The Golden Throne

Chapter 18: Redlyn

Bright sunlight filtered into the study from a wide, ceiling-high window that offered a spectacular view of white, fluffy clouds. Lining the walls were tall bookshelves that contained rare books, historical accounts and encyclopaedias gathered from all over the world. At the centre of the room was a teenage boy who was preoccupied with scribbling something on a piece of paper. He had soft brown hair and the most beautiful electric-blue eyes. He wore a cream coloured wool sweater and black trousers to keep himself warm in this air-conditioned room.

He stopped writing and lifted the paper close to his face. "Uncle Leon! Could you read this for me and tell me what you think?"

The boy took a deep breath and allowed himself sink into his cushioned mahogany chair. In one hand, he had a pencil that was made tiny from countless sharpenings, in the other; the roughened piece of paper he was scribbling on. He had been working on a particular poem for days. The tragedy that occurred on Lake Aeri weeks ago inspired him to write a patriotic poem that would encourage the people of Odara to stay strong and never stop hoping for the day when pain will be nothing but a bad memory. The problem was; every time he wrote more than three stanzas, writers block would rear its ugly head and he would be crumpling the paper he was writing on and toss it aside.

"Finally found your muse?" A middle-aged, plump man chuckled as he made his way up a spiral staircase that lead to the study. He had an expensive looking silver watch, wore a brown coat and sported neatly trimmed mutton-chops. "Let me have a look," the man, known as Leon approached his nephew and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"This... this is good," Leon nodded approvingly. His eyes were scanning the paper he held in his hand, intently. "You're getting better, Kye," he patted his nephew's shoulder. Then, he glanced at the crumpled paper balls that littered the floor and back at his nephew. "The product of hard work, hmm?"

"Eheh... sorry uncle. I'll clean it up," the boy named Kye replied sheepishly.

"I could show this to the Emperor if you'd like. His majesty would love to read something like this. Especially with the patriotic themes that you've included,"

"Huh?! No! Please don't embarrass me!" Kye pleaded. He immediately snatched the piece of paper from his uncle's hands.

His uncle let out a sigh and massaged his eyebrows. "How can you expect to fulfil your dream of being a renowned poet if you carry on hiding your work?"

"I don't always hide them. I show them to you," Kye muttered after a few moments of silence. "I'd show them to mom and dad too."

"Kye..." Leon mumbled.

"Why did they have to be so stupid? Going onto that train-"

"Kye, enough." he cut the boy off. "Don't say that about your parents. They loved you with everything they had. And I do too," he pulled a nearby chair to his nephew and took a seat on it. "And they'll be proud to see what you're devoting yourself to."

"What? Writing poems?"

"Sending a message," Kye's uncle corrected. "A message that would inspire others and boost the morale of all Odarans."

"Why do you believe in me so much?" Kye asked.

"Because I want to see you succeed," Leon muttered. "We're all we have left, and if you're happy, then I'm happy." He rubbed the frustrated boy on the back like a father would to his son.

Kye was still gazing intently at the poem he just wrote. It didn't seem perfect to him yet. He reached for an eraser and erased the last stanza. Leon could only shake his head at the sight of the boy. "Kye, Kye..." The man sighed.