Author's Preface
A year had passed.
Valoria had partly recovered from the apocalypse. The mountain of debris had been cleared, its stone salvaged to pave new roads and set new foundations over the graves of the old capital.
The Wanderer sat behind a wooden desk, buried under a mountain of parchment. He wore sweeping royal garment, his left arm wrapped snugly in fine cloth beneath a long silk sleeve that kept catching on the edges of the papers every time he moved.
A knock rattled the door to his small office.
"Come in," he called out, unable to hide the thread of annoyance in his voice.
Serenya stepped inside, balancing another tower of documents in her arms. "We have a fresh batch of building permits that require your signature," she said, sorting the paperwork as she approached. "There's also the new budget proposal drafted by the council that needs your review before approval."
The Wanderer slumped back in his chair, rubbing his head. "Can't Valak just sign these? He's my chief advisor, and I already have enough on my plate." He gestured at the sea of paper swallowing his desk.
Serenya set the stack down. "Valak left at dawn to inspect the reconstruction efforts in Hosar."
"At least let me take off this silky trap," he grumbled, tugging at his collar. "It's impossible to get any real work done while wearing this ridiculous thing."
Serenya hid a fond smile behind a look of fake annoyance. "I agreed to let you set up your office in the administration tower instead of rebuilding the royal palace, and in return, you agreed to wear your royal garments."
"I was a fool," the Wanderer muttered.
"What was that?" Serenya asked, leaning forward over the desk.
"Nothing, nothing."
"Then stop whining and get back to work."
The Wanderer stared at her for a second, then broke into a soft chuckle. "Is that any way to speak to your King?"
"It is my job as your assistant to keep you from slacking."
He nodded, a genuine smile touching his face. He found himself drifting as he looked at her while she leaned over, gently pulling back his dragged sleeves and smoothing the silk over his arm. "You need to maintain your appearance, Altharion," she murmured softly. "You never know who might visit your office."
"Have you thought about my request?" he asked quietly.
Serenya’s hands stilled. She slowly pulled her fingers back and took a small step away from the desk. "My answer is still the same, my King."
The Wanderer stood up, walking around the desk. "At least tell me why."
She looked off to the side, nervously rubbing her shoulder. "There are too many reasons. We... we never had this kind of relationship before. I won't deny that we've grown much closer over this past year, but it still feels surreal. To become the King's bride..."
He stepped into her line of sight, gently taking her hand in his. "I can wait for as long as it takes for you to feel comfortable. But why waste time we could be spending together?"
Serenya gently slipped her hand free from his grip, taking another step back. "Besides, Valoria needs its ruler right now. There is still so much to be done to rebuild this land."
"Let's just run away then," he said, stepping closer again. "I'll leave Valak in charge, the others can support him. I only stayed in this city because you asked me to."
Serenya raised a mocking finger, poking at his chest. "Trying to escape your duties again?" She placed her palm against his chest and pushed him back toward his desk. "Get back to work. I have my own duties to attend to, and you've delayed me enough as it is."
She turned and began walking toward the door.
"Serenya," he called out softly.
She paused, looking back at him.
"If I weren't the King..." the Wanderer asked. "...would you have said yes?"
A smile curved her lips. She paused for a quiet moment, then gave a light shrug.
"Maybe."
Serenya closed the door behind her quietly
.
The Wanderer leaned back against his chair, his gaze drifting to the far wall where the three blades hung in a decorative display: Justice, Judgment, and Defiance.
"It's not like I found anything about the Murak anyway," he muttered to the silent steel. "What else was I supposed to do? Leave my friends to rot a second time?"
He stood up and walked over to the window overlooking the bustling central plaza. Below, the mountain-sized sculpture of Nullstone towered over the new district like a dark monument.
"I don't even know what to do with this damned corpse..."
A knock rattled his office door again.
The Wanderer scrambled back toward his desk, shuffling papers in haste. "I'm working, Serenya! Just... taking a quick breather!"
The door creaked open, and Zeek poked his head inside with a smirk. "Who would've thought? The mighty Altharion, terrified of his own assistant."
The Wanderer let out a sigh of relief, slumping back and waving him in. "Women can be far more terrifying than primal beasts, my friend."
Zeek laughed, stepping into the office. "Tell me about it. I'm just glad she finally found someone else to nag besides me."
"You're just a crappy uncle," the Wanderer chuckled.
"True enough," Zeek said. "I only know how to train soldiers, not handle family." His tone shifted more seriously. "Speaking of which... what's your plan for the Valorian army?"
"We need to focus on building a city before we worry about defending it," the Wanderer replied.
"Maybe so, but we're basically defenseless right now. Especially with your absolute refusal to redistribute the Nullstones around the city."
The Wanderer’s brow furrowed. "That pile of crap will cause far more harm than good. I only agreed not to smash it into dust until I figure out a permanent solution. Mounting those stones over our walls would only please a few bastards I'd rather see rot."
As the harsh words left his mouth, a sting flared across his arm. He unconsciously rubbed his right hand, as the burning sensation slowly receded.
Zeek raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. You're the King." He reached into his coat and pulled out a bottle of wine, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. "Managed to sneak this past Serenya."
The Wanderer stood up instantly, his mood lifting. "Oh, my dear old friend..."
Half a bottle later, both men were slouched comfortably in their chairs, the tension of the day melting into a soft haze.
The Wanderer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Did you... ever find anything on the Murak?"
Zeek sighed. "Come on, man. You searched the royal archives for months. You sent Sunny and Kuma halfway across the continent just to ask around about this so-called tribe. They don't exist. Just let it go."
"I know they exist," the Wanderer insisted quietly.
"Maybe they did once," Zeek replied. "You said you read about them in some ancient text, right? They probably perished centuries ago. We have a real kingdom to build here, Altharion. You're surrounded by people who cherish you, who pray for you every single day. Do the right thing by them instead of chasing ghosts and forgotten tribes."
The Wanderer stared at his glass, then glanced back up at the three swords resting on the wall.
"Maybe you're right," he muttered softly.
The Wanderer stood up abruptly. "Come on, let's hide the evidence before Serenya catches us red-handed."
He reached quickly for the bottle resting beside Zeek, but his fingers caught the edge of Zeek's empty glass, shattering it onto the desk.
Zeek jolted up with a grunt, holding his hand.
"I'm so sorry," the Wanderer said, instantly stepping over the desk. "Did you get hurt?"
Zeek quickly turned his back, tucking his hand behind his coat. "It's fine, it's fine, I'm okay! I'll... I'll get someone to clean this up." Zeek practically bolted out of the office in haste.
The Wanderer watched him leave, his brow furrowing in confusion. He looked down at the broken shards littering.
Coating the edge of one of the pieces of glass was a smear of thick blue liquid.
"Is that... ink?" he muttered, turning to glance at his desk. The inkwell sat untouched on the opposite side.
He leaned down, carefully picking up a shard to inspect the liquid. Bringing it closer to his nose, a metallic, salty reek that burned his nostrils.
His face recoiled in disgust. "Fish...?"
Suspicion flaring in his chest, the Wanderer stepped out of his office. He scanned the hallway left and right, but there was no sign of Zeek or Serenya.
Seeing that twilight was already painting the sky, he decided to head home for the day.
As he descended the marble stairs of the administration tower, the two heavy guards stationed at the grand doors snapped into a formal salute. "Heading home for the evening, sir?" one asked politely.
The Wanderer stretched his back, letting out a tired breath. "Yeah, it's been an exhausting day. Have either of you seen Serenya?"
The guard gestured down the main thoroughfare. "I saw her heading toward Kuma's residence about twenty minutes ago, my Lord."
"Kuma's back?" the Wanderer asked, surprised.
"Yes, your Highness. He returned an hour ago, though he didn't stay at the tower long."
Stepping down the final tier of stairs, the Wanderer shook his head with a faint smile. "Why didn't that idiot drop by to say hi? I'll go check up on him myself."
"Wait a moment, sir. The royal guards will escort you," the guard said, stepping forward.
The Wanderer casually waved his hand. "No need. I'm just visiting family. Give the men the rest of the evening off."
"As you wish, your Highness."
The Wanderer walked a few blocks through the newly built district toward Kuma's house.
Reaching the door, he raised his knuckles to knock but stopped dead in his tracks as Serenya's voice carried through the wood.
"...This fucking trash of a human is pressing me to marry him again!"
Kuma's voice answered, in anger. "I am sick and tired of hiding myself every damn time he sends me off on his foolish errands."
The Wanderer's eye widened in horror. He stood frozen on the porch, staring at the painted wood in disbelief.
"I'm so sorry, my dear," Serenya coaxed softly from inside. "It should all be over soon..."
The Wanderer kicked the door open.
Two figures holding hands spun toward him.
Their flesh was pale, bald heads, and tentacles hang from their chins.