"I despise those who drone on about fate. I've never believed in it."
The king's voice was ragged, his emotions surging.
"Only the weak believe every step of their lives is preordained. At least, that's what I believed a month ago."
He reached for Jenkins's collar again. Jenkins's fingers twitched, but he let the gesture pass. Salsi II, clearly surprised at the lack of resistance, settled for jabbing a finger into Jenkins's chest a few tis.
"It wasn't until a month ago that I suddenly realized... this damned world..."
His voice cut through the howling blizzard, carrying an unnatural distance—the kind of sound only a man consud by rage could produce.
"This damned world, it plays by no rules! This damned world... why must it truly have a destiny?"
His nostrils flared, a gesture that reminded Jenkins of so less-than-elegant animal, though he had the sense not to say so. Instead, he gently patted Dolores, who was leaning against him. She listened to the exchange between her father and Jenkins without any intention of speaking, her only thought being that a certain cat seed to harbor ill will toward her for resting on Jenkins's shoulder.
"A short while ago, my ancestors granted an epiphany. I was made to see things I had never been able to see—things an ordinary man could never see... The End of the Epoch is upon us. This is not an age that can be shaped by mortal hands. If we cannot follow the one who will usher in the new era, we are dood to beco dust on the pages of history."
He stared hard into Jenkins's eyes, and Jenkins saw the raw anger and resentnt burning within them.
"Fate gave no choice, Williatte. It wasn't I who chose Dolores—it was that damned destiny that chose you. If I don't want the kingdom handed down by my ancestors to vanish, I must..."
"No," Jenkins cut him off. "It wasn't fate that took away your choice. It was your children."
As he spoke, he gently guided Dolores to stand straight, then bent down and hauled Sarrot Stuart to his feet. Ignoring the prince's panicked attempts to stop him, Jenkins pulled an arrow from his pocket—or more accurately, the broken remains of one, nothing more than the head and a splintered shaft no longer than his palm.
Unique runes were branded onto the silver-gray tal arrowhead, and the wooden shaft was wrapped in sothing black and ashen. When Jenkins held it, the dark substance seed to writhe, trying to stain his skin.
"This wooden left hand has perford admirably, hasn't it? Did you truly believe that was a natural phenonon? And this broken arrow... it's no ordinary trinket. It was crafted by an Enchanter. Where do you suppose this gentleman here acquired such a... peculiar item?"
The first prince lowered his head, avoiding his father's gaze. Jenkins still held his wooden left hand, preventing it from dropping, while his free right hand clenched into a tight fist.
"His sister is an Enchanter. It's only natural he would seek supernatural power for himself—to heal his injury, to acquire weapons. That's perfectly normal."
Salsi II declared, shaking his shoulders to dislodge the freshly fallen snow.
"But he shouldn't have gone to *them*."
Jenkins held the broken arrow out for the king to see.
"Do you see this dark ash? Doesn't it look familiar, Your Majesty?"
The honorific was pure sarcasm. When Salsi II had first awakened, he had seen the black mist clinging to the demigod from the Tree House. He knew exactly what Jenkins was implying.
"If they could approach you for a partnership, they could certainly approach your children. Take a guess. Of all the people here, how many do you think accepted the Tree House's offer? And while you're at it, guess why it was *tonight*, specifically, that three of their agents entered Ruen to slaughter your entire family?"
His voice was level, almost serene.
"It wasn't destiny that chose . It was your Sarrot and Yani who chose the Tree House. They chose a path that put them in opposition to the Orthodox Church. Princess Yani saw the error of her ways, but she knew she could no longer inherit the throne, which is why she wasn't involved tonight. Sarrot, however, is still collaborating with them. He learned nothing from the disaster at the Ice and Snow Festival. Now that you know this, do you still dare to choose your eldest son?"
He scoffed, pressing on.
"Choosing this fool ans not only dragging your entire kingdom into the abyss, but also setting the Orthodox Church against this land. So, am I the one forcing you to choose Dolores? No, Your Majesty. From the mont your children made contact with the Tree House, the matter of succession was no longer a question with multiple answers. It beca a question with only one."
Salsi II glared at Jenkins, his eyes still burning with rage, but he offered no reply. Jenkins idly toyed with the arrowhead, then aid it at Sarrot Stuart. He lowered his voice and spoke.
"You are Dolores's brother, and I have no desire to kill you. So, let's test your luck. I'll give you ten seconds to get up and run. After ten seconds, I'm going to throw this arrow. If you survive—by any ans—I swear to the Sage that I will never trouble you again."
"Are you kidding ?"
Sarrot, sweating despite the blizzard from the searing pain, clenched his fist and spat.
"How could I possibly outrun an arrow? Am I supposed to bet on you having bad aim?"
"Don't kill him. If you protect Ruen, my heir will be Dolores. I give you my word."
Salsi II reached out, his hand gripping Jenkins's arm. Jenkins turned to face him.
"I ca here for one reason: to help Dolores. This has nothing to do with your sons. But since you are her father, I will respect your wishes. However, Your Majesty... even if I do nothing, what do you think the Church will do after tonight? We aren't the only ones here. They will most certainly investigate the full story behind this incident."
He tucked the arrow back into his pocket, paying no mind to Sarrot as the prince stumbled through the snow toward the onlookers at the side of the street. Instead, Jenkins turned his gaze to the night sky.
Dawn was approaching. This was the deepest, darkest hour that precedes the first ray of light.
Jenkins raised his head and squinted. Snow slanted past him on the gale. Then, points of golden light began to materialize around him, slowly at first, until they bathed him entirely in their glow.
The light was not overwhelming, but it was more than enough to pierce the darkness of the night.
He raised a hand, stretching it toward the heavens against the blizzard. As his vast spirit surged, coordinating with the snowman legion, the swirling storm suddenly froze in place. At the side of the street, a curious Angelina reached out a finger and touched one of the suspended ice crystals, feeling the cold flake against her skin.
Ignoring the others behind him, he offered Dolores a small smile, then began walking back the way they had co—toward the hill where the royal palace stood.
The snowflakes remained suspended. As Jenkins walked through them, they didn't shatter but were rely nudged aside, continuing to hang motionless in the air.
The golden light around him grew ever more intense. Though he walked away from them step by step through the snowy night, leaving only a trail of footprints on the street, the glow did not diminish with distance. In their eyes, it only grew brighter.
Just as his figure rged completely with the darkness, a brilliant, divine golden light erupted, illuminating the entire city.
The imnse divine power was so overwhelming that the clergy mbers accompanying them dared not look at it directly. But then, the few believers of the Sage among them lowered their heads in prayer.
"The Saint Son..."
Beneath the dark sky, a look of resignation crossed Salsi II's face. He muttered sothing he had read in his grandfather's writings, recalling what his grandfather's teacher had said about the nature of the extraordinary. He then watched as the young man with the cat soared into the sky, bathing the entire city in gold, transforming the battlefield into sothing that resembled not a warzone, but the tranquil kingdom of a god.
Everyone stared up at the sky of frozen snowflakes, where the young writer hung like a midday sun. The soul-stirring sight, the display of power so imnse to ordinary mortals—it was a scene that every Stuart looking up at that mont would forever burn into their mory.
The old king let out a long sigh. The snow crunched under his feet as he slowly turned to his daughter, who stood beside him, her head tilted back. Dolores clutched the ties of her white cloak, her rosy face lifted toward the figure in the sky.
"Dolores."
After a few seconds of hesitation, the king called her na softly. He reached a wrinkled, sallow hand into his pocket and pulled out a ring. The face was simple: the emblem of the Hamparvo Kingdom. This was the King's Ring, the symbol of royal authority. The true one was currently on the finger of another king in Nolan; this was the symbolic duplicate that remained in Ruen.
He held out a hand that trembled in the cold, the ring resting in his palm.
"This is yours."
His tone was unreadable.
Dolores bit her lip as she looked at her father. From the side of the street, her siblings watched her.
She didn't reach for it.
"I won't coerce you into giving anything. And I won't accept anything that Jenkins has coerced from you, either."
Salsi II studied his daughter, and then, a rare thing happened: he smiled.
"Dolores, no one is forcing my hand. This is sothing I must do."
Dolores studied her father's face, then hesitated. There, in the darkness before the dawn, on the street blanketed in white, surrounded by the frozen cascade of snowflakes, she slowly reached out and delicately plucked the ring from his palm.
But the king was still not satisfied. He shook his head.
Dolores looked up at her father, then glanced toward her brother and sisters at the side of the street. Finally, under the watchful eyes of all, she slipped the ring onto the ring finger of her right hand.
"The duel is over, Williatte. You've won."
The old king sighed softly. In the next instant, he and every other Stuart who had taken part in this contest dissolved into streaks of white light and shot toward the sky.
The snow remained frozen in the sky, though the wind still howled. In the east, the horizon had begun to pale. Dawn was coming.
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