Children of Fire and Sun: The Rebellion (Novella Version) ✓

Chapter Twenty-one: Gregor (Nostras)

"Is death a mercy to the soul who has lost all direction in life?"
— Anonymous
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Power rules the world, not the principles of what is right and what is wrong.

It felt good to hear them. But in practice? Such a thing is a futile pursuit. In this world of greyness, morality had no place. There was only power, and those were too hesitant to grab it. Fools they were, absolute fools. It was good for him, though. It created more opportunities that he could exploit. And Gregor Hedj would be damned if ever let an opportunity go to waste.

It was night. The stifling kind when not a leaf moves, the air holding its breath in anticipation of some impending event. Something momentous that could change everything. A lopsided grin appeared on the cloaked man's lips. If all went according to his plans tonight, then it would indeed be a momentous occasion. Something to be written in the history books.

A new era will be born in Namiona, an era unlike any other any of them had ever thought of witnessing in their lifetimes.

The castle was quiet, empty as it was. Save for the guards who patrolled, there were only a few others who were there, excluding Gregor himself. With the prince Ryan, Queen Philomena, and the other children gone, there were a few others with the king. Something that would help him much with the task at hand.

He pushed open a pair of heavy bronze doors. Embellished on them were a pair of golden griffins, their ruby eyes giving an appearance of being animated in the light of the flickering torches that lined the hallway. Even before Gregor could enter the chamber, he heard the mumbles of the pacing king.

What have you made of yourself? Gregor suppressed a sigh. He felt pity for the wild-haired man in front of him. Gone was the prince he remembered; the man whose words could rouse entire armies of men, the one with limbs not unlike the trunks of the oaks in the gardens of the palace, whose skill with the longsword was second to none. With a difference of almost two decades from the king, and having served this family since his boyhood, Gregor failed to relate the two.

He recognised not this shrunken being in front of him, this man who could hardly distinguish between his shadow from that of a silhouette of another man. Death would be a mercy to him.

Gregor slipped inside, pushing the door closed with a stop thud. Ayan was yet to register his presence. The king pranced around the chamber, his lips moving without cessation. By the furrow of his brow, the chief advisor judged Ayan was deep in conversation with someone. He smirked. Gregor had several guesses on who it could be, but it mattered not. Not anymore.

"... must do it. Traitors, all of them traitors."

He stepped right behind Ayan. The slurred words of the king were now much clearer. Poor Ayan, he thought, so worried about traitors, yet he sees me not. With the gentleness of a nursemaid, he placed a hand on Ayan's shoulder.

“Your Highness,” he whispered against the shell of Ayan's ear, the warmth of his breath causing goose pimples to break out on Ayan's skin. In the dark, it was easy to mistake them for two lovers; had someone stood on the turret facing the balcony of the king's bedchamber, one would have presumed that he was with a wench.

"Is that you, Gregor?" His voice was raspy, as if he had screamed for a while on a stretch. "Is…is that truly you?"

"It is me, my liege. Who else will it be but your loyal servant?"

The lines on Ayan's face softened for a moment. "Yes…others are fools. They think I know not what they plot behind my back. Traitors they are, every single one of them. I will have their heads, I tell you Hedj, and I will put them all on display."

Gregor patted the small of Ayan's back. "Of course you will. But for that, you will need your strength, will you not?"

He guided Ayan towards the bed, pushing him onto the pillows behind him. The king did not protest. Lost, he was once more in the realm of his thoughts, his lilac eyes lost in some distant realm. Perhaps to a certain maiden with blue eyes and locks of golden fire, Gregor wondered. Not that Ayan would have to wait much longer. He was to join her soon.

It was like playing with porcelain. In Gregor’s arms, Ayan was almost weightless even beneath the thick embroidered robe he insisted on wearing, even with the rapid approach of the summer. His eyes fluttered shut from exhaustion. He made no move to show signs of alarm as Gregor hovered above him with a silken pillow in his hands. The older man's hands faltered not for a moment even when he pressed it upon Ayan's face.

The struggle hardly lasted more than a few moments. Ayan whimpered a few times, the sounds muffled by the fabric of the pillow. His feet thrashed weakly a few times before stilling. All of it was over as soon as it had begun. Gregor maintained his grip to ensure that Ayan was dead and not merely incapacitated. That would be rather troublesome for Gregor, if Ayan woke up suddenly and raised an alarm.

Yet Ayan did not move when Gregor removed the pillow. His eyes were shut, with no signs of discomfort on his face. In truth, Gregor could see a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For a moment, the sight of his king's face struck him motionless.

There was the prince he had known hidden beneath the man he had become. The man whose laughter was warm like the first rays of the sun at dawn. Death had returned to Ayan Desher some semblance of his true self, the one had lost in pursuit of something that was supposed to end in despair.

Ayan had everything, but he lost sight of it all. Let his life pass by in a blur of drink and debauchery. If his house fell tomorrow, there would be none to blame but him. Was it worth it for the sake of a single person? That was something Gregor would never understand.

"Goodbye, my king," he whispered his farewell to the ears of the dead monarch. "I hope you find peace wherever you go. Rest well."

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