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((Not trying for crown - Just answering prompt))

Somehow, though Shun wasn't sure how, he had managed to snatch the white crown off the tray. The next thing he knew was that he was in his dimly lit office. Alone. The whole place was in dis-array. Many of his men had died in the raids from a rival kingdom. Outside, people were hidden away in their charred, shanty homes. A number of bodies were strewn about in the streets. Some allies. Some enemies.

He sat there, rubbing his head while trying to think of something that could be done. Between the raids and the plague, many were dying. Probably too many. He fought for them, but it was tiring. And they were losing. His land was never really flourishing, but the people here were free.

If he had some way to take out the rival king, things may be simpler. But that solution was not an easy one. It required resources and time that he didn't really have. Of course, if he were to die, maybe something could be done too. It was hard to say what would happen in the future. The enemy kingdom claimed that they would relent if he were to be slain. If they were allowed to take over. Quite frankly, he would rather not have that happen. Maybe the general citizens would be alright, but he did not think much good would come to those loyal to him. The opposition may want to wipe them out to try and keep any uprisings from happening.

Something had to give though. And he could be completely wrong. Perhaps he was being selfish. It was hard to say.

Brooding there alone, he soon heard a creak as the door opened up. He looked up sharply, before his features softened for the moment. It was Mitsu. Briefly, a faint glimmer of a smile appeared across his face at the sight of her. Though, it soon vanished as she held up a gun, aiming straight for his face. He stared down the barrel, then looked to meet her gaze.

She was crying.

"I'm s-sorry..." she whispered, barely audible. It was all she could really manage without breaking out into a complete sob.

Some must die, so that others could live. It was the way things were. Shun couldn't help but feel a great pain in his chest nonetheless. Of everyone he was around, he would have never thought things would end like this. He couldn't really blame her though.

But. In the very least, he could die by her hand, rather than give his enemies the satisfaction of taking his life. He knew that she wouldn't make things take longer than they needed.

With a heavy sigh, he just sort of nodded slowly. He had done what he could, but it hadn't been enough. Still. He had to wonder if it really had to end this way. There wasn't a whole lot that could be said or done now about it. He was not going to raise his daggers against Mitsu. He couldn't do that. If it were just about anyone else, he'd give them hell.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and made his way towards the werewolf. She trembled a little, keeping the weapon trained on him, but didn't fire. Not yet. Once he was by her, he wrapped his arms around her body, closing his good eye. It was a silent way of letting her know that he did not resent her for this. He did not blame her. He could only hope that she would be able to move on and live a better life once this was all done. The Reaper's hold on her tightened a bit, as he was prepared for what was about to happen.

The only things that he could think about right now were the good moments that they had shared.

"Goodbye.. m-my king..."

"Aishiteru..."

"Aishiteru mo."

Bang.

The fog swallowed everything into burning, blinding white. Aymet paced within it like a caged animal, less himself than he had ever been before. The void was tempered by flashes of green and orange that crackled across it like lightning, visible only to his own eyes. When the woman stepped from the fog, he didn’t hesitate to meet her. Confidence radiated from every step. Confidence, and distortion.

“I have what you desire,” his own voice taunted from everywhere and nowhere.

Power, sang every part of him, even the ones that weren’t really his any more. He had sold them for less. But he needed more, always more. He had made a promise to protect his friends, and he had upheld it. No sacrifice was too large or small. It was what heroes did.

But there was no woman now. There was just - himself. And a crown, his for the taking. If he wished.

"Take it." Not so much a demand as a dare. As if it expected him to just walk away. The crown-bearer’s face could not be seen behind a skull of their own, identical in every way to his. The crown stood out against the grey and white, somehow more real than anything else here. Even Aymet’s own form looked weary and faded in its presence. He felt just as ghostly as his doppleganger. But the proximity to the crown pierced through the haze around his mind the closer he moved. The hunger quelled, the orange and green dissolved away, the voice of revenge faded from his mind. He was just... himself.

The clarity was sharp after the weeks, months of influence more powerful than he was. Without it all, the compass he relied on was twisted and broken, useless here. Just a confused teenage kid. He felt exposed and weak. What good was he like this to anyone else? His words to Lizzy rose above the buzzing that had taken over the silence. He couldn’t protect his friends by doing nothing. He never felt more helpless than in the moments he could do nothing.

"Take it, and everything you wish will be yours. No-one will question you because-”

After a moment of hesitation his claws wrapped around the crown. For his friends, for her, he would give anything --

"I am sorry, my king."

It was already over.

There was something cathartic in that, though, he thought, as he stood in the center of the destruction. Everything with a beginning inevitably found its end. Even kingdoms.

Even kings.

Not that it was always this way. This had once been a grand white palace of incomparable beauty. It was home to scholars, alchemists, philosophers. The greatest minds in the kingdom worked tirelessly to capture the truth of the world, and preserve it eternally in writing, art, and song. Like an ivory tower, the palace stood upon the highest hill, overlooking the sparkling white town that had gathered around it. It had been a utopia for the learned, and history had once been safely housed in its walls. The symbol of the white bone dragon was everywhere, the motif of their King. The kingdom’s true crown jewel was the Grand Athenaeum. Equal parts library and museum, every story, every secret, every life was bound and shelved. It was a national symbol. No, more than that. It was the heart and soul of the empire.

Aymet could not say when the revolution had begun. Perhaps that was his mistake in the first place. He had not walked the streets in years, and he never would again. He was a dragon curled into its cave for all time. Advisors and servants provided him with all he needed to know to ensure that the kingdom continued the same as it had ever been. Life was good but unchanging. Far and above the people, though, he had become viewed as the unseen ruler whose decisions governed their lives apathetically. Crime was met with severity, never forgiven, never forgotten. Exile or execution, nothing less. Aymet could not be dissuaded - he maintained that the laws were a rock, a foundation, separating the good from the evil. In truth, it was a precaution, and the reason the library existed. There was a pattern to history, which beget a loophole, an escape from the inevitable doom that befell all others. A kingdom that never changed would never fall. And undying, neither would its king. Though he had fought hard to protect his people, he was not like them, and they knew. He was just a skeleton, empty inside and out. He had no eyes to weep. He had no heart to wrench. He had no life to take. Certainly, he could never know love and loss as they did.

The burden of the crown was heavier than he could have known when he had first placed it upon his skull, fraught with difficult decisions. The hardest among them was the Choice. Always, from among his people, knights would have to be found to champion the Tournament and appease the war machine just outside his empire. Most did not return. It was the sacrifice of a few for the many. In the beginning, there were those who offered themselves willingly. Those days were long over, but the decree remained, etched in stone. The king’s calling could not be refused. Gradually, the burdens he bore began to lose their faces. His people were in mourning, but he saw none of it.

The kingdom truly belonged to the dead now. Rioting in the streets spilled into the palace, past its defenses, and destroyed it from the inside out. The siege was over now, and the Athenaeum was gone, gone in what felt like a single day. Burnt pages resisted the pull of the wind, crumbling to dust. The marble halls were blocked by rubble and bodies, and the reflecting pools ran red. His queen, his rook, they lay half-submerged, throats slit, two of many loyal servants disposed of. Mistakes he could not fix now, not any more. Outside, he could hear the bloodcurdling screams of the rest. The palace had become a mausoleum.

There was only one path he could take, up, up, into the highest tower of the castle. Debris crunched under his feet - shards of glass, broken stone, a metal arm. His throne room was all marble and ivory, surrounding a clear crystal throne. It was modest enough in size, intended for private audience. The one-bright room was cast in darkness and a thick layer of acrid smoke.

She met him there, alone.

"It is time," the woman spoke again from the center of the room, followed by the scratch of a stone against metal. Utterly calm and composed, she was perched atop half of the broken throne. Her long fingers continued sharpening a decorated knife. She was still as beautiful as the day he first met her, even with a thick layer of dust covering her like a shroud. Beautiful and white. His bishop. "This is the end you are seeking."

In contrast, the king’s royal attire was stained black and red with the destruction. For once he looked tired, so tired. Aymet had grieved for this day long before it came. Now there was only numbness and the assurance that it would all be over soon.

“I knew it was you,” he stated simply, folding his arms behind his back. He’d overlooked her transgressions over and over. All the little things that didn’t add up. But he could never pass judgment on her, he couldn't condemn her like the rest of the common criminals, and that had been his undoing. The woman rose from the throne and circled around him, closer and closer, until she closed the space between them. A danse macabre. Stitched skin peeled at the side of her face, exposing the bone beneath. It was an expressionless mask, denying him even the satisfaction of her surprise. They really were both far too alike. “The deaths. The destruction. Division in the ranks. You orchestrated it all.”

"For the greater good," she whispered. The king could not meet her gaze. He felt her lips brush against his cheek in passing, devoid of breath, devoid of warmth.

They were wrong when they called him heartless. Even with nothing in his chest to be ripped out, he still felt it. The pain and emptiness that drove him to always keep her at his side and wonder what could have been if things had been different. If he had changed. If she hadn’t always belonged to someone else.

But in this life he could never have her.

“For power,” Aymet finally cut in, when she had slipped past him far enough for him to finally think again. She had always been a strategist. Playing her part, biding her time, until everything fell into place. Too perfect to be anyone's bishop but her own. While the king walled himself away, she had moved among his people, sowing discord, spreading chaos, gathering an army behind her. She could steal any body as easily as she pleased, and wear their faces like masks. It must have been too easy for her without the the king standing in her way. With the rest of his pieces fallen, only Aymet still knew what she was capable of. That was why she was here. That was why she had finally come to him unbidden, for the first and last time. “The crown, and the throne, and the adoration of the masses. Well, you’ve already got two out of three.”

His bishop gave him a tight-lipped smile in return, brushing her black braid over one shoulder. The flowers in her hair were wilting, and loose petals caught in the heavy air.

Aymet turned his head toward the open doorway to the sky. The screaming had given way to chanting, indiscernible. It felt like a dream, a long dream, and he was going to wake up at any moment. The buzzing filled his ears. "What of the people? When you have what you want, will they be spared, Amrita?"

"In order to save everyone, a sacrifice has to be made." Amrita held out her perfect, twisted hand expectantly.

He could have run. She would not have followed. He could have fought. She would not have stopped him even if he wrapped his claws around her neck. Perhaps in his youth he would have sought another way, but the crown had changed him. His duty was not to himself, but to his people, and this was the Choice they had made for him. She knew as well as he did that he could not deny the kingdom its price any longer.

So he obliged, and slowly unwound the chain from around his neck. The glass pendant glowed from within, soft blue. It was his phylactery, his otherwise undying life contained within a fragile little trinket. And it had always belonged to her. She grasped it in her fingers and felt it pulse like an icy heartbeat. He saw the recognition in her dark eyes, the smallest hint of a smile twitching at the corners of her perfect mouth. She’d won.

They walked side by side to the balcony. His people - now her people - waited below. Calling for their king. Calling for an end.

“History has a terrible habit of repeating itself,” he warned.

Amrita's knife plunged into the blue crystal, and he gasped. It only took a twist of the blade to shatter it entirely.

"Goodbye, my king."

Jerry's breath hitched in his throat as countless creatures and fellow hunters were pulled into the vortex. He stood, resolved, as the voice speaking changed.... familiar. Too familiar. Hesitantly he drifted forward, the crown in his hands... Falling, they would always fall, they would always die. He couldn't protect them, even with the massive blasts.

His grandparents... he had done what he could to protect them from the shadows, but that had only resulted in people thinking he was crazy. He couldn't protect Killzone from dying, try as he might. He was a Sun, not a Moon- it hadn't been in the cards for him and a great man had died that day.

And Sasha and Wash had been tortured, and try as he might, he hadn't been able to save either of them until the damage had already been done.

His friends... the people he considered family... would all die eventually. Soon, so soon. He was too weak to stop fate from happening.

A distant cheer drew his eyes up from the twisting black art of the object in his hands. The world seemed to shift, but not shift- it had always looked like this, he had just been too blind to see it. A large ornate tapestry in gold and orange, bearing the symbol of a howling wolf over an ornate golden throne.

He set the crown onto his head, turning warily to the bowed masses waiting for him.

"Sire, it's time." His advisor smiled, a massive man with the brightest green eyes he had ever seen, but Rory was always there for him, always had advice and when he said it was time, that meant it was time. No more dawdling.

What must be done must be done. For the good of everyone. One now or countless later. Only one would do.

The slender King walked along the line of subjects waiting for him. He knew many of them- all part of his household. Rep, the mighty knight, always eager to leap into battle and had fought along side him far too many times to count. He would be far too valuable for this sacrifice. But the weight of the decision was important. He couldn't just cut the throat of any chamber maid and have the sacrifice mean as much.

Harrison, captain of the guard- if things went wrong, they would need his protection. He passed by other friendly faces, ones he cherished, Sir Jordan, Sir Wash, Lady Sasha.... a terrified looking girl stood trembling in the row- Lady Solia. She was beautiful, yes, but it would not make the same impact.

The sacrifice must mean something, and that fact made his chest ache.

Finally, his eyes settled on Sir Marcus- a foreigner he had embraced long ago into his kingdom, had done well fighting alongside Sir Harrison.

But he only needed one Captain of the Guard. Other soldiers could take this man's place.

All life was sacred.

"Are you... prepaired to do what is right for... for the best of the kingdom?" No stammering. Kings were not supposed to stammer, no matter how terrified, saddened he was.

Marcus's eyes narrowed. It wasn't fear on his face, but resolve, and Jerry questioned himself. He remembered... Marcus had a wife. Children on the way.

But no. The Horse-lords of Hallowestia were already rallying their troupes. They were going to attack and overwealm their fortified kingdom if their demanded tribute was not made.

Inside, Jerry was weeping, but outwardly, his face remained resolved. He was the Wolf King. Awoowoowoo.

"Yes." Marcus bowed his head, and the King wasn't sure if it was out of respect, or to hide his expression. But the man's voice was resolved.

Jerry envied him, and his ability to so easily give. He had a family to protect, just as the King had his Kingdom. One man for a whole kingdom.

"We... we could fight- with the Guards on the walls-"

"It won't be of any use, sire," Rory growled, a hand on Jerry's shoulder. A King must not show weakness.

"It... it must be done." He whispered. He envied the man. He had something concrete, something to hold on to- "Your family will be well cared for. Your... your sacrifice will live in song for eternity." Jerry's cheeks were wet as he put a slender hand on his friend's shoulder.

A song... the best the fragile King could offer.

One life to save many. He had to protect them. They were his legacy. They were his family, every single member of his Kingdom. They were his responcibility. A canon fire could only provide so much when the outside forces were so heavily armed. They could excell their technology, they could make bigger cannons, bigger swords, heavier arrows that woul pierce even the thickest of war-beast hides.

He could sacrifice himself- save everyone. A wife would not be a widow.

But the kingdom would have no king. He had no Queen. He had no heirs to take his place. This was the only way.

The Wolf King looked out over the massed faces, his lips a thin line before he threw his head back, knife in hand, and howled.

The congregation howled in response.

Marcus closed his eyes.

One man to save the rest.

Jerry envied him.

But he had to save everyone.

He was a coward and he knew it.

The Kingdom of the Wolves howled.



ooc note: Rolled Solia, but he does not know her well, so went one above to poor Marcus the end.

(( Not eligible for the crown, just want to reply to the prompt: WHITE CROWN OF CLARITY ))


He was being dragged, pulled, but he kicked out before he was consumed by the void. Panting, frozen, on his back, he was at the feet of the floating woman. She smiled, highly amused by his flailing and struggle to live, and turned her tray of fragrant goods. Everything was cold, numbing, and yet his insides turned and boiled, feverishly warm and then painfully chill, as he stared at the twisted metal that circled and weaved the gems that made the crowns.

His vision dimmed, the world turning snow white. It was quiet here, and laying on his back, as flakes fell down, he was reminded of home. Cold water was seeping through the layers of clothes, and he watched his shallow breath plum before his blue lips. The birch trees vanished, but he felt like they were watching, an audience holding its breath.

The snow didn’t crunch when he approached, but he felt him there. Head turning, he looked up to see himself, a mirror image that seemed amused to see Melvin lying in the snow. In his gloved hands, he held a crown, and he knelt down beside him. “I have what you desire.” He said, which sounded presumptuous. He didn’t know what he wanted, so how could the other him know? However, as his eyes settled on the crown, he was corrected.

"Take it." The crown was lowered before him, and glancing to himself, he didn’t doubt the offer. Take it, because they both wanted it. They both wanted to see it happen. A low buzzing rattled through the birch trees, distant but having that feeling as if something was coming. Whatever it was didn’t matter now. Nothing nowhere mattered. “Take it, and everything you wish will be yours. Noone will question you because yo-”

His hand reached up, touching his, and the white took hold.




The buzzing in his head turned to the beeps, and he opened his eyes slowly, feeling warm and dry. The cheering overhead from the hull speakers made him smile if not rather not keen on the attention. He had done his best, but as he looked around, the various stations for missiles, warp drive, and systems scans were vacant; The curved seats empty and devoid of high class officials.

The various displays were flashing red, images of the ship’s hull alerting of airlocks not making it in time, and the shields had been compromised long ago. The front display showed the various unidentified ships.

"I am sorry my king." He looked over, breathing deep as the sight of Sophie, dressed in a strange uniform, hair twisted in braids and entwined in a crystallized, dark metal. Sitting in the captain’s chair, he only shook his head. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. People relied on him, he was meant to give logical direction, and now everyone was gone. It was just the two of them now, and the orders had been made. It was an ultimatum and one he had to pay for. In hindsight, it was for the best. With this one move, the war would be settled. The Federation would be pleased by the news.

"It is time." Sophie’s voice was soft but loud enough to be heard over the ranting of the cheers overhead and the ship’s alert system. "This is the end you are seeking."

The end. The end to all this madness and countless lives destroyed. It was an honor to serve and know that your one life was not wasted in vain and that it had made a difference. He always wanted that. It wasn’t the exact end he hoped for, but better than most.

She lifted the sword, not much different to a d'k tahg. It would settle things and be symbolic, but he frowned when seeing it. Phasers were less messy and civil, but the war had been anything but.

Rising, he stood before the onscreen window, breathing deep, before she moved to him. He had trusted her all these years, growing together on Earth, and he remembered their home. To have left her to go held defend the world had taken the most out of him, but he was elated to see her again, though only now when things were ending. For her to come in this alien garb, to ask this of him, created a vile bitterness that he never wanted to have for her in all his life. She had went against him, to side with these people, but still she was here asking him. She always cared, and he looked to her and could only see that. Despite what he had seen, she still did not hate him even when he left her.

Turning, he cupped her face, pressing her forehead to hers, and he breathed deep, whispering so that the others on the other side of the screen could not hear. “End this then.” To end this all. To protect the planet from the threat he had seen ages ago when he was a child.

"For the greater good," She whisper, "In order to save everyone, a sacrifice has to be made." She leaned forward even as she told herself this. Was it to justify it to him or to her? He’d never know. What mattered was to save his crew and everyone else along with it.

"Goodbye, my king." She said, and he smiled before he felt the blade plunge. The pain was cold, and he held to cup her face, brows still pressed before he looked at her, tears staining his eyes. “Goodbye.” He whispered to her, before he body dropped.

The battlefield was gone, and the spectre of Julie had melted into something else, a greyed-out replica of the face Jordan saw in the mirror each morning. "I have what you desire," the figure said in his own voice.

Do you? he almost asked. What did the Insanity want from them, from him? But his eyes fell on the object in his double's hands, and uncertainty melted away. Of course. That was what he wanted. That would make everything so much easier, make things right.

"Take it," he heard himself say. "Take it, and everything you wish will be yours."

Jordan reached out and took the crown.

-----

His office was empty. This wasn't completely out of the ordinary; sometimes he preferred to have a little quiet for himself. When he needed to focus on matters of diplomacy or conflict, he closed the door, and he was left alone until he came out again. More often, though, he left the door open, welcoming the company of friends and subjects, inviting questions and problems. That was what he was here for, after all. He had learned early on that while his crown was attended by privileges and luxuries, its weight on his head meant that he was here to serve. A king directed his people, but took the weight of their needs and problems onto his shoulders along with his mantle.

It was exhausting and terrifying, joyful and fulfilling.

His door was open, but nobody was here. The quiet susurrus of life in the complex was absent. He had failed, and his kingdom lay in ruins. To an outsider's eyes, it might seem only a little strange; everything was intact, the buildings and streets of the capital city clean and untouched, just empty.

His people had been taken away, silently and efficiently, all at once, and all that remained were the tasks they'd left unfinished, the things they'd left behind, the lives they hadn't completed. He'd been left to look over the empty city, alone with the knowledge that he had failed them. That everything was over.

"It is time," said a quiet, familiar voice. "I'm sorry."

One person had stood by his side throughout his life. Had supported him, fought beside him, loved when he loved, shared his burdens when he took the crown, stood beside him when he fell. Jordan looked up into red glass eyes. This was the end, and he was almost relieved.

"All right," he said.

Metal hands settled delicately on the sides of his head, powerful but careful, hard-edged but skin-warm. Iron, but never cold. "Goodbye, my king," the low, raspy voice said, infinitely sad.

There was a sharp crack, a blinding pain, an instant of helpless surprise,

and then nothing. Nothing at all.

This was Shaheen's nightmare. It had come to life, to haunt her again as it had done every evening that she slept, if she slept, since the fall of the islands. A swirling vortex, and thick tendrils of fog that grasped for all of those too close, all too weak, too fragile and too powerless to stop it or to fight themselves free. To her it was no longer a grey woman with a maniacal smile alighting her face, but a phoenix, powerful and strong, made up of all of those who had fallen, those who did not escape. Loved ones, friends, enemies. Their faces screamed at her, contorted, pleaded to her for help. But she did not help them then, and she could not help them now. Because this was nothing but a vision, a hallucination brought on by vivid memories that she could never wipe clean from her mind, and whispered voices that niggled at her incessantly, their voices rising to a crescendo, echoing in her head with unbearable force. That sound was under toned by a faint ringing that grew louder and more piercing by the second, shrieking in her ears like a banshee.

And then silence, so loud it was almost deafening. It took the chieftain a moment to realize that she had fallen to her knees, her eyelids squeezed shut tight, her body bowed forward with hands clasped behind her head and arms pressed up against her ears. Her breathing was rapid, and ragged, and her heart beat a rhythm in her chest fit to burst at any moment. Her eyelids opened, her breathing slowed as she reminded herself that it had not been real, she had not been back there, in that place. She had solid ground beneath her, cold and wet but unrelenting, not exploding beneath her, not tumbling lost into the sea. Inwardly she berated herself for letting herself fall, for letting her nightmares overcome her with such force. She was a chieftain of war. A warrior, proud and strong. Not some child to be frightened by every flash of grey seen out of the corner of her eye. She forced her breathing to slow, clenched her jaw tight and hefted herself to her feet, steeling herself for what she would find. She could not appear weak anymore. It was no longer an option. That was the last time she would allow it.

The figure had changed, but not to a coalesced mass of tortured horsemen forever trapped in the shape of a giant bird of grey fire, but to something somehow in equal parts just as horrifying. Shaheen's eyes widened ever so slightly, her chest clenching up tight as icy tendrils grasped against her heart, her face not yet able to hide the turmoil of emotions that suddenly raced through her in a storm that threatened to send her on her knees again if she wasn't careful.

But again, she reminded herself, that weakness had no place here. If she were to show it now, then she might as well have thrown herself into that void instead of fighting against it so feverishly.

The voice that rang out from the figure sent something cold slithering inside of her gut, adding to the icy feeling in her chest. It was not until this moment that Shaheen suddenly realized that she was alone, staring at the grayed out and fog like version of herself. Just the two of them, the world around them shrinking to this moment in time that seemed to hang by the slightest of threads, ready to snap, to break off and send her tumbling into a pit of darkness.

And then her eyes alighted upon something else, a light, a beacon that guided her, that drew her out of the shadows that would consume her. A flash of gold that shone against her eyes, lighting them up to a brighter shade, glittering in every way just a brilliantly as the yellow gem set in it's center.

"I have what you desire."

"Yes." Shaheen breathed, her hand reaching out, fingers stretching as she took a step forward, a need rising inside of her, all powerful and consuming, now controlling her every action.

"Take it." Yes, yes she wanted it, with every fiber of her being, from the very depths of her tainted soul, she wanted that crown. She needed it for herself, because she knew without a doubt that with it, she could regain that part of herself that she had lost when the islands had fallen. That integral shard of her being that she required, that was as crucial as the air that filled her lungs, that was essential before she could move forward, to move beyond where she was currently held, as though in some kind of mental lock, a stasis period that needed to end. Her strides toward herself became longer, faster, fueled by stronger purpose, or perhaps just by desperation.

"Take it, and everything you wish will be yours. No one will question you because you-"

She did not need to hear any more then that. Her hands closed around the crown, lifting it, the feel of it against her skin sending tingles that ran across every inch of her flesh. The whispers in her head rose again, returned from their short slumber...

...and turned into cheers. She strode along a vast and sprawling hall, it's high walls and vaulted ceilings glowing with a pale golden light. Tapestries, vivid and aureate in hues of yellow hung from the walls. Her people, her friends, allies, warriors, and most trusted companions crowded along the walls, their voices raised in celebration for their King. She was adorned with a dress, long and sweeping but slit high up along her thigh, and hanging low in the back so that her wings could spread behind her. She was poised, stately, beautiful yet deadly. Her lips quirked up in a smirk, her golden eyes glittering, her tawny hair pulled back from her face yet still left to cascade down to where her wings sprouted from her back. Her bronzed skin shone, her yellow tattoos a stark contrast to that darkness, vivid and bright.

And of course, there was the crown, woven into her hair, her golden tresses almost indistinguishable against the precious metal it held in place. The gem set in it's center seemed to resonate with power, just as did the yellow crystal set in the golden bangle around her upper left arm. Her entire body was awash with the flickering glow from thousands of candles that lit up the hall from it's walls to it's ceilings, her people bathed in it's constant glow. Her chin was tilted slightly upward as she continued along the path to her throne, her gaze moving to those she held most dear as she made her way past, giving each a slight inclination of her head in a nod. They all bowed down in her wake, every last one, their cheers dying to a dwindle, fading until her very last subject had laid themselves against the floor at her feet, until she climbed the steps leading up to her gilded throne with graceful movements and turned with a flourish, taking just a moment to let her eyes scan over top of all those who now lay at her feet, beneath her, but hardly less then her equals. She was fiercely proud of them all, of each and every one of those who filled her hall, the King's hall. They were all survivors, like herself. They had built this kingdom up out of nothing but the ashes of their lost civilization, and now look at them! A force to be reckoned with, never to be met with disregard. Never to be thought of as weak, because who would dare to ever imply such?

"Rise!" Her voice rang out across the hall, carrying easily to the back where even the furthest away would have no trouble hearing her. Almost as one single mass her subjects rose to their feet, all looking towards her, waiting on her expectantly. She turned to the side, beckoning two figures to come and stand with her behind her thrown. One, Lifen, her adviser and the other Zhiqiang. As she settled into her seat, carefully folding her gown beneath her, she tilted her head up, eyes meeting those that were painted with red. "And what, my dear Zhi, is our first order of business to attend to this morning?" As if she didn't already know, as though she did not always know what business required her attention before hand.

"My king, it is time to crown your queen." The answer was prompt, though perhaps laced with more amusement then Shaheen would have liked. Her lips pursed, her brows drawn down ever so slightly as her eyes narrowed dangerously at her friend. She had known this day was coming for quite some time, had prepared herself for when it would occur. The last thing she needed was for him to make light of it, as though it were nothing more then a joke. King Shaheen, sharing her power with another, with somebody loyal and honest and trustworthy, with somebody capable, with somebody deserving of the title. Obviously nobody had truly believed that the day would come, that she would finally relent.

"I see." She replied, as though she hadn't already known, shifting in her seat to look out among her crowds once more. She did not need to look far past her thrown, as all of her most trusted and cherished were allowed to gather the closest. The choosing of her queen was not a matter to be taken lightly. It was of the utmost importance that she chose this person well. They would need to be as strong as she herself, her equal, her greatest warrior and asset. Even as her gaze fell upon the familiar faces, on the young and seemingly innocent yet headstrong and vicious Jay, on the steadfast yet typically vain visage of Lan...No, neither of them would do. There was only ever one individual that she would even consider, the choice seemingly easy, but was it truly the right choice to make?

She turned to her other side, eye's lifting now to Lifen. "You know who I would choose?" The woman simply nodded in response, the ghost of a smile on her lips as well. Lifen was not just her adviser, but her closest confidant. She knew her King better then anybody else would ever know her. " You know, I am of half a mind to choose you, dear Lifen." She smirked, relishing in the act of catching her friend off guard, in the surprise that lit up her face. "Do you believe my choice is the correct one?" She asked, genuinely curious of what Lifen's response would be.

The small woman shrugged in reply, her voice a quiet murmur that only the King would hear. "There are those who would say not, but I believe that it is the right choice, my king." Lifen nodded, her gaze steady, and Shaheen offered her a small nod, the slightest of inclinations of her chin, in return. Turning forward in her throne once more, she rose to her feet, ready to address her people.

"Today I am bid to choose my queen. I am to understand that this is the will of you, my people. In order for our realm to remain strong, we must build a firm foundation. Trust, power, and strength." Her eyes roamed about the hall, her voice echoing against it's walls, every syllable carrying.

" Would Shikoba Len, please step forward." Her tone of voice changed, was somehow softer but no less audible for all those to hear. It was clear in the way the crowds rippled, in the whispered hisses, some incredulous, others angry, that this was not the choice many of them would have had her make. This man was headstrong, stubborn, a nuisance and a hindrance more often then not. Was he really the best choice for this kingdom? She knew that the answer was yes. She knew that he was exactly what the this kingdom needed, what she needed. As the tall and muscled mass of the man whom she had over time grown to care about and cherish more then any other approached, a smirk quirking his lips, and his eyebrows raised in mock question, she found her own expression mirroring his. It may have seemed wrong to some, but it was right. It was the right choice. It had to be. Over time, her people would see that as well, because what they would never know is that he was the one who had kept her strong all of this time. He was the one who would not allow for her pride to whither and fade. He was the reason that this crown now rested upon her head. With him at her side, the kingdom would flourish. She held out a hand towards him, palm upturned, her face tilting up even as she looked down on him from her raised position.

"You once asked me a question, Shikoba, you may recall, because it was one to do with my pride. I believe it is clear now what my answer is." She paused, taking a moment to let her words sink in before continuing. "And now I have one for you. Will you join me here, beside me, as my queen?" It was hard not to let her smirk transform into a genuine smile, to hold such poise when such a swirl of emotions were now suddenly writhing within her. After what seemed like ages, a clawed hand closed upon hers, as Shikoba Len climbed the steps to join her. The crowds had grown silent once more, taking in the sight of their new queen, for good or for ill. The King was made to tilt her head higher, now to gaze up into the face of the man who towered at her side.

Her queen. Her Shikoba. Her love. Together, they would take the world by storm. Together they were strong, and weakness had no place here.

(MARCUS SOLO ALL UP IN THIS b***h)


The glass dome shimmered as waves filtered the light through salt water. The kingdom beneath the waves. He sat in a chair of stone, carved from the very waves that moved above them. It was designed that the throne room would be highest, closest to the surface. The King must be the one who watched the waves. Who watches the changes, who each the song of the sea, the scream of her rage as she unleashed her wrath upon the ships that floated above from neighboring kingdoms. The throne room was made to fill with water if attacked, yet sealed from it’s people, they would never come to harm if the king joined the sea he sang to. That sang to him. The king who sang to the sea, a song from crystal shards from the depths of the earth, carved into cups, each one holding water.

Water they drank, a symbol of purity the crystal cup sang to gain insight.
Water from their bodies, red and tasting of copper. Drawn from the king himself, the cup sang to give a connection.
Water from the eyes, to share in their suffering, the sorrow gained to sing for those lost, for the joy of those found. For things that had been and things yet to come. It sang to give empathy.
Water from deep in the earth, unfiltered, it was harsh, bitter, dirty, unwelcomed yet accepted. It was natural. It sang to give reason, to give logic.
Finally, water from the sea. The largest cup of crystal, the final cup. The one as smooth as the stone throne. Hazy, worn smooth by the sand and waves of the sea herself. When filled, it sang to give strength. The strength to accept the song of the water, to accept the songs sung with crystal.

The song the king called forth night after night. The song of the sea. The song of his kingdom under the waves. As always he was there as the song began, shapeless, nothing more than a presence. Yet by the song’s end he stood, a form of water, he drank the cup of blood and became whole. So it would be for all of them. They would come, join those who brought them to sing, then return once they had sung to their source.

The blood showed desire, so was the singer was named Desidero. He was the King’s connection to himself. The song alone was ever changing, ever moving like the waves, like the desires of the mortal man crowned king.

The pure water was drawn by the librarian, so the singer called himself Junpei. He was the keeper of the history of the waves. Ever changing, yet truth would always be under the surface of his song alone.

The water of the eyes was drawn from the imprisoned princess, so the singer was Rue, who knew of wrath and could only be soothed with promises of things to come. Of things that were and could be once more. So her song was known- the desire becomes the shared by those who heard her melody alone. So her song would draw the tears of the princess another night.

Water of the earth was drawn by the watcher, the one who studied the changed below. Cold as the stone, hot as the toxic vents in the dead lands. So the singer was Takeru. A name false, for one people thought brought death could not be known to bring life. He sang cruel things, yet needed things when it was time, who could not deny the truth once it was sung.

The last cup drawn by the King’s beloved. Chosen by his heart, she lived on the surface, she rode the waves and faced the King’s consort alone. So the singer called himself Nicodemus. The keeper of those above. The tie to the land. The tie to life they had left behind. His song of sacrifice, of necessity.

Alone each song would falter, unable to calm the waves above them. Unable to keep the waters from coming in and destroying them all. So it was each night the cups were played. So it was each night the king heard the songs, so he heard his cup bearers, so he heard his queen.
So he heard the sea herself.

He sat in his throne room, the pool of water below the dais filled with an assortment of life. Tiny fish, hermit crabs, starfish, barnacles, sea urchins and anemones, the pool of water was not more than five feet deep, five feet wide, yet it thrived once. Even as no waves touched it, it lived, the creatures inside never changing, untouched by time, untouched by the queen. The pool was the symbol of his kingdom. Yet now it was filled with only death, all inside gone to the death’s embrace.

Outside his kingdom-
Outside the glass walls that showed him the world under the waves, where his queen raged. He’d taken his beloved, joined her on the shore. He did not play the cups, he only sought the song of his beloved. He sought the song of the woman on land who held his heart.

In the end, the King was still a mortal man. His people knew that he’d broken the taboo of his own creation. That he’d left his duty for a night to spend it with her. His people mourned. The magic needed the king. The queen demanded the king have no lover of body, only of mind. Of only song. Yet the song she sang, not the cup bearer, but the woman, her song was one of love. One he wished only to return. The song he longed to hear.

Waves crashed above, and below in his kingdom, crops had began to wilt, nets turned up empty, illness from the sea began to spread. It was no longer safe to venture out. The kingdom below the waves was dying. Dying due to love.

The King sat on his throne of stone, white coral, a dead husk formed the chains that bound him. They were brought forth, and they watched the king as he waited his fate. The drawers of water, the cup bearers. His kingdom was going to wash away to the tide. So their songs sang. So they were heard. So they left the king chained for his queen. For the sea to take her dues as they fled to the land above, to the place they had left behind.

Only she remained. Tears in her eyes, eyes that showed him a sky he’d forsaken. This was part of the ritual, her task as the tie to the land. To sever the connection he’d made under the waves. To the pact he’d made with his queen and to the earth that born him once.

Her words were soft, gentle, as she bent down to kiss him, her tears smelling of the sea itself. The queen would rage, destroy the land if her King did not give himself to her as he hand the land. The king felt a pang of a misplaced emotion, yet her eyes soothed him as she pressed the blade to his throat. She wept as she whispered the words.

He was the greatest mage in the world, yet in the end he was still a mortal man. A man who wanted once to play at King. To start a new world. A new kingdom, a utopia. Yet all men crave love. All men wanted to be loved and love in turn. That is what made them mortal. “I love you.” Such simple words she only wept more. “Finish the ritual, let me save them spare them a fool of a man’s mistake. To think himself above the will and power of a tempest, above a goddess.” She shook her head, blade pulled back as she kissed him. “I love you, there has-“
“Please.” He begged her. “She will take them, all of them, she will take you as well." He bent up kissing away his beloved’s tears. “Let me save you.” Chained hands reached out, holding the blade low, a stab, hot water of life began to seep from the wound as she wept for him. “If I had met you as a man, perhaps I would not have sought the sea as my queen.” Frantic whispers of denial, of her love as he felt his blood slip away, watched as red began to flow into the pool of his kingdom.
“Live for me my love. Live, and let the magic die with me.” She nodded, knowing his meaning, bloodied hands pressed to her abdomen. “Goodbye my lover from the land.”

“Goodbye, my king from the sea.”


THE WHITE CROWN OF CLARITY

"-you have balls."

Ariane stared at the figure - a fog version of herself - holding out the crown decorated with a blue jewel. Although she would usually be amused with a meeting such as this, her mind was too preoccupied with various thoughts to care about the circumstances of the meeting; the not-so-distant memory of Bix's lifeless body lying in the fog, of Jeremy sleeping in a pod, of a harmful bracelet being fixed on her friends' wrists... She was at the bottom of the food chain, and there was no reason an Orca would see a sea lion as anything but fodder.

She grinned - and she could have sworn that the other her grinned in return - before grabbing the crown, raising it above her head as she closed her eyes, the world going deadly silent before-

"My King?"

She opened her eyes, gazing straight at the face of her Queen; it was funny how everything turned out like this, although nobody seemed to mind the King being a female, and the Queen being a male. Titles weren't as important as the people at the top of the food chain; you just learn to never question them, and to do as you were told... Unless, of course, you happened to be someone these people trusted.

"How did we lose?" She muttered, brow knitted together in annoyance as she tapped her foot against the solid wood flooring, the tap tap tap echoing in the minimally decorated room. Around the perfectly round table, 31 pairs of eyes fell at once, avoiding her gaze; some of them didn't want to speak due to shame and distress, while others were looking out for themselves, not wanting to be the one to be sacrificed, "We were so close too... Damn that shitty kingdom."

However, what had happened already happened, and there was no way she could turn back time, as much as she wanted to. As King of the kingdom, she would have to move forward in order for her kingdom to move forward with her... And next year. Next year will be different. They will win, and there will be no more sacrifices in her kingdom, no more unneeded deaths.

She rose from her seat, lips pressed in a straight line as she took a slow walk around the subjects seated at the table. It used to be done differently - the old king was a lot more efficient; it didn't matter to him who the sacrifice was, as long as there was a sacrifice... Although his cold, give-no-damns demeanor did not help with his popularity, perhaps he was a better king. He got things done. He wasn't wishy-washy. He wasn't her.

Following the death of the old king, and her ascension to the throne, they had played this game. This silent game of duck duck goose, where 'goose' meant the permanent end of your service to the kingdom and its king.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap-

The sound of her footsteps stopped abruptly, and everyone looked up at the same time in apprehension; nobody dared to speak, and some hardly bared to breathe. King Ariane, her head bowed, had one hand over the nose and mouth of Marcus, muffling his cries as she slit his throat, going deep enough to sever his carotid arteries and jugular vein. Instantaneously, blood spilt over his clean, white coat and onto the floor, pooling around his chair. She had done this enough times to make it quick and relatively painless... The first one to be sacrificed during her reign wasn't as lucky.

"NOO! NO!"

Cass' frantic screams could be heard several corridors down as she scrambled up from her seat to rush to her husband's side, kneeling by his body. Tearfully, and with shaky hands, she pushed Marcus' limp head up, as if that would magically heal the wound across his neck, and bring him back to her. When nothing she did got a response, her cries turned hysterical, and her own pristine coat was dyed crimson red by the blood of her lover.

"Give him a proper cremation, and inform my people that it had been done," Ariane's voice did not show the guilt she felt for having to make a choice like that, and the high and mighty way she carried herself did not show the weight she felt on her heart for having to kill her own friend, "I have to go wash up."

Her Queen stood up, glancing at the body before joining her by her side; he knew what she felt, and he knew that this wasn't healthy for her, but this was the way things worked. Ariane might be at the top of the food chain in the kingdom, but the kingdom was not the apex predator among the other kingdoms.

"Is that all you have to say after all that? It's like you grow a little more like him every year!"

Usually, she wouldn't have cared about such comments; she was doing what had to be done, after all, and she was even doing the dirty work herself. However, she hated the old king... The old king, so high and mighty, too good and knowledgeable to listen to the opinions of others. So powerful that he could end the life of anyone in the kingdom with a snap of his fingers. So high up the food chain that she had to watch him sentence several close friends to death as sacrifice for this kingdom.

"I am nothing like him," Perhaps she was trying to convince herself; suddenly, the weight of the crown on her head seemed almost too heavy for her to bear, "I am just doing what I need to do... Top protect this kingdom. To protect everyone else. Don't you ever dare say that in front of me ever again, or else-"

"Or else what? Are you going to <******** sacrifice me too?"

Ariane didn't answer. She couldn't. For a fleeting moment, she almost said yes... That yes, she would sacrifice him next if need be, if his death would guarantee the protection of her kingdom until the next tournament. Then she realized that he had phased the question in the speech pattern of their old king, and the answer she wanted to give started to disgust her.

"Gale, stop it," Jude stepped in, putting his hand on Ariane's arm, gently urging her to move. Without answering her subject's question, she left the room, wiping her blood covered hand on her coat; it took her taking his position to understand how great he was, and why he made sure that his word was "******** law".

Cass' screams could be heard several corridors down, and later, it continued ringing in her head.

BLUE CROWN OF PROTECTION