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Ami is attacking JULIE

Ami gasped as more elves flooded the scene, returning to their job of dragging her into the abyss. She linked an arm with Kat, making sure the girl was safe and tucked against her side, while her other arm fired straight shots wiht her gun.

She noted that a few hunters were attacking students and nodded. Good. Thinning their numbers out and taking Julie down for the umpteenth time. This was going smoothly.

The ringing in her ears was loud, deafening even as she stared at the crowns in Julie's hand. She filled with an odd sense of looming doom, but didn't know why. "Those are crowns, right?" she questioned Kat, mostly as a muse to herself. "What is Julie doing with crowns ..."

[ 8 ft. from Julie ]
CUMULATIVE BOSS DMG: 427

Your Character's HP: 40/40
Fear/ Charges used: 0/3 | 0/2
Bonus Battle Effect: n/a
Runic Items OR Artifacts used: Coeus' Axis of Depolarization - unused
Distortion used: n/a
Damage / Healing / Defending done: 7

Kat practically groaned as the elves made their return, trying to do their job in pulling them towards the vortex. When Ami linked arms, Kat slowly rose to her feet, trying not to lean on her too much.

Her gaze wandered over to the crowns Ami spoke of, but had no knowledge on such things. Shrugging, she only shook her head and gave a small reply. "I have no idea.."

Distance: 6

Kat's HP: 30/30 (Thanks to being a Popsicle 8U)
Charges used: unavailable
Battle Effect: two 6 sided die for melee
Runic Items OR Artifacts used: none
Distortion used: none
Damage done: not attacking
Description: Now has short hair, currently dressed in a black robe and as well as Gale's scarf and Jake's sash to keep warm. (POSSIBLY AN ICICLE AT THIS POINT LOL)

Dim shapes slid past her, food for the vortex's hungry maw, but Madison stood firm. Her gaze was fixed on the crowns above, as if the entire world had shifted and reformed itself with the crowns as the absolute center. Screams echoed in her ears for a moment, but they grew soft and weak, replaced by a voice filled with certainty, with power barely contained. A voice that had whispered many things, that had shouted and screamed and cried, been the bearer of so many emotions and so many weighty portents. A voice that had breathed home.

Her own voice.

She walked out of the grey, the fog clinging to her like trailing robes. Madison could barely breathe as she watched her own doppelganger. The blue crown in her hands was the center of gravity, pulling Madison herself inexorably closer, a vortex of its own.

"I have what you desire."

The doppelganger's smile was radiant, cunning; a buzzing filled Madison's ears, but it was as insignificant as that of a fly. How could anything else matter with the crown there, so close, its mere presence reducing everything else to ash and dust? And yet, as the crown drowned everything out, faces seemed to form in the fog, sketched out in swirls of monochrome.

Jordan. Robert. Ennea. Petra. Jerry. Reine. Sherry. Leon. Candace. Cassandra.

Those she cared for; those she wished to protect; her parents' faces flickered for a moment, then curled away into nothingness. The people at the soup kitchen that the silver wolf had so callously struck down. Indistinct shadows formed the unknowable yet cherished mass of humanity. All needing protection, poor little things; so naked and empty because of their terrible lack.

They lacked the Crown, and a worthy King to bear it. A worthy King to save them all.

Something twisted in Madison's stomach, and she felt dizzy. There was so much to protect, so much land and so horribly many people, and there were so many threats. Even genocide had not been enough to stop them. Offense had failed as a tactic; now there was only defense, the shield and the wall, the sheltering wing.

The Crown.

"Take it." The doppelganger lifted the Crown towards her, even as Madison reached for it. "Take it, and everything you wish will be yours. No one will question you because you-"

Her fingertips touched black.

--------------

The Crown lay heavy upon her head, encircling her brow with a chill that would never change; mere body heat was not enough to warm the starkness of the Crown. It was purity itself, black and blue and shining, incapable of being tainted by mere mortals. Even the King herself could not change it; it was immutable, in all ways.

Inscrutable, in all ways.

So, too, must she be changeless and steadfast, the living expression of the Crown she bore.

The throne room fanned out around her, walls arching up and around, encasing her and her Court in a globe of safety. The walls formed layers upon layers, an onion of a Palace built from every material conceivable - glass, stone, metals, wood, all wrought with an eye to both strength and beauty. The sigils of Protection shone around her in a thousand forms, etched into walls, tiled into floors, embroidered into clothing: the Wall, the Shield, the Sheltering Wing.

It was glory, and it was safety... for most.

Not all.

The lack of perfection, the crack in the Wall gnawed at her gut, a low but ceaseless hunger. But she would be steadfast; she would be strong. This time of trial would pass, and she would again be victorious. In the meantime she must be changeless, and do what must be done. What had always been done.

The sound of the Court rose like waves as the King stood. Around her, faces lifted, their expressions impassive for the most part. She approved; they showed courage, another sort of Wall between them and encroaching fear. They displayed the essence of her Kingdom in their stony faces. Yet they too, knew, what the price of healing must be.

"My king, it is time for the elimination."

Jordan's words were unnecessary, but ceremony had to be upheld; as the head of her Phoenix Guard, he had the right to speak. A murmur rippled across the Court, fading into utter silence. His reminder was meant for them, not for her - she could never forget. The looming choice had haunted her for days prior. To lose even a single life was inexcusable, was against all that Kingdom and Crown stood for: protection, utter and complete. Safety for all who dwelt behind Wall and Shield, under Sheltering Wing.

She had failed. The wall had been breached, and would fall without due sacrifice. The life of one would pay for all. It was an easy decision, and it cut her to the core to have to make it at all.

Jordan continued to speak the ancient words, and she gave no indication of how bitter it was to hear them. "It is time for you to choose one of your subjects. It is time for the execution, my King."

Some few shrank back; she made note of who they were, marked them as weak, unworthy. They would be dealt with later. The sacrifice had to be worthy and willing - had to be a true sacrifice, not a meaningless gesture. She would display her honor before all the Kings who would be judging her actions now.

"Yes. You all knew the price of protection. The Wall is sealed with blood," she said, speaking at last. The weight of the Crown pressed down on her. "One life will pay for the lives of all." As she spoke, she scanned the faces in front of her. There was not a single one that was not known to her.

"It is for the greater good," Jordan replied, as ceremony dictated. "In order to save everyone, your kingdom, you will need to sacrifice one. Only once this time, just once. Next time, it may be different."

"There will be no next time." The words were required. They were also a lie. There would always be a next time. Victory and defeat flowed in cycles, as the Crowns dictated. But the words had to be spoken, to create hope in the hearts of her people. She saw their faces lift, their jaws set in determination as the words did their work.

Jordan bowed and stepped aside, moving to stand with the rest of her Phoenix Guard. The choice of who would be sacrificed was hers alone. She could choose him, or any of her dearest and most trusted knights. Any one of them would be a suitable sacrifice, moreso because their loss would wound her deeply. As King, the failures of her Kingdom fell on her head-

"We will fix the Wall!"

The voice was bright and shockingly cheerful, quavering at the edges yet filled with determination. Her gaze snapped away from her Guard, seeking the one who had spoken... only to find a girl she barely knew, newly-come to the Kingdom. She was tiny, standing on her tiptoes to be distinguished in the crowd, one arm waving over her head.

Solia. Her name was Solia. And the man beside her, cloaked in feathers, was Israfel. Both of them met her questioning gaze without turning away, and the crowd parted, leaving a clear path between the King and her subjects.

"Why?" she asked, finally, staring down at the pair. "Only one is needed, and you are newly come to my Kingdom." And yet the history there was strange - Israfel was from outKingdom, brought under the protection of the Wall by the King herself, that he might be saved from the darkness. Solia, too, was a newcomer, yet inexorably bound to the man the King had saved.

This time, it was Israfel who spoke, his voice shaking but gentle. "Because you saved me," he said, simply, one hand reaching down to twine fingers with Solia. She nodded, firmly. "And we have to be together, no matter what. Isn't this why you brought me here?"

Was it? She couldn't remember. She was sure there had been other reasons - but Israfel had sacrificed much to join her cause in the first place. She could not have asked this of him, or of Solia... and yet here they were, offering themselves for the sake of all.

"Only one is needed," she repeated, quietly.

Solia lifted her chin to meet the King's gaze. "Then two will do even better."

The King's smile was genuine, if sorrowful. "I accept."

The blades were only used for times such as this; the Kingdom was of Protection, but there were times when shields were simply not appropriate tools. The four swords were clean and sharp; death would be swift and merciful. They bowed before her as she took up one blade in each hand. One blade for each neck. They would die by her hand - another duty that fell solely on the King's head.

Their hands were still twined.

"Your blood will mend the Wall," she promised them as she lifted the blades high; the Court was utterly silent, focused.

The swords flashed in the light, their movements straight and true.

They struck.

The King did not move, even as two bodies crumpled to the ground, their life's blood spattering her armor. This, too, was the part of the price the King had to pay. The silence was absolute.

"The Wall is mended," her Captain said, quietly, and she bowed her head beneath the weight of the Crown.

Power. He'd sought it once for its own sake, gathering it up like pages of a book in a language he did not understand. It was as if by inspiring enough fear and intimidation in others he believed a solution would coalesce and they would grow to love him; that they would fill that ragged void in him, respect him and that somehow it would one day bring him the person who could stitch together the broken fragments of a man that he was. That pursuit, power for power's sake, had brought him nothing but heartache and helplessness, a world of resentment directed at the almost relentlessly ruthless man he'd become.

Today he no longer sought power for the same reasons. He sought it now to protect the ones that he loved, to keep the nightmares of the world they lived in from their door. Death had passed too close too many times to their fragile lives and every time he had been helpless, once again that child who stood in the doorway to a room where his mother no longer was. The Sahara loomed massive in his thoughts, the clamour of horsemen, the harrowing cool of a too-large bed and fire consuming before his eyes a landscape of flesh he had mapped out the every contour of. His mind drew back to a wider view of a family he bore no relation to, but which were a family nonetheless.

Today he sought power to protect them, but it was easier to let them think he sought it for himself.

The crown glittered like fractured ice in his hands, brilliantly beautiful and exquisitely sharp. Next to it he felt imperfect, after all, flesh and bone were a poor compliment to such honed brilliance. Even his fingers felt ungainly, too bulky against the stripped metal barbs, too human and fragile. He wasn't worthy of the power that thrummed in his hands, but he had never been worthy of anything good in his life.

It was all he could do to live on credit and hope that one day he would be.

Tentatively he placed the diadem upon his head, - vivid blue against the vibrant red of his hair- and there was a coldness that seemed to slither into his bones, curling around his thoughts like frost. It banked the ever burning flames of his anger and smothered the doubt. The crown was a symbol, an emblem of his obligations and a reminder that he was more than just a man - he was the point upon which the lives of his subjects converged.

The world shifted and the chill took his breath away as the world faded to black.

--

A crown did not make the man and Rep was not a king.

One of life's natural warriors, the responsibilities of ruling a kingdom did not come easily. A king needed to be rational and level headed, to assess the needs of his kingdom before himself. Instead, his emotions held the reigns. Forged on the battlefield, all that he was relied on survival and quick instinct and his temper was a vicious and forever rolling storm. It left him quick to anger and even quicker in the heat of the moment to make decisions that made his people suffer, a vindictive wrath that inspired fear from those he was sworn to protect. Part of it was guilt, because he knew deep down in his heart he couldn't bring himself to care about all of them, their needs so small and petty in comparison to his own. He had to make them fear him to keep them away, lest they ever get close enough to see that he was rough hewn in emotion, lacking the perfect polished edges of the crown he wore. He felt a play-king, out of his depth, treading water in a position of power where he was meant to have all the answers but felt like he had none, but this, he reasoned, was likely how every monarch felt. It was a human condition.

But his strength was that he knew where his weaknesses lay. Somehow in the haze of jumbled thoughts, this was important.

The throne room was massive and opulent, as was the castle itself, overlooking a grand and sprawling moor, prime for hunting. But of course this was so, he would tolerate nothing less than the grandest material wealth, it placed him far above the mortals milling around him, separated him that he might impartially look upon them like a god upon the earth and judge their tiny lives. That was the theory, in any event.

"Sire.", a voice snapped him out of his reverie, cold blue eyes fixing the courtier with a glare for the interruption. "It is time for the elimination."

He remembered now, as if sweeping aside the cobwebs of lingering dreams. The tournament had been disastrous and a great failure for the kingdom. There had been a tremendous amount at stake, a supply of food for the winter riding on the shoulders of success. But he had failed them, clouded by his bias, he chose the wrong champion and in the moment of truth, the man had fallen.

He remembered the sickly too-sweet smile of the other monarch as she offered him the most unpleasant way out.

" Ce n'est pas un problème. A sacrifice shall suffice for the supplies, no?."

She was a dangerous spider of a woman, aware of his weaknesses and those of his kingdom, she would expect him to choose the easiest sacrifice, a mere trifle, and would never relent, reminding him that she knew.

And there had been only one option left, the only way to drive her away, to assert the power of his rule.

She held a dagger over his heart all that remained was to tear it out.

"Line up the court."

Even as he gave the order he could not look over his shoulder at the patient figure he knew would be there, his right hand.

---

They stood before him, faces more familiar to him than his own, some with confusion, others with trepidation, others still with bored indifference - not everyone knew the magnitude of this decision after all. If he failed to make this choice, if he faltered in his resolve, there would be famine like the kingdom had never witnessed and the dark queen's armies would take his land. There would be no averting the tide of death that would sweep them all to ruin.

The line-up itself was a formality but also a statement. In the wings of the throne room the entourage of messengers the dark queen had sent waited like patient ravens at a battlefield. The choice had to be made before them, proof of his unwavering intent.

He took in the individuals as he walked the line, his closest friends, people he had spent good and bad times with, people who against all odds looked up to him and trusted his judgement. They relied on him to keep them safe, to ultimately make choices that were in their best interests and many of them knew him, appreciated him as a person as well as a king.

But he doubted any of them would ever truly understand what this meant to him, he kept his personal business private.

At the head of the line he stopped, and it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. Part of him had wanted to keep walking, to walk right out of the throne room, to run and run and run that he might never have to choose, that someone else could carry the burden he had to bear. He felt he might crack and shatter like so much glass under the weight of what he had to do.

Harrison stood before him, captain of the royal guard, dressed in the colours of the realm, furnished in a flourish of his personal taste with his inexplicable pink sash. His armour was always polished and functional and as always he was tidy and well groomed.

It was a mistake to look up from his inspection of his attire, to meet those grey blue eyes and their deceptive calm like a gathering storm. Harrison's eyes always seemed brighter when he smiled, and he did as Rep met his gaze, that secret private smile reserved only for them, a smile that spoke of childish puns in the face of adversity, of private breathless moments and unwavering loyalty that transcended mere words. And in that moment he couldn't breathe. The ache in his chest would permit nothing else as the surge of love strained against the shackles of necessity until he felt he might die. The other man's smile wavered as it was not returned and he furrowed his brows in unspoken concern.

He was worried about him, oh ******** god he was worried about him. It made him want to throw up his hands and cry out, to worry about the man who was about to send you to your doom. It hurt, it hurt so much. Would he doubt his love over this? Would he understand it had to be done?

His hand shook as he raised it to point at Harrison's chest, a place he'd so often rested his head against when he felt too human, the resting place of that heart that he always imagined beat in time with his own. He couldn't cry but his breath was a shivering restrained sob as he stated simply. "I have chosen my sacrifice."

The back of his throat ached, feeling somehow twisted like his insides as he took in Harrison's reaction. He didn't speak, in a situation like this, what could anyone say that wouldn't shatter control into splinters and render them all weak in front of the watching messengers? The other man looked startled, almost hurt, a flitting reaction quickly masked by the slightest questioning raise of a brow. But this flickering array of emotion seemed to settle as the other man slid into what Rep could only interpret as acceptance. The slightest of nods. Loyalty beyond loyalty.

He couldn't feel anything, he was somewhere beyond the borders of what his brain could process, a numb place cushioned by shock.

He wanted to say I love you, I always have and I always will. He wanted to hold him and let the dammed up tears flow, to say he was sorry for this, sorry for the way the world always made him choose between everything or nothing and that fate made fools of them all. But he wanted to be a king, and kings stood for more than the individual.

There was a memory of fog somewhere far away, of an answer understood only by them.

All he could do was place a hand on Harrison's shoulder - he didn't know which of them was shaking or if it was both of them. He said simply "And even then."

He'd sworn that he would never let Harrison go where he could not follow, and he didn't mean to. The reign of monarchs was often brief and bloody. In a gentler world, they would meet again.

The executioner stepped forward to lead him away, the messenger's robes flapping after them like the scavengers they were.

Rep sent the last that was human in him with them, and hoped Harrison would keep it safe.

When they were gone, he felt nothing at all.

And when he stood to address those incredulous faces, those subjects that were all he had left, to explain why the needs of the many ultimately outweighed the needs of the one -he finally rose as a king.

Ceres Solo

For the good of all.

Fast, everything was moving far too fast.

She thought she was a safe distance away, safe enough at least to he able to fend the fading elves away from herself. Their persistent pulling, dragging, prodding... egging, even urging was enough to drive someone saner than her mad. She had truly spent a lot of energy today already, was the fight even worth it? First her own false attempts to save friends she held dear costed her much. According to the voice in her mind, around half of their shield reserves were down from the first few feet into the rescue attempt. Still this was ok... it was bearable. They were safe. But was it truly enough?

Ceres was forced to stand there and watch at her friends were saved by others, some protector she was. She prided herself on the ability to save others, to protect those she held dear. She even called herself a mother bear sometimes when the subject was brought up. Heh... laughable, really.

Still they pulled her closer. It wasn't until she was too close that she realized that everything was quiet.

Until a voice piped up.

...Her own voice.

Her mouth opened and closed over and over, speech seemingly only capable for her shadow twin. The voice smiled from its tone as she appeared, hovered, reached out for her fleshier half... in that gentle look the world was promised to her. She found herself compelled, believing... moving forward answering the call of the invisible strings attached to limbs. As Ceres drew closer to her doppleganger, something formed in the palms of her hands. The object of her desires had a form, the object which was now singing a wordless tune filled with hopes, dreams, and prayers answered.

"I have what you desire."

Yes... Yes. How could she have never known before? Her body felt feather light now, the simplest breeze or breath of air would have one pushed her forward even faster. Nothing else was important. Friends, Family... loved ones or lovers, nothing.

The only thing that mattered to her now was removing that object away from her other self.

"Take it." The fog-version of themselves prompted. "Take it, and everything you wish will be yours. Noone will question you because you-"

~~~~~~

She always valued herself a decent leader. She was fair, yet firm. She was kind, yet could bite back if those she considered hers were harmed. While the term King was a bit extravagant for her tastes, she would swallow her rebuttals and allow others to call her that if they wished. Though she would never expect, or forgive, her closest circle to call her that when they were not discussing a serious matter.

It was a silent signal that the matter required their King, and not their friend, when they chose to call her that.

Truly one would think she would be called the Queen, not the King. Inheriting the title from her family was what sealed the matter. Her father was a bit of a pompous a**, refusing to allow a queen to sit on their throne. 'A Queens place is at the hearth and in a Kings servitude' Was what he would say to his family. Her mother was a bit of a follower, chosen for this fact. Ceres grew up knowing one day it would be her turn to rule... but her father assumed something else. He assumed she would marry. A political wrench tossed into his plans, she made him well aware that a Queen will not sit on the throne.

Thus why, when it came to choose her fate, she took her title for what it was and what it could mean. She protected the family tradition, a queen did not sit on the throne. A King did.

A King whom was not male.

Now that she looked back on it, she truly did love her father and while he passed due to some strange illness some years ago. She was his only child. When he passed, he left the kingdom to her. She could change the rules if she wished, but like a good leader she was here to guard their traditions and ways.

"My King..." A voice snapped her out of her current memories, sealing them off once more as she turned to face one of her guard. She knew this voice, it was one she knew well and one that relaxed her more than set her on edge. Bix was one of the leading members of the select few she dared call close to her. He was one of her lands lords, one of the chosen. Standing there he wore clothing usual to their lands. It was common for people to wear furs and cloaks this time of the year, the chills being worse this season than most. Bix always chose to wear white and cream colored pelts, blending in nicely with his own pale frame he could move through a snow caked area practically unseen if he so chose. By his side was his familiar, a small snowy white canine.

In this land a familiar chose you, and was quite rare to find one so young. Ceres herself, nor her mother, had a familiar to call their own yet. Some could go a lifetime without ever finding their partner. It was believed for a while that only males had familiars, but a few years back this was proven wrong as one of her first court also obtained her other half.

Grave faces drew closer. Dakota, Marcus, Ryan, Kat, Candace, Gale. They were the 7 closest to her heart, the seven lords and priestesses whom helped rule these lands. Ceres should have known by their gathering that they knew something was wrong.

Too bad she too knew what was happening already.

"The shield is going down." She said in a low voice, her seagreen eyes boring in to each of the seven members whom looked back at her. Shivering, she too pulled her silver furred coat closer to herself, wrapping it around for for comfort and less for vanity.

"..Yes." Kat mentioned, allowing her tan and brown streaked cape to drag some on the well worn floors as she took a step forward. Her green and gold crested song bird perched lightly on her shoulders, looking away briefing as if he knew how stressful this conversation was to be. "We... know what your going to s-"

A hand raised, stopping her progression.

"I wont allow it." Ceres responded promptly, her voice going down a octave as a growl formed deep in her gut and threatened to escape. "There has to be another way, the legends are old there HAS to be some sort of translation lost in the words. Sister, have you and your fellow sisters found anything out? Have the spirits been talking?" Kat and Candace were both priestesses as Ceres was when she had the time to listen. They could see things, hear things, that the average person could not under the right conditions. It was a trait special to women of their realm usually, and stronger in some than others. They would spend many a day teasing, when it was a girls only day, that men were too pig headed and daft to truly listen.

Blessing in disguise, really.

"...No." Candace piped up this time, removing her mahogany furred hood off her head and allowing it to fall to her shoulders. "The spirits are quiet, and have been for some time. I doubt it is a loss of gifts, and rather a.... mutany. They want what they are here for, why they are here. They want the sacrif-."

"And i say No." Ceres cut off that word shaking her head a few times, standing firm.

"Dont be stu-"
"Stop being a idi-"

The two spoke almost at the exact same time, only pausing their slandering words as they realized they both spoke at once. Ryan and Dakota glanced at each other, and then back towards Gale as well as they realized his mouth was open too, before snapping shut. Apparently the blond was going to pipe in too. It was hilarious really, how similar in some ways they could react.

Its a good thing they were her friends and valued their opinions, and thankfully they were alone. Otherwise she might have been forced to discipline them. "....Call me stupid, call me an idiot, call me daft or even a moron if you must. But i will not coat my hands, or this kingdom, in one of my peoples blood."

The Legend in question, really, went as follows:

Thrice a decade blood must be paid, thrice it come from source willing or not. Blood be the debt paid, blood keep the curse at bay. Protection be the savior of the lands, the shield will remain as these conditions forth-stand. Dont fret for help come in unknowing form, those sacrificed just be reformed. Forever protecting the lands this debt will pay, or the curse will rise and cause the sun to never rise another day.

For ages it had been decided what this meant. It meant someone had to die three times every ten years to keep their kingdom safe. It meant once dead, they would join the spirits and help their people for eternity. It meant if this price had not been paid, they would never see the sun again.

She had only been the King for three years... the sacrifice had yet been made by her hands. "What if the curse, really, is this sacrifice?" Her whole body shook, barely containing the feelings she felt within herself.

Stepping forward once more breaking his silence, Bix laid a arm across her shoulders and eased her gently towards one of the windows. The others followed, silently allowing one of their own to try and reason with their ruler. "...Look outside, Ceres. What do you see? What? The snows are starting to cover the land, deeper than usual. If this continues our crops will be sewn too late. Our people will starve, freeze. The sky has been covered with clouds for days now... the only light of hope that says the shields are still in place is the sun peeking out now and again. This is the first time we know of that the limits have been pushed for this legend." His white familiar brushed against her legs, and made a slight woof noise. Agreeing with his talker half, no doubt.

"Your sisters have even told you the spirits are silent." Marcus's voice rumbled up from behind the pack of people, silent until this point where his point ran firm. Somehow he knew, deep down, that Ceres next answer would be about the spirits telling them something if they waited. Marcus was always good about getting to the point quickly, and not covering up matters with care. He stood there stoically, not saying much else for the moment. Crossing over his shoulder was a solid black fur.

"...Why. Why would they allow this...this curse to be put in this land." The answer to that, really, was 'no one knew'. Anyone whom dared venture out of the safe zone never came back. Once and a while someone from the outside would wander inside, but it was like the barrier wiped their memories once inside. They would need to be nursed back to health, taught their ways, before they were able to join society. This kept their blood pools from running to thin.

"It's just how things are done." One of them said, Ceres too preoccupied in her thoughts to even think about which said it.

"Theres... something else, my King." There was that word again, King. Once again it brought her out of her thoughts to stare at Kat, whom had spoken up. She found herself unable to speak under that gaze, and more bold Candace placing a arm on Kats unoccupied shoulder, and walking forward after giving her a knowing look. "Before the spirits went quiet, they mentioned that the sacrifice because the debt had not been paid promptly... had to be stronger. Had to have ties to the current royalty."

"Meaning it needs to be one of us." They all chimed in together, speaking as one unit as if choreographed.

"We talked about it." Gale spoke up, drawing attention to himself and his golden appearance.

"We decided all as a team." Ryan next, his oddly placed bandage on his face was a focal point as she looked at him.

"That it needs to be your decision." Dakota answered lastly, his voice lower than the other two.

For the briefest of moments, she wondered if this was truly how it felt to have a heart attack. Her mind raced, her blood pressure rose, she knew her face was throwing emotions back and forth, switching too fast to nail one down. Soon she felt hands on her, three sets. Obviously grabbing her hoping to prevent, or rush her to the hospital, had she needed medical attention for shock. They...expected her to choose.

"..I am your pillar, i am the ... King" She choked the word out. "Of this land. I protect the people, i serve the people, i heal the people. You...expect me... to choose?"

"No." The voice was behind her, one of the sets of arms holding her grabbed her hand, which now held a small dagger she always kept for a last form of protection, and using the palm of her hand... before she could stop it, the blade went deep into the gut of the man. "We drew straws."

The true purpose of holding her down was not revealed... they needed her to show weakness, before doing this. Hold her down to allow this to happen.

Turning in slow motion she looked to see who exactly had taken her blade, only to realize they too had brought her to the ceremonial altar. She thought they were taking her to the window... she wondered why exactly they chose that particular window. The form had already dragged himself up to the cup, allowing his lifeblood to spill within the form. A small smug smile teased the side of his lips, the strong arms no longer needed to hold her down. She knew how this worked. She knew that even if a single drop of blood, blood that needed to be drawn by the rulers own hand, was put into that cup... no matter the wound, the owner of that blood will die.

She felt the tear roll from the corner of her eye before she realized she had started to cry. "Really, Marcus? You drew straws?" She whispered, looking around behind her as well. They would not keep eye contact with her presently.

"We...could not think of a way to make it fair. We could not ask this of you."

"Your DAMN RIGHT you couldn't!" She felt her own rage building inside once more, this time directed at Marcus. "You STUPID MAN. I dont care if it was chance, and this goes for ALL of you." She turned to look at everyone once more. "You should not have made this decision yourselves."

"You would have just killed yourself." A soft voice, masculine, she was unsure who said it exactly. "You would have killed yourself in the next few days. You ARE our pillar... you are our leader. You have no heirs, you are the end of your bloodline stupid girl." The next words came from a feminine voice. "They whispered that the ruler is not allowed to be the sacrifice. The ruler... is the protector of the curse. The curse was aimed at your bloodline in its origins. The pillar of the lands. Only the King keeps us all alive. If you die... we all die."

"So we... had to" The breathing was growing ragged, as Marcus had fallen to the ground without anyone realizing. "Choose...for you."

"it was one of us... or all of us." They mused at the end, looking down towards their shoes in agony. "Its the greatest secret of the royal court. Your father trusted us to tell you when you were ready, when the time was right."

Ceres turned, suddenly devoid of all emotions and approached Marcus on the floor. She had, apparently, come to a decision.

"Being 'protector' means more than i ever thought it would." Was the last thing she said under her breath, unsure if anyone else even heard her.

Kneeling down, she suddenly cared not that her silver pelt was staining itself red, creeping up and crusting as it dried. Clasping her hand around his she held on tightly, as if trying to anchor him to this world still. She waited that way until that point where that last breath escaped from his lips, sending his soul on to gather with they assumed was the spirits.

A ray of sunlight streaked though the window a second later, as her tears ran freely towards the now cooling corpse.

Somewhere in the distance, a man was startled as a solid black wolf appeared out of no where next to him and leaned against his leg. Tears streaming down the canines eyes silently, he was unsure as to why.


THE BLUE CROWN OF PROTECTION

The elves were back. They pulled and pushed, trying to force her closer to the being at the center of it all. The being with the crowns. Sherry resisted. She wanted to fight, needed to fight, needed to win…but she was afraid. What if…what if she couldn’t? What if she messed up again? What if she couldn’t help her friends, or even hurt them instead? What if--

A familiar voice reached her ears, and she noticed she was alone with herself. The fog had come on suddenly, blocking everything out. Everything but her. The being with the crowns was no longer a memory, but the face Sherry saw every day in the mirror. Her own. The voice spoke again.

Sherry looked at the crown the foggy figure of herself was holding. “What I desire?” And what was that exactly? The crown? Yes. She did want it. And she didn’t need to be told to take it twice.

***

This was not how it was supposed to be.

They cheered, yet Sherry felt hollow. She’d failed them. Her eyes scanned the room, large and grand, filled with her knights and champions. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, highlighting the blue they wore. It should have felt warm, but the blue-gray of the marble walls seemed to suck the every ounce of heat out of the room. Today was not a day to celebrate.

”It is time.”

“Yes.” Sherry’s hands gripped the arms of her chair tightly for a moment before she pushed herself slowly onto her feet. The blue folds of her dress swished lightly around her feet as she stepped forward. She was sorry. She did not want to do this.

“My faithful,” she addressed them from the top step of her throne platform. It wasn’t more than a few steps, but it seemed so much taller right then. “We have lost in the tournament.” I am sorry. “As you know, that means a sacrifice is required.”

No one responded. Everyone already knew. This is not right. They were loyal to her, they trusted her. She had promised to protect them, and now she was sending one to an early grave. Not one of them deserved it.

“Your sacrifice will guarantee safety and prosperity for our people.“ One life. That was the price to protect everyone. That was why she had to do this. Even if hurt, even if she’d cry herself to sleep over it, she had to. Protecting most was better than protecting none, wasn’t it? It had to be. It had to be done.

They stood, silent and waiting before her. Some had been with her for ages, since the beginning of this whole journey. Others were new, having only recently pledged their allegiance. Her eyes passed over each and every one. There stood Ofelia, one of her most trusted knights. Jake, newer to the group but eager. Tori, ever at her side. And more. So many more. She loved them all.

She did not want to do this, but she knew she had to. The crown was heavy on her head.

“If anyone is not willing to die for the sake of their brothers and sisters, let them leave the room now.” Her words were cold. Those who were not willing to do anything for the sake of her kingdom had no place in it. She was not asking them to do anything she would not be willing to do. It would almost be easier to be among them on the floor, awaiting orders.

No one moved.

Her weakness. The blame of losing was all on her, even if she had not fought. She was their king, therefore it was all on her. Just like this choice. She just had to make it. Pull one name out of the goblet, say it, and it was done. The sacrifice would be made, and her people would be protected. Until the next tournament. As long as they won there, today’s sacrifice would not be in vain. They would not lose again. I promise.

She wore a blank expression as she reached in.

Her own was the only name not in the shiny chalice. She had almost added it, but if she did that, then there would be no one to protect her faithful. She would die for them, that was without question. But not here, not now. She could not leave them defenseless and leaderless. No. Her place was here. The crown was her burden to wear. She had wanted it, still wanted it, and at the same time did not want to wish ruling on anyone. No. Giving it up meant she would not be able to protect anyone.

Her fingers closed lightly around on slip of parchment.

She held her breath as she read the name. She was familiar with it. So young, so full of life and enthusiasm. The ranger had not been with them long, but had been eager to prove themselves. They trained hard, they fought hard, and they’d even shed blood in Sherry’s name. Any name she pulled out would have made her sad, and this one broke her heart. Sherry didn’t let the pain show. She would cry later, when no one was watching. It wouldn’t do for the King to show weakness. Her heart ached all the same.

It is worth it. One life for many. A sacrifice I must make in order to protect them all. I’m sorry. I know I’d promised to protect you, too. But this is the best way forward. I’m so sorry.


“Solia, my brave ranger, step forward. “

He had no time to finish his conversation with Mei and the black dog, no time to send a look of reassurance Ariane's way, no time to check to see if the new hunter he'd seen was all right. In an instant, everything seemed to collapse in on of itself, and Gale was dragged downwards, away from everything else, disappearing into the swirling grey vortex.

Into utter nothingness.

Panic rose in his throat, thick and clouding, and desperately he threw his thoughts out towards Jinhai, towards his one last source of comfort, but there was nothing, no sound at all, his mind muted and dark and empty except for -

- except for a single, ringing voice.

It started as a whisper at first, drifting along the edges of his consciousness before it grew steadily louder, more pronounced, sharpening into a resonating, solid voice.

A familiar voice. Gale sucked in a breath, tried to focus, but the apparition that flickered and wavered in front of him was too familiar, too personal. He did not quite know if he understood what was going on, but it was not the face of the apparition that made him stop what he was doing.

It was what was in its hands.

The crown sat, as innocent as ever, delicate in the palms of its young bearer, and Gale breathed out slowly, his eyes fixated on the object, on what it represented, on what it called out to him.

"I can give you what you want."

A fleeting flash of someone's face - a pair of warm eyes, a gentle hand - red hair, dark hair - a familiar face, and then another -

- with this he could get what he wanted. He could have everything.

- another face -

- and Gale reached out, hesitantly at first, before his own fingers wrapped around the crown, pulling it towards himself, feeling the welcome weight of it in his palms and then....

----------------------------------------------------------

"My Lord."

"Hmm?"

The answer was said in mild distraction, Gale's eyes still focused on the crown he held within white-gloved hands. Vaguely he could hear something - voices, protruding into his thoughts, growing steadily louder until he dragged himself out of his own musings and understood that the voices were actually a crowd, and the sound was cheering, roaring, catcalls and cries.

Another voice, this one closer.

"My Lord, you must keep going."

He had stopped walking. Slowly, sluggishly, as though dragging himself out of a dream, Gale put his right foot in front of his left, and continued the pace he had started. It was easy to fall back into step, and within seconds he had been escorted to the throne room, the guards on either side of him cool-faced and unyielding in their duties.

The throne room was, perhaps, not the most accurate title. There was demonstrably no throne, after all, just a simple, straight-backed wooden chair with a red cushion and a small bit of detailing on the armrests. But in spite of the fact that it was only the king's chair, it looked hardly different than the rest of the chairs in the room, although perhaps a slight bit more ornate.

The room itself was even less decorative. Gale was not one for extravagance, nor indulging in meaningless frivolity. It was a quiet room, a simple one, with grey stone walls, scarlet-curtained windows with gold tassels, and a single dusty metal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the wax from the candles having dripped down onto the frame. The table was not square, nor rectangular, but in fact completely round, with chairs set all about it. The king's personal desk may have been square, but this one allowed for more room - and for more voices.

"My Lord," said the same voice from before, and Gale gave a small sigh, lifted the crown, and set it gently atop his own head before his gaze flicked to the man beside him.

"Yes, Wilson, what is it."

The expression on his advisor's face was pained. "It's time," he said, and Gale felt his stomach drop a little. He grimaced, absently fiddling with a strap on his wrist, and tried not to think about the impending execution - though there was little to be done to avoid it.

They had lost, after all.

He still could not quite believe it, but the facts were there. They had lost the tournament. There was no going back, no changing what time had brought them. His kingdom had performed well - but not well enough, it seemed, and now one of them would have to pay the price.

He did not like this. It brought - and left - a bad taste in his mouth.

"Sire."

"I know."

He did not want to name a name. There were several already in the room, standing in a row just beyond the circular table that stood in the center. Gale's eyes flickered towards them, and he felt his expression soften a little as he took in their faces; the faces of the ones he trusted, the ones he cared for.

The ones he would die for, should it call for that. He was not a king if he could not defend his people, after all.

Beside him, Wilson made a soft sound, a discreet cough that Gale knew was to urge him to make a decision. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling a breath that chilled his lungs and then opened his eyes, taking another step forward.

He did not even say a word before someone spoke.

"Sire, we know why we're here."

Gale's eyes cut towards the second figure to the left - a woman, dark haired and dark eyed, who smiled somewhat sardonically.

"It's rather obvious, I should think."

Gale tilted his head a little, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, though it was an entirely humorless smile, sad and understanding.

"Ceres, I cannot let you - or anyone else, for that matter - pay a price that I do not agree upon."

"Hey, we all agreed to this," said one of the other knights, rolling his shoulders casually and shrugging. "We knew what we signed up for when we became who we are. It's part of the code, after all."

Gale rolled his eyes, about to say to hell with the code - but a pointed look from Wilson made him stay his tongue. He swallowed back the reply he longed to make and instead nodded his head after a moment's hesitation, giving a little sigh.

"This isn't," he started to say, and struggled with the words. He had never been one for long and pragmatic speeches, speeches that would make his enemies pause and his allies rapt with attention. As a young king with the kingdom thrust upon him at too early an age (or so the neighboring kingdoms had thought, as well as many of the advisers throughout the castle), he'd faced many a trial, had made many mistakes. And because of this, he had no complete understanding of the loyalty his men - and women - had shown him over the past several years.

"Look, sire," said a drawling voice, and Gale did not have to look far to know who was speaking now. "I got this, okay. I got this."

"Robert," Gale started to say, with some exasperation, but the knight cut him off with a lazy wave of his hand, smiling a little crookedly. His fair blonde hair was swept rakishly back off of his forehead, and while Robert was, in no uncertain terms, definitely one of the more outspoken of the knights, he was a good fighter with a good heart.

If not a really big mouth as well, Gale thought, then pushed this thought aside. He shook his head. "Robert, I can't - "

"You can," said Robert, now twirling his dagger around in his hand. Next to him, one of the other knights - a tall man by the name of Marcus - was watching it move with some apprehension, as though he half expected the knife to go flying at any second. Which, knowing Robert, it just might. "Besides, if you don't do this, we'll be at all out war. This is a chance to protect the kingdom, to make sure that they're safe."

"Robert," Gale tried again. He could not stop the nausea from rising in his throat like bile, the awful taste of loss, of devastation heavy in his heart, in his mind. He could not do this, he could not let another man step into the crossfire and be sacrificed like a lamb to the slaughter. He closed his eyes, shook his head. "Robert, I'll find another way. We'll find another way - "

"Your highness."

It was the surprising - and unexpected - calmness of Robert's voice that stopped him, Gale's gaze moving to the man's face. It was devoid of its usual abundance of noise and energy, of laughter and a booming voice that greeted all with gusto and sometimes just too much. It was...quiet. A simple smile was on Robert's face.

"...what," said Gale, and the corners of Robert's lips quirked upwards a bit more, almost bittersweet.

"It's okay," he said, and Gale almost felt like bursting with frustration. "What do you mean it's okay, it's not, it's - "

"Sire," said Robert. "Petra is waiting for me."

The was silence following this statement. Gale stared at the man in front of him, stared at the calm smile on his face and the slanted, careless way he stood. Everything with Robert was ease and simplicity. He was sometimes lazy, sometimes loud, sometimes just plain odd, but his strength and dedication to the kingdom had been enough.

A hand clapped on Robert's shoulder - Ceres was smiling at him, though there were tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. On her other side Candace was gripping Ceres's arm, giving Robert a look as though to say "What are we going to do with you?"

"Robert, you rascal," said Marcus, and ruffled the man's hair, which resulted in the rest of the line breaking and surrounding Robert, who gave a playful yell and attempted to tackle them all to the ground, a giant mass of wrestling and laughing and pushing and shoving.

What are we going to do with you?

"Sire," said Wilson's voice, and Gale looked over at him. His adviser looked apologetic.

"It's time."

The laughter faded away. Robert got back to his feet, along with the rest of the knights, Ryan straightening his tunic, Bix brushing dust from his arm, and Eva fiddling with the cuff of Robert's sleeve in an almost motherly fashion.

"I'm ready," said Robert. He opened his arms, gave the rest of the knights an enormous bear hug, and then made his way over to where the king was standing, towering over him by a good foot or so. Gale looked at him for a long moment, and then gestured him towards the balcony where the people waited. In his hand he carried a sword - ceremonial, long and sleek, which glinted in the early evening sun.

They stopped on the balcony. The roar of the crowd was almost deafening. Gale turned towards Robert, who was still smiling as he got down on one knee, arms outstretched as though welcoming his fate. He tilted his head towards the knights, all of whom were standing in silent formation around the balcony. Eva and Ceres were both crying quietly, but Robert gave a shrug, and lifted his hand in a wave.

"Peace out, bitches."

More laughter, albeit interspersed with some sniffling and choked back giggles. Gale drew the weapon from its sheath, watching the orange of the sky reflect across the silver.

"Robert," he said as he lifted the sword, his fingers trembling slightly.

"Yes, sire."

"Say hello to Petra for me."

The sword rose. For the kingdom. For the people.

For Robert.

The crooked, rakish grin on Robert's face was blinding.

"Don't worry, I will."

Swish.




BLUE CROWN OF PROTECTION