“Wow,”

  I said, the recorder’s light a steady witness. “To be in the same

  trials as Lucius the Praised…did any of you matter after that

  announcement?”

  A dry, humourless sound escaped her. “More

  bore witness owing to his name, aye, yet we did put on a spectacle.”

  “We? Were there others that stood apart?”

  She smiled, weighing

  the memory. The cave seemed to hold its breath with her.

  “There

  was...Arthur Ren.”

  My breath caught. The name was like a

  children’s tale. “You mean... the rising sun, Arthur?”

  “Aye,”she whispered, her voice a hint of longing and nostalgia.

  “The very same.”

  **************************************************************

  Arthur

  Ren was born into status in Leria, a cousin to the legendary Lucius

  the Praised. But from birth, he and his family lived in the shadow of

  that single, overwhelming fact.

  His

  mother, the sister of Lucius’s late mother, had married the noble

  Julius for her otherworldly beauty, a charm that faded for him as

  quickly as it had appeared, creating a divide in their household.

  Arthur

  was the third son, an afterthought. His family’s favour had already

  been spent. His oldest brother, Trysten, was accepted into Leria’s

  Academy for knights training. A natural with a bow and unparalleled

  endurance, he was the son their father considered the most worthy

  heir to the family’s martial legacy. His second brother, Matthew,

  inherited their mother’s looks and possessed a sharp mind, scoring

  the highest grades in the noble’s school before entering a

  prestigious doctorate program.

  When

  Arthur arrived, he was less a new son and more a final stressor on

  his parent’s crumbling marriage. He was shunned, even by his

  mother, whose own mental state began its slow decline. The one who

  truly raised him was the maid, Martha.

  When

  Arthur was six, his father began seeking Martha’s counsel more and

  more in private. The day his mother discovered Julius had assaulted

  the maid, leading to a pregnancy, something broke in her. The

  betrayal in her eyes was absolute.

  Martha

  named her daughter Freya. For a few years, Arthur was happy. He had a

  mother who loved him and a little sister who adored him. But that

  happiness was stolen when a sudden sickness took Martha.

  Hearing

  the news from the other mourning maids, how fiercely she had fought,

  how her last thoughts were of Freya and Arthur, it hit him like a

  train. It was like losing his mother all over again. But it was her

  last message that broke him completely, forcing him to cling to his

  little sister’s hand for strength.

  It

  was a recording of her final message. It must have cost her a fortune

  seeing as technology such as this was so expensive, most nobles would

  have second guessed buying it. Everyday since then, her words would

  repeat in his mind like a broken record.

  (The

  sound of weak, ragged breathing, then her voice, soft but

  muffled.)

  “Arthur..my beautiful boy. Can you hear me? My

  rising sun.. I am so..so proud of you... You have always been so

  strong. Not matter the darkness in the sky...no matter how cloudy

  your heart...you never stopped shining...you never stopped

  smiling.”

  (muffles and static)

  “Promise me...promise

  you will keep smiling. For me. For your sister. I love you...I love

  you both...so much...”

  (It ended as soon as another woman

  tried calling her name after a silence.)

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He

  couldn’t bring himself to attend her death ceremony. He heard his

  brothers had gone, out of respect for the maid who had cared for them

  all. But no one came to console . Not his mother, his

  father, or his brothers. His ‘real’ mother was gone, and Freya

  was the only piece of her he had left.

  From

  the on, the House of Ren was broken. Arthur watched his father spiral

  into silence, then bitterness, then total absence, burying himself in

  his duties. His reclusive nature shattered Elise’s self worth. She

  began to look at her son with new eyes, as if he were the reason her

  husband neglected her.

  Arthur

  grew up small, chubby, and quiet. His brothers teased him. He was the

  kid who hid behind Martha’s skirts and played toys by himself, who

  balled up in tears when he made a mistake, making the maid’s hearts

  ache. But when he smiled and laughed, it was if the heavens were

  smiling through him. He was a dumb, loveable kid. Even when his

  mother struck him in private frustration, even when the other noble

  children mocked him, even with no friends and a distant father, he

  still smiled and loved. For Freya.

  They

  were inseparable. Even when he was younger he would sneak into her

  room to make her laugh. Her first word was his name, or more

  precisely ,“Artor.” Their bond only grew after that.

  When

  Arthur turned fifteen, the tale of Lucius defeating an elder dragon

  became a legend. When his brothers decided to see the Church parade

  their cousin through Ren City, they invited Arthur and Freya to come

  along.

  It

  stung that the invitation was only for Freya’s sake, but it was the

  first time they were including him. He would take it.

  His

  brothers, busy with their careers, looked different. Trysten wore

  casual but sharp clothes, while Matthew carried himself with a

  distinguished, proud air. They adored Freya, but with Arthur, they

  never knew what to say. He was different, a house guest in his own

  home. His dark brown hair, a mirror of his father’s, stood against

  their mother’s blonde legacy, a constant reminder of the man’s

  neglect. Still, time apart had softened them. With their father

  absent and their mother’s mental health fading, they were all each

  other had left.

  By

  late afternoon, they reached the city’s Center. Pushing through the

  bustling crowds, Arthur’s eyes were drawn upwards, past the banners

  and rooftops. There, in the central plaza, stood the city’s ancient

  symbol, a massive golden stone statue of a Phoenix. Its wings were

  spread as if for flight, and even weathered by centuries, it held a

  majestic, watchful air but the reason for its existence had been lost

  to time.

  By

  evening, trumpets blared as a horse- drawn carriage arrived.

  Officials on horseback surrounded it. Arthur was nervous. It had been

  years since he and Lucius had spoken. They had been close once, but

  from the day Lucius began losing his sight, he had become distant, as

  if Arthur didn’t exist. The memory still hurt. To everyone’s

  surprise, the first to exit wasn’t Lucius, but another high-profile

  Synchrite.

  Jacen,

  known as the Slayer, awed the crowd with his presence. With

  slicked-backed black hair, a tall frame, and two blades on his hips,

  he exuded an aura of deadly power. A stunned silence turned to

  whispers, then to reverence. The crowd erupted as he waved for quiet,

  a slight smile on his face.

  “You

  are all gathered here today to see the face of the saviour of Leria!”

  His voice boomed, reaching the farthest corners of the crowd. “The

  one who single-handedly brought down a fearsome Elder Flo beast! A

  dragon so terrifying, even we trained Synchrites were cautious of it!

  Yet! A Mere boy traversed the mountains! A mere boy slew the beast! A

  mere boy came back down dragging the carcass with power as if given

  to him by the Arc itself!” He paused, letting the anticipation

  peak. “I preset to you. Lucius. The Praised!”

  Lucius

  stepped out.