37 – The King's Shadowed Command
The castle's great doors yawned open to a sea of faces and the thrum of a thousand heartbeats. Blue veins of light ran like living rivers through the streets of the Midnight King's settlement, pulsing brighter with every chant that rolled up the black stone like thunder.
"Roi Minuit. Roi Minuit. Roi Minuit."
He stepped forward onto the balcony above the steps, the wind tugging lightly at his long dreadlocks, tied behind him like a black banner. No hat, no ornaments—only a tall figure in deep, unbroken black, a short grey‑dark beard marking the jawline of a man carved by memory and war. Crimson eyes swept the crowd, and the voices fell to silence as if a hand had pressed the world's volume low.
"My children," he said, and the word carried weight: not softness, but belonging. "You have waited in the shadow long enough."
A murmur moved through the settlement—relief, awe, fear. The Midnight King lifted a hand, and even the murmurs swallowed themselves.
"This form that you all currently looking at right now" he continued, touching his chest, and for a breath his outline flickered—as if the body did not completely agree with the soul wearing it, "is not my true body. It is a vessel of one of my servants. I am not yet whole to be able to rule like before. Do not mistake this for weakness."
The Silence tightened, bracing—then cracked when a thousand shoulders loosened at once.
"Even a shadow of me," he said, the corner of his mouth tipping, "is more than enough to wake the night."
A ripple of dark laughter rolled through the crowd. Somewhere a child clapped with joy in his heart. Some other where an old woman wept because the way he stood was exactly how she had remembered him.
"The war you survived without me will not be your future. We will not hide behind walls and wait for the next hand to knock them down. We will reclaim what was ours. We will make right what the Zobop have twisted. We will remind the Loa and the living alike why the night once bent its head."
He paused, letting the promise hang. The air tasted like storm.
"Until I am whole again, we will be patient—and we will be ready to rise once again."
He smiled at his people and stepped back. Frederick, broad‑shouldered, scarred, as quiet as a fortress, came forward and bowed just enough to show respect without kneeling. The crowd bled away into the avenues, still whispering, still watching the balcony as they have a feeling that the Midnight King might speak again.
Inside the shade of the archway, the Midnight King lowered his voice. "Frederick."
"Yes My King."
"The boy," he said. "His name is Peterson Joseph. He carries the system that I created to seal my powers and soul. He is not ready, he's still weak and need guidance."
Frederick's jaw worked once—the closest he came to a frown. "He has heart but Heart does not stop blades."
"This power is still too much for him to control, he's getting a hang of it, just a little" the King said. "But just a little is not enough, He needs training—steel for the hands, and patience for the head. Strength to swing, sense to know when something is beyond his capability. You will teach him everything."
Frederick inclined his head. "I will Gladly do that sir"
"And more. When he comes here as himself, you will give him access to everything and all secrets." The King's gaze slid to the vault sunk into the castle wall, chains lying like coiled serpents across the black metal. "He is the rightful owner of this settlement by my will. The people will not yet understand. This remains between us."
A breath of doubt, gone as quickly as it came. "Understood my king."
"You kept my throne untouched. You kept the vault sealed." The King laid a hand on Frederick's shoulder—rare, unarmored warmth. "I see that Loyalty still lives. That is worth something, and I'm greatfull you were and style stay by my side."
Frederick allowed himself a ghost of a smile. "It lives here."
"Then let it teach him."
After a long moment. A decision moved behind the King's eyes, and the blue torches that had rekindled throughout the castle seemed to deepen to the color of oceans at night.
"Tonight I will leave to go and meet up with Lili, because my time will be up soon." He turned, his crimson gaze drifting over the settlement that had held its breath for years. "Ready the council quietly. Ready the forges. And if anyone asks what changed?" He gives a small, brutal smile. "Tell them the night remembered its name."
He departed down the stairs like a shadow stepping through its own reflection, and the walls seemed to lean in as he passed.
—
School let out like a dam bursting. Kids spilled from the classrooms in waves—bookbags bouncing, shouts ricocheting off concrete and sunlight. Vendors at the gate popped open lids on coolers and started hawking juice as if they were auctioning gold. In the middle of the churn, one detail did not fit.
Lili leaned by the exit with her arms folded, blade at her hip like a casual afterthought—and every boy within twenty yards forgot how to walk for a full second.
"Who is that?"
"A Movie star."
"Assassin."
"Maybe a cosplayer."
"Probably everything we just said."
"You go say hi."
"no man,You go and say hi."
"I value my life man."
The replica spotted her first, or perhaps felt the thread tug between here and the Wild Zone. He lifted a hand and waved like a guy greeting someone who had not terrifically traumatized his week.
"There she is," he said to Jean‑Daniel and Wilkens, unfazed. "I thought she'd make us wait here for like, forever."
Three different groups of boys turned their heads so fast, their necks should have popped with the way they did it. "Wait guys! Peterson knows her? He already got Naëlle the prettiest girl in school and now he knows the new hottie aswel, leave something for us too bro."
Wilkens adjusted his glasses. "We're going to die of public jealousy."
Jean‑Daniel grinned. "I'll sign autographs after the training and will make sure to collect a lots of money from them."
Lili's eyes flicked between them, measuring, then softened when her eyes layed on the twins, who were moving faster than they ever did at the last bell. Amanda reached her first.
"Hey Lili! we'd like to come along with you guys today, is that okay?" she asked, too bright, too careful. "We want to take notes of the training and skills tracking progression."
Miranda nodded furiously. "We're very dedicated now."
Lili didn't blink as she starring at them. "You girls are acting a little strange, do you have a question in mind that you'd like to ask me or something?"
Amanda exhaled in a rush. "He's… not right, you know what meant, about Peterson."
The replica stepped up at exactly the wrong moment with a sunny, perfect smile. "I'm standing right here, hello?"
Jean‑Daniel squinted. "You are extra perky. Did you chug a liter of sugarcane?"
Wilkens hummed, faux scientific. "Control‑Peterson usually complains about bread texture. Correlation suggests replacement."
The replica threw his hands up. "I love that my support system is a conspiracy podcast."
Amanda stared, and for a split second the replica felt the scariest thing in the world—being truly seen by someone who knew the shape of the real being pretending to be her brother. It slipped, then clicked back, flawless.
Lili cut across the tension. "All of you come With me."
"so... You're not going to explain…?" Miranda tried.
"I will, but not here" Lili said, already weaving through the crowd with the confidence of a tide. "Move your feet boys, we have to go... now."
They moved. The last boys at the gate pressed themselves out of the way like pebbles yielding to a river. A few tried smiling; one attempted a wink and immediately regretted it when Lili's gaze passed through him as if he were an unremarkable tree.
"Notes," Wilkens muttered, flipping open a little pad. "Step one: do not wink at Lili."
"Addendum," Jean‑Daniel said. "Or at anyone capable of dismembering you with a hairpin."
They cut through streets and out past the chatter to a grove they'd used before: a square of shade and packed dirt ringed by trees, enough space to try and fail and bleed without anyone asking questions.
"Alright, put your Bags on that log," Lili said, her voice crisp. "You guys Warmup for Ten minutes practice your Stances, No use of powers for now."
They Groan, but Obedient. She watched them settle into the ritual—breathing, stretching, the lines of nervous energy smoothing into more useful heat. The twins hovered at the edge, they have their notebooks ready, but their hearts were nowhere near ready as they awaiting for Lili's explanation.
Lili took a step back closer the twins. For a moment she looked like someone rehearsing bad news.
"Ask," she said.
Amanda's pen shook lightly. "So, Where is our brother?"
The replica, who had exactly Peterson's timing and exactly his habit of intercepting questions meant for other people, said, "Right here."
"Quiet," Lili said without looking. It didn't come with anger, she only said it with authority. The replica closed his mouth.
Miranda found her voice. First a whisper, then steady. "He feels like him but at the same time not. Also moves like him. When he smiles, it's… missing something. Like you copied the face and not the breath."
Lili's jaw worked. A dozen answers tried to exist at once—the safest, the kindest, the truest. She chose the one that would make sense to them, thinking about a better way to explain the situation, so they would understand.
"Your brother is safe," she said. "He is alive. But he is not in full control right now also he's not here."
Amanda swallowed. "is it Because of the medallion?"
"Yes, you are correct."
"Because of the… Midnight King aswel."
Lili met her eyes. "Yes."
The air thinned as if the trees had leaned closer to listen.
"The Midnight King is not your enemy just so you know," Lili continued. "He is not your friend either. He is… just himself. He made a pact with Peterson. He gave him a something that will keep him alive in a world that would not. There are rules to that power. One of them is that sometimes he takes the wheel."
Miranda's voice shrank. "I remember he mentioned that, once a week right?"
"Yes! One day a week," Lili said. "Right now, today—he is the one wearing your brother's body."
Amanda blinked hard. "So who is That then?" Lili nodded toward the replica, "he is a construct with your brother's memories. It was created so your mother be at ease. I a wait to not raise any suspicion, That is its purpose."
The replica flinched as if someone had tapped glass over his heart. "Hey. I'm not a fake. I have have memories about my whole life, There is no way I'm fake, I… feel like me."
Lili's voice gentled. "I know. And I'm sorry. But you are not the real Peterson that the know."
A long, awkward beat. Jean‑Daniel and Wilkens had slowed to listen without making it obvious—badly. They were the least subtle spies in the history of subtlety.
Wilkens lifted two fingers. "Question. If Peterson is, uh, carpooled by a sovereign shadow being today, why are we training with… proxy Peterson?"
"Because strength is communal," Lili said. "And because you three will bleed together more than you will bleed alone."
Jean‑Daniel grinned crooked. "That sounded inspiring and terrifying."
"Correct," Lili said. "Warmup's over now, Line up."
They stood in a line as she said. She walked the row like a commander visiting troops, correcting their stances with a tap of her boot, nudging a knee in, a shoulder down. When she arrived in front of the replica, her eyes flicked just once—not cold, not cruel, but precise.
"You fight like him," she said. "You do not hesitate. Good. But your eyes track differently. You watch like a guard, not like a brother. Fix it."
He didn't know how to fix what he'd just been told. He lifted his chin anyway. "Yes."
"Alright Jean‑Daniel—power test. Touch the stump. Adaptive body—wood. Keep your speed, don't trade agility for armor unless you have to."
"On it," he said, slapping the stump and grinning as ridges climbed his forearms like bark.
"Wilkens shadows up," Lili said. "But make sure you control, your area of use. Don't swallow the field. We are training, not teleporting a mountain."
Wilkens pursed his lips. "I'm 1000% sure that I can absolutely teleport a mountain."
"No, your big head cannot" Lili said.
"Not with that attitude," he muttered, then snorted when she shot him a look that said choose life or death.
They moved. Drills turned to sparring. Lili called combinations like a music teacher running scales, and the grove picked up a rhythm: footfalls, she can hear their breaths, they let out small grunts when wood met rib or shadow nicked ankle. Amanda and Miranda scribbled, then stopped scribbling, then simply watched as if writing this down would break it.
Jean‑Daniel lunged, his wooden skin rippling, and the replica slid under, sweeping a makeshift, shield flaring for a heartbeat of invisible impact. Wilkens blinked out of a strike and back again at the replica's flank, his eyes bright with delight and terror. Twice Lili's voice cut across the pattern—"Hands up." "Breathe." "Check your left, not the right"—and each command landed like a stitch drawing ragged cloth taught again.
As they take a break, everyone stood sucking air and trying to pretend they weren't.
"You're getting better," Lili said, and the three of them lit up like kids being told they were allowed on a roof.
Amanda's courage finally found her again. "So… what happens now?"
"Now," Lili said, "you keep up with the training. And Tonight, I gotta meet up with him around the sametime he took possession of Pete's body."
"The him," Wilkens said, eyes huge. "Capital H Him."
"Please don't call him that to his face," Lili said.
Jean‑Daniel wiped sweat with his sleeve. "What do we call him?"
"Well definitely not dude or yo" Lili said. "He'll be polite about it, and then you'll wake up six hours later on a roof."
"Copy that."
The sun sloped toward orange. Crows perched high and watched with the same suspicion teachers wore when students were quiet for too long. The world had that pre‑evening hush—a pause before lights came on and promises were either kept or broken.
Lili clapped her hands. "Cool down time, We're done for today. And Girls can you walk with me a second."
They stepped away while the boys argued about whether protein counts if you only eat plantains.
"I will bring your brother back to this grove when the night is honest," Lili said. "Not tonight. Tomorrow, or after, depending on his… schedule."
"Is he in danger?" Amanda asked.
"He is always in danger," Lili said simply. "Now he is in better company."
Miranda studied the dirt. "And you're on his side."
"I'm on the side of whoever keeps you two safe " Lili said. "Right now, that's him. And me."
The replica drifted close enough to hear the last line. It did something complicated to his face—an expression that didn't quite belong to what Peterson could have make.
"Thank you," he said, and I meant it, even if the thank‑you's addressee wasn't supposed to be him.
Lili didn't answer that. "Go home," she said. "Help your mother.Get some Sleep also Don't overthink things." She glanced at the twins who saw the joke write itself in their eyes. "Okay, overthink a little. But eat while you do it."
On the way back through the streets, the day's heat lowering into evening warmth, the boys teased each other with the loud relief of people who had made it through a fragile conversation without something essential breaking.
"Next time I'm adapting to metal," Jean‑Daniel announced.
"Next time you're adapting to humility," Wilkens said.
"Next time," the replica cut in, "I'm bringing snacks."
"Real Peterson would never promise snacks," Amanda said smoothly.
"Busted," Miranda murmured, and they laughed—until all the laughter drained out at the same time because for a heartbeat the replica didn't quite know when to laugh, and then he did, perfect, perfect, perfect.
"But Peterson wanted to bring snacks when he got his inventory." Wilkens thought.
The moment shrank to a pin and passed. They kept walking.
—
Back to the Loa's world
The castle did not sleep; it waited. Frederick moved through its corridors with the steady pace of a clock that had never lost time, giving low orders, sending ravens of shadow toward the outposts, speaking with the smiths about heat and hammers, with stewards about stores and mouths, with captains about the lines he wanted drawn across the map in sand.
When he reached the throne room, the Midnight King stood at the balcony again, watching the blue veins curl and fade like tidewater.
"Everything is moving like you asked my king," Frederick said.
"Good," the King said. With his back still facing Frederick. "When the boy comes, open the vault with him. Only with him. The weapons he cannot lift, he will learn to name. The memories he cannot stomach, he will learn to swallow. Teach him how stones are stacked and rations counted. I will teach him how silence is weapon and mercy a choice."
Frederick folded his hands behind his back. "And the people, what should I tell them?"
"Like I said before, they Will not know yet," the King said. "They will feel the shape of him before they see it. If they ask whose orders you carry when I am gone, tell them the king's. It won't be a lie."
He stepped away from the balcony at last. The room dimmed as if it had been waiting to exhale.
"At nightfall," he said, "I have to go to Lili. She maybe has questions and I owe her an answer." Something like humor—dry and sharp—touched his mouth. "We are even too often for comfort."
Frederick's brows lifted a fraction. "Shall I send escort?"
"No," the King said, already a silhouette growing thinner at the edges. "I am the escort, even when the boy takes control of his body, I am able to see the world through his eyes."
The shadows rose to meet him, obedient and eager. He sank into them like a man stepping into water he had loved since before the world learned the word for cold.
"Ready the vault's lock," his voice said from everywhere at once. "When Peterson sets foot on this stone, I want the past to know his name."
The last of him vanished, the torches' blue flames leaning inward before straightening again. Frederick stood alone in the great hall with the taste of iron and night in the air. He let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and then turned, already counting the things that needed doing before morning.
Above the city, the sky turned the color of bruised fruit, and the first star cut through the dark.
Somewhere far from the castle, a girl at a water gate squared her shoulders, preparing to meet with the Midnight King. Somewhere nearer, a king wore a borrowed body like a promise he intended to keep.
The Night came on.
And the Midnight King went to meet it.