The night is very peaceful, though I know still there is no one single soul dares to sleep. Every single one is contemplating whether they would be able to see the tomorrow’s sunrise and continue to hope, to die another way instead of being skewered by the frenzied greedy blades. They pray to the God Almighty for Divine Protection, to shield them from the evil that has tarnished our beloved knight. For God to purge the Devil that has resides within his body so the once-kind Knight will be able to come to his senses finally. For the Knight to once again carry his duty and pledges his loyalty to the name of this kingdom. Even the children too, who looked up at the Knight as their hero, they pray for him to return back to his original self.
How much has this Fallen Knight hurt my kingdom?
Greatly.
For how long will he continue slaying my people who relied on him to ensure their safety?
How long will he continue to disgrace me, one who trusted him? One who misjudged him? One who consider him as a dear brother?
Not for long.
He has not come only for the throne. I can feel it. He is after the forbidden manuscripts, for the immortality it promised. So that he can continue to rule the kingdom he desired to rob from my hands. How he found out about the manuscripts, I do not know. Perhaps I had let slip of it when we were both driven by absinthe and merry a long time ago. It could happen that way, although it sounds absurd. But absurd is the thought of him lost to the greed and becoming the beast he is now. It never occurs to me that he is a thorn, hidden for years, waiting for the right moment to wound me silently, drawing blood from his king that he had served for the most of his teenage years. He had raised the point of his sword to me, challenging my position and questioning my worth to rule. All the while desiring the eternal life the potion I am about to brew granted.
As a king, I will not surrender to him. I will protect the throne and the forbidden manuals with my own life.
But I will not die in his hands.
The ingredients are ready. The throne room is now filled with the unearthly smell of musk; seductive and I can feel the sweet lethargy of drunkenness. Nearly everything has been added to the mixture, except for one most vital element.
I grabbed the vial containing the extract of the roses, gathered from atop of the tomb of my earliest ancestor, one who was said to discover the secret of immortality. How irony that he now rests within the wombs of the earth now.
The extract is thick like syrup, and deep red in colour. Very blood-like. Like the blood of my people. People that were slain by injustice blades. Helpless, innocent people. My beloved people. They had died calling my name, their king, their guardian, along in the lines of prayers upon God. They had died during the massive invasion and I was defending only my castle. I have failed them. I wonder what their thoughts on realising that no one would help them. I wonder how they feared the gleam of merciless blades that thirst for their blood. I wonder if they still believed that their king will be there to save them when their very flesh was peeled from their bodies.
They fell as martyrs, and I won’t let their deaths be in vain.
Drop by drop, the extract has been added to the mixture. The previously colourless liquid is now the same colour of the extract. The sweet musk is now replaced with the stench of decay, defiling the throne room with its foul nature. There are mists emerging from the cauldron in which I brew the potion in, choking anyone that inhaled them in.
Is this the potion that will grant me eternal life? Will this potion save my kingdom from the seemingly unimposing doom? Will it be able to prevent my bloodline from being wiped away from the face of the earth?
There is only one way to find out.
With shaking hands, I poured the foul-smelling potion into a goblet. I stare into the dark night sky outside the window. Perhaps, it will be the last thing I will see…
I hold my breath, raise the goblet to my lips and let the liquid it held to flow into me. I can feel it trickle down my throat slowly. The coppery taste of it catches me by surprise and I nearly spit it out. But with the thoughts of my people who had died, I willed myself into gulping it down.
Now let’s see if I will become a being that has climbed up the stairways to Godhood.
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