A Worthless Crown

The voice of Fraero Vista:

1 Week had passed. It was time to leave for the capital.

I met with my father in his study, for one final talk.

The moment I stepped into my father's study, I could feel the weight of his presence more than ever. The heavy scent of aged parchment and ink filled the dimly lit room, the only source of warmth being the flickering candles on his grand oak desk. He sat there, composed as always, his piercing eyes scanning me as if measuring my worth one last time.

"So, the time has come," he said, his voice steady, devoid of the harshness I had grown accustomed to. "You leave for the capital today, you don't leave as my son. You leave as Lord Vista, it must feel strange, to be given a title so suddenly."

I nodded, my fingers clenching into fists at my sides. "Yes."

For a moment, he said nothing. His expression remained unreadable, the same cold, calculating look that had defined my childhood. The silence stretched between us, and I braced myself for his usual words—criticism, warnings, perhaps even outright disappointment.

But then he sighed. And it was different.

"Fraero," he said, quieter now. "You've always thought me cruel, haven't you?"

I hesitated, my chest tightening. "You were strict," I admitted carefully. "Perhaps one could call you a little harsher than most."

"Because I had to be." His eyes met mine then, no longer sharp with judgment but filled with something deeper. "From the moment you were born, I knew there was a chance this day would come. That one day, you would have to fight for something greater than yourself. I have prepared you for this moment because I knew you would have to face it. And I needed you to be strong."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. All my life, I had seen his discipline as punishment. Every critique, every demand, every impossible standard—it had felt like he was testing me, pushing me toward failure just to prove I wasn't enough.

But now I saw it for what it truly was.

"You think I can win?" I asked, my voice quieter than I had intended. "I don't think even the craziest prophet would assume such a thing."

"I know you can," he said without hesitation. "And I need you to win, Fraero. Not just for yourself, but for this house. For everything we have built. You are my son, and you will not fail us. I know because I have seen you from your first breath to your departure here."

The certainty in his tone sent a shiver through me. I had spent so long doubting myself, wondering if I would ever be enough in his eyes. But now, here he was, speaking to me not as a commander, not as a lord, but as a father who believed in his son.

And then, for the first time in my life, he smiled. A genuine smile, not one of victory or strategy, but something real. Something warm.

It was almost too much. I felt my breath hitch, my vision blur. I turned away, blinking rapidly, unwilling to let him see the emotion in my eyes.

"I should go," I managed to say, forcing my voice to remain steady. "The carriage is waiting."

He stood as I did, his movements slow but deliberate. "Make me proud, Fraero. Make your city proud."

I nodded, unable to trust myself to speak again. Then, before I could change my mind, I turned and left the study, my heart pounding in my chest.

The halls of our estate felt different as I walked through them—less imposing, less suffocating. For the first time, they felt like home. And yet, I knew I was leaving it behind.

The carriage was waiting in the courtyard, the horses restless as the driver prepared for departure. Alcors and Askath stood nearby, speaking in hushed voices, but they fell silent as I approached. Askath smirked, but there was an unusual softness in his expression. Alcors, still eager, gave me an encouraging nod.

I took a deep breath, then stepped into the carriage.

As we rode away from the estate, I allowed myself one final glance back. And standing there, framed by the grand entrance of our home, was my father—watching me go, his expression unreadable once more. But I knew the truth now.

The city of Alto-mora became smaller and smaller, I felt a hole begin to form in my heart.

Not all of me believed I was leaving to prove myself to him one last time, part of me had a genuine desire to win this accursed crown race.

Even if it meant I was a madman going against all odds, even if I meant my life was in the line of fire.

I would win the crown.