All I Want is to be Broken Too

Wrath rarely announces itself with fury; it begins as a whisper, an ember smoldering beneath the surface, feeding on discontent until it bursts into an uncontrollable blaze. In Aurethil, the kingdom of golden spires and enchanted rivers, that ember had found its spark.
Elias stood in the shadows at the edge of the throne room, a boy of no more than twelve, fidgeting with the hem of his cloak. His father, a stern figure with sharp features softened only by his silvered hair, stood at the forefront of the crowd gathered before the throne. This was a place Elias had visited often, though always as an observer—a child privileged to witness the weight of governance but too young to bear it.
"You don't need to stay, Elias," his father had whispered that morning, his hand resting firmly on the boy's shoulder. "This isn't a place for children today."
Elias had shaken his head, his jaw set in defiance. He wanted to see, to understand. How could he one day take his father's place if he didn't know what it meant to stand in these halls? Reluctantly, his father had relented.
The throne room of Aurethil was a masterpiece of magical artistry. Stained-glass windows depicting the kingdom's storied past adorned the high walls, casting shifting patterns of light onto the polished marble floor. Floating braziers hung in midair, their flames flickering in a spectrum of colors, illuminating the gilded carvings that wound their way up the columns. At the far end, King Arlon Malcrest sat on his throne, a figure of steady composure.
Yet today, there was tension in the air, thick and unyielding. The assembled court murmured in hushed tones, their conversations fractured by unease. At the heart of it all stood Seris Vandreth, the Archmage of Aurethil, and Lord Halric Teren, head of the trade guild. They stood side by side, their presence casting long shadows across the room, their expressions sharp as blades.
"My king," Seris began, his voice smooth but carrying an edge that made even Elias shift uncomfortably. "The borders are restless. You've heard the reports—raiding parties testing our defenses, alliances forming against us. Aurethil's enemies see us as complacent, weakened by our desire for peace."
King Arlon remained still, his hands resting lightly on the arms of his throne. "We are strong, Archmage," he replied, his voice calm but resolute. "Strength does not always come from conquest. We protect what we have built, and that is enough."
Seris's jaw tightened, but it was Lord Halric who stepped forward. "With respect, Your Grace," he interjected, his tone laced with feigned deference, "protection is not enough. Protection is reactionary. What Seris and I propose is an expansion of Aurethil's influence—economically, politically, and, if necessary, militarily. A show of strength that will remind the world why Aurethil stands unmatched."
Elias glanced at his father, whose lips pressed into a thin line. His father had told him about men like Halric, men who cloaked ambition in words of loyalty.
"And what would you have me do, Lord Halric?" King Arlon asked, his gaze sharp as it locked onto the nobleman. "Send our armies to burn villages in the name of strength? Crush alliances before they are formed, sowing seeds of hatred for generations to come?"
Seris stepped forward again, his movements deliberate, his robes shimmering faintly with protective enchantments. "We speak not of brutality, but of decisive action," he said. "Aurethil's magic is the envy of the world. We can use it to expand our borders, to secure resources that will ensure our prosperity for centuries. With your leadership, we could usher in an age of unparalleled dominance."
The room fell silent, the weight of Seris's words pressing down on everyone present.
Elias's fingers curled into fists at his sides. He didn't fully understand the stakes, but he could feel the tension, the way Seris's words seemed to pull at something deep within the crowd. A flicker of doubt passed through him.
"They're wrong," he whispered to himself, though his voice lacked conviction.
The observer's voice returned, soft but steady. "Are they?"
Elias stiffened. He had almost forgotten the presence guiding him through this trial. "Yes," he said quickly, his tone defensive. "They didn't see what happened next. They didn't—"
"You are here because you saw it," the observer interrupted. "But you were also there before it happened. You felt the pull of their words, didn't you?"
Elias didn't answer. His gaze fell to the polished marble floor, where the shifting colors from the stained glass reflected like fractured memories.
"This council was called to discuss the defense of our kingdom," King Arlon said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Not its expansion. Aurethil has thrived because we have chosen unity over division, diplomacy over war. I will not stain our legacy with needless bloodshed."
Halric's jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Seris, however, did not back down.
"With respect, Your Grace," he said, though the words dripped with thinly veiled contempt, "your legacy means little if it crumbles into ash. The world is not as merciful as you would hope."
The king rose slowly from his throne, the room holding its breath as his presence filled the space.
"And yet," Arlon said, his voice low but firm, "mercy is what sets us apart."
The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, the court splintering into two factions—those who nodded in agreement with the king's words and those whose eyes followed Seris and Halric.
Elias's father stood firm, his expression unreadable but his posture unwavering. Elias wanted to step forward, to stand beside him, but his legs felt rooted to the spot.
"Do you see it now?" the observer's voice asked. "The cracks forming beneath the surface."
Elias's throat tightened. He didn't need the voice to tell him what was happening. He could feel it—the weight of something inevitable, a storm gathering just beyond the horizon.
Seris took another step forward, his robes trailing behind him like shadows as his voice grew sharper. "And what mercy do you offer your people, Your Grace?" he asked, each word carrying a venomous edge. "When the raiders breach our borders, when the alliances forged against us descend upon our lands, what then? Will your legacy shield the farmers? The merchants? The children playing in these streets?"
King Arlon's gaze hardened, his silence louder than the murmurs rippling through the court. Seris's words were a flame, and the court was catching fire.
"Enough," the king said finally, his tone steady but firm. "You speak of hypothetical enemies as though they were already at our gates. Aurethil has withstood centuries of challenges without succumbing to fearmongering. We will not abandon our principles for the sake of imagined threats."
But the words, resolute as they were, failed to douse the fire spreading through the crowd. Nobles leaned toward one another, whispering hurriedly. Even Elias could feel the divide deepening, an invisible line carving its way through the room.
Lord Halric, ever the tactician, stepped forward once more. His voice was calm, measured—a stark contrast to Seris's intensity.
"Your Grace," he began, bowing slightly, "no one questions your wisdom. But I must ask—can we afford not to act? The prosperity of Aurethil has been our pride, but it has also made us a target. If we do not secure our position now, we may not have the chance later."
The king raised a hand, silencing Halric's continued plea. "Your concerns have been heard, Lord Halric. But fear will not dictate Aurethil's future. This council is dismissed."
The pronouncement was meant to end the debate, to quell the growing discord. But instead, it fractured the court further.
Seris's lips curled into a tight smile, the kind that carried no joy. "So that is your decision," he said, his voice dangerously low. "To bury your head in the sand and call it wisdom. I had hoped for better."
Before the guards could approach to escort Seris out, the mage raised his hand. The air around him shimmered, threads of magic weaving into the shape of glowing sigils that hung in the space between him and the throne.
"Your Grace," Seris said, his tone cold, "I will give you one last chance to prove you are the ruler this kingdom needs. Step aside, and let those with vision lead Aurethil to its rightful place in the world."
The king stepped down from the dais, his presence commanding even as the air thrummed with the growing tension of Seris's magic.
"This kingdom," Arlon said, his voice calm but unyielding, "is built on unity, not ambition. Your vision will lead only to destruction. I will not yield to you, Seris Vandreth."
Seris's eyes narrowed, his face a mask of cold fury. "So be it."
From his position in the back of the room, Elias felt his breath hitch. The air seemed to grow heavier, the colors of the stained glass dimming as the tension in the room reached its breaking point.
He glanced at his father, who stood like a statue among the crowd, his face grim but composed.
"What's happening?" Elias whispered, though no one was there to answer him.
The observer's voice returned, calm but thoughtful. "A turning point, perhaps. Or just another step toward the inevitable. What do you see, Elias?"
Elias's throat tightened as he watched the room teeter on the edge of chaos. His voice came low and unsteady. "I see… something breaking. Something that can't be fixed."
The throne room descended into silence, broken only by the hum of Seris's magic. Halric, standing just behind the mage, smirked faintly, his hand resting on the hilt of his ceremonial dagger.
"Aurethil deserves a ruler who will not let it wither," Seris said, his voice echoing through the chamber. "You may see me as a traitor, but history will see me as a savior. I will not let this kingdom be brought to ruin by your weakness, Arlon."
The king stood his ground, his voice firm as he delivered his final words to the mage. "History will remember you for what you truly are, Seris. A man consumed by his own wrath."
The words hung in the air, a quiet condemnation that only fueled Seris's rage.
With a flick of his wrist, Seris unleashed a torrent of energy from the sigils, a surge of magic that sent shockwaves rippling through the throne room. The guards rushed forward, but the sheer force of the spell stopped them in their tracks.
Elias flinched as the floor beneath him trembled. The stained glass shattered overhead, raining shards of colored light onto the chaos below.
The observer's voice cut through the cacophony, calm but unrelenting. "Wrath has no end, Elias. This is only the beginning."
Seris's voice rose above the chaos, his words sharp as a blade. "You have chosen your path, Arlon. And I will choose mine."
The room erupted into pandemonium as the threads of magic spun out of control, their glow intensifying until they seemed ready to consume everything. Elias's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
The scene teetered on the edge of collapse, the forces at play threatening to tear the kingdom apart. Seris's power surged, his wrath unchecked.
And in the midst of it all, Elias could only watch, his young mind struggling to process the magnitude of what was unfolding before him.
The room quaked as Seris's magic surged, the sigils around him growing brighter with every word he spoke. The air was thick with tension, each breath heavy with the weight of his power. The crowd in the throne room stood frozen, too awed or terrified to move, as the Archmage's voice reverberated through the chamber.
"You will not act," Seris said, his tone cold and resolute. "You will not defend this kingdom, nor will you allow those who can to take the reins. And so, you leave me no choice."
His hands trembled as the magic swirled around him, threads of flame and light spinning faster and faster, coalescing into a sphere of volatile energy. The sigils etched themselves into the very air, glowing hot enough to sear the eyes of those who dared look directly at them.
"On the day that Aurethil's walls are breached," Seris began, his voice rising in intensity, "when invaders pour through these gates, and the streets of this kingdom are stained with the blood of its people…"
The flames around him flared, their heat licking at the edges of the room. Glass shattered, falling in jagged shards around the court. The murmurs of the crowd turned to cries of alarm, but Seris did not falter.
"On that day, my flame will rise!" he shouted, his arms lifting as though pulling the very magic from the earth itself. "It will consume everything—every stone, every blade, every soul. Ally and enemy alike. Until nothing remains but the scorched earth beneath our feet!"
The magic began to crackle, unstable and furious. The sigils quivered, and the flames feeding them grew erratic. Seris's figure, once commanding, now seemed to waver under the strain of the power he was channeling.
"Seris, stop this!" King Arlon's voice cut through the chaos, a mixture of anger and desperation.
But the mage didn't listen. His eyes burned with determination, and his words came in a final, defiant cry. "Let this be the price of your inaction, Arlon. Let my wrath be the last thing this kingdom ever knows!"
The energy around Seris reached its peak, the sigils spinning wildly as the flames surrounding him roared louder than a tempest. His body trembled under the strain, veins of molten light crawling up his arms and spreading across his skin. The air around him warped, shimmering with unbearable heat as the gathered power began to pull inward, collapsing into itself like a dying star.
Seris's voice rang out one final time, echoing through the throne room with an intensity that seemed to shake the very foundation of the castle. "Let this be my Vow!" he cried, his words carrying both fury and finality. "When Aurethil falls, so too shall all who stand upon its soil. None shall be spared—ally, enemy, or king!"
And then, it happened.
The sigils burst into a blinding cascade of light as Seris's form folded in on itself, his silhouette consumed by the conflagration. A violent pulse of heat and energy swept through the throne room, forcing everyone back, their hands shielding their faces from the searing intensity.
When the light dimmed, Seris was gone. Only a faint scorch mark remained on the marble floor, its edges glowing faintly, as if the magic itself lingered in defiance.
The throne room fell silent, the heavy air choked with the acrid scent of burnt stone and ozone. For an instant, it was as if time had stopped, the weight of Seris's Vow pressing down on everyone present.
No one managed a breath in the moments that followed. The crowd stared at the empty space where Seris had stood, their faces a mixture of disbelief and horror.
"Arrest Halric," the king commanded at last, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
The guards moved swiftly, their boots echoing on the cracked marble floor as they approached the trade lord. Halric's composure, always a mask of smug confidence, shattered in an instant. He stumbled back, his hand raised as though to ward them off.
"Wait!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "You fools! Don't you see what you've done?"
The guards didn't hesitate, grabbing him by the arms and dragging him toward the chamber doors. But Halric twisted in their grip, his panicked eyes darting toward the scorched mark where Seris had stood moments before.
"You think this is over?" he bellowed, his voice rising with desperation. "You think branding him a traitor will erase what just happened? That was no tantrum—that was a Vow!"
The word cut through the silence, a chill settling over the room despite the lingering heat. Halric's rant continued, his tone frantic.
"You've doomed us all!" he spat, his gaze locking onto King Arlon. "Do you even understand what a Vow is? What it means? He didn't just disappear—he bound himself to the very magic of this kingdom! His words will linger, his flames will wait, and when they come, there will be nothing left but ash!"
"Enough," Arlon said sharply, though there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.
Halric ignored him, turning his attention to the gathered court, his voice dripping with bitter contempt. "You stand there in your fine robes, clutching your pearls, pretending you didn't cheer for him just moments ago! You wanted this! You wanted him to do what you were too afraid to say aloud!"
The nobles shifted uncomfortably, their murmurs growing louder as Halric's accusations echoed in the chamber.
Halric let out a bitter laugh, the sound carrying a note of hysteria. "Mark my words," he hissed. "You'll remember this day when the walls of Aurethil crumble, and you'll know it wasn't Seris who failed this kingdom—it was all of you!"
The guards pulled him harder, forcing him toward the doors. Halric struggled against their grip one last time, his voice fading as he was dragged from the room.
"His flames are waiting! You can't escape them! None of us can!"
The heavy doors slammed shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the tense, silent hall.
King Arlon stepped boldly to the center of the throne room, his movements deliberate, his presence commanding despite the strain evident in his features. The room was heavy with silence, the echoes of Seris's departure and Halric's rant still lingering like a shadow. The nobles watched him, their faces a mix of unease, guilt, and fear.
"What Seris did today will not define Aurethil," Arlon said, his voice steady, cutting through the tension like a blade. His gaze swept across the court, pausing on the faces of those who had murmured their approval of Seris just moments ago.
"This kingdom was not built on ambition or greed," he continued, his tone firm but carrying the weight of his disappointment. "It was built on unity, on the belief that our strength lies not in domination, but in the bonds we share. Seris Vandreth betrayed those bonds today. He betrayed this kingdom, its people, and everything we stand for."
Arlon turned and moved back towards the dais, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor as he approached the throne. His presence loomed larger now, his voice filling every corner of the chamber.
"Let there be no mistake," he said, his words carrying the gravity of a royal decree. "Seris is not a savior. He is not a visionary. He is a traitor—a man who chose destruction over unity, wrath over reason."
The king paused, his eyes narrowing as he addressed the murmuring nobles. "And those of you who supported him, who allowed his whispers to fester in this court, bear no small part in this betrayal. You fed a flame that had threatened to consume us all."
A ripple of discomfort passed through the crowd, several nobles shifting uneasily, their gazes falling to the floor.
Arlon ascended the dais toward his throne, his voice softening just slightly, though it lost none of its authority. "But we will not let his actions define us. We will not let his wrath dictate Aurethil's future. This kingdom has faced challenges before, and we have overcome them—not through fear, but through resolve. Let this day serve as a reminder of who we are and what we stand for."
The king paused a hairs breath away from his seat, his posture straight and unwavering. "Seris Vandreth will be remembered as a cautionary tale—a warning of what happens when ambition blinds reason. But Aurethil will endure. It always has, and it always will."
The court remained silent, their unease palpable, as Arlon took his seat once more. The weight of his words lingered, but so too did the shadow of doubt.