PART I: King of the South
In the north of Stella, on the road to the biggest and most famous city of Stella, Deaa, a young man rode atop his steed. A sword hung at each of his sides, a cloak covered his face and clothing, and a worried expression crossed his features as he turned his head left and right almost every second, checking his surroundings, looking for someone.
As he rode past the frontlines and into Stella with his intel about enemy camps and positions, Sao was met with roads filled with refugees. Some were imperial, coming from the same passage Nex was supposed to pass through—the mountain pass.
He stopped them and asked about a child with white hair, but most of them were too horrified to answer. Those who did all gave the same response: "No, we didn't see a child with white hair."
As he ventured deeper into Stellan territory, heading to the capital, Kalaa, he started meeting high numbers of refugees. Only these ones were not imperial—they were Stellan people, moving out of the deeper villages and cities. Their lands were far from war, leaving Sao confused as to why they were abandoning their homes and heading closer to the northern borders.
Yet he was determined—he rode past them as they all stared at him, opening the way and letting his steed through.
With each young boy or child he passed, he made sure to look back to confirm it wasn't Nex.
Two months ago, in the most southern regions of Stella, at the gateway to the ancient city of Satal, the nervous voices of the guards echoed through the empty streets behind the tall and thick steel doors.
"O... Open the gates!" one of the guards yelled as he glanced through a hatch and witnessed who was waiting for the doors to open.
Upon opening the door, the light of the sun shone bright from behind the steeds and knights standing in front of the guard, nearly blinding the guards who hadn't seen the sun in days.
The two guards shielded their eyes from the sun with their hands while trying to glimpse the presence of the famed strongest knight in the world.
"Move, guards—do not block His Majesty's way any longer." A voice restored their sight as his massive frame blocked the sun. Shielded in heavy armor plated with gold and wearing a golden cloak, he rode next to another knight in the same armor and cloak on an armored horse.
One man wore light armor and a helmet that extended into a steel mask, and two more golden knights rode behind him.
One of the guards was unable to keep his excitement to himself. He fell on one knee and said, "You came, Your Majesty! Please save our people, Your Grace."
The other guard ran, picked him up, then shoved him aside.
"Apologies, Your Grace. Please forgive his insolence." The guards panicked as they hurried out of the way.
Behind those five knights rode a hundred Silver Knights as well as doctors, apothecaries, nurses, and every woman who volunteered to care for the sick.
It was hundreds of people marching behind the masked man, awaiting his orders at every turn, obeying them without hesitation.
"I want to take off this suffocating mask," the small figure muttered to the golden knights beside him as he extended his hand to lift his helmet.
"You can't, Your Majesty!" The golden knight immediately grabbed the king's hand, and the king did not push him back nor put any strength into resisting.
"Release me, Fred. I will not ask again," the masked man ordered with calmness.
"But Your Majesty, we can't risk you being infected by God's wrath—" another golden knight shouted.
"I will walk these streets as my people have, without a mask, and I will die as if I were another commoner. Stop repeating the words of the old bastards," the king responded dismissively.
"Death should be the least of your worries, my king." An old man emerged from the empty streets and approached the king, unnoticed even by those trained to protect the king since they were children.
"Who goes there!" A golden knight unsheathed his sword from his waist.
The old man did not flinch. Covered in dirt and mold, a robe hid his appearance from the king and the knights that followed. He relied on his stick with each step, moving toward the gate.
"This gift does not kill you, my lords. It gives you an immortal life. It isn't even a sickness nor a plague, and it is most certainly not God's wrath."
The old man glanced at the golden knight who had spoken earlier of God's anger.
The king removed his hand from his mask, leaving it on. "Then if not God's wrath, what is it, old man, and who are you?" he asked.
The old man laughed as he slowly made his way past them, attempting to head out. "It is his gift!" he said as he finally locked eyes with the king.
He revealed his face as the skin on his cheeks melted away from the bones and down to his neck. Beneath the skin was not blood but a black fluid hiding under the remaining layers of his flesh.
His right eye was rotten, fungus was growing out of it, vines crept through his mouth.
The king jumped down from his horse, unsheathed his sword, and drove it right into the old man's throat.
Blood flowed down his sword and onto his hand—it was human blood.
"That... that wasn't human." the king asked himself as everyone around him awaited his orders in fear.
Even the most experienced warriors of the south, his golden knights, were unable to move upon seeing the old man's face, frozen in place by something they couldn't hear nor see, but something they felt gripping them by the back of their necks.
"You need to burn it." A child's voice was heard, but the king could not make out where it was coming from.
"Hurry!" the voice urged the king.
"Bring me fire! Fast!" the king ordered, the words leaving his mouth before he even realized he was following the child's voice.
One of the silver knights ran forward with a torch. "Here, Your Majesty." He handed him the torch.
The king threw the torch on the body and watched as vines burst out from underneath the skin of the old man, alive, screaming in pain but without sound.
After a few seconds of struggling, the vines were burnt to ash.
The king was confused, struggling to understand what was real and what was not. He had lived all his life fighting men with swords and shields, in battles of wits and commanding with authority—he always knew what to do, but not now. He didn't utter a word; he just silently glanced back at his golden guards.
After a few seconds passed, the golden guards jumped off their horses and ran to his side. "We apologize, our king—we don't know what came over us, but we couldn't move, not until you killed that... thing."
Fred was nervous—the golden guards had failed their mission to throw their lives away to save the king for the first time since the Golden Guard's creation a thousand years ago.
The king's gaze did not leave the ashes of the thing. "I was barely able to move myself—you have nothing to be ashamed of. Whatever that was, there is nothing like it, and being afraid of such unnatural things is what it means to be human."
A window creaked open from one of the houses.
The king raised his guard as the golden guards surrounded him.
"Actually, Your Grace, there are a lot like it." It was the child's voice—his tone made them drop their guards, but the words he said carried horror beyond anything they believed was possible.
As the window opened wide, the child stepped aside and said, "Look."
This revealed corpses connected to each other, their eyes eaten by maggots—fungus was growing on them, and vines attached them all to each other. They were the same vines that had burst out of the old man.
Upon seeing this, the king took a step back, and when he thought to save the child, a screech halted him in place. It came from the bodies.
"They... they yet live?" Fred asked with fear filling his eyes.
"Indeed— they feel and hear everything, but soon they will also lose those senses to the same maggots that fed on their eyes. This is the plague, Your Majesty—the people here started calling it the Binding Rot."
The king was stunned, unable to fathom what to do or give orders, as was everyone behind him.
A woman's hand touched his back, causing him to startle.
As he turned, he saw a cold yet familiar face—his wife, Sylvia. He had even forgotten she had volunteered to accompany him on this mission to help the people of Satal with this plague.
"Sylvia," he called out as he walked toward her for comfort.
"We need to leave, Your Highness—we cannot stay here. That would only put you and ourselves at risk." Her cold voice halted him.
"But those are my people—are we supposed to just leave them without help?" the king answered back.
"And what exactly can we do to help those poor living corpses? Who knows how many are infected by this, how and why? We do not have the time nor the luxury to find that out now and here. Now, on your horse—we are leaving." She turned back and ordered the silver knights and everyone to leave the city.
The king looked at the child one last time—his face was tired and helpless. Those were his family inside that house, that much was clear, and it wasn't even known if he was infected, making him—or anyone leaving this city—doomed for the rest.
"I am sorry, child," the king said with a sad tone.
"Don't be, Your Grace—she is right. There's nothing you or anyone else can do. This is God's wrath." The child answered with words that came out of his mouth but were not his own.
"The old man—he was different. Why?" the king asked.
"I do not know, Your Majesty—he just was."
The king's gaze left the child and started looking around, watching the houses as they were barricaded from the outside.
He understood the whole city was filled with them. He couldn't take that risk.
Then he looked back at his men and saw the fear in their eyes. Even Fred, the most experienced knight he knew, was afraid.
He jumped back atop his horse and started marching out.
On his way out, the two guards who had greeted him were holding on to every Knight passing, begging for their help and when the king came through they ran and fell on their knees infront of him. "Your Majesty? Why are you leaving, Your Majesty? Your letter promised aid, Your Majesty. Will you not help your people?"
One of the guards called out, the king looked at him with confusion. He knew he had sent that letter to the Prince of Satal, his old friend, which meant it never reached him. He stopped in his tracks for a moment and asked, "Why do you have that letter?" The guard did not respond; he just desperately pleaded for his and his people's lives. The King ignored the guard and simply marched past him and through the gates, knowing the fate of his friend was the same fate as his people in Satal. The King marched on as the smokes of fires covered the skies of Satal.
Back at the present day: "The date is fall of 712 Imperial, and 824 since the Dynasty fell. May God witness that the Vizier's court held in Kalaa will speak only the truth, will do its best to look for solutions to help protect and look after the people of Stella, all equally, and every voice spoken here within today's court will be held equal to that of the king as well as accountable for their words. May the court begin."
As the words of the announcer finished their formalities, silence rang through the massive hall of the throne room.
The Viziers sat in the upper floor with their blue and white uniforms, backs turned to their guards that made sure no one other than Viziers could go up to the second floor.
Across from the Viziers' section were the nobles, seated on their own balconies, without uniforms and with few guards—the Viziers outnumbered them five to one.
Beneath the nobles were the soldiers; high-ranking soldiers and important knights stood on their feet waiting for the court to begin.
Across from them and beneath the Viziers' section were commoners who had come to plead their cases and to be represented by the Viziers.
The long hall fit a hundred Viziers, twenty nobles, two hundred soldiers, and as many commoners as could possibly fit. At the end of it all, seated on his glorious marble stone throne surrounded by blue and golden banners of his house—House Stella, carrying his golden crown sigil surrounded by endless waves of blue and engraved in gold at the ends—sat King Leofric, first of his name, and the strongest knight alive.
As everyone awaited the King's formal words, he sat there with his golden eyes and golden long hair, dressed in his knight armor, lost in thoughts.
Suddenly a voice from the Viziers' section rang through the halls, impatient and unable to wait for the formalities to end.
"Your Majesty Leofric, we the Viziers have heard the pleas of the people and request immediate peace with the empire. The people suffer God's wrath, your majesty, and they have even named it the Binding Rot. We need to cease this war at once and return as farmers and workers—then and only THEN may God find mercy to cease his wrath and take away his otherworldly sickness."
This is a powerful courtroom scene that effectively brings together multiple storylines and creates a dramatic climax. The political tensions, character dynamics, and Sao's desperate gambit all work well together.
Here are the grammar and punctuation corrections for the text:
"Thank you for your words, Grand Vizier. I shall take peace negotiations into consideration, but I find it hard to believe all those people underneath you Viziers all came for the plague. Are you sure this is the only case they brought to you?" King Leofric answered back.
Some of the Viziers looked a bit flustered, but the Grand Vizier stood up and stepped up to the balcony, revealing himself.
"Yes, Your Majesty. All those commoners fear God's wrath and came here to showcase the true horror of our situation. All those people have seen or have felt the terror of the wrath. Isn't that right, people?"
The Grand Vizier leaned forward, looking beneath him and smiling as he saw the hopeless commoners, unable to say a word back to him, knowing how much power he held outside of this court.
"Your words carry your own desire, Grand Vizier. You should have learned how to hide your emotions when speaking by your age." Laughter broke from the soldiers as a noble shouted those words from the darkness of their balcony.
"Who said that! I dare you to reveal yourself if you are not a coward!" One of the Viziers stood up and shouted.
"We are the cowards? And you beg for peace whenever we are at war?" A woman's voice from the noble section shot back with an answer.
After that, a war of words broke out from both the nobles' and Viziers' sections, back and forth, back and forth, as the soldiers stood there—some breaking with laughter and others with rage at the words of the nobles and Viziers.
And yet the king sat there, his face resting on his fist as he watched the commoners struggle to stay standing. Their weakness was showing; their legs could no longer carry them. Their cheekbones were showing through their skin, and they held their stomachs from hunger. Their dirtiness and the dirtiness of their clothes told him a story a hundred words from the Viziers couldn't. There was a lack of water and food in his kingdom, the plague, and war was raging on and on for months without seeing an end soon. And as he was lost in thought, a voice broke through this state of his.
"Your Majesty! Control your nobles. If this was your old man, he would never let the court become such a clown fest!" one of the Viziers shouted, and silence befell the whole court. Everyone's eyes turned to the person who said it, and then to Leofric, awaiting his reaction in fear.
"What the hell did you just say, you fool?!" The Grand Vizier ran to him and grabbed him by the collar.
The nobles smirked; they knew the Viziers would be punished for those words.
"My old man? You mean the same old man that surrendered the north to the empire and watched his own people being sold as slaves? That old man? The same one that buried people alive because he believed that by God's will that would make them invisible soldiers? Of course he would never let the Viziers court become such a clown fest. I mean, people started calling it the Viziers court because of how biased he was towards you. If anyone spoke against you, he would soon burn them alive then take counsel from their words. We are lucky that I am nothing like my old man—otherwise I would have made this into the nobles court and burnt all of you Viziers alive."
The King's words echoed in the hall. No one dared to speak against his words; everyone knew how much he resented his late father, and everyone knew how much he was capable of destruction and that the only thing holding him back was his love for his people and his honor.
"Now, if your words are true, Grand Vizier, and those commoners all came to complain and plead for our help against the Binding Rot, how do you know none of them are infected and brought that very sickness into this court where you and your family are present, where the nobles, high-ranking soldiers, me and my family all are here, and you brought people who came into contact with that very sickness into this hall?"
The King asked with anger in his eyes.
"First, I would like to apologize on behalf of all Viziers for this fool's words, Your Majesty. And second, God is giving us a chance—he would not infect you or your family, Your Majesty. Instead, he would wait for your response first. Would you continue this war even if you hid in your quarters? The sickness shall reach you. And shall you end this war with peace, no sickness shall touch the mighty and faithful Kingdom of Stella."
The Grand Vizier's words were echoed by the other Viziers shouting "Long Live Stella! Long Live Stella!"
The commoners and soldiers were obliged by the law of Stella to shout those words as well, and the nobles were silent as they watched their plans spoiled by the cunning Grand Vizier.
A few moments later, the shouts were silenced with the voice of a veteran warrior.
"Your Majesty, how can we even look to negotiate peace when the daughter of the wolf Tywin has been pushing us back ever since Commander Riger went missing a month ago? What exactly can we offer for this so-called peace except the north again? Are we meant to watch our people suffer in another war just ten or twenty years from now?"
The War Marshal stepped out from between the guards and spoke his mind in the middle of the hall, directly in front of King Leofric.
The nobles rallied behind the War Marshal's point, enforcing it with more questions and no solutions.
"Yes, Your Majesty, how are we supposed to negotiate peace when we started a war ourselves? It would look like we lost the war without question. We need a reason first, or a major victory before we can call for peace."
A noble yelled out, and another followed.
"Yes, Your Majesty, even if we end up with a peace treaty with the empire, how are we meant to treat the commoners from the Binding Rot? Satal is already in complete ruins, and other cities from the south are slowly following in her footsteps. Meanwhile, the north has suffered enough from the tyranny of the empire. How can we gift them back to the empire without a fight? What will our people think of us? If us nobles and knights and soldiers and kings can't protect those poor farmers and villagers, then who will?"
The Grand Vizier argued back instantly, "By God's grace, he shall protect them and us all. Or are you saying God's mercy isn't enough? Are you saying he isn't powerful enough to protect our people?"
Another set of shouts from the Viziers followed with their own arguments.
And in the midst of all of this, the sealed entrance to the hall cracked open, silencing everyone with its loud creaking noises.
And in stepped the Golden Guards of the King, and between the four of them was a man escorted with a cloak covering his clothes and face. He was not restrained and had two swords on him.
Confused looks and questions filled the hall.
All the commoners, knights, soldiers, nobles, and Viziers had their eyes on this figure for some reason; no one could look away from him.
"What is so important that you break a thousand years' tradition by opening the sealed gates, Frederick Lemand?" the King asked.
Frederick, the commander of the Golden Guards, stepped forward and bowed down.
"Apologies, Your Majesty. However, this young man claims to be someone of such importance that we were forced to grant him his wish for an audience with you, even if it meant breaking the traditions of the Viziers' court."
"And who is this young man?" The King asked as he leaned forward awaiting an answer.
Fred was about to answer before the young cloaked man spoke himself.
"I am Sao Loras, son of Tywin Loras and Anastasia the barbarian." Sao took the cloak off of his face, revealing himself, and hid away his swords with the cloak.
Suddenly everyone was able to look away freely.
"Son of the wolf? What are you doing in Stella in these troubling times, young cub?" the King asked.
"I have come here to ask for an audience with the king of the south, King Leofric."
"And why do you wish for an audience with me?"
The King leaned back in his throne.
"I have a request to make, King Leofric. If I may?" Sao asked as he lowered his head out of courtesy.
"Speak," Leofric answered.
"Your Majesty, we should negotiate peace with him as a hostage," one of the Viziers shouted, only to be silenced by the Grand Vizier.
"Silence, the king wishes to grant him an audience. It is not your place to question his judgment."
The Grand Vizier's words were only a front to put up in front of the son of one of the most dangerous men alive. He wished to show unity, and even the nobles and soldiers understood it; they did not say a word and only awaited the king's judgment.
"I am looking for someone that might have crossed into the kingdom of Stella. He is an eleven-year-old boy with white hair and blue eyes; his name is Nex. He was being chased by dogs, and I heard word he was last being chased into the northwestern part of Stella. I wish for his safe return to the empire, and in return I shall do whatever you ask of me for once."
"Nex? The Prince of the empire? Wasn't his death what started this whole war, along with the deaths of Dante, crown prince of Lavat, and Jian the royal of Wu? Now you are telling me he lives and he is in Stella?" Leofric asked.
"Yes, I have met with him and confirmed it myself. Last we saw each other, we sent him here, to you, King Leofric, so he would remain safe as we built a place for him to go back to."
Sao's words carried their own guilt.
"A prince running away from his own empire? From whom?"
The King questioned Sao's words, wondering if they were true or some sort of carefully put together plan by Sao's father.
"His own siblings and father. Nex's position within the empire had always been hard, but after he was declared dead in the Grand Bazaar Massacre, he was treated as a slave."
Sao locked eyes with the king before saying, "I only wish for his return. I swore an oath to serve and protect him, and I am here to uphold my oath."
The King stared at young Sao for a bit before he asked, "And what if he is dead within Stella?"
"Then I shall die with him in Stella," Sao answered without hesitation.
Leofric read Sao's eyes. He had talked with politicians since he was a young, immature king; he knew the eyes of liars. Sao was telling the truth, and he knew it.
"Understood, young wolf. I want you to know I only asked about his death because it is highly likely, but if he is found alive I shall bring him to you, and my request of you would be peace between the empire and Stella. Are you able to afford that, young wolf?"
The King stood up and walked forward towards Sao.
"Yes, I can afford that if my prince lives," Sao answered back.
The King extended his hand. "I swear on the honor of house Stella and my honor as Leofric, King of Stella, I shall do my best to find your prince."
Sao answered back after his hand met and shook Leofric's, "And I swear on the honor of house Loras and my honor as Sao, as well as my prince Nex's honor, if he lives I shall make sure peace is met within a month or less."
"Long Live Stella." "Long Live Stella." "Long Live Stella." The shouts filled the room. The Viziers were the first to jump up from their seats and shout, then the soldiers and commoners complied with their obligations, and lastly the nobles followed after eyeing each other—they joined in.