Prologue: Cratered Kings

King Victor hoped to assemble his counsel to act, but faced betrayal instead. His first act of good in life came too late. Even in the face of a coup, he wanted to apologize. But what was the point now? He would soon join the millions of others whose lives abruptly ended. The Age of the Moon is nigh.

King Victor looked out through the windows behind his old throne to see the meteoric fragments of the All-World still raining down upon his planet.

He bowed his head. How many died from his actions? By now, the debris of the All-World had surely spread across all five of the other planets in their solar system. Men, dwarves, giants, therians ... how many of them looked up in horror at the meteors falling upon their homes?

His only solace was that his kingdom of Luryth was shielded from the falling debris by a pale white light that vaporized the rock on impact.

The shackles around his wrists jangled as he reached for his chest. Yet his pendant was not there. The Aether of Thiir was no longer with him, and with it gone, so too was the source of his one-great power

Victor turned to look at his brother Ruslan. The usurper

His brother, the usurper, flashed a wicked grin at him with a strange sword propped up against his throne. The new king, acting as judge, jury, and executioner to the old king.

Friends and adversaries alike sat above Victor, perched beside his brother, with a strange man in a white cloak standing to the right of the throne. Rehor, his adviser and closest friend, sat a few seats away from Ruslan looking worn and somber. Only Rehor looked away from Victor.

But he did not blame Rehor. After all, sleeping with your friend’s wife for years up until her untimely death was no way to treat a friend. Victor only sought to cope, loving the twin sister of his long-deceased wife. I am truly sorry my friend. I hope you will come to forgive me one day.

“Victor of House Estethiir,” Ruslan spoke, “former king of Luryth, former member of the Cosmic Council that until recently presided over the governance of our fallen All-World, you have been deemed by the people of Luryth as unfit to rule.”

By the people, or by you?

“Millions are dead from the All-World’s destruction. Even worse, you have handed the Shard of Astear, the relic of the Estethiir bloodline, to — let me see...” Ruslan consulted a document perched on the arm of his throne. “Ah, yes. Prisoner number eleven, the one born on the night of the scarlet eclipse. You stand before the counsel charged with treason, murder, corruption, embezzlement, and adultery.”

Each charge began to feel less debatable as Ruslan listed them out, but the last one stung Victor. He looked to Rehor, who still did not meet his eye at the mention. I am sorry, was all Victor wanted to say times. But what was the point now? Some choices he had faced down, some he could not live with, but he would pay for all of them tonight regardless. At least there’s dignity in a trial, fair or not.

“Tell us where have you sent prisoner eleven and I will ease your passing,” King Ruslan demanded.

“His name is Arlo,” Victor said, “and he is beyond your reach now. Even I don’t know where he’s gone.”

“Arlo!” Ruslan laughed. “You told me to imprison the boy. You made me spend years tracking the boy and his family. All for your superstitions of children born on an eclipse. Not only did you infuse him with a shard of the Aether, you’ve sent him away. The world’s most powerful weapon!”

“I have… for many reasons,” Victor responded.

“Such as?”

“Such as how far we have strayed,” Victor answered as he stood up with the little strength he had left. “The All-World was our haven for sanctuary, not our personal market for luxury. The gods gave us this blessing to be used by all, for all, not monopolized by our bloodline. We lost our purpose, all of us: men, dwarves, giants, everyone!. Myself included. But I had the courage to put humanity back on the right path.”

Victor’s stance persisted, despite Ruslan’s laughter, despite the chains around his wrists and ankles clanging against his joints. He felt the doubt of his words around the room. And who could blame them? The last twenty years under the delirious rule of Victor the Vicious all but erased his credibility. Perhaps his humanity too. But it was never too late to try.

“You only weaken us,” said the strange man to Ruslan’s right, “and defy the gods by doing so.”

“I have come to finally understand their will,” Victor said. “My only regret is not knowing sooner.”

“Do not bother with him Lord Speaker,” Ruslan said to the cloaked man as he rose and descended from the dais with his pale sword. Two guards on both sides of Victor pushed him back to his knees. “Victor shall be the first soul to begin the Age of the Moon.”

Ruslan was a lot of things, but a heretic was a surprising one. Forsaking the sun goddess, and hunting for the son of the sun. Victor could see his brother’s ambition now, but not where it ended. Is Astear not enough? Whether it was the continent or all five worlds, there was nothing more he could do. I said my piece, played my part, I hope to Thiir I am right about this.

“In the name of the kingdom of Luryth and by the Anointment of Xareth, I, King Ruslan Estethiir, protector and rightful ruler of Astear, sentence you to die.”

A painful chill pierced Victor’s body. As light left his body, he stared into the pale white of the strange blade Ruslan had pierced through his heart. In the last moment of his life, as light faded from his eyes, the former King Victor swayed between the regret of all he had done, and the desperate hope that his final act granted him redemption.

Thiir, forgive me. Please. Please…

*A note from the the author: This story was originially submitted to the Fantasy Prologue Challenge in 2022 with the opening prompt "There weren't always dragons in the valley". I've since gone on to develop this story to a full draft and have changed the story since to reflect what you now see. I hope you enjoy this as the story gets refined in its production.*