Early the next morning, Alekius attempted to see his father, but he was not in his chamber. So he went to the practice area to clear his head, finding Kael angrily attacking a practice dummy made of hay.
"I think you killed it." Alekius said with a chuckle. Noticing that Kael was ignoring everything around him. Alekius picked up a nearby sword and met a strike at the dummy from Kael mid swing and pushed him back to challenge him for a duel. Kael answered with a swing of his sword. The ring of steel echoed through the Zuli training courtyard, sharp like a strike of lightning. Alekius moved with calm precision, feet whispering across the sanded stone, practice blade angled low. Across from him, Kael struck with fire and fury, his every swing filled with the weight of grief.
"You're open," Alekius warned, pivoting past a wild slash and brushing the flat of his blade against Kael's exposed ribs. "Again."
Kael snarled and came at him harder, overhead, diagonal, spinning low. Alekius caught every strike, deflected, and turned. He wasn't faster, Kael was a born fighter, trained by General Tharos since he could walk, but Alekius had an upper hand. Control. Patience. Discipline burned into him by Zubotu himself.
"You fight like a storm," Alekius said, parrying another furious swing. "No direction. Just noise."
"You would too if your father's corpse was left smoldering in the mud," Kael growled, sweat flying as he drove forward. "If you had earned your blade instead of being handed it by a king."
Alekius's eyes narrowed. The insult wasn't new. Many whispered that Alekius, Zubotu's golden son, had been coddled, favored. But they didn't see the bruises. The midnight lessons. The hours bleeding into years beneath the king's eye, forged like iron beneath lightning.
"My father did not want his heirs to lose, so he had us trained by the best. I was with my father, and Laric with General Tharos. You think Tharos went easy on Laric?" Alekius said, catching Kael's next blow and spinning behind him. "He taught him the sword like he taught you. But Zubotu taught me how to use my opponents weaknesses no matter how strong they were, against them."
Alekius struck Kael's blade aside, slipped past the guard, and swept Kael's legs in one clean motion. Kael crashed to the ground with a grunt, his back hitting stone.
Alekius stepped over him, lowering his blade to Kael's throat.
"You fight with pain. I fight with purpose."
Kael's chest heaved. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, but the fury had begun to fade, burning low, like coals waiting to spark.
"Get up," Alekius said, stepping back. "We've both got our fathers to answer to."
Kael took the offered hand this time, hauling himself upright. His eyes met Alekius'. Something flickered there. Not respect, not yet. But understanding. The blare of a horn echoed across the courtyard, reverberating through the polished stone towers of the Zuli palace.
"They're gathering," Kael said, sheathing his training blade. "Time to speak of vengeance while doing nothing at all."
As they walked toward the council chamber, Alekius cast a final glance back at the training circle. The dust still swirled where Kael had fallen. Zubotu had once told him that a warrior's first victory was not against his enemy, but against his own rage. Alekius wasn't sure he believed it yet. But he was beginning to understand.
The council chamber smelled of rain and smoldering incense. It was nothing new at the Gold Palace, storms rumbled through the lands regularly. The Zuli believed it was Azusa who kept the storms for them. Ensuring they were ready for the next battle to be won in her name. Now another restless drum of thunder rumbled nearby, which mirrored the unease gathering inside the Gold Palace walls. King Zubotu sat at the head of the long marble table, his thick hands folded before him. His lightning-marked eye, a stark symbol of the Zuli bloodline, gleamed with restrained impatience as he listened to the reports of his generals and advisers. Alekius leaned against a stone pillar near the chamber doors, arms crossed, his expression a carefully schooled mask of boredom. In truth, he listened intently. Ever since the incident at the Pagonian work gardens, unease had gnawed at the edge of his thoughts. Ofeus stood quietly nearby, his weathered face tight with concern.
"The Baros grow bold," barked one of the elder Zuli captains, slamming a fist against the table, "And now we have Pagonian slaves who whisper of how the boy used the rooted power. We should eliminate the slaves who saw it happen, then full on assault the Baros. The Baros are still close to Ninji villages, if they obtain the healing waters, who knows that they would be capable of next."
"I will not enact a genocide over rumors," Zubotu said, dismissing the concerns with a wave of his hand. "The Baros are fractured tribes. They have no leader. No strategy. The slaves might have some education among them but threats should be enough to keep them quiet."
Kael, kneeling at the side of the chamber, stiffened slightly. His jaw was set, his grief for his father still fresh and smoldering just beneath his skin.
"And yet," Ofeus interjected carefully, "we must not take either too lightly. Remember the prophecy;
When roots drink blood and lightning scars the sky,
The buried shall rise and the bound shall burn.
Two sons will walk where only gods have tread,
One of flame, one of storm.
But if the usurper claims the throne of death,
And casts down the rightful heir's name,
The stars shall bleed, the shard shall break,
And all the world be lost to wake."
Ofeus coughed, "We could be starting the prophecy as we make our decisions here. Yet, we still do not know who this usurper is. We all know the history of the Umbra's nightmares. We do not want that repeated!"
Zubotu frowned, he stood, the golden embroidery of his cloak catching the light from outside. "Enough, We are the masters of Suffering," Zubotu proclaimed, his voice carrying the undeniable weight of a man who had ruled unchallenged for decades. "The Pagonians till our fields. The Ninji heal our wounded. The Baros gnaw at our borders, like fleas biting at a lion's mane. We will crush them if they dare rise beyond their place."
"Still," Arken said from his position near the door, his voice low and respectful, "it would be wise to remind both Baros and Pagonians who rule these lands."
Zubotu considered him for a long moment.
"Very well," he said at last. "Kael. You will have a scouting party. Ride to the western ridges where the Baros gather. Assess their strength. Watch from the shadows, but do not engage. Check in on the men you left to bury your father. I had sent more men before you returned, and have not heard from either."
Kael bowed low, his fists pressed to the cold floor. "As you command, King Zubotu."
Alekius caught the flicker in Kael's eyes. Beneath the polished obedience burned something darker, joy, but the need for vengeance.
As the council began to break apart into murmured conversations, Alekius drifted closer to Ofeus.
"You have not discussed the garden incident with your father yet have you?" Ofeus said, not looking at Alekius.
"No, he was not here earlier, so I went to clear my mind in the training grounds. Ended up finding Kael there." Alekius said, moving closer to Ofeus to avoid anyone else hearing him. "I don't think Kael going without supervision is wise."
"I see, he is troubled. Watching someone you love die, doesn't always have the same effect on everyone. Kael's seems to be vengeance. Unfortunately, I have seen glimpses of his future, he will not get what he needs." Ofeus said, waiting for the reaction from Alekius.
"Future?" Alekius said, a bit louder than he had intended. "What do you mean?"
"In due time, young prince. Go and talk to Kael, you will know where his head is."
"What is going on?" Zubotu had heard Alekius' reaction before leaving the room.
"I just feel that sending Kael isn't a great idea. You know he still mourns his father." Alekius said, waiting for the backlash.
"I know this, but if he is going to fulfill his father's role as General, then he needs to follow the mission not his heart." Zubotu said, looking over his shoulder at Kael as he exited the room.
"So, a test that could throw us into a bigger war than we already are in?" Ofeus said, looking to Alekius for his reaction as well.
"No, Baros are nothing more than feral fire beasts. We will never have issues with them. Besides, Kael should be able to dispatch them if needed. Worst case, I will handle it myself." Zubotu said, sparks of energy swirled around him. "Do not question my ability to lead."
Alekius studied them both for a minute and said his goodbyes. He promised Ofeus he would talk to Kael before he left.
Alekius made his way to the horse stables where Kael, and about twenty other Zuli were getting ready to leave.
"I truly am sorry about Tharos." Alekius said, looking at Kael.
"I know you are Alekius, but understand I will make these Baros pigs beg for a quick death. My lightning will burn deep as I cut them down with my blade, every last one of them." Kael responded, not looking at Alekius as he packed more into his saddle bags. "I will honor my father's name."
"Azusa's blessing, may your lightning strike clean and whole." Alekius replied, keeping eye contact with Kael. Kael's eyes were stern. Alekius knew he meant his words, but also hoped he did not go beyond the King's words. Alekius watched Kael ride out through the palace gates, lightning faintly sparkling along the young warrior's pauldrons.
Boots scraped the dirt and stone behind him.
"There you are, brother," Laric said, voice low, casual, yet threaded with mockery. "Longing to ride off and play hero? Test your lightning against a few fire-flinging Baros?"
Alekius didn't look back. "You were skulking about again."
"Reading," Laric replied, stepping beside him. "Sifting through what scraps of truth remain in this empire's carcass. Ours… and theirs. If one of us is to wear your father's mantle,"
"Our father," Alekius said sharply, turning to meet his gaze. "Not just mine."
A flicker crossed Laric's face, hurt buried beneath years of scorn. "Right. Our father. A man who trained you with storm and silence, and gave me to Tharos like a mutt to a kennel. I am no where near his vision of a leader."
"You were trained by one of the fiercest Zuli to ever wield a blade," Alekius said, voice tight. "Tharos was feared by all, unmatched in the field. Maybe you will take his place."
Laric snapped. "He taught me to kill, not to lead. To survive, not to inherit. Every lesson was a scar, every word a command." He paused. "While you were shaped by Zubotu himself, ensuring his legacy lived with true Zuli blood. Not my tainted blood as he would call it. Do not pretend we were raised the same."
Alekius stepped forward. "Zubotu forged me like steel. I bled for every lesson. I wasn't handed a crown, Laric, I was broken on the anvil until I fit the mold. You are still his son, he did not have you killed all those years ago, so I think he still values you."
Laric scoffed. "Some value, I was thrown into the furnace and told to come out whole." He wandered to a half-rotted crate, pried it open, and pulled out two battered wooden swords.
"Ah. Relics. Like our king." He tossed one to Alekius. The wood was splintered, warped by time, but the weight felt familiar. "Warped like his thoughts too."
"We could still dance, couldn't we?" Laric said. "Pretend we were born for something more than politics and pity."
Alekius took a stance, blade lifted. "Do you truly think we'll ever earn the lightning?"
Laric spun his blade once before raising it. "Power's never earned. It's stolen. Or inherited. And we're running short on both. I am older than you, and I still haven't seen a casting take hold of me. My Stormbirth didn't work."
"Father will probably throw me out if my Stormbirth doesn't take. Your shard Laric, where is it?" Alekius said, noticing the low cut shirt of Laric and no shard within the skin of his chest like all the other Zuli's who have gone through the Stormbirth.
They clashed, wood cracked against wood with a dull thud. Alekius pressed forward, his strikes precise. Laric grinned through the rhythm, catching each blow with growing amusement.
"I tossed it. Maybe it is down a drain somewhere, it never glowed to my touch. At this rate, I hope the lightning kills me if it takes hold. Would be a glorious death." Laric said, side stepping a forward thrust from Alekius.
"Do not talk like that brother. You should probably get a new one, I need you around, and the shards are the only thing that limit us from–," Alekius tried to finish but took a hard overhead strike from Laric and broke his concentration to defend. Decided to change to something else that he knew Laric was more interested in. Pagonians. He had always noticed how much he studied them. Maybe he was just wanting to learn all he could.
"Did you hear about the gardens?" Alekius said between swings. "The Pagonian slave?"
Laric's smile vanished. "I heard. Guard tried to assert dominance. Ended up bleeding into the roses."
"You worried the Pagonians will rise? That we'll have more than Baros' fire to reckon with?"
Laric stepped back, sword lowered just enough to let his voice cut sharper than the blade. "I welcome it. Let them all rise. Let the forests burn and the slaves scream for freedom. Maybe then, when the world is loud enough, the lightning will finally hear us."
Alekius hesitated, for just a breath. Alekius held the wooden sword back up, changing his stance to a more serious one. "Are you sure about this?"
Laric rolled his shoulders. "Just like old times."
"Let's just pretend you've caught up." Alekius said with a grin.
Laric's grin was thin. "Oh, little brother. I didn't catch up. I learned where you were standing."
They began again. The fight was sharp, fast. Alekius fought with precision, each step a calculation, each strike honed. Laric was seemingly sloppier but freer, shifting his weight with unpredictable angles, drawing from something older than drills: instinct, memory, maybe even spite. Blades cracked. Wood splintered. Alekius pressed him, a rhythm of attack born of duty and expectation. Laric absorbed it, letting it become noise. He feinted, baited, then spoke between swings:
"You always wanted Father's gaze. But you never asked what it cost."
Alekius scowled, eyes narrowing and losing his cool for a moment. Laric saw the edge of thought in his movements, and that's when he struck, not with strength, but with timing. A pivot. A low sweep. A sharp elbow to the ribs. Alekius faltered. Laric spun behind and brought the flat of the wooden blade against the back of his brother's knee. Alekius dropped. In a breath, Laric had the point of the dull weapon at his throat. "You hesitate," Laric whispered. "Even with wood. That's why he watches you. Not because he fears you. Because he wonders if you'll ever stand where he is, if you can live up to the great Zubotu."
Alekius stared up at him. He knew Laric had him where he wanted him. There was no rage in his eyes, only a slow, simmering moment of shamefulness. He said nothing. Laric stepped back, tossing the sword aside.
"Sometimes losing reminds you what you're fighting for." Laric walked off, boots crunching the gravel. Alekius sat alone beneath the darkening sky, thunder murmuring in the distance, pain blooming across his ribs. The pride of his training with his father hurt, burned more than the bruise that was currently forming on his ribs. Feeling of letting his father down from losing against Laric.