Artheus and the Black Chronicle
“Now, then. How to begin?”
The golden-haired youth—Artheus, first emperor of the Grantzian Empire—stroked his chin. On the desk before him lay a stack of blank paper. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, folding his arms behind his head.
“There is much I could write, Hiro. A great deal has happened since you left this world, and I mean to get to that in time. For now, however, I must commit my blood-brother’s tale to writing.”
Artheus had thought long and hard about what to leave his comrade-in-arms when he inevitably returned to Aletia. After much consideration, he had settled on writing a book. However, he had soon run into another problem. There was so much to tell, it was hard to know where to start.
“From Hiro’s arrival in this world, perhaps? Or from the time he first struck me? I daresay I can still feel the sting.”
He raised a hand to his cheek, smiling fondly. Few could claim to have been punched by a boy newly arrived from a distant otherworld. At the time, he never could have imagined the trials that awaited them, or that they would someday take to the battlefield as blood-brothers. It had been their bond that secured victory in the final battle between human and zlosta and set Soleil free.
Artheus stood up and moved to the window, where he gazed out at the scenery below. “Even now, I can scarcely believe it. Both that you are gone and that my sister is no more.”
The passage of time was cruelly slow nowadays. Naturally, the end of the war with the zlosta had not meant the end of hardship. Many troubles remained to plague the land. Still, life was far more boring now that peace reigned. Artheus knew such thoughts were improper, but he could not help but pine for the days he had braved danger with his blood-brother at his side.
“If only you were all still here, life would not be half so dull.”
Once upon a time, he, his sister, Hiro, and their comrades had traded dreams of peace over flagons of liquor, believing they would become real once the fighting was done. Yet one day, he had looked around to find he was the only one left. Now he ruled alone from a throne room far too large for one man. The peace he had sought brought only solitude.
“And I have taken to talking to myself where once another would answer.”
Both familiarity and honesty had vanished from around him after he became emperor. Now everybody treated him with painstaking reverence, and his head often ached to imagine what they might be plotting behind their smiles.
“But look at me, living in the past like an old man. Oh, Hiro. What would you think to see me now?”
Had his memories grown gilded by nostalgia? No, the world had simply been brighter then. It was agonizing to feel himself grow old. The thought of his inevitable deterioration filled him with dread.
“I want to safeguard the legacy you left behind. I only wonder whether I can.”
The thought of what would happen after his death brought only anxiety. His age was coming to an end. Eventually, the day would come when he would have to entrust everything he safeguarded to the next generation.
As he sank into melancholy, the door burst open.
“Father!” a voice cried out. “He did it again!”
Again? Artheus shook his head, shoulders slumping. He turned to see a boy standing in the doorway, out of breath. The child was the spitting image of Artheus himself in his younger years.
“What now?” he asked.
“My big brother scribbled all over Meteia’s statue!”
“Not again. The people of Baum will be furious.” With a sigh, he tousled the boy’s hair. Only then did he notice the child’s eyes were watering. “What’s the matter?”
“I tried to stop him, and...well...he hit me...”
“Did he now? There’s no harm in fighting, but you have to make up afterward.” Artheus clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Your bond will be all the stronger for it.” His eyebrows rose as if he had abruptly remembered something. “Ah, that’s right. I must let you read this someday.”
“Read what?”
“Nothing you need worry about for now. Perhaps when you are older.”
He finally knew where to begin: with a tale of two brothers. He would write of how he and Hiro had forged their bond in the hope that his sons would learn from it and rule the empire hand in hand.
“I will pen such a tale of camaraderie that you will blush to read it.”
Artheus led his son from the room, wondering what expression Hiro would wear when he read the book at last.
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