13. Inner Conflict #2
He speaks of the battles, the killing, the endless slaughter, but when he mentions his father, the male who was once his hero, his voice cracks with an emotional weight that shakes me.
“My father . . .” Oberon’s voice falters, a softness creeping into the words I never expected.
“He wasn’t always this way. He was once kind .
. . once a male I looked up to. A leader I wanted to be like.
” His hand runs through his hair again, his eyes struggling to meet mine while he is pulled by the past, forcing together the shattered pieces of his story.
The pain in his voice is enough to make me hold my breath, but he presses on.
“He found a way to harness power beyond anything we could have ever imagined. But power . . . it changes you.” He pauses, the words weighing him down as though they were made of lead.
“He became addicted to it. We didn’t see it at first. I didn’t see it.
By the time we crossed into those lands .
. .” As his words trail off, he lowers his head again.
“I thought we were there to help. To treat the sick. To heal.” His voice darkens, and I can feel the cold anger that fills him. “It was all a lie.”
The room seems to shrink around us as he continues, his words growing heavier with each confession.
“We were told that lethal sickness was spreading, that our purpose was to save the Fae and fairies of the Light Realm, that a plague was ravaging their lands. I believed that they needed our help. So, like a fool, I marched with him, convinced we were saving lives, but I was never prepared for the truth.”
His voice grows colder. “The moment we crossed into another territory, it wasn’t to help. It was death. It was slaughter.”
An icy chill races down my spine as the horrors he describes play out in my mind.
His eyes meet mine briefly, but there is no warmth there, only the cold shadow of his past. “Keagan gave me the real mission then,” Oberon mutters, his words laced with bitter venom. “Kill everything that moves. No questions asked.”
Oberon’s jaw clenches, his fingers flexing at his side.
“Keagan.” He lets out a breathless laugh that carries no humor.
“The golden boy,” he continues with exaggerated sarcasm.
“It wasn’t always like that,” he says, his voice carrying a depth I’m not sure he even recognizes.
“His mother was my father’s sister. She died bringing him into this world.
” His gaze flickers to mine, unreadable.
“Keagan’s father was a piece of shit. He made bad deals with the worst of the worst, and one day, it caught up to him.
He died like any common criminal in a dark alley. ”
Oberon exhales sharply. “My father took Keagan in after that. He started as a burden, a reminder of a sister he’d lost, a nephew he hadn’t asked for. He gave him a place in the palace, raised him among us, but he was never truly one of us.”
His fingers curl against his knee, knuckles paling.
“I remember once, when we were young, a servant boy tripped in front of him, just a child. Keagan didn’t hesitate.
He beat the boy bloody just for being in his way.
” He shakes his head at the memory. “My father was furious and humiliated. He called him impulsive and weak for indulging in pointless violence.” Oberon lets out a bitter breath.
“Back then, Keagan was the disgrace. The one no one wanted to acknowledge.”
Oberon lets out another humorless laugh.
“But everything changed when my father did. When the power corrupted him, Keagan stopped being a mistake he had to tolerate. He became an asset. He was willing to do whatever was asked without hesitation. The kind of reckless loyalty my father began to crave.”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Now Keagan commands his armies. He carries out my father’s will without remorse. He was raised beside me, but the male he became . . .” His voice trails off, something dark and unspoken lingering between us. “He was made for this.”
His face tightens as he shakes off the memory and continues, the tension in his body making it impossible to ignore the weight of his words.
“Keagan gave the order, but the Fae and fairies of the lands fought back. It was chaos. Blood spilled everywhere, and I—” He cuts himself off, the memory choking him.
“I couldn’t be a part of it. I confronted my father. ”
“I needed to know what the hell was happening.” His voice drops to a near whisper, the anguish raw in his tone, “It was just more lies.” Oberon’s voice deepens, rough with bitterness, his hands curling into fists as if squeezing the truth from his own bones.
“I fought him. Begged him to see reason. But the power had already taken him. Twisted him beyond saving.”
His eyes gleam with memories too dark to share, but the hurt—gods—it is almost unbearable. “He locked me away after that.” The words drop like stones. “ Said it was for my own good and the good of our kingdom.”
A breath shudders out of him, and I can see it, the moment the chains closed, the moment the world burned without him.
He locked his own son away. My hands ball into fists. How could a father do that? How could anyone?
The silence that follows hangs heavily between us, stretching until Oberon finally looks up.
And I see the flicker of guilt and of something worse.
“He came to me after.” His voice is hollow and raw.
“Told me the mission was necessary. That being a king meant making hard choices.” His laugh is bitter and humorless.
His gaze locks onto mine. “I wanted to believe he was still the male I’d admired.
The father I thought I knew. So, when he freed me, I helped.
I helped him spread those lies. I led soldiers into lands that didn’t need saving.
I let myself believe we were preventing a greater catastrophe.
I thought . . . I thought I was saving the world.
” He shakes his head slowly in disbelief, as if still trying to convince himself of a lie long broken.
Oberon’s voice cracks, a raw vulnerability slipping through the walls of his usually impenetrable facade.
“His throat bobs, his eyes burning with unshed emotion. “I was such a fool . . . a fool who couldn’t see the monster he had become.” The words feel like jagged glass, each one slicing through him, exposing the depths of the guilt he buried for so long.
“I failed. I failed them all . . . I failed myself.” His shoulders tremble, and for the first time, I see the cracks in his armor, the male beneath the power and the pain.
Without thinking, my hand reflexively finds its way to his, my fingers brushing his skin with a softness that seems to ground him in that moment. I don’t say anything, just let the gesture speak for itself, a silent offering of comfort.
For a heartbeat, Oberon tenses as if instinctively pulling away, but then his gaze meets mine briefly, almost hesitantly. There is a flicker of something exposed in his eyes. He doesn’t pull his hand back. Instead, he lets it rest there, accepting the small comfort offered without a word.
Creating a space where we both can simply exist, sharing the weight of the past without needing to explain every shred of it. Oberon’s breath steadies slightly, and though his face remains tense, there is a subtle shift.
After a moment, Oberon continues, his voice low.
His other hand curls back into a fist at the edge of the table, his knuckles stark white beneath the confession.
“Eventually, I figured out the truth.” He draws out a slow, uneven breath.
“It was all for power. He found a way to steal others' magic.” His jaw tightens.
“And once he did, he started imprisoning the magically inclined, ripping their power from them, consuming it for himself.”
He exhales sharply, his gaze distant, shadowed by something I can’t quite place. “It didn’t stop with the Land of Light. That was just the beginning.” His voice drops lower, rough with barely contained fury. “Once that power was no longer enough, he turned on his own lands.”
A cold chill settles over me as he continues.
“The war had ended. But the fight had only just begun. No one was safe from him.” Oberon’s jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his temple. “Not even those who had once stood at his side. He bled the land dry, pulling its power into himself until nothing remained but ruin.”
Oberon’s fingers twitch, shadows curling subtly around them. “That’s how my father became the Dark King we know today.”
I swallow hard, and the weight of his confession presses into my chest. His past, his father’s twisted path, is now hauntingly clear.
“His obsession with power has driven him mad. It fuels him, feeds him.” Oberon’s voice is hoarse, strained, “But it’s never enough.”
I shudder, but Oberon isn’t finished.
“With Keagan at his side and the magic he had collected, he’s become unstoppable.” His expression darkens.
There is a long pause, and Oberon’s gaze darkens.
His face is unreadable now, but there is something in his eyes that makes it impossible to look away, the weight of a hundred years of regret, of choices he can’t undo.
The solemnity between us lengthens, a chasm growing between his past and the present.
And as he sits there, exposed, I realize just how much he lost, just how much of himself he gave up.
After a moment, I manage, “The choice?”
His face shifts slightly, raising his head to meet my stare.
“For the last few decades, I’ve been building a rebellion, gathering allies, trying to restore balance and reclaim this world.
Your world. His vision isn’t mine.” Something in his eyes pulls me in.
The regret from moments ago gives way to a quieter determination.
“I’m fighting like hell to fix what I destroyed, and I want you beside me.
” As words settle between us, neither of us moves.