The Shattered Crowns

Jiras staggered to his feet, blood streaming from his shattered mouth. Several teeth were missing, and his breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps. Spitting blood onto the ground, he glared defiantly at the Hopekiller. "Beat me down, and I'll still rise," he snarled, his voice trembling but resolute. "I serve the God King of Reem. He will see that I'm rewarded in my next life."

The Hopekiller clicked his tongue, a sound as sharp and dismissive as the strike that had just felled Jiras. "Where is your God King now?" he asked, his voice low and cold. The crowd remained silent, their fear pressing down like a physical weight as the Hopekiller stalked forward with deliberate steps.

Stopping just short of Jiras, he tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming under the shadow of his hood. "Do you know how I got my name?" he asked, his tone almost conversational.

Jiras spat again, the blood dark against the sand. "Like I care," he growled.

The Hopekiller laughed, a hollow, bone-chilling sound that sent shivers through the onlookers. "So, you have a spine. Unlike the rest of Reem." He leaned forward slightly, his shadow falling over Jiras like an omen. "Good. Stand tall as you die. At this moment, you face the Bloodless."

Akash tensed. Every fiber of his being screamed to act, to step forward and intervene. No matter Jiras' mistakes or arrogance, no one deserved to die this way—broken and alone, before an audience too terrified to look away. Jiras had fought well and followed orders. That, at least, was worthy of respect.

He moved to step forward, his hand reaching for his blade—but a firm grip stopped him. Veneres' hand clamped onto his shoulder, his golden eyes locked on the unfolding scene. "Do not interfere," Veneres said, his voice low but unyielding. "I don't care about you personally, Akash, but this—this could have repercussions for all of Reem."

Akash glared, his anger boiling just below the surface. "He's going to kill him!" he hissed.

"And Jiras knows that," Veneres snapped back, his voice cutting through Akash's rising frustration. "He's made himself a martyr so the Hopekiller will focus on him—on one man—and not on the crowd or his soldiers."

Akash hesitated, his body trembling with restrained anger, but he stopped. His fists clenched at his sides as he turned back to the confrontation, helpless to do anything but watch.

The Hopekiller, unfazed by the exchange, raised his lieutenant's heavy ax and brought it forward in a single, fluid motion to block a desperate swing from Jiras' khopesh. The clash was pitifully one-sided. The Hopekiller didn't counter or parry—he simply swung the ax down, severing Jiras' arm in a clean, brutal arc.

Jiras' weapon clattered to the ground as he stumbled back, clutching the bloody stump where his arm had been. His voice shook as he gasped, "I do this... for my brother... for my lover. My next life will be one of pleasure. You hold no sway over me, Hopekiller."

The Hopekiller cocked his head, his crimson eyes narrowing in faint disappointment. "I see," he said quietly, as though speaking to himself. "You die clinging to your so-called faith and your Five Honors." He turned away slightly, his voice tinged with disinterest. "I thought you would be more... interesting."

Effortlessly, he reached out with his free hand, gripping Jiras by the throat and lifting him off the ground. The crowd gasped, the tension thick enough to choke on. The Hopekiller raised his voice, letting it carry over the hushed square.

"I am the dusk of this world," he declared, his tone devoid of emotion. "The ending of ambition. Many call me protector, but at this moment, I am the executioner. Remember well what I am, for I control all of Eastern Lorian. Pray to your Honors or your God King—I care not. Die as the worthless creature you are."

He turned, holding Jiras aloft like a trophy, brandishing him before the crowd. "Try to take the bridge," he snarled, his voice rising with a sudden, venomous edge. "I could use a challenge in this stagnant Age. Lorian has gone stale. I want another war."

With those words, he swung the ax in a single, devastating stroke. Jiras' head tumbled to the ground, blood splattering across the sand. The crowd recoiled as the Hopekiller's crimson gaze swept over them one last time. Without a word, he mounted his black horse and led his lieutenants away, their imposing figures vanishing into the distance like ghosts.

Akash scowled, his teeth grinding as he shook off Veneres' grip. The anger inside him burned hotter with every passing moment.

Veneres, his expression unreadable, turned to Vyn. "Do you really wish to live under the yoke of the Bridgemen and the Hopekiller until your dying days, Vyn?"

Vyn sighed, his usual smirk replaced by a weary frown. "A decent attempt, Veneres, but the Hopekiller wasn't wrong. Eastern Lorian is his, and the Orcs and Elves bow their heads to him. I'd prefer to live rather than face what we just saw."

Akash stared at Jiras' lifeless corpse, his fists trembling with barely contained fury. "Why did you stop me?" he demanded, his voice shaking. "I could have saved him."

Veneres turned to him, his tone cool and measured. "No, Akash. I stopped your death. If you'd attacked him, the Hopekiller wouldn't have stopped with you. He would have killed everyone in this square without hesitation. That includes the crowd, the soldiers—every living soul here. He holds every Spire and commands the Bridgemen. Provoking him would give him the perfect excuse to storm the Hall of the Kings."

Akash's jaw tightened as he glared at Veneres. Elys prowled close, her golden eyes sharp as she mirrored Akash's emotions, her muscles tensed as if ready to attack.

"To live like this," Akash growled, his voice barely above a whisper, "it's not living. You all cower in fear, too afraid to even breathe. This isn't survival. It's groveling."

Vyn's expression hardened. "And what would you do, oh great and mighty ward of Jassin? Survive is all we can do. That's not a crime."

Akash's eyes burned with defiance. "Are you really living? No. You're crawling on your knees. I'd rather die fighting than live as a slave to fear."

For the first time, Veneres let out a quiet laugh. "Yes," he said, his golden eyes locking with Akash's. "It seems we agree on something. You and I, Akash, are the only ones who truly see it. Let's set Reem free."

Akash didn't respond immediately. His gaze lingered on Jiras' broken form, and for a moment, the world seemed to blur around him. The crowd still cowered, the blood-soaked sand gleaming under the sun. Jiras should not have died like that—forgotten, a pawn in someone else's game.

Quietly, he muttered, "Yeah. Let's do that, Veneres. I'd rather have war than live as a slave in the time of peace."

For the first time, the two opposites addressed each other by name.

Vyn eyed them both, letting out a long sigh. "Fine," he said reluctantly. "I'll talk with Lyra. She'll need convincing, but I'll make her see reason."

Akash turned to him, his voice sharper. "What changed your mind?"

Vyn diverted his gaze with a shrug. "The Hopekiller changed my mind," he said simply, though his tone carried an edge of irritation. "It was a smart play, Veneres."

Veneres' smile was serene, almost mocking. "A coincidence," he replied.

Vyn rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. "A coincidence you were all too quick to exploit. I know how this works."

Akash had already stepped toward Jiras' body, moving with slow purpose. "The man deserves a proper burial," he said quietly. The special infantry stood at a distance, wary of Elys' prowling form, but they joined in when Akash began to move Jiras' body. The people of Reem watched in silence, their fear still etched into their faces.

Veneres watched Akash, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "He's still a joke," he said under his breath. "But even jokes have their punchlines."

The city streets grew quieter as they left the square behind. The thick weight of the crowd's fear lingered in the air, though it dissipated as the three moved deeper into the Outer Ring. Akash walked ahead of Veneres and Vyn, his shoulders tense, his steps deliberate. Elys padded silently beside him, her ears twitching at the faint sounds of merchants bartering in nearby alleyways.

Veneres followed at a measured pace, his gaze fixed on Akash like a predator studying its prey. Vyn, on the other hand, kept his hands clasped behind his head as he walked, his easy grin masking whatever thoughts churned beneath the surface.

"You really are something, Akash," Vyn said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was light, almost mocking. "Charging into battle with your heart on your sleeve. Very heroic. Very… predictable."

Akash slowed his steps but didn't turn around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Vyn said, sidling up beside him, "that you're an open book. Wear your emotions too openly, and people like the Hopekiller will read you like a playbill. They'll know your every move before you even make it."

Akash turned to glare at him. "You think I'm just some fool who doesn't know what he's doing?"

"No," Vyn replied, tilting his head thoughtfully. "Not a fool. More like a passionate idiot." His grin widened. "And I say that with the utmost respect."

Elys let out a low growl, her golden eyes narrowing as she moved closer to Akash, as if to shield him from the perceived insult. Akash bristled, stepping in front of her. "Say that again, and we'll see how much respect you really have."

Vyn raised his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk didn't fade. "Easy, easy. No need to get all righteous on me, Jassin Junior. I'm just saying you need to think before you act—or you'll end up like Jiras."

"Enough, Vyn," Veneres cut in, his tone sharp. He walked past both of them, his golden eyes fixed on the path ahead. "We're not here to squabble. If you want to lecture, do it somewhere else."

"Ah, there it is," Vyn said, falling back to Akash's side. He gestured toward Veneres with an exaggerated flourish. "The ever-serene knight of perfection speaks. Tell me, Veneres, does it ever get exhausting being so self-righteous all the time?"

Veneres stopped abruptly, turning just enough to cast Vyn a cool, disdainful glance. "Coming from the man who treats life as one endless performance, I'll take that as a compliment."

Akash watched the exchange with furrowed brows, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed. "Do you two always talk like this?" he asked.

"Only when he's being insufferable," Veneres replied.

"Which, to be fair, is always," Vyn added cheerfully.

Veneres sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't expect you to understand, Vyn. Some of us actually care about the consequences of our actions."

"And some of us," Vyn countered, his voice suddenly sharper, "know how to adapt. Not everything in this world can be solved with honor and a blade."

Akash glanced between the two of them, sensing the undercurrent of a deeper argument. "What's your problem with each other, anyway?" he asked. "You both act like you're on opposite sides of a war."

Veneres regarded Akash for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "My problem," he said finally, "is that Vyn thrives on chaos. He has no loyalty to anyone but himself."

"Loyalty?" Vyn shot back, his smile slipping into something colder. "Oh, forgive me, Sir Veneres. I didn't realize loyalty meant blindly marching into death. You follow Dante like he's a god, but have you ever asked yourself if his plan is worth the lives it'll cost?"

Veneres' jaw tightened, but his tone remained calm. "Dante's vision is the only chance we have to change this world. You'd understand that if you weren't so busy saving your own skin."

"And you'd understand that there's more than one way to fight if you weren't so blinded by your precious ideals," Vyn retorted.

Akash finally stepped between them, his arms outstretched to keep them apart. "Enough! Both of you!" His voice carried more frustration than authority, but it was enough to halt their argument. Elys growled softly at Veneres, then at Vyn, as if scolding them both.

Akash lowered his arms but didn't step back. "You're both so busy tearing each other down that you're forgetting who the real enemy is. It's not each other. It's the Hopekiller. It's the Bridgemen. It's the people who think they can crush Reem under their boots."

Veneres and Vyn both stared at him, the silence between them heavier than before.

"I don't know if Dante's plan will work," Akash admitted, his voice quieter now. "And I don't know if we'll survive what's coming. But I know one thing—arguing like this isn't going to help anyone. If we're going to fight, we need to fight together."

For a moment, neither man spoke. Then Vyn let out a low whistle, a flicker of amusement returning to his face. "Well, well. Jassin's ward finally says something worth listening to."

Veneres didn't smile, but his expression softened just slightly. "Perhaps you're not as much of a fool as I thought."

Akash crossed his arms, glaring at both of them. "I'll take that as a compliment. I think."

Vyn laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't let Veneres fool you. He likes you, even if he won't admit it. Isn't that right, knight?"

Veneres rolled his eyes and started walking again. "Let's keep moving. We're wasting time."

As they followed, Vyn leaned closer to Akash, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "See? He's warming up to you. Give it another week, and he might even crack a smile."

Akash shook his head, though he couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at his lips. The road ahead was long, the dangers immense, but for the first time, he felt the faint stirrings of something resembling camaraderie. It wasn't trust—not yet—but it was a start.

And perhaps, Akash thought, that was enough.