The king’s death approaches.
Eye of the Storm
by DoomHuntley“A king defends what is his, because a king must live without fear in his own domain.”
“And how did the king come to rule in the first place?”
“Because a kingdom is what serves a king.”
“No!”
A great Ninetales paced back and forth across the width of the room. Silky gray tails brushed along the edges of a lengthy velvet carpet with each pass, the lit chandeliers of the high ceiling above casting a glowing sheen on the gray fox’s lustrous coat. Reflections of his face stared back at him from the stained glass windows lining the edge of the hall, shadows cowering behind rising pillars, hiding from the king.
“What have I taught you, Mirage?” the king scolded, his voice soft in tone, yet booming in presence, echoing slightly in the huge, decorated chamber.
“Father–”
“A domain belongs to a king because the king promises to keep it safe!”
“But the king is the king, they can do whatever they want!”
“No! Do you think I have ruled this long because I did simply what I desired?”
“Is that not what you did? Why would you do something you don’t want to do?”
“Mirage!”
The Vulpix sitting before the pacing Ninetales huffed in frustration, an expression of disdain twisting its snout. Six voluminous tails wafted back and forth behind it, shimmering with a golden hue courtesy of extensive care.
“I do not understand, father, what you are saying does not–”
“Are you the king, or am I?”
“I will be king soon enough–”
“Not the way you are now!”
A silence fell over the room, suffocating the air and leaving them both breathless, panting, glaring at each other. King Stormus, and Prince Mirage.
“Mirage. I–”
“Father–”
“NO,” the king boomed. “Do not speak over me. You are not king yet, and regardless of that, I am your father. You will listen, or I may pass your title to another heir.”
Mirage’s face blanched through the fur, and he promptly shut up.
Stormus glared at him for a moment, before sighing, his expression softening to something more tired.
“Mirage… I fear what will happen when you lead. A king may command all, but he will only wield as much power as his people grant him. Tell me, if you do whatever you want, what is the guarantee that your people will support you?”
“I am their king, am I not? They should support my every endeavor.”
“And if they do not?”
“I have control of the royal guards, do I not? An army will lay waste to the masses at my command.”
“Are the guards not Pokémon as well? What if they do not heed your orders?”
“I…” Mirage began, opening his snout. But no words escaped his lips.
“Precisely. I cannot fathom how you did not think of such a possibility in the slightest. Your every action is like that of a gardener tending to a sapling. Treat it harshly, and it will never prosper, leaves pruned and soil unwatered.” Stormus bared his teeth, exhaling crimson flames that seared the air and curled to smoke between his fangs. Mirage flinched.
“However.” Stormus tilted his head upwards slowly, and with a gentle breath, a swirl of orange rose from his snout, twisting and dancing upwards, a pillar of light that danced in the light of the hall, before disappearing without a wisp of smoke, a tree extending its branches as far as it could reach from its roots.
“If your actions serve to benefit your people, then your plant will yield a bountiful harvest.”
“So I will be a slave to my own people? A servant for a nation that will do nothing but judge and mistreat me at every turn?”
“That is also untrue. As one may do for loved ones, people will be willing to sacrifice for a king they truly respect and admire. Thus, to be a good king does not mean to bow and kowtow to every commoner, but to give and take in a healthy balance, ensuring the people are sated and happy enough such that they are willing to obey.”
“But what of the old–”
“Do not speak of his name,” Stormus growled. “That tyrant ruled by force, and his downfall was only what he deserved.”
“Did he not help his people–?”
“By his judgment, he did. But his generosity was only a thinly-posed alibi for his cruelty and selfishness. He was not a ruler that loved his people, and he lived in a kingdom which did not love its king.”
Mirage almost flinched back at the hellfire burning in Stormus’ eyes, his voice like knives stabbing at the Vulpix’s ears, so sharp and vicious his tone was.
“…Then–”
Stormus sighed. “This is something that you can only learn through experience, and I am afraid that I have very little time left to allow you to gain that experience.”
The Ninetales allowed his tails to fan out, and at the end of each, Mirage could see wisps of white hair melding in with the rest.
“My time is nearing. I am simply grateful that I could have lived life to its fullest.”
Mirage was silent.
Stormus sighed, trotting up slowly in front of Mirage. A grimace stretched across his son’s face as emotions waged war in his heart. Stormus looked down upon the Vulpix, before sighing and sitting down, bending forwards to lick the Vulpix’s hair, making Mirage recoil back.
“Father–!”
“I love you, son. I simply want to make sure the future you lead Grandeport into will be one more prosperous than the Grandeport of today.”
“But Grandeport is the world’s largest–”
“Yes. But that was not without great effort from me. I lead my troops into battle. I sacrificed much, and paid the price for victory. But it earned me the respect of my people, and seeing as they were mine just as much as I was theirs, I vowed to make sure I never lost it. There have been riots, there have been disagreements. But through the centuries, I have continued to rule, and very few have dared to approach me, for the rest would rise up to quash their zealous peers.”
“A king is nothing without his kingdom, and if his kingdom is lost to him, then the king has fallen.”
Mirage was silent.
“Do you vow to protect my people, my son?”
Mirage was silent.
“Do you swear to defend them from those that may wish to bring them harm, and topple your throne?“
Mirage was silent.
“Will you rule Grandeport?” Stormus leaned in, locking eyes with Mirage, whose chest rose and fell.
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…I will.”
Stormus smiled. “Then… I welcome you…”
“…King Mirage.”
“HEY. FEATHER DUSTER.”
Mirage was jolted awake by a thunderous clang as a great force slammed into the bars of his cage, throwing the Ninetales to the floor.
“AGH, WHAT IS THE MEANING OF–” he cried.
“Get up. It’s morning.”
A blurry red-and-black shape crossed into his field of view. Regaining his bearing, the face of a glaring Bisharp came into focus.
“Real king you are,” it growled. “All pampered. Have a nice sleep?”
Mirage glared back, not answering out of spite.
“Well, I don’t care. You aren’t getting sleep again. Not after today.”
His jailer pivoted, and marched away towards the stairs of the hold. He placed one foot on the first step, paused, and looked back.
“Best be ready. Your son is going to visit you soon.”
And with a clattering of feet upon wood, Mirage was alone.
The Ninetales sighed as he laid back down on the cold metal floor of his prison. His matted tails provided a cushion upon which he could rest his aching joints, but nothing could soothe the chilling frost that crept up his spine and ate away at his gut.
A glance outside his cage, peeking through the cracks of the wood, told him that it was early morning, and the sun had not risen still yet. He growled. He didn’t need to wake me this early. That was entirely out of spite.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. He was not a king anymore, privy now to the whims of people who did not care for him, and who he in turn would never care for.
He closed his eyes, and he could see the gray hairs brush past his snout, kind blue eyes staring into his own. Centuries have past, and he could still remember it like it was yesterday.
Yesterday’s joy, today’s punishment.
“I’m sorry father…” he whispered, setting his snout down on the cage.
What did I do wrong? Centuries I lead my nation… Centuries I worked to preserve the peace, to appease my people, to… to be a king. And…
His life flashed before his eyes. Every century, every decade, every year, every minute.
I helped Grandeport prosper… I gave the guilds free reign, and allowed them to grow strong and become legendary…
I gave my people every bit of freedom that I could.
I gave them what they wanted.
I helped them.
I.
Me.
Me. Me. Not them. Not those… usurpers, me!
Me! Not them! Me!
Them… THEM…!
Weak flames sputtered from his snout, the cold gripping his heart, yet his anger allowing him to power through.
“THEY did this! My people were content, my kingdom was fine! I had what I wanted, and my people had what they needed! But nooooo, they wanted more! They ALWAYS want more! You let them shove their paw in the crack, and they kick open the door! They make your home your own! That is MY CASTLE! MY KINGDOM! AND MY PEOPLE BETRAY ME–”
He roared his anger to the ceiling, to the air, to any who could hear him, who lent an ear, willingly or not. “I AM THE KING, AND THOSE INSURGENTS TOOK MY TITLE FROM ME!”
“Huff–”
“–Huff–”
“–Huff–”
“–Huff…”
Clang!
…
…
…
…
“…Why me…?”
“Was I not a good king, father? Was I not kind, merciful?”
“…”
“…”
“…”
But nobody heard him. Nobody cared.
Mirage tried to appeal to the humanities of his keepers.
They were deaf to his pleas.
Mirage tried to show his distress. To convince them to give him time, mercy, to at least see his daughter.
They were deaf to his cries.
Mirage tried to lash out, to show that he was still in power.
But they were deaf to his threats.
Mirage was defeated. He could not fight back.
The world watched in silence. None spoke a word.
“A king is nothing without his kingdom, and if his kingdom is lost to him, then the king has fallen.”
My kingdom is gone. I hope that bastard child enjoys ruling a broken nation. I wish I could see the future, but I do not need such an ability to know what will come.
Grandeport will fall.
The senators… that… Marshtomp… Charlie.
Good riddance.
Goodbye.
Mirage closed his eyes.
The sun sank into the ocean, and the darkness shrouded the land.
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