a gruelling week, but it would have been far longer if Aranel had not had such vast reserves of mana. More than once had Nicon been pleasantly surprised by Aranel's quick work. His grasp of the intricacies of magic was controlled, especially for his age.

I'm glad we can get this done quickly, at least, He thought with a small smile.

As they finished scattering mana through the air at the last part of Silvardor, they set up camp in the forest. Nicon quickly set up a small fire and handed Aranel some jerky before sitting down and leaning against a tree with a sigh.

Things were quiet for a moment before he spoke.

"Aranel, you're a guardian now," Nicon began, "Have you thought about going to Sanobar to meet the other guardians?"

Aranel shot up with blazing eyes and hissed, "Marai vrae! They can go to the Abyss for all I care! Those damned toads are the reason my brother is dead!"

"Mind your language, young man!" Nicon growled, fixing Aranel with a disapproving stare until he sat back down quietly.

Nicon sighed and said, "I think it could be good for you, and... You have a duty, as a guardian-"

"I have a duty to my people, here in Silvardor!" Aranel scowled, then continued with fierce determination burning in his eyes, "I am a king! My place is here... with my people! I will not leave!"

Nicon pinched the bridge of his nose, but did not press the matter further.

"I will send a letter to the guardians to inform them that you have inherited the powers, at least. They deserve to know," Nicon sighed.

Aranel nodded, though he didn't look happy about it.

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Fun Fact: Magical powers are fundamentally bound to the user's morality, even when out of control. That distinction can be the difference between life and death.

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