All art on this thread is by Rex Equinox but writing is my own
Akfed was sure he was destined to be a hero; he thought that there was no way his father was the King of Nightmares, the guardian of monsters… But when he visited the temple of the giants’, praying for an answer, he felt his presence. A shadow was cast overhead in this place of light. Tingles crept up his spine, and discomfort gripped the back of his neck, fear as darkness was infused in the air he breathed. Yet, somehow the fear itself was comfortable.
“This isn’t right,” the half-giant muttered. The more this dark presence imposed itself upon him, the clearer the truth became, but it wasn’t right. He learned to be a guiding light, a comforting hand to guide people away from the darkness. It wasn’t right that he was related to it.
The nightmare king tried to speak to his son. Akfed didn’t know how he knew this, but he could sense his father reaching out, but he couldn’t hear him, and he didn’t want to. He refused to listen. But this is when Akfed’s body began to betray his heart and mind, acting on its own, becoming what it was meant to be, soaking shadowy ichor into his cells.
Only a monster could understand the Nightmare King. His ears, insistent that they listen to the dark, each stretched so the sides curled inward and the tip became pointed, like an animal’s ear. Both his ears burned as the skin became smooth and purple. The monster ears perked up, trying to catch the message from his father.
Til sits alone in silence, contemplating what Noan has told him and has asked of him.
There’s much to consider, and he wonders if he can be the person they need to help the children.
Dropping the dishes into a wash basin, Til knows sleep will not come easily to him. He nods to himself, deciding that if sleep will not come to him—for there’s nothing for him to do at this hour—then he might as well go about his duties. There’s always work to be done, and he’d rather keep his hands—and his thoughts—busy rather than lingering.
As he walks through the ancient walls of the castle, past the sleepy and stumbling staff, he thinks about why he broke so quickly and agreed to help.
He’s not trying to stand out; he has no desire to. He’s been a faithful steward of the King, and that’s all that he needs to be to one day reach his reward. But here he is, planning to offer himself like a lamb for the slaughter because tired, hurting, sky-blue eyes asked it of him.
Perhaps this will be what launches him to his final reward?
Til nods to a pair of knights, helmets off and chatting quietly, tucked away into a mossy alcove. They likely wait for the next tolling of the bells to stand watch over the early morning training.
Others were scattered around the castle as Til walked past.
The kingdom has only known peace since Til’s arrival there, with only the occasional attempt on the King’s life, even warranting the smallest number of the knights and Honored. There’s no need, never has been, for so many soldiers, for so many prepared for war. Even with the threat of King Adem’s devices, a threat of war never reached them. The knights and Honored were rarely needed outside of the city surrounding the castle, let alone farther out into the kingdom.
Although Til’s rounds often take him out of the castle and through the city, down a winding path that leads all throughout the streets—he and the other knights reminding people, warning them, the kingdom is guarded against attack—Til doesn’t go out into the city this time.
Instead, he stops by the massive gates that, when open, are large enough to allow a dozen men abreast to walk through. They have never changed location since Til’s arrival, which feels like a lifetime ago. One door is always open, and the other is always shut. Leafy vines anchor themselves on the sun and water-damaged wood, slipping through the massive bars holding it all together. A sight to admire when the flowers were blooming, though the vines themselves are just as pretty. Some of the tendrils are as thin as a hair, whereas others have grown as thick around as Til’s wrist.
There has been no need for the gates to be opened to allow an army to exit or closed to keep an enemy out.
Beside the gate was one of the other Honored, one who had only recently joined their ranks. It wasn’t long ago he’d been a child among many training, one of many in a crowd of youths in Til’s mind.
The practice of years of never seeing his fellows' faces had taught Til much about body language. The boy’s exhaustion radiated from him, despite his valiant job, standing tall and straight, without leaning on anything. Til thought if he wasn’t going to sleep, someone else should.
Til sends the newly graced Honored back to the castle, suggesting he rest before going out to the city to enjoy himself.
The younger Honored—whose name Til doesn’t catch—thanks him even as he looks around as though he was expecting someone else to appear and tell him to get back to work.
Til watches the young man leave, wondering about his name. He’d only left training the year previous; Til had trained him as well. He’s sure at some point he’d known the younger knight’s name, but now it proves as difficult to grasp as fog.
It doesn’t matter. Til would watch the front gates; it wasn’t the first morning he’d taken over. In fact, it was something of a habit when a restless night turned into an all too early morning, and sleep eluded him the whole time.
The code that the Honored were required to follow, that Til was required to follow, was certainly something that had kept him up before.
If that was his goal, he’d bring it up to the King when he was Kingsguard.
But today, he feels that talking to the common folk might help him understand his thoughts.
At this time of day, it’d mostly be people who worked within the castle who didn’t live on the grounds or those carrying supplies.
As most of the people he checks pass through the gates, none sway his thoughts from the missing children. Though they do remind him of his own disappearance, as it were.
When he’d fled his home to come to Argest, he’d been more than a boy but full of angry pride and determination. He’d been so sure he could change things, truly change things, and prove his kinsfolk wrong.
And he has.
But they weren’t the things that he’d come here to do. It didn’t stop him from wanting to help the young ones, children who showed up at the castle looking for a purpose, something like freedom, what they really needed. At least as close as they could get.
It wasn’t enough.
Before him, an older woman appears—one who’s long since started stooping and only seemed to get shorter in all the years Til’s known her—guiding her mule-pulled cart, the back of it covered with a heavy quilt embroidered with a field of flowers made from threads of a thousand colors. He’d asked her once how she got the quilt, but she would only say “magic” with a secretive smile. She stops the cart before the gate without being prompted and uncovers the back before Til can ask.
“Good morning, ma’am. What brings you to the castle today?” Even though Til knows the woman, it’s hard not to after seeing her twice a week for years, he can’t be familiar with her. Though a part of him aches to know her name. Like with the young Honored, he’s sure he’d learned it at some point, but it’s been too long for him to ask again.
“Good morning, Honored Til! I’m just bringing in the eggs for the castle. You know, I was talking to my cousin the other day. And she said that…” Til isn’t sure how she knows his name, just that she did. She starts her story without end once again, as it had been unfolding for all the years he’d known her. She shows him the mountain of eggs she has for the kitchen, showing him that none were cracked as she tells her story.
As the woman drones on, Til wonders what the King thinks of him. He makes all the right noises, allowing the woman to tell the plights of her and her cousins. Her stories aren’t the most interesting, but more than once, Til’s learned of a chicken-based catastrophe thanks to her, which was reason enough to listen to her stories.
The only reason he has to stop her is the next cart creeping up the hill. He likes to let her talk as long as she wants; he’s always been curious to see if she would talk the whole day away if given the chance.
“Alright, ma’am. See you next week.” Til waves her through, raising his hand for the cart that’s still making its way up the hill, “Next!”
The tailor isn’t someone Till knows well, not well enough to know his name or wonder even about it. An event is happening soon, so of course, the King needs new garb for it. But if Til’s one of the people going on this grand journey he may have already agreed to, then he won’t have to worry about it himself.
If he proves himself now, he can earn his place amongst the Kingsguard.
Now that he thinks about it, it’s really a golden opportunity being dropped into his lap.
He misses most of what the tailor explains as he shows his many cloths, but he has other people arriving at the gates, “Very well, have a nice day. Next.”
All he has to do is take it.
✨✨✨
Hours pass before he is relieved at the gate by another Honored, who sends him to rest. The lack of sleep tugs at him, weighing him down; his feet drag as he walks, and his shoulders dip until it seems only his armor holds him up. He pressed on.
He can’t think about his lack of sleep, about the dark fogginess that settles within his mind. He can’t think of his cell. If he goes back, he’ll be alone, truly alone with his thoughts. Without sight to distract him, only the most muddled sounds of those around him will keep him company.
Unease deepening, Til thought of times like these that made him question why he remained Honored. Why did he wear the Helmet at all times, at the oddest of hours? Why does he submit to the black abyssal cell to sleep and prepare himself in?
Among the most stifling rules the Honored follow is that he couldn’t even see himself. Can’t even take off the Helmet to look in a mirror and question if it was really all worth it.
This is part of being Honored. The knights, who’d already taken off their helmets, had no need to worry about the majority of the code Honored adhered to. However, when they drop Honored, they can no longer become Kingsguard and reap any of the rewards of that station. Til didn’t care as much for the rewards as the options they would give him. For the time being, he has to keep his Helmet on and follow the rules.
Then he’d be able to get that part of himself back when this was all said and done.
Til walks the courtyard alone, noting the knights who should be watching over it have left. Not that there’s much need for it to be guarded outside of the training hours. The only people who spent time there were pages and maids, who used it as a shortcut. Though Til supposes that visiting dignitaries could spend time here. Admire the artful stone structures and grown-over suits of armor from long-dead Kingsguard littering the courtyard while their personal staff followed.
It had been a while since there’d been any visitors. Til couldn’t remember the last time there had been some.
Even though there’s no need for watchkeeping, Til finds a place with good vantage over the courtyard. It also keeps him nearly completely out of sight as he wonders about the missing children.
Noan had been distraught, more so it seemed than the King. If he’d been looking for the children for some time now, then it’s no surprise he looked so tired. Til wonders what changed and what would happen when they were brought here?
A page appears as he sits, lost in thought.
The teenager, more like a child, really, looks around, her shirt darkened with sweat that drips from her. She was without armor but already bore the symbol of those who become Honored. Her head swings around, shorn short hair barely avoiding her eyes as she searches for something.
“Page,” he calls to the girl, “What do you seek?”
She starts, her body whipping to face Til. If his hiding place surprises her, she doesn’t sound it, calling back, “The King has called another meeting. All knights and Honored are to be in the throne room by the next tolling of the bells. If there are others with you, bring them with you!”
Til waves off the page, “Understood.”
He stands, stretching as much as he’s able before making his way into the depths of the castle. Maybe his questions will be answered.
If you liked this chapter and want more, you can read new chapters early here!
If you want to join me while I write, I'm on Twitch Sundays and Mondays.
If you really liked this, and want to support the continued writing of this series, consider supporting me once on Ko-fi or monthly on Patreon!
As he follows Noan from the castle, Til can’t help but compare his speed to that of a criminal fleeing the scene of a crime. The man doesn’t stop, or even slow as they pass through the town and into the countryside around it. Hunkered down over his horse, pushing it faster and faster, Til wants to tell him that it’s not about speed, though time is of the essence, but that they’re going to run their horses into the ground if they’re not careful.
It crosses Til’s mind that Noan is fleeing the castle, or, perhaps, something or someone within.
The urge to flee the capital had lessened the older Til got and the more time he’d spent as Honored. It hadn’t left him completely, though, and as the castle, then the city, grows ever smaller behind them, a tightness in his entirety eases as well, from the tips of his toes all the way up to the ever-present pressure at the base of his skull.
He doesn’t put much thought behind it, just puts it to the fresh air and the ability to ride freely for the moment. That and trying to keep up with the Wizard.
It’s only as the city walls have shrunk to nearly nothing that Noan finally slows.
“So-” Til gasps, feeling almost as out of breath as poor Stoney heaving for air beneath him, “Where exactly are we going?”
“Wherever we need to.” Noan answers, looking windswept and pink, eyes shining as bright as his smile. Nothing like Til’s already exhausted and frazzled.
Til waits to see if the Wizard plans to add anything to that somewhat cryptic statement. A few moments pass while they sit in silence, rocked gently by the motion of the horses. Realizing Noan isn’t going to add anything, Til says, “That’s not exactly helpful.”
“My apologies, but I’m afraid there’s really not a better answer in this situation.”
Squinting at the other from the recesses of his helmet, Til wonders if it’s too late to turn around. Surely they were close enough still for him to be able to turn back.
It’s not worth thinking about. He’d agreed to be a part of this journey, and even though the last time he’d traveled this hard through these lands, he’d been rushing like the flames of his anger were nipping at his heels, pushing him faster onward like it was something he’d had a chance to escape.
That time was long behind him now.
Now, he needed to figure out where they were going next.
The night before, he’d been able to examine the maps to some extent, but he wasn’t exactly comfortable saying that he’d had them memorized. It’d been another story in his youth, but that was a long time ago, and he’d had no need to remember them since coming to the castle. Trying to remember what he’d seen the night before, Til concentrates on the memory. The map and the towns had only been uncovered a little while. The crystals had covered most of it too soon for him to memorize anything, but at least he’d known their direction.
“Well, we’re not going north, east, or south,” Til says aloud, more to himself than to Noan, but loud enough for the other to hear.
“How clever you are to know the direction we’re headed.” Noan drawls, not even giving Til the satisfaction of looking his way.
Feeling the flush of embarrassment heating up his cheeks and ears, Til thinks Noan is taking far too much pleasure in having all the information to himself. He can’t be surprised that the King’s favorite would know all the details, all the specifics that would certainly make this all the easier, but Noan keeps it to himself, choosing not to say anything. Fighting the blush, Till looks at the other, trying to compel him to say something, anything, to give him even a hint of where they were going, or what to expect.
This, this not knowing, this was one of the few things that could, and would, send Til right over the edge.
Unfortunately, Til’s silent attempts to force Noan to speak were fruitless. He has to get the information in another way, one that would also be much harder.
“I wasn’t aware there was much in this direction worth looking at, let alone stealing from,” Til says conversationally, as though discussing the weather.
“There’s not, not really. With how often fighting rolls this way, the swarms of bandits, I wouldn’t want to live here.” Noan’s gaze never leaves the road, but there’s something in his voice that leaves Til wondering what the Wizard had left behind when he’d gone to the castle. “And it’s certainly less populated than most of the kingdom, but still, there are those who choose to make their homes here.”
“Enough for some foe to try to steal them?” Til asks, adding on, “Who do you really think is behind this?”
“Why do you ask? Aren’t you supposed to follow the King’s word on all things?”
“Perhaps I wanted to know what you thought.”
“Whoever or whatever they are doesn’t matter; all that matters is they’re starting here, where the fighting was once strongest.” Noan’s voice has a note in it that pulls Til’s curiosity back to the forefront of his mind.
“It’s been a long time since there was fighting through here,” Til says loud enough to be sure Noan can hear him, but softer, he adds, “There used to be a great city near the border before that.”
Noan’s head flicks to look at Til, eyes big with shock.
Then his brows drop, and he looks over Til, seemingly searching for something. Though what, the knight doesn’t know. Eventually, Noan says, “I’ve heard of it, Dana City. I’m surprised you know of it.”
“My family often passed through when I was a child,” Til tells him openly. There’s no need for him to hide the half-truth. He hopes that sharing something of his own past might persuade the other to share about himself. “But I suppose it belonged to an age done and gone now.”
“Is that why you became a knight?”
Looking ahead to a small copse of trees, wary even with the knowledge none would be so bold as to attack a knight this close to the capital city, Til considers. “I wouldn’t say it’s the only thing that led me down my path, but it weighed into my choices.”
“You wouldn't be the only one. Disaster leads so many people to the capital.” Noan looks back to the road, shoulders higher than they were before, more tense, “I won’t even think of how many will be brought there by this tragedy.”
“You think the missing children will lead people to the capital?” Til nudges; he wants to know more, and this is the first opening that Noan’s given him.
Shaking his head, Noan answers, “In one way or another.”
Yanking the reins in hand, Noan abruptly turns his horse down a dirt path that could easily pass for a well-used deer trail. “Come on, I think this will lead us where we want to go.”
“Which is where exactly?” Til asks, turning his horse around to follow Noan.
“If we go this way, “ Noan explains slowly, like he’s talking to a child, “it’ll take us past where some of the disappearances have already happened; we might be able to cut off the enemy this way.”
In spite of the condescending tone of his voice, Til still hears the unspoken words, “And we might be able to save more of the children.”
Til has so many questions, so many gaps in his knowledge. How is he supposed to be able to help if he doesn’t have the answers? He needs to know more, to have more to work with.
But he knows that even if he asks, he won’t get the answers he seeks.
How’s a knight supposed to plan anything under these circumstances?
“Do we know how many of the Touched we’re looking for?” Til asks, realizing as he speaks how broad the question is, he tacks on, “Or even where?”
Noan sucks his teeth, loudly, “Well, we do. Somewhat. We’re going to some of the smaller villages, ones that are more easily overlooked-”
Til listens, thinking of how close they were to having to deal with the children. Til hadn’t spent a lot of time around children, not since he himself had been one. And even before he’d come to the capital to learn and train, he’d been more focused on learning from his elders. He hadn’t had time to spend around babes or little children, and when he did have them cross his path, he usually did his best to return them to a parent before they started crying. Traveling with the children was by far the least appealing portion of this while quest, and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.
“-which might still have children capable of truly incredible things. They’re the kind of places Donner wouldn't bother sending an emissary to. Too small, too few people, too little need for goodwill from them. And the children won’t really know until they find their key, you know? So many people don’t even know they’re Touched, and if they make it out of childhood without learning they can heal, or harm, or make a rainstorm-”
If he’d had the time, Til would have learned at least the basics of childcare; that would probably have saved him some trouble. Maybe it wouldn’t all be bad, though? Perhaps the children would be more focused on the shiny Wizard and what they themselves might be capable of doing.
“-But once they find they can do that one thing, once they begin learning, they’ll be able to learn how to do all kinds of amazing things. Things they never even dreamed possible. But they need to be taught by a good teacher, who will push them towards good-”
With any luck, Til wouldn’t have to deal with the children.
Noan could; he had to spend time with the Touched children, and he was probably good at it.
And Til could protect them all.
If you liked this chapter and want more, you can read new chapters early here!
If you want to join me while I write, I'm on Twitch Sundays and Mondays.
If you really liked this, and want to support the continued writing of this series, consider supporting me once on Ko-fi or monthly on Patreon!
Turning again to lie flat on his back, Til can’t be sure how much he’d slept, if at all. In the closed, dark chambers he calls his own, time is impossible to track, and the lines between wakefulness and sleep are blurry at best.
In the darkness, unable to tell if his eyes were open, Til wondered if he’d really agreed to an impossible quest, or if that was an interrupted dream lingering on. Focusing, Til tried to listen for what may have woken him, if he’d been sleeping at all. But there was little sound in the room, likely designed that way on purpose. Only the alarm bells rung jarringly loud in these rooms, though that had only happened a handful of times in Til’s time here. Even the morning bells weren’t that loud, and could be slept through by the stubborn.
Til prepared himself to continue languishing in his semi-dozing state, only for a sharp rap at his door to rouse him.
“Honored Tanner! It’s time! You are required at the gate!” A voice from the other side announces.
Til grunted something, it could have been words, he couldn’t be sure which, though, and set about readying himself in the darkness, possibly for the last time.
He shakes the thought from his head as he opens the door quickly, blinking quickly, trying to get his eyes to adjust as he leaves his chamber. There’s no one else around, but Til had expected that. The glittering predawn light barely touches this hall, and even if it did, the bells still hadn’t tolled, and the changing of the guard wouldn’t happen till well after dawn.
There wasn’t much Til would need for this journey, his weapons settling familiarly against his form, and the bag he carried only holding a few odds and ends, like a heavier, less embroidered cloak that would help keep him warm in the nights. One of the cooks had already packed a kit of food for him, and several sleepy maids who’d woken early or hadn’t yet gone to sleep told him they’d miss him and wished him a safe journey.
He’d been sure it would take longer, that there’d be more action, attention to the undertaking he was about to go on. But the gray of the very early morning was punctuated most of all by quiet.
The last thing he’d need was a horse, which a bleary-eyed stable hand led out to him. Stoney, an unimaginatively named stone-grey mare, was the only horse Til could think to take with him. He’d become somewhat fond of; for her easy demeanor and ability to follow even some of the more incredible demands made of her. She’d already been geared up and had saddlebags packed and on her back as well.
As the stable-boy stumbled away, likely to try to get what little rest he could before the hustle and bustle of the day, Til looked forward toward the quest he was somehow taking on.
Guiding the horse to the front gate, Til couldn’t help muttering a few reassurances to her, promising to at least get her back even if he failed in every other way.
She walked beside him, a silent and only witness to his departure from the castle.
This was surely an occasion that should be treated with great cheers, with great crowds cheering him, them, on as they went. But as the King had explained, they were trying to ensure that whoever was at fault for taking the children didn’t know they’d been noticed, so that they might catch them in the act and say with certainty who was at fault. A part of it didn’t sound right to Til, but he’d shaken it off.
He was serving his King and Country.
What the King said he was to follow and trust in his leadership, even if he didn’t understand it.
Waiting for him is an individual covered in a rust-colored cloak on a white, mottled black horse, whose coat has been brushed to shimmer, looking like the night sky had been made into their personal steed. Black boots had also been shined, and above them, dark fabric hugged strong thighs, which disappeared under the cloak. Dark leather gloves held the reins in a loose but sure grip. The rider’s face was hidden by the cloak and the dark as they faced out, looking at the world they were about to take on.
Til wondered who it would be; the person was almost certainly a wizard. There’d been plenty who’d passed through the castle over the years. Children mostly, though a handful in the early bloom of adulthood stayed within the castle walls, teaching the other children and enjoying freedoms the likes of which few could imagine, let alone attain.
“Hale, Wizard,” Til calls as greeting, wondering if this is the one he was supposed to meet, and if they were one he’d met before, or a stranger.
“There you are, Honored Tanner.” The cloaked figure calls him by name and greets him warmly. A laugh is hidden in his words as he continues, “I was wondering if I’d have to send another page to get you.”
It’s Noan.
Noan Isle, the King’s right-hand Wizard, would be the one to accompany Til?
Til couldn’t believe it; he was shocked and somewhat appalled, as this couldn't be right. He may have needed some kind of backup, but surely there had to be someone who was a better choice, someone other than Isle.
He was the King’s favorite. He’s been at the King’s side for almost as long as Til had been in Sunotoma.
Why would the King be so willing to put him in danger?
Til’s mouth moves faster than the rest of him, “What are you doing out here, Wizard? Shouldn’t the King be sending one of his less favored wizards?”
Noan’s head tilts, a knowing smile on his lips that doesn’t quite meet the darkness in his eyes, “The King knew he could entrust his favorites, both of his favorites, to this task. Now, we have places to be, Honored. Children to save. Enough with the gawking, and let’s get going.”
With a pointed look, Noan snaps his reins and races off, leaving Til to mount his horse as quick as he’s able.
If you liked this chapter and want more, you can read new chapters early here!
If you want to join me while I write, I'm on Twitch Sundays and Mondays.
If you really liked this, and want to support the continued writing of this series, consider supporting me once on Ko-fi or monthly on Patreon!
Do Your Best
Days into the new position, there had been no sign of a revolt. No secret meetings, no whispers, not even arguments from the lower samurai....
Turning Point
Months passed and the atmosphere of the royal grounds grew more and more tense with each passing day....
https://kilairus.com/2026/06/20/turning-point/
