VEAR
I pin a dead butterfly over the map of Akane. The War Room is dark, bare of any light except the floating orb by my head. It follows my movements, silently matching my tapping boots as I pace the table. Carved from an old tree that fell in the last world war, the map reaches from wall to wall, taking over a third of the room's occupancy, stationed in the center for all to see its magnificent glory. It's a work of art, at least to my standards that is.
Each landmark represents the five Gen's and the grotesque monsters we're born from: The forest full of Ōgini and flamboyant giants. The mountain birds with red eyes and bleeding beaks. The ruins of those who once worshipped the sun, covered in hot black sand and dying fire. The ice lands with frost bodies for they are a mystery to most, and yet, are not monstrous, fanged and clawed, horns so large they're made from evil itself. The caves of Gens Nisha lie under the Treschine Forest, expanding through thousands of tunnels that lead to all parts of the planet like secret passageways; it's so easy to get lost. Sometimes I have a hard time navigating them.
I stop pacing and sip from a steaming cup of tea, herbs prescribed to calm my mind. As if a cup of tea could really seize the turmoil that plagues me every passing night and day. Anger and obsession—they're the only emotions that my father let me feel. Not love, not admiration, not even approval. No, he loathed me just as much as the bugs that litter this map because he couldn't see their potential. Not like I can. A bug can be lethal when it chooses, or when it acquires the right host.
Unlike my father, who held fear through darkness and strength, I want to rule through power alone. In order to rule this world, I must find power that is god-like, so consuming that it will shake the planet to its very core. The only creature to hold such a power is a paper butterfly and I haven't seen it since the tender age of five. But I know it exists. I've touched it, held it in my hands, witnessed the kind of magic it possesses, and that's all it takes for me to become obsessed. I must have it again.
Shadows burst from my body, moving butterfly wings across the map—making them appear alive. Sharp nails extrude from my fingertips; they dig into the edge of the table. This planet is not so vast. Why is it so difficult to find?
Two quick knocks ramp the door and I force my shadows back into hiding. Kato waltzes in past the guards without a care in the world, drenched in black, the very pinnacle of a trained assassin ready to disappear into the night. Normally tucked away, his blonde fox tail whips around in a furry of excitement and his pointy ears poke out from their head wrap.
I down the rest of my tea. "Kato, you're late."
Kato grins, sharp teeth gleaming as he slings a bag over his shoulder. "Actually, I'm just in time. Shall we go before the others think you're dead, Vearishk?"
"One already wishes me dead. Give them one last minute of hope." I pat my childhood friend's shoulder and leave the War Room. Kato follows suit, the guards just behind.
The dark hallways light in time with our steps, the floating sphere trailing above, radiating so bright the shadows flee from the walls and back into hiding. When we reach the Silent Room, the darkness swallows us whole, refusing entry to the guards outside. A lone throne sits in the middle of the room. So delicately crafted, I run a finger over its fine bones of hands and skulls, crooked fingers, and the magical enchantment that holds all of it together, and as I sit the room shifts, fresh air wafts by like a lingering dream, along with everyone's wicked intentions. Not a speck of blood in sight, I see. Another mundane affair.
We're no longer in a room but in a forest, five thrones circling a meadow of fallen leaves and the scent of approaching death and promises of hostility. The picture's so sharp and lifelike, even through the hologram, the bloodlust cannot be quenched by the three other rulers. Urlish taps a claw tipped finger on her feather covered throne. "So, you're alive after all. Pity."
I place a hand over my cold dead heart; light sears off the jewels embellishing my horns, a crown fitting for one who rules the shadows. "I live to disappoint you."
Urlish ruffles her wings and glares over my head, behind me, her beady dark eyes hone in on the one creature in this room I care about. "I see you brought your pet," she snips. "Half breed, you must have iron patience to put up with your master's...whims."
I hold up a hand, palm facing forward, the tips of my fingers barely touch Kato's chest yet it's enough to feel the tremors of anger. Master. Half breed. Using two slurs to rile my friend, make him lash out like some wild beast as if we, too, were not born from beasts. "I'd ask you to refrain from upsetting my companion. He is only here to protect my well-being." My cold gaze falls on the empty throne across from me, a seat black and charred, it once housed the sun worshipper. "Someone tried to have me assassinated in my sleep last night. Unlucky for them, I'm a light sleeper."
Kato dumps the severed head from his bag. "Very unlucky."
It rolls to the center, black blood trailing its path. Flowers bloom beneath its corpse. The rulers look upon the head, curiosity stricken in their wide-eyed gaze. Beke leans forward, pulling at the flower vines trying to fasten themselves to his torso, for once the boredom of sleep rubbed from his face. "Look at its furry ears. One's flat and the other is still standing tall. And is that a pig's snot I see? Urlish, where did you find such a fascinating creature?"
"A dreamwalker created it during their last desperate attempt at killing me. Disgusting beings, the lot of them. Though I must say, I find it quiet amusing how much they struggle in the end. Makes for an entertaining night." Urlish smiles beneath that crooked beak of hers. "Wouldn't you agree, Boy King?"
Kato growls, low and menacing, voicing the rage in my soul. I don't stop Kato, neither do I ignore it. I simply lean further back in the throne, deeper into the bones of our enemies and twist the ring on my finger. "Why are you so eager for my demise, Urlish? Does my presence threaten you?"
Those beady eyes stare me down, growing menacing, colder, as Urlish stands from her throne. "Nisha's very existence is a threat to our world."
"Are you suggesting we start another war?" Beke furrows his brows, feigning concern, yet the crooked grin behind his hand says otherwise. He bathes in turmoil and bloodshed.
Ice cracks across Yurik's throne, moving ancient fingers and arm. Cold air blows from his wiry beard, frost bites snapping at the forest air, voice rough and full of century horrors. "We have already killed one ruler. What would Mother God say?"
Urlish claws unsheathe, spit marking every word. "Mother God? Hah! She wants this to happen. She told me to kill off the Nisha, just as we erased the Helios. The sun worshippers weren't enough to satisfy her. She showed me our past—our future. The Nisha's are a threat to our world's survival. They should not exist!"
"Such threatening words will get you murdered, Urlish. I would be very careful," I say.
"Your threats mean nothing to me, Boy King. Mother God's power protects me now."
"Protection from whom? I'm merely sitting on my throne, having a lovely chat with you condemning my race to death."
She points her gnarly finger at me, emphasizing each sentence as if poking the air repeatedly will give rise to my anger. And it does. I clench my fists so hard; the pale skin turns even whiter. She snaps, "Your eyes are death. Your words are a trap. Your very body is a tool. You who manipulates. You who toys with others heart. You who hurt—"
Urlish clutches her chest, blood spilling from her open beak onto the dead leaves and one lone flower that managed to survive the winter frost. She clings to her throne, desperate claws tearing at the raven feathers, at her hair, at her clothes. Black ink draws through her veins up her neck and over her cheeks, splitting the skin. Hot blood drips from eyes, crying tears of death. No matter how much spills, I can't stop watching. Why turn away from such a glorious show?
Hunched over, Urlish pukes blood until there's nothing left but a withering, heaving corpse. And when she collapses, her body shrinks into a pile of beaten feathers, winkled skin and dusty bones. She body decays so fast only one creature with such an enormous power could bestow such a beautiful death in such a short amount of time.
The paper butterfly crawls out of the Urlish's cracked beak, serene and humming a soft melody that even through the hologram, I feel its song toying with my soul. Its wings are neither dirty from blood or digest—it truly is indestructible. I abruptly stand from my throne, eyes blazing at the paper butterfly, silently calling it towards me, hoping that for once a god will answer my prayers and send the creature over. Instead, my undying possessiveness catches someone else's eye, and I realize this too late.
"Is that the butterfly you've been so desperately chasing after?" Beke leans in closer, his smile twisting further into a dark omen. "What a beautiful creature. So dainty and mesmerizing. I'd love to add it to my collection."
And I would love nothing more than to snap your slender neck.
"That is the heart of Mother God." Yurik bows his head, ice wafting from his every word. "Bless be thy Mother God. May she live once more."
Beke chuckles, his breath moving flowers as if they too are laughing at me. "A heart of a god? Is that why you crave it, Boy King? To replace the heart you lost so long ago?"
Silence fills the room.
Now there are two remaining rulers on their thrones. Who will go after it? Yurik won't attempt it. He worships Mother God too much to infer in the butterfly's affairs, praying in their ice temple every day, even during the worse winters. Gens Isa may be a cold tundra, but they're useful to me whenever I require information on their so-called god.
Urlish's bloody corpse continues to rot on the ground, smoke spewing from her mouth. Once her daughter, Rune, takes over the throne, she'll send her bloodthirsty ravens to destroy the butterfly as retribution. She may be my only rival in this war to come. Yet, an enemy that can so easily be distracted by my faceless assassins. That leaves Beke. Once I throw him off his balance, I will win and finally have the paper butterfly in my grasp.
A crooked smile crawls over my sharp cheeks. "A heart only brings betrayal, Beke. You should know this very well." I brush my hair back and slide a long finger down one of my sharp horns. Blood draws from the tip. "How is your brother doing?"
Beke has a dull and mundane expression, but I know I've struck a chord.
"Dead. May he rot in the ground." Beke spits in the soil, showing his hatred even further. "I will have no part in this game of yours. But know this, Boy King, games cannot be won without help." He stands from his throne and flings back his cape of vines and flowers, dismissing me like a bug beneath his gold-tipped shoes. "I will enjoy watching your demise."
I press the fingertip to my lips, tasting blood, so bitter and sweet. And I will enjoy watching you burn alive once that power is mine.