Chapter 1
Chapter One
Kong
Aged-ten
He is the tallest man I have ever seen.
A towering beast of a man with a face like a battlefield—deep craters of scar tissue puckering his leathery skin from jaw to scalp.
He is Turin of The Strait, The Cradle’s Monarch and Protector. Sire. King. The one and only pure Xin De in the land.
He measures me up with his heavy, inhuman gaze as my Warden forces a blade into my hand.
“Show Sire your loyalty,” My Warden says, lifting his chin.
Captivated by the monstrous king, I hesitate, then tear my eyes away from him, dropping my attention to the weapon newly fastened in my fist.
“Of course,” I say, my voice riding a breath of determination.
Serving the Guard in the Estate—directly under the king—would be the greatest honour. It would be my Meaningful Purpose.
I lift my gaze to Sire. “I will do anything to prove my loyalty. To Defend, Guide, and Die for you.”
I spin the blade, ready.
“Excellent,” is all he says, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, inflating my chest, filling me with confidence—in his presence, I feel completely empowered.
But then he steps aside.
A small girl shuffles forward—no older than me, but much smaller. She’s tiny, almost fragile, with silvery white hair bunched on her head, white brows, and pink lips.
My breath catches. I stop spinning the blade; it suddenly feels heavier than my own thoughts.
“Do you think she’s pretty?” My Warden asks, and the girl blushes under my gaze.
I can’t help but nod. “Yes.”
“What do you like about her?” he probes further. I hope she is a gift for me. I would take good care of her.
I know I like her but honestly don’t know why. I like all girls, but this one has white eyebrows, and that’s pretty cool—almost ghostlike.
“The colour of her hair,” I decide to say.
“Good…” My Warden laughs. “Now cut her throat.”
His order spears through my chest, puncturing my courage and pride.
“Wh-what?” I stammer. He can’t be serious.
The girl stiffens but doesn’t move, not an inch. Is she even breathing? She is so still and aware. It’s wrong. I can’t do it. “I…” I struggle to find the words. “I… but why?”
My Warden growls before saying, “It shouldn’t matter!”
“She poisoned me,” Sire offers, deadpan, watching me closely.
My feet shuffle backward of their own accord, but I dig my heels in to prevent any further movement.
She poisoned him?
That little girl?
Doubt gnaws at my mind. Endangering Sire was unthinkable—but so was killing this girl. Was he lying?
I lift my chin defiantly and condemn myself. “I cannot.”
My Warden hits me across the face with such force that my head turns, and a groan rises from my throat.
“You useless fool,” he hisses. “You—”
“Wait.” Turin takes a step closer, looming over me. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want to.” The truth spills through my lips.
Turin’s face is unreadable as he says, “You'll have to do things you don't want to do in life.” He pauses for just a moment. “This is one of them. Slice her neck, or I will.”
“No, Sire.” I shake my head and fling the blade into the dirt, sealing my fate, ensuring my own death. After ten years of training to defend a lord, to obey commands, I now abandon it for a principle that feels far more significant than my own life.
My Warden is shaking with rage, and I know if Turin doesn’t kill me, he will gladly take the reins. “You’re willing to die for her! She tried to kill your king! You’re an embarrassment! A fucking coward!”
“I’m no coward!” I bark, knowing this to be true. My decision is not cowardly; it is something else, something deep and primal that can’t be ignored, can’t be changed or conditioned or manipulated.
It is me.
“I'm a man,” I say, looking up at Turin. Standing in the presence of greatness, of evolutionary perfection, I revel in my final moments and, even more so, my last decision.
Turin frowns at me. “And?”
“Men don’t hurt girls,” I add.
“You're a boy,” My Warden snarls. “A stupid boy.”
“Well…” I swallow, my tenacity faltering for a single moment. “I would have been a man one day.”
“And what a day that will be,” Turin says, and I clutch at the hopeful promise in that sentence. Will I live to be one, then? The courtyard itself seems to pause on my thought, each tree, branch, leaf, frozen in anticipation.
My heart fucking thunders in my ears as Turin stoops to retrieve the blade, and I have my answer. No, I will not live to be a man, but I am proud today.
I shuffle my feet apart, bracing myself for death. Will it be fast? Slow? Will he slit my throat? Stab me? I want to prepare so I can stand strong to the end, unwilling to even flinch. Will I see people, memories? Why aren’t I more frightened?
“I’ll take him.”
What?
I frown, confusion washing over me. Turin’s words hang in the air before they seep into my mind. He’ll take me. Me? “Even after my insolence?” I say boldly.
“Because of it,” Turin replies.
My Warden clears his throat. “B-but Sire—”
Turin holds up his hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. He points the gleaming blade at me. “This one isn’t afraid of death. Loyalties can be earned, but fearlessness…” Turin hums, perhaps with pride. “Fearlessness cannot be taught. I will name him Kong the Unbreakable.”
As the wind sweeps through the courtyard, I follow its almost tangible swirling, inhaling it, the moment, full of pride.
Kong the Unbreakable.
I look across to Turin before smiling at the pretty girl standing beside him, but then it happens. Turin turns and slices the girl’s throat open. Her eyes widen, and her little hands grip her neck as blood blossoms through the gaps in her fingers.
“No!” I lunge forward and catch her, crumbling to the floor with her in my arms. Her life spills out with each heartbeat, and we both wear its gruesome red blanket.
“Why?” My throat thickens against the merciless presence of grief. “Why?”
“I am earning your loyalty, Kong,” Turin says. “’Slice her neck, or I will.’ That is what I said, and what kind of man would I be if I didn’t keep my word?”
A profound sense of helplessness settles over me as I clench my teeth, clutching the lifeless body of the girl.
I feel my tears scorch the back of my eyes but refuse to let them fall, so they collect over my vision and burn.
Turin’s boots crunch on the ground as he walks past us, and even his heavy gait is devoid of emotion.
The inhuman king.
“Time to leave, Kong,” he says, his thunderous voice soaring from a distance. He is somehow across the yard; time has stretched, as if I am trapped in this moment with the nameless girl I thought I had saved. “Your Meaningful Purpose starts today.”
I look up from the girl, my gaze panning across the courtyard toward the king, the tank, and catching on the searing eyes of a boy around my age. He watches me. He wears a purple robe. I have seen his portrait. He is to be the new Trade Master—Cairo.