Chapter 9 #2
With careful hands, he freed the banner from the rubble. He shook it once, gently, letting the dust fall away, then folded it, taking care to preserve what little remained unmarred. His movements were almost ritualistic, as though this small act might atone for the thousands he could never save.
“I see you,” he murmured, though no one remained to hear it. “I will remember you.”
He tucked the folded banner beneath his arm and rose, turning one last time to survey the ruin.
This was not a battlefield. This was a wound carved into the earth and soaked with the blood of people who never would have fought back.
As he lifted into the air, wings beating softly against the cold sky, Val-Theris understood something with terrible clarity: no ceasefire, no treaty, no victory would ever undo what had been taken from Lunareth.
It was a burden of truth that rested solely on his shoulders—a failure branded into the very earth.
The desert wind howled as Val-Theris’s convoy crossed the blackened threshold into Korvath. The sky here was the color of ash, the sun dimmed by a haze that seemed to rise from the ground itself.
Korvath’s capital—the Citadel of Thorns—sprawled before them. Its iron and stone towers clawed upward, jagged and sharp, catching the light as though built to wound the heavens themselves.
A Korvathian scout had seen them on the horizon, and so it was no shock when Val-Theris’s brother greeted them at the unholy gates.
“Welcome home, brother,” Val-Oros said, his voice echoing with pride and something darker. His wings burned red in the half-light, the tips blackened like cooled embers.
Home. His words were not untrue, but they still struck Val-Theris like a blade to the heart.
They had lived and ruled this land together once, before their opposing morality drove them apart.
Korvath looked much different than when he had last seen it—his gaze drifted to the streets behind them, lined with people that were thin, gray, and silent.
Children carried buckets of water heavier than their arms could bear. Men were in chains, scrubbing dirt from the ground and buildings. Women knelt beside the roads as if in silent prayer, faces veiled, bowing to Val-Oros as he led the Seravethians inward to his palace.
“Why are they all so quiet?” Val-Theris asked his brother, gesturing to the women who bowed.
Val-Oros gave him a wicked smile and threw his arm over his shoulder. “Because they have no tongues.”
Val-Theris halted. “That is a cruel jest.”
His brother’s grin widened. “I have no reason to jest. Our women are silenced as soon as they have their first bleed. It keeps order. Women are the first to gossip, the first to protest, the first to whine. I wish to hear none of it.”
He said it so casually that Val-Theris felt his spine go numb. His wings flared unconsciously, a ripple of gold and white amongst the gray and suffering. “You mutilate them?”
Val-Oros shrugged. “I perfect them.”
He led Val-Theris and his convoy through the city. For the Angel-King, it was like a descent into Hell. For Val-Oros, he described it all as if it was something to be proud of.
Workers in the fields harvested fruit and vegetables under lash and flame.
Young boys were being trained to fight with barbed chains around their throats.
Women with babies were huddled into a tiny shack in the furthest corner of the city so that no one heard the crying.
The rest of them were treated like cattle—but Val-Theris thought to himself that even Korvath’s livestock were granted more dignity than their women.
There was an entire district of men that were maimed and blind.
Val-Oros called them the Unworthy, stripped of name and purpose, left alive only as a warning to others not to disappoint their king.
When they finally reached the palace after their tour, Val-Theris was offered a meal, but he felt too sick to eat.
The banquet table was filled to the brim with feast, but all he could smell was blood, fire, and dirt.
Even his men barely picked at their plates.
Val-Theris wondered if they considered what a privilege it was to live as freely as they do in Seraveth.
Val-Theris was not a perfect ruler, but he certainly wasn’t intentionally cruel like his brother.
Val-Oros watched him carefully. In his lap sat two of his wives, topless, and Val-Theris made a very obvious effort to divert his eyes. They may be called wives, but Val-Theris saw what they really were: slaves.
“Hmph,” Val-Oros muttered as he groped the women on his lap. “You judge me, little brother.”
“I need to speak with you,” he responded.
“So speak,” Val-Oros said. He bounced his legs where his wives sat. “Don’t worry, they’re silent, remember? They won’t betray your confidence.”
“You need to end your occupation of Lunareth.” Val-Theris finally met his brother’s eyes. “Its people have done nothing to earn your wrath in this war. Only a weak man targets weak people.”
Val-Oros threw his head back and laughed. “Tired of them already? I knew you would be.”
“No,” Val-Theris said. “They want to go home.”
“And what if I want Lunareth?”
“This is bigger than our wants, Val-Oros. People have a right to live and die where they choose to. Have you truly turned so far from our father’s Light?”
“Our father expected me to rule, and I have. That is what the Light demanded of me when I was created.”
Val-Theris met his gaze, unflinching. “If this is what the Light now demands, then it has gone blind.”
“Perhaps that is why you and I were given foresight, brother. To fill in the blind spots where His Light cannot reach.”
“I don’t think our father intended for us to wage a war against each other,” Val-Theris said quietly.
But his brother was no longer listening, busying himself with his wives, and Val-Theris had not the heart to push knowing how far Korvath had fallen under his brother’s rule.
That night, he stood on the balcony of his guest chamber. The capital burned below him with the white-hot sear of humiliation and cruelty.
Rohannes approached quietly, stopping a few paces behind him. “Majesty,” he said. “You’ve seen enough?”
Val-Theris didn’t turn. “More than enough.”
Rohannes exhaled, his jaw tight. “Korvath isn’t a kingdom. It’s a tomb.”
Val-Theris nodded slowly. “You’re right. Korvath must be freed. But I don’t know how to help them.”
He said it not as a ruler, but as a man who every day grieved the loss of what his brother could have been.
Rohannes hesitated. “And Val-Oros?”
Val-Theris closed his eyes. The vision came like lightning.
He saw Val-Oros beaten and bloody. He saw his own hand wrapped around the sword buried in his brother’s chest. He staggered back, gasping, his hand clutching the balcony rail as Rohannes held him steady.
The vision lingered for a moment too long, the taste of bloody iron on his tongue, the sound of his brother’s laugh ending with a crude, harsh breath of pain.
Rohannes reached for him, alarmed. “My king–”
Val-Theris straightened, forcing air into his lungs, forcing calm into his body. But his eyes were distant, already haunted by what was to come.
“I came here to see how he rules,” Val-Theris said after a long silence. “And I have.” He looked toward Solmiris. “The brother I once stood beside no longer exists,” he whispered, the ache in his throat too agonizing to say more.
When Val-Theris returned to Solmiris, his bones were filled with unease and uncertainty. There was much to do: sessions to attend, guard to command, strategies to form. But he had one singular need, and he knew he would be unable to complete any task before this one.
Still in his gear from traveling, he handed off his horse to Rohannes and stepped into the refugee quarter. The Lunarethians parted for him, lowering their eyes and stepping out of his path.
His eyes scanned the small crowds of people for her, and she was where it would have been most obvious to look for her: among the sick. Jesenia held a wet rag to an elderly woman’s forehead with a small child on her hip that had a cough.
Val-Theris waited patiently for her to stand, and when she did, her eyes found his instantly. She shifted the child to the opposite hip and quietly approached him.
“Your Majesty,” she greeted with a small curtsey, her voice careful. For a moment, her voice eased his shame and the ache in his chest, but it returned like a predictable, steady tide.
Her linen dress was filthy at the bottom, but she stood next to him like she belonged there, as if whatever she said, she knew he would listen.
“You look tired,” she said gently. “The people say you traveled to Korvath.”
“I did,” Val-Theris confirmed. “And that is why I have come. But first–”
He held out a folded piece of cloth to her, in a familiar deep blue. Jesenia handed the child to another woman and then took the cloth from him with a tremble in her hands. She unfolded it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
When it was fully opened, Jesenia’s eyes filled with tears. It was a banner of Lunareth. It was scorched and dirty, but it did not matter, for Jesenia’s heart cracked with joy at the sight of something from her home.
“I visited Lunareth on the way to Korvath. I saw what my brother had done to your home, and I’m sorry it took seeing it with my own eyes to understand that devastation.
There was…not much left, but I could not leave this behind.
I hope you and your people find comfort in this relic and know that Lunareth is not lost.”
Jesenia’s face was wet when she met his eyes. “This means more to me than I can properly express.”
Val-Theris slightly shook his head. “It’s alright, I can see it in your eyes. I hope…I’d like to speak with you if you have a moment.”
“We are speaking, aren’t we?” she asked as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
“Yes, but what I have to say cannot fall into the wrong ears.”
She blinked at him, then nodded. She carefully, reverently folded the banner and handed it off to be cleaned. Then, she allowed the Angel-King to silently lead her through the city to his palace, where he invited her into his office. Rohannes was already there, waiting.
Val-Theris motioned for her to sit in the chair opposite his desk. He fell into his own chair as if it was the first time he rested his legs in days, and even his wings seemed to limp with exhaustion.
Jesenia began the conversation by asking: “Korvath is worse than the stories, isn’t it? I can see it in your eyes.”
He tightened his jaw, unsurprised by her ability to understand him with just a look.
“It is.” She waited for him, giving him space to find the right words.
Val-Theris found himself restless once more and rose from his seat, moving toward the balcony where the mid-day breeze spilled through the open doors.
His wings caught the sunlight, but their golden sheen seemed dull.
“I thought I knew what cruelty was,” he began.
“But I didn’t. I don’t. What my brother has built—Korvath is not a kingdom, Lady Jesenia.
It is a graveyard that buries the living. ”
He stared out at his capital city below. “The men labor until their bones break. The children are trained to fight to the death. The women…he mutilates them. And this is only what I saw. I tremble at the thought of what lingered where I couldn’t see.”
Jesenia pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling sick as horror softened her expression.
“He said it’s what the Light demands. That because he was created for rule, that it is the right way to lead.
He believes cruelty is the only language worth understanding, the only language that keeps order and peace.
” He turned to her then, his eyes haunted.
“Tell me, Lady Jesenia, how do I save people that can’t even ask for help? ”
Jesenia thought about it for a long while, the air growing stale between them.
“Your brother took their voices,” she said.
“So you must start by giving them one.” He frowned slightly at her answer, but she continued on.
“You can’t save people by pitying them, Val-Theris.
You have to listen—but not just to the loudest. Not to the most powerful.
But the ones no one wants to hear. People cannot be saved if they believe there is no hope. ”
He let out a shaky breath. “You make it sound so simple.”
She smiled faintly at him. “Nothing about kindness is simple—not in your position. I understand the burden you bear in wanting to be a compassionate ruler, but Korvath’s people will not turn to you if they believe you and your brother are the same man drenched in different light.
Isn’t that why you built Seraveth? Because your people chose you, and Korvath’s people chose your brother. ”
He looked at her for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest. “Would you help me, Jesenia? Not just for Korvath, but for Lunareth too. To advise me as someone who knows what it means to have nothing.”
Jesenia hesitated. “You want me to counsel you?”
“Yes.”
Her throat tightened. “And what if what you believe disagrees with my council?”
He smiled, weary but genuine. “Then fight with me. Argue with me until our throats are sore, but do it for the better of all of our kingdoms.”
She stood and moved to stand at his side on the balcony, watching over his city with him.
She considered for a long while what it meant to advise a king, and how desperate he must have been to ask in the first place.
She was a woman who held no station, power, or wealth, and yet still, he trusted her to be a voice for not just Lunareth, but his brother’s country too—at least temporarily.
She tightened her shawl around her shoulders in the breeze. “What if I am not good at it?” she asked quietly, like she was already expecting the criticism to come.
“You’ve seen more of humanity than all my councilors combined, Lady Jesenia.
That makes you more qualified than any of them.
And I do not expect you to be perfect—I just hope you can provide perspective to myself and a group of men who have never known anything other than golden spoons.
No prophet I’ve ever known fights for others the way you do. ”
She tilted her head. “Prophets look to the heavens for answers,” she said quietly. “But I found mine in the dirt under my nails.”
From behind them, Val-Theris heard Rohannes stifle a laugh, and it brought a faint smile to his own face. In that moment, standing side-by-side above the Golden City, they ceased to be king and foreigner, but man and woman burdened with faith that they could remake the world for the better.