The Shattered Crowns

"Get up," snarled the jailer, his grip like iron as he yanked Akash off his knees.

The other jailer sneered, the derision heavy in his voice. "A pitiful sight. Just look at him."

"In the Honors we trust," the first jailer said dismissively, "though I hope the Container doesn't infect us."

The second spat at Akash's feet, his voice sharp with disgust. "This is where you belong, Container."

Akash raised his head and met the man's glare. "Says the one with no chains around his wrists. I shouldn't be here for a crime I didn't commit."

The guard moved to strike him, but the first jailer grabbed his arm, stopping the blow. "Enough! The Container cannot be harmed. Do you want to risk testing what might break it?"

The words hung in the stale air of the cell, tinged with something Akash recognized all too well—fear. The title Container was spat at him constantly, but its meaning still eluded him. Whatever it implied, it left these men uneasy.

With heavy chains rattling, they dragged Akash back into the throne room. The hall was alive with murmurs that immediately died as the God King lounged on his golden throne, draped in silk, his concubines gathered like ornaments behind him. One flinched at the sight of Akash, her hands trembling as she clutched the edge of the King's robe.

The God King stroked her face idly, his tone dripping with feigned reassurance. "Do not fear, my Cleome. He is chained and brought to trial."

Her voice was high and tight with nerves. "With you here, nothing will go wrong. That monster cannot harm us under your protection."

Akash's lips curled into a sneer. If her trembling was any indication, her faith in that protection was paper-thin.

The Inquisitor, a thin man clad in robes embroidered with symbols of Reem's divine authority, rose from his seat. His voice carried the practiced weight of ceremony, though his words were more venom than scripture. "Let it be known that our God King, in his infinite wisdom, will now decree the fate of the Container of Ruin. It is through this trial that we protect all of Lorian."

Before Akash could retort, a familiar presence stirred in the corner of his mind. The laughter started as a low, rasping chuckle before growing louder, more mocking. Akash's jaw tightened as a black, shapeless form coalesced beside him, its jagged edges warping reality like a crack in a mirror.

The voice of the creature—his burden, his tormentor—spoke with an amused snarl. "These disfigured things certainly love to flap their gums."

"They're trying to kill me because of you," Akash hissed under his breath, his anger rising.

"Like I care," the creature retorted, its voice scraping like steel on stone.

The guards inched back, their unease growing as Akash appeared to argue with thin air. To them, he must have looked like a raving lunatic, but Akash could feel the dark entity's presence as clearly as his own heartbeat.

The creature ignored him now, turning its attention to the God King. It loomed closer to the throne, observing the ruler with cold disdain. "This? This is what they call a god? Weak. Boring."

It raised a skeletal finger, and for a fleeting moment, the God King stiffened, his face paling. Though the creature lacked substance, its intent was tangible—an invisible weight that pressed down on the room.

"Even now," the creature mused with a crooked grin, "it shivers in fear."

The Inquisitor continued, oblivious to the specter's taunts. "Let it be shown that in his boundless mercy, our God King has decreed to allow the boy to speak. After all, we cannot hate the one who holds the Ruin at bay."

Akash straightened, his chained wrists pulling at his bruised shoulders. His hair hung in filthy tangles, and dirt clung to his skin, but he refused to cower. His gaze shifted to the gathered Coven, the advisors and nobles who whispered and murmured from the safety of their seats. Their refusal to meet his eyes was a stinging reminder of how easily people turned away from those they condemned.

Something inside him snapped. His blood burned with rage, the heat surging in his veins. In Morgoi, he had been ignored, cast aside, a shadow of his own existence. But not here. Not now. He clenched his fists and roared, his voice shattering the uneasy murmurs.

"I demand the Rights of the First King!"

The hall fell silent. Every face turned to him, their expressions ranging from shock to incredulity. Even the God King froze, his fingers stilling on the goblet of wine he held.

Murmurs swept through the Coven like wildfire. "The Rights of the First King? No one has invoked those in generations."

Akash held his head high, his defiance plain for all to see. If they wanted to put him on trial, then they would face him on his terms.

The God King rose slowly from his throne, his silks shimmering in the dim torchlight. He gestured for silence, his tone smooth and condescending. "It is a grand occasion indeed, for one seeks the title of the Angel of the Red Sands. Perhaps he may even ascend."

Akash's voice cut through the chamber like a blade. "This trial is a sham, and you know it. I claim the right given to all men and women of Reem. I demand the trials."

The God King tilted his head, his smile thinning into a mask of irritation. "You are not of Reem's blood, and you are the Container of Ruin. How can I grant you the Rights when you are not even a man?"

Akash's teeth ground together. "Not a man? I was born of flesh and blood, like anyone here!"

The Inquisitor's lips curled into a sneer. "You are a dangerous creature wrapped in the skin of a man."

"And you are a coward," Akash spat. "I am not a Container—I am a man!"

The Inquisitor raised his hand to silence him, but before he could speak, a voice floated across the room, smooth as silk and sharp as a dagger. "The Honor of Generosity is not one I thought you would spurn, my God King."

All eyes turned to Veneres, who lounged with the practiced ease of a serpent, his goblet poised at his lips. He smiled faintly as the room shifted under the weight of his words. "When you took your concubines, it was said you were so generous that you gifted entire crates of resin to their families. Have you grown less generous now?"

The concubine at the King's side stiffened, her voice trembling with misplaced loyalty. "How dare you claim something so blasphemous? He is our King—the perfect man!"

The King shot her a warning glare, silencing her. But Veneres, ever the opportunist, pressed on. "Ah, we silence women for speaking now? A pity. By that logic, the Inquisitor will be next. He runs his mouth far more than anyone here."

Ripples of laughter broke through the tension, though many looked scandalized. Veneres raised his goblet slightly, his gaze steady on the King. "The man before us has invoked the Rights of the First King. To deny him is to say you are above the First King himself—he who sits on the largest throne in the Halls of Heaven."

The murmurs swelled again, louder this time. Veneres leaned back, his voice a casual afterthought. "Of course, I am but a humble subject of the King and will trust his decision, as we all do."

The God King's jaw tightened, but he could not openly defy tradition. His smile was thin as a razor. "So be it. If the Container wishes to take up the Rights, then let it be done. You may call me nothing if not generous."

Akash barely caught the end of his proclamation. "Ukari! A claim for the trials of the First King has been made."

The throne room rumbled as the Ukari entered, their stone-like forms a stark contrast to the opulence of the hall. Their leader, Fallen, stepped forward, his scythe scraping faintly against the floor. His voice, metallic and commanding, echoed through the chamber.

"We meet in unfortunate circumstances. You are the one who has called for the trials?"

"Yes," Akash said, his voice firm despite the pounding of his heart.

Fallen inclined his head. "Then follow us. We will wait as the trials are prepared."

Akash's chains clinked as he stepped forward, the weight of his decision settling over him. The Ukari flanked him, their presence heavy and unyielding. As they led him away, he cast one last glance back at the throne room.

Veneres's faint smile followed him, a silent reminder that nothing here was ever as it seemed.