In Cold Silence

In a thoroughly conquered realm, deep within a fortress of black spires, a king left his chambers early, ready for a meeting that would settle the fate of his kingdom and the lands beyond it in ways even he could not imagine, then or now.

Who was he, then? To some, he was the High King. To others, the Lord of the Black Flame. The Mad Monarch of the Mountain, they called him in those places that would soon know better, once he got to them. But here, where it mattered, he was simply His Majesty. It was the title he had rightfully earned, for the race to the throne had long become a game of ruthless cunning and plotting, of careful alliances and well-timed betrayals, and he had won indisputably; the King had claimed the crown from a predecessor whose death no one dared discuss, and had defended it against all comers, again and again, over the decades. He’d cleared his land of all contenders, but to truly settle his victory, he’d need to go beyond its frontiers.

That’s what that first meeting concerned, as he strode past the great open doors of his war room and took his opulent seat at the very head of the table. Such things needed a different kind of plot, one where the sides were far clearer, but the participants not always so. A game with far more pieces to move, if one looked at the whole, but where he knew he’d just need to shift the greatest in his favor, and they’d set all else in motion. And some of those pieces, generals and ministers alike, were right here in this room, waiting for his direction. And so, he closed the door behind himself, took his seat before all others took theirs – his Chancellor at his right, and his high marshal to his left – and announced that the time had come: The lands beyond were to be pacified, at last. That was the idea, back then…

It had all begun smoothly, he would’ve dared say perfectly. His high marshal had sound ideas, and whenever one of the generals beneath him questioned him – or the king himself – such insolence would be shut down on the spot. No tolerance permitted, yet no escalation required. And when the crown’s priorities were outlined, when the king declared who would need to go first, they listened. The high marshal hardly even needed to adjust the plans he’d already written back when these places barely seemed like a threat, he’d chosen him well. By the time his Chancellor stepped forth, and revealed that he, too, had been inducted in working the Black Flame, and thus their last and greatest resort wouldn’t be confined to the High King alone, a long, distant yet well-earned victory seemed inevitable…

But that’s when it began. In the middle of his speech, right as he declared he would never falter in the use of the Flame if the kingdom were to need it, the Chancellor stopped, with wide eyes and a furrowed brow.

Said eyes narrowed as he scanned the room, glaring at those present one by one. Even the high marshal got a piercing look at he returned just as venomously, but when it came to the king, all the latter saw in his own student’s gaze was concern, and a certain… nervousness, not quite fear yet. It seemed odd, he had always been a vehement one, and his words had been brimming with energy right until that moment. Much of that simmered down once he actually continued, speaking with measured tones and his gaze scanning the room throughout it all. He outlined his contribution, his lessons learned from his king and master, how he would not fail the realm, all that he should, but with less bombast than he usually showed to those at his command.

Again the topic touched the Black Flame, and again he stopped, with a more contained expression. Yet this time, on he went, with growing anger in his voice. He would not allow doubt on the matter of his control, and on whether he’d use it for the kingdom’s sake, he claimed. Those that thought he would bring its power against the realm itself were sorely mistaken and should know better, he yelled. And he was well aware of its power, hence why it needed to be wielded for the kingdom rather than against it, and so it would be he to do it, he tried to say, but in this his voice quivered, with his eyes darting about aimlessly. He stumbled on the words once, twice, until he could not finish his claim that the whole land would burn before he’d let the kingdom fall; all he could do was steer back to loyalty alone, one last reminder, before sitting back down, gripping the chair tightly. Even after he went silent, the Chancellor kept scanning the room and glancing at the others, as if looking for anything off.

The king would proceed as normal with the rest of the meeting, preferring to salvage his own pupil’s reputation and implying through his stony, nonchalant demeanor that none of this was to be brought up again. The rest of it was unremarkable, unmemorable, outright eclipsed, as the strange behavior he’d seen stuck in his mind… And that of the Chancellor himself, for once he actually got him alone later in the week to ask what happened back there, he could not say. He simply lacked the words, beyond claiming a feeling of being watched, of vague but certain threat that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and refuse to come down. Even he hadn’t noticed how bringing up the Black Flame seemed to have set it off… But the king had. Perhaps, for the next such meeting, he’d have to handle the topic himself – after all, he was its master, and he could vouch for its boon better than anyone could.

And more than anything else, they feared the king. The very thought of threatening him, of striking him down, would not cross the others’ minds. Even if someone had dared ponder the death of the Chancellor, they wouldn’t dare think the same of him. And if they tried? He’d show the ungrateful lot why he was the one holding the crown.

If only he’d known just who was listening…

That week passed without incident from there, with no prowling threats or watchful eyes that he could spot, or hear about. He’d been keeping a closer eye and ear on matters to nip whatever problems were brewing right in the bud, but he hadn’t found any leads by the time the next war room meeting came about. It’d have to do, the king thought, as once again he left his chambers early – earlier than before, in fact, so that he’d have the room all to himself before any of his strategists arrived. He found himself pacing about, looping his own coming speech in his head and tweaking the details to come, so as to provoke whoever thought of crossing his Chancellor; the man was a fast learner, but he didn’t have his monarch’s survival instinct, his eye for treason, his keen sense for subtle dangers. He’d have this traitor pinpointed before he was even done speaking, he was sure of it…

As the others arrived, took their spots, and he gave them their respective permissions to speak, the king was paying far less attention to the contents of their speech than before. Even then, he was aware he wouldn’t quite remember as much as he should, but so long as the others did remember, it scarcely mattered. They already knew what he wanted, this early on the meeting was practically just a formality, in which to catch out this suspected traitor, this hidden rat among their number. With the patience he could muster, he waited for his turn, and even let the Chancellor run with the more mundane aspects of their plans this time, paying a little more mind. He had learned, alright, and even if one could’ve seen the paranoia in his eyes throughout it all, he never stopped, never stumbled, kept going without interruption from start to end. Either someone was more careful this time, the king had thought, or it truly was a matter of topic.

And so, to finish it off, the king stood up, ready to speak of the Black Flame once more. Of its true unveiling, and of potentially using but a single spark of it to show the other kingdoms the error of their ways.

That’s when he felt it, for the very first time, stilling his words.

A man like him didn’t get to be king, let alone take command of something as powerful and ruinous as the Flame, without having a fine sense for danger. You didn’t get to hold the throne without telling the loyal apart from the covetous, the zealous from the greedy. And above all, you didn’t get to hold the crown on your head and the Flame in your hand if you couldn’t tell where the threat was coming from. A keen eye and sharp ear for the knife in the dark, the creak of your door, the arrow pointed at your heart, the smirk of a “gracious” guest who’d spiked your meal. When you were talented, or experience, you’d feel them coming. And when you were both, like he was, you’d learn to tell them apart right then and there, so that you’d live another day.

The threat in this room was overbearing even then, it gripped his throat even without making a move. An uncaring threat, not the fiery overconfidence of someone who’d just lunge carelessly, but of someone who was dead certain that they could step in, end his life, and walk away without a word. An apathetic threat, glacially cold, waiting not for the opportunity to do him in, but for the very murder to actually be worth bothering with. Someone wanted him dead, someone who dared look down on him, and only a certain sluggishness, a certain sloth, kept him alive.

And worst of all, it wasn’t coming from any of the men sitting at the table. It couldn’t, even the most covetous would think him a rival, but this was the hatred of someone that’d kill him the way a maid stamps on a cockroach. The king could see nothing of the sort in the eyes of anyone present; even the least loyal, the most ambitious, still had enough respect or fear… and now, growing concern. He had found it troubling, even back then.

But he wouldn’t let it stop him. No, the king believed such judgement was to be defied. They thought him lesser? He’d prove them wrong. The Black Flame was a power without peer, and he alone had mastered it, learned more of its true potential than anyone alive or dead. He would keep pushing. He would make this upstart power stop and balk at the thought of looking down on him again. It just needed to realize it first, he thought…

And so, on he went, undeterred, louder and fiercer than before. He let himself revel in it, unbecoming as it may be of a ruler. What kind of man wouldn’t revel in it, anyhow? Decorum demanded he keep it secret, but to have such power in your hands alone wasn’t just reassuring, it was outright thrilling. To know your own fate was so firmly in your grasp, and no one would ever tear it from you, lest you grasp their own fates and cast them down. Yes, he’d double down! A quick lesson for everyone listening, then, on just how deep the Flame’s burns could reach. This impertinent stranger, wherever they were, needed to learn they wouldn’t be free of it if the king so wished.

Yet the more the king elaborated, and the brighter his Chancellor’s eyes got at each hypothetical feat, the closer this threat felt. It still wasn’t in the room, he was very sure of it, though why he was so certain, he could not explain. He just knew it was far closer, watching him directly, listening and judging every word, with this disdainful urge to stamp him out spiking on certain words, certain ideas… Sometimes, it was merely a gaze, eyes planted on his neck as if gauging how quick and easy it’d be to snap it, but sometimes, as he went and rounded on specifics, the High King could practically feel a blade against his throat, cold as ice, yet never real no matter how much he tried to push it away. That was very much new, another level of menace, if not something else, but… It was also vaguely predictable. It ebbed and flowed as he spoke, coming and going as he weaved between possibilities… And for each, the menace was a little different.

He kept his wits as best he could as he went on, swerving through the concepts on the fly to map out what offended it the most, excusing himself to reiterate so many points he’d already covered; wouldn’t do to leave anything up in the air, he claimed, though by the looks he got some might not buy it for long. No matter, a summary would be enough… Back to its history he went, and this cold wrath simmered, expectant but quiet. On the topic of its power it flared, yet died down quickly as the king outlined what ruin it could bring to opponents, to armies, to whole cities, as if it’d grown bored, or found this unworthy of much hatred… But when he boasted of greater strength, of its capacity to bring the land itself to ruin, to set the world ablaze if they so needed, that was the trigger. That is what brought back the icy dagger against the back of his neck, real or not. Any comment on the way it could turn life itself to kindling and spread through it like a forest fire, or a declaration that it could burn the firmament itself, and he could practically feel the glacial sting of it against his spine, so clearly he could recall it even now….

Why, as he finished off with the claim that such power would ensure no one’d stop the kingdom from claiming what was rightfully its own, he felt one last thing, a sharp spike in this cold and hateful judgement… either it’d been a disdainful scoff, or the hypothetical dagger literally twisting on its tip against his neck. A dismissive taunt either way, he thought. But one that had gotten to him, as his high marshal immediately felt the need to ask if he’d been feeling under the weather, because he swore he saw his majesty shiver. Nonsense, he’d replied, a simple tingle of the power in his hands. But in his mind, he knew he’d overplayed his hand, at least for the week… He’d need to steel himself if he wanted to root out what this was.

But even back then he was starting to get the feeling he might not ever be entirely ready for that. Even as he left the room and felt a glare like daggers against his spine… The same courtly instincts that had kept him alive were yelling in his ear, yet as he turned one last time and scanned the room… every other sense told him there was no one there. In retrospect, he should’ve taken note of that, but he could not yet spot the dissonances he’d learn later on…

And, since he hadn’t learned such yet, he found nothing else during the week that passed. He’d feel the tingle of cold, impassive observation sometimes, especially when he approached his sanctum for further study, but nothing he could narrow down, let alone find. This presence, this… individual – even then the king knew this was too fickle and willful to be a mere law of nature – they were almost mocking him, letting these disdains be known when they could simply stay beneath notice. It had to be an elaborate taunt, he thought. Otherwise they would’ve made a move, rather than give themselves away like this. So bold, so proud… He would catch them, this he promised himself. It’d occupy his mind even more than the war plans would, as those were the generals’ job, and the Chancellor could cover a few matters – and he, too, had been targeted! He’d understand… the master could handle this far better than the apprentice, he’d get this sorted soon enough.

He just needed to find the right moment.

And so, the time had come once more. By the time the High King left his quarters for the next war council, the actual fighting was the furthest thing from his mind. Troops and their movements, that was up to the marshal, he had a fight of his own with this infiltrate, with this flagrant spy, with this fiendish little sneak that dared pass judgement on his efforts to lead this nation, right within his very own castle! As he gave his starting speech, so ingrained his mind could run freely while he spoke, he’d sorted through possibilities and discarded plenty. Spies from another nation were some of the first to go, none of the other nations thought of themselves so highly, this one was putting themselves on an almost… godly level, that’s what he would’ve said back then. Clearly some organization he’d never heard about, secretive yet thinking themselves powerful. An old conspiracy thinking he was upsetting some so-called balance, the king thought, he would’ve bet the shiniest of his treasures on that being the truth. Almost flattering that one of his accomplishments would be forcing them to act so openly, he thought.

The high marshal laid out the current strategic situation to the others, though the king’s attentions were still elsewhere in the room. He remembered feeling good about the way it was going, at the very least, the strategy was sound and the tactical situations the marshal deigned to bring up seemed to be going their way. Yet even the good news were all eclipsed by this espionage situation, it monopolized his thoughts in both plotting against it, and trying to hide its effect on him from the others. That had to wait, the spy couldn’t see even the slightest hint of intimidation, lest he be encouraged to keep at this! In the end, the king didn’t listen to the presentation so much as he just waited it out, his thoughts elsewhere even if his eyes were on the map. Any details that he might’ve wanted to weigh in, that would’ve called his attention on a better day, they just slipped past him, if they had ever been there…

In the end, he could wait no longer, and once the military address had been done, he had silenced the Chancellor before he could speak with but a motion of his hand, stood up, and closed the door with a wave before turning to everyone. Even before he opened his mouth, he found himself pacing about, tension already gripping his heart – or had that been the spy’s direct attention, seeing the focus of their attentions acting like this? Back then he hadn’t thought about it, he’d just powered through as he took a long, long look at each and every man in the room… And finally pointed at the elephant in the room that only he had brushed against, and none had seen. He cut to the chase, and announced: Whether any of them had noticed it or not, whether any of them had been observed – and he knew one had been – there was a spy in their midst.

And there it… wasn’t, the flash of judgement. The king felt observed once more – and by the reactions he could gauge, so did many in the room, though not all – but the usual menace wasn’t there. The room felt colder, but nowhere near the glacial feeling against his spine that had marked the topic of the Black Flame. Others glanced around, but those that lacked the awareness were the ones looking at each other suspiciously, casting judgements of their own; the marshal was among them, much to his disappointment. Those like the Chancellor, they were glancing elsewhere, having swept past the others they could see and realized the spy wasn’t one of them. They searched the room, much like the king himself had, and found nothing… he should’ve noticed, back then, that most of their gazes were converging towards one corner of the room. Oh, it would’ve saved him some grief if he’d made that connection, but it wasn’t meant to be.

The marshal asked how, exactly, he’d learned of this, he demanded to know what moves this spy had made, and the king answered: Nothing yet, besides observing far too closely and listening in on matters of great importance to the crown and kingdom. This spy had not acted yet. But he knew they were there, because you didn’t get to hold a crown like his without learning a few things just to stay alive. And even now he remember the marshal’s expression, his narrowed brow and his eyes losing focus… he did not believe it, and didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t simply block it out like a bullheaded peasant would. Job and talent alike forced him to consider it, and he did not like the possibility one bit…

But this second of silence was shattered by the Chancellor, who stood up so brusquely his chair screeched across the floor behind him. He stopped short of slamming his fist onto the table, but only just, and already his eyes were brimming with a certain… fearful rage. The untempered, furious reprisal of someone that’s felt threatened for the first time in ages. A small but critical failure of his teachings, looking back…

He said, straining not to yell, that he had indeed felt that one’s presence. Threatening him, mocking him and the kingdom with this brazen espionage, with this insolence. Someone thought they could just waltz into this palace, into the heart of the realm, and start handing out wordless threats like they owned the place. Merely overhearing would’ve been cause enough to have their heads, but to add these blatant affronts on top? It couldn’t be allowed to pass. They deserved death. So he declared, and while the king would’ve agreed, even then he felt unable to say it quite as loudly, let alone now…

And then, the Chancellor got too furious for his own good, into the most open of threats, the most sensitive of topics, knowing exactly what would make this spy listen by now. He paced around the room almost like he hoped to stumble onto them, and what he intended as a speech instead turned into a wild and inelegant rant. No matter what this spy was, he said, whether Kin or Other, whether mortal or divine, no matter how far they thought themselves above the Kingdom and its subjects, they were not above the Flame. It could consume nations, it could consume the realm, and it would consume them as well, if he or the King himself so willed it. The spy existed only at their discretion, the Chancellor claimed… and then got further carried away, boasting that with the power in their hands, the realm entire existed at their discretion alone. Even stammering, wincing visibly from what he could only assume was the feeling of a cold dagger against his neck – metaphorical or not – he did not shy away from this incautious threat…

Yet the spy did not show, not then. No matter how much they looked, even after such direct taunts, it was as if they just weren’t there, even if their presence was impossible to miss to those who could pick it up. Or, the king thought for the very first time, those who were allowed to pick it up. It’s only in retrospect that he fully realized some in that room were merely allowed, rather than having the sharp senses and sharper reasoning to realize something wasn’t right. And even then… how much had been sharpness, and how much had been simple permission…?

Nevertheless, even those that could see nothing were deeply concerned, it was obvious in their faces, though perhaps less about the spy and more about what the Chancellor had just threatened to do because of them. Even without that, his heavy breaths and wild, uneasy glances would’ve unsettled even a gormless peasant; that was the look of a cornered animal, utterly improper for a man of his stature. And so, the king took over the meeting once more, gently though firmly pulling him aside in order to address the issue with a cooler head. A quick finisher to remind them that paranoia should never creep so deep into their minds that their judgement may be impaired… but to never forget said paranoia exists for a reason.

And of course, just in case, a few clarifications on the Black Flame: Yes indeed, it could bring such great destruction to the very realm, and if they had to, they could. After all, its fires could catch on the very fabric the world lies on. But like all such things, it would need to be calculated. It is not impossible that burning down much of the world to ensure the kingdom stood proudly would be needed, but it was hardly likely that’d they’d need to go that far. And yet, he repeated, drawing the spy’s attention once more, it was not impossible. More importantly, if the realm itself could be set alight, those enemies that wouldn’t be cowed would be child’s play to wipe out. Which is where the cold calculus of what to save it for came in, and where the generals factored in – all said as he turned to outright loom over his gathered commanders – so that they would keep the Flame to a minimum, lest they see for themselves just how it worked.

And with that, he dismissed them all. No use to have them discuss further when their every move and word was witnessed like this – at least, that had been the excuse for cutting it short, seeing they’d already given away plenty in the last meeting, and it had scarcely affected the results. He hadn’t thought about that enough, in the moment, he should’ve noted that the spy clearly wasn’t passing anything on to the others, no alliance was in place. Not that it would’ve changed much, then and now…
Either way, as the room cleared out, the High King immediately went to speak with his Chancellor, grabbing his shoulder and taking him aside to ask him just what he was thinking with that maddened boast of his. Sussing out a spy took tact, and there was no such thing on display back in the room. How exactly did he allow himself to lose his nerve so thoroughly? Spy or not, it was utterly improper of someone he’d picked out himself. What, exactly, had he been thinking, if anything at all? Those were the king’s questions, before he could catch himself and settle down to hear the answers…

That was when he saw the Chancellor’s hands were still shaking, as they’d been back in the war room. And the answers the king expected were far more rattled than he would’ve hoped. He’d felt the interloper, he said. More than just his gaze, he’d felt his scorn, and swore up and down he had felt actual ice against his spine, an actual blade aiming to pierce the moment he said too much. But here, he flashed a lost, manic grin, and his words lost even more composure. He wasn’t intimidated, he claimed, not in the least. Because he knew the two men that could burn this kingdom down just to catch the spy in the flames were right there in the room.

Before the High King could interrupt, finding that the Chancellor was giving himself a little too much credit and clearly taking the wrong approach, it all turned into a mad ramble. Maybe he should, in fact, test it out. Maybe he should lay out just how outclassed this spy was, how they were tangling with forces they could neither understand nor surpass. And if this potential infuriated them so, then all the better to rub it in their cowardly face so they’d finally show it, and take a stand. Even a stand behind his back, it wouldn’t help, for the Flame would strike faster than any knife, and would erase this interloper on the spot. It would turn everything they ever were, and could’ve been, to nothing but ashes. And as he raved, his words rising to a near-yell, his tensed, shaking hands began to exude lightless sparks. Tiny specks of pitch black that just swallowed all light rather than radiate it, as if each was a tiny hole in the fabric of existence…

All before the king jabbed his ring-clad finger right against his Chancellor’s forehead, shoving him back without fear. How was it, he began, that one that had trained under the Lord of the Black Flame, that had been taught so much from the beginning, would lose his nerve so thoroughly as to threaten to use it the way a cornered rat would bare its teeth? Did he think of himself as a mere cornered rat, in the middle of this very palace?

But in retrospect, he should’ve known that with that loss of composure, he was already damned.

Nonetheless, back then he thought it necessary, and sufficient, to simply lambast his Chancellor’s outburst, and outline just how improper it was for a man of his position to have such an open, near-public breakdown like he just had, failing to keep it together with something far worse than a weapon right in his hands. If he’d wished to threaten the spy, he should’ve done it to himself, without such frailty – that was the word he’d used, one he would come to regret somewhat – knowing he was watched. After all, that outburst surely had their (then hypothetical) blade right against their backbone, didn’t it?

To this, the Chancellor did not reply for a few moments. He looked behind himself, then turned almost in a panicked pirouette as if searching for an onlooker that just wasn’t there. When the full turn was complete he could only mumble that he didn’t feel such a thing, just its absence… its very pointed absence, somehow so marked it was like a presence in itself. He didn’t know why it felt so much more concerning than its presence, but already he knew it was a concern. The king could only wonder in that moment if it was speculation, or an instinct of his that was more refined than initially thought, a promising trait to have…

But all he did back then was to step back, put the questioning to an end now that it seemed his understudy had learned his lesson, and send him to get some rest… as well as fetch some of his quieter guards to keep an eye out for anything suspicious that may target him, just in case. He knew very well the spy hadn’t been scared off by this display. It was doubtful they would’ve been emboldened by it, but it wasn’t impossible they were, and even then it just showed their mind games were working, at least up to a point. All in all, it’d worsened the situation, he thought…

And his thoughts had been clear, until then. Calculated, sure, and even these disturbances hadn’t gotten to him yet. The watchful eyes, the creeping cold, these calculated brushes against potential death that clearly sought to steer him somewhere, he’d kept it cool throughout, much as he’d never wish to use that word again. All in all, he’d remained stoic and steady…

But it was right then, as the Chancellor had left his sight, that three words – spoken in a huffed, low whisper like a neverending sigh – put an end to his calm.

“How terribly high-strung”, the High King heard, coming from right next to him.

Quickly the king turned to find no one was there, standing right at his side, taller than even him. He saw the face, long and thin and lined by old stresses, with large and pronounced bags under piercing blue eyes that seemed dulled on purpose, all under short, thin hair that had long greyed out. He saw the traveling cloak, dotted by snowflakes that should’ve melted long ago, and he saw the regalia underneath it, its threads the darkest of blues, fit for the highest servants yet just servants nonetheless. And he saw the long, thin cigar held between his frowning lips, its tip glowing with a cold, cyan flame he hadn’t seen before. The king saw all of this, and he saw the eyes focus on him, their sheer exhaustion practically dulling his own senses, but there was no one there, no matter how much his eyes told him otherwise.

Still he rose one hand, its palm thrust forwards and with light-sucking sparks radiating off it. Who are you, he asked. Who are you, that dares barge into the heart of my palace, into my very own seat of power, he demanded to know. Nothing clever, nothing daring, but in retrospect, what else could he even say?

“Do you genuinely want to know that?” That was the reply, from a voice that sounded too tired to be truly annoyed, but very much wanted to be. “You’ve learned most of what you need to. The rest you can deduce easily enough. Anything beyond that, you’re just making this all harder on yourself.”
A reply that made little sense in the moment, and the king let know as much vocally. Was this implying he was an imbecile, to be so easily troubled by knowledge beyond the mere basics of a spy in the middle of their palace? He, of all people, who had mastered energies beyond understanding?

That seemed to shift something in the air. In the visions. A raised brow, and a thin wisp of smoke blown into the air. The voice returned, a little more lively, a little more aggravated. “That’s not the boast you think. Think about it, who of all would hold power like that in his hands, threaten to use it even knowing exactly what it can do, then act surprised when someone shows up with concerns about it?” The thin cigar pointed at the king’s hand, while ashes that seemed to turn to snowflakes on the path to the floor sloughed off it with every motion. “You know exactly how far this flame of yours can spread. You know it could catch on the fabric of, hrm, the realm itself. You waved it all around like a drunken thug, and didn’t expect someone to overhear it? Someone with bigger concerns than this conquest of yours?” He found himself backing away from no one at all as this gaze closed in, and the voice finished up in a seething tone: “Or did you actually think all of you were just alone, in here?”

Finally he’d gotten something, a vague answer but an answer nonetheless, but the implications it carried… What was this, then, if not one of his fellows, another mortal? What forces could be so concerned about the realm itself catching alight? The old divines, so long forgotten, or perhaps the titans that once opposed them, who still sought to have a place to conquer when they broke free? A higher power still, a creator he never knew of…?

“No,” the voice replied with a sigh, “wrong axis. I told you this’d just make things harder on yourself.”

That threw him off… and it still does, even now. Wrong axis. Just like that, he’d been struck with an entirely perpendicular reality that this… spy was in, if the voice was to be believed. It seemed wrong to call them a spy by now, but it was the only name he had for the apparitions, the interloper… whatever it was that was so pronouncedly, so obnoxiously not there at all. Was this what the Chancellor had meant? Not just something amiss, but an absence so intense it was like a presence in itself, like a mirror image?
But the king had more important things to ponder, in the moment. He shoved these thoughts into the back of his mind and focused on the now, on the visions and the presence they implied, no matter how much… everything else denied it. His brain would not square them together, it refused to, but he made do with knowing anything he said would be answered, so long as he didn’t think of who would hear it. He would hold out one finger, still sparking with the Black Flame, towards the visions, trying his best not to ponder what they pictured all together. And so, he demanded to know not who the spy was, but who sent a spy here in the first place, that was so concerned he would burn down a realm he wanted to hold. A realm that would be far greater than anything seen before under his rein, and would obviously never be such if he decided to set it ablaze with lightless flame.

For a while after that, there was no sound. No steps across the halls, no wind outside, not even his own heartbeat. Just a sharp hiss passing through the cigar, and a soft exhalation as the air was filled by pristine white mist. The cloud radiated cold the way a flame would radiate heat, he could remember leaning away from it on instinct… Only then did he get an answer, once he’d come to the realization the mist was drifting in the same direction his Chancellor had taken. “To be blunt, I don’t believe you. Not when you picked that one as a, hrm, pupil. Over any of your heirs in fact. I know you have those.”

And even dealing with something like this, he could not avoid this particular questioning. From the court to the peasantry, this exact question. Now it’d been his turn to lose his composure, a loss far less regrettable but no less embarrassing. Through aggravation alone, he broke through the dread and stepped up to the visions, to a stranger that wasn’t there, that shouldn’t be there by all he knew and felt, with a single finger ablaze with the void’s flame. After all, and this he voiced openly, if this one claimed to know so much about the Black Flame and its capabilities, then clearly they’d know about its needs. Talents both innate and developed are needed, they’d know exactly which ones, wouldn’t they? It’s not everyone that can wield this, and he of all showed the greatest potential, the discipline, the might for it! At that stage, his position became little more than a formality, he had to ensure there was another, someone who could wield it like the kingdom deserves!

The eyes wandered momentarily, peering into the empty walls as if searching for something well beyond them… before that pitiless gaze focused on the king once more; only now did he notice he’d gotten worked up, thanks to the breath that froze in his throat the moment those eyes fixed on his. And then came the voice, low and embittered. “So what your kingdom deserves is someone that’d burn it to the foundations – then burn the foundations themselves – if it meant not admitting defeat, got it.” Another sigh, far longer than the last, as that cigar drifted back to pursed lips carried by long, thin fingers. “Or just like all the others, you thought it’d never get to that. Hard to tell which one. Or maybe you knew you’d never be able to start that fire yourself. But you don’t look like you’ve noticed.”

Who was this spy, that claimed to know him better than he knew himself? How and why were they here, in the very depths of his own damned palace? On whose behalf, that they claimed to be well beyond understanding? What were they, to converse in such… in such an eerie, yet infuriating manner!? What were they doing to him that he couldn’t look them in the eye and know!? All this and more, the High King demanded to know, with his outstretched hand now catching ablaze, draining light from its surroundings and making even nearby torches flicker, a mere side effect of what he channeled right now trying to threaten this… he could not discern what.

But their eyes did not even look down at the threat of incineration. They remained on him, boring past his own eyes and into his skull – he even felt the part, with the sting of an oncoming headache settling in with every second that passed. Was that the cold, the tension, or something else, yet another mystery to this intruder in his palace? All were options, and only in retrospect did the king realize it had been this moment that the air truly chilled in place. Whatever it was, the voice’s return did not help. “Don’t bother”, it had said, “you’d just waste my time. Not worth the excuse.” Their gaze lifted from him, turning away, somewhere… ahead of him, giving him some reprieve, though he could not shake the feeling those eyes could see something there. “And it’d get the kingdom to do all sorts of stupidity, definitely not worth that. Can’t work that from the outside.”

Most of what they said would go right past him in the moment, to be ruminated on in the quiet night that followed. Their continued presence, their words, their sheer dismissal… he couldn’t bring himself to rebuke them, let alone strike them down for their insolence. Why, the very thought would not coalesce, between the idea of casting the Flame at one who was not there, and what he did see… why, for a moment, it was as if the king had been allowed to see a little further. Just enough to know the spy was there, had been all along, but… it passed. And it was back to glimpses of something he was so very sure was not there, certain of it against his own will. Back to glimpses, and even that would surely vanish with less than a single gesture, if this one so willed it. He was sure of that, they sounded the part…

Perhaps he’d taken too long to think, staring at the place where an interloper should be, yet wasn’t, yet had to be; perhaps he’d let one too many moments pass trying and failing to square it. What he did know, however, is that the sights closed in, the eyes cast another glare upon him, and a single hand – a hand that looked pallid as a corpse, or white as carved ice, he could not tell which – nudged the king’s own burning palm with one digit. “I said,” the voice rumbled, far more awake than the tired, sigh-laden whisper from before, “Don’t. Bother.” A chill lanced through the point of contact, something far deeper than just mere cold. No, then and now, it felt… if the Black Flame could set the realm ablaze to the foundations, this was the frigid breeze that would’ve swept the ashes away, buried them in ever-metaphorical snow. He felt pain lance through his phalanges, through his wrist, his forearm, pain followed by an utter absence of sensation, not even stiffness or numbness-

And then it was over, the visions clearing, the interloper ceasing to be there, the cold subsiding… and the voice going back to its disdainful, burnt-out tone. “Was it so hard to believe that I meant that?”

In the moment, all the High King could try, the only thing the Lord of the Black Flame himself could think to do, was to let the fires die down, and ask, in a tone so feeble he’d never forgive himself, just what this intruder was.

And what came right after, he remembers perfectly, far better than he’d like.

For a moment, the spy, this interloper, a being he had no name for, they just… allowed him to see. Not all, but far more than enough. Now he knew they’d been there the whole time, silencing all contradictions, his mind’s insistence there was no one before him utterly gone. The visions finally matched one another, forming a more coherent whole that would’ve made sense from the start, had he been allowed to piece it together. And yet… there was more. Or there wasn’t more, just like they hadn’t been there before.

For the stranger’s eyes softened, and those pursed lips turned into a tired, sardonic little smirk, while their fingers tapped on the end of the cigar to drop off its snowy ashes. Even their eyebags seemed to clear, lightening up to match the rest of their tone… All of it was gone. That dour, judging look, that freezing glare, it wasn’t there, right behind them instead. It wasn’t there, it very much wasn’t there in the great and dusty wings they did not have! No endless patterns lining them so deep it would take ages to parse them! Neither letters nor words, so thickly patterned there were whole sentences in the flakes that came off as they flapped! No, there was no glare at all upon those wings, coalesced from a pattern of patterns of patterns, pinning him to the ground of his own palace, passing one final judgement on all he was, and would ever be! There were no marks of a perpetual, bottomless disdain that had never left, and never would! He would not shut his eyes, for there was nothing to shield them from, even as his tears froze and lashes fractured! Why would he!? There was nothing there to make him shut them! So his mind said, screaming this thought at him again and again, filling his skull until it could fit nothing more. There was nothing there to see. There was nothing there!

But there was a voice, their voice, one they could finally match to the mouth he’d seen. One with a tone that sounded vaguely amused, even satisfied perhaps. “Ah, that would make things much harder on yourself. You don’t want that answer. You don’t even want a clue.”

And then, he was spared, as he ceased to see what hadn’t been there, and the spy ceased to be there, leaving only the visions… Only the memory. Only a hole in his mind in the shape of this interloper, barely even filled in with the gestures and expressions he could still see. But the glare remained, it was back in their eyes… and whenever he looked at them, the void in his head stirred.

“Ah. Good. You get it. That saves me some time.” Oh, the way the voice spoke, so sardonic, and even self-satisfied for once… He looked down, and didn’t look up again, because maybe, just maybe… there’d be nothing there, again. “I was hoping you would, but one’s never sure. But with that out of the way…”

And a blink later, the spy was gone. Truly gone, taking the visions and the aches with them. No longer did his mind have to scream and beg for him to believe nothing was there, it was just… believable. Had they truly walked away into whatever veil they came from, or had they just revoked what little privileges he had been granted for him to see them? Even now, they weren’t sure… and it hardly mattered, then or now. The king had already seen more than enough.

The comings and goings of the realm became something of a blur to the king from that moment forward. He doesn’t remember how long he was there, standing silently in the hallway once the spy had left. Only the setting sun, pouring in through the windows, let him know it was time to move on, if only for routine’s sake. Even the realm itself didn’t seem like enough of a reason to move from his spot. And if his subjects tried to move him, or even called to him, he did not know. He did not remember. Surely they didn’t see the interloper, but whatever the look on the king’s face had been… it had to be more than enough to unsettle them all.

The next days were hardly any better, either. At first he sought to sleep and perhaps wake up to forget it all, yet dreamed of nothing, and woke up to remember nothing. And then, getting out of bed even as the whispers and knocks of his servants tried to rouse him was an ordeal. Their growing concerns could not shake him out of it, and only grew when he tried to play it off as mere sickness. It’d be fine, he kept saying, it was nothing of importance, but no matter how he said it, their worries would remain, and he could find no other way to say it. And what else could he say, when so few of them were even aware of an interloper, let alone what kind? He’d find no way to focus, no way to wrest his thoughts out of what he’d seen. When an aide came, he nodded through everything, and when any other came to ask for his rulings and decisions, he had to stall until he could squeeze something out the back of his mind. Just hunches and impulses, scrounged from what was left.

The Black Flame, working that was a little easier. He remained in practice, he could still concentrate on it, keep his mastery of it. The Lord of the Black Flame, he could at least hold onto that title for now. The one that felt like it mattered most, by now. But even then, as he practiced, as his research journal grew a little more, it didn’t feel right. Like it wouldn’t be enough. He’d grasped a primordial force even beings from far beyond his knowledge, beyond the realm, were wary of it… And that was still true, but he’d never grasped the implications of that until one such being walked into his throne room with their concerns.

The Chancellor still hadn’t grasped the implications by then. His enthusiasm in his lessons was useful, yes, he could wield so much more power now that he had a focus, but he couldn’t help but wonder if that was the right focus to have, at the time. Such vengefulness, there was no other word for it. Vengefulness for a slight that hadn’t even been aimed at him. Nothing else mattered but reprisal, to take down the insolent being that had dared spy on them all, and even speak to his majesty the way they had – the fact he’d seemingly overheard their little conversation only made it far worse. Even as this wrath overtook him and pushed his flame to greater heights than even the king’s own, the head wearing the crown was plagued with but a single thought… If it wasn’t enough, what then? There was no doubt he’d take the shot. That’s what worried him the most.

He’d been right to be worried.

The day after that – and he knew it’d only been a day, even with all that had happened, surely no one else would let a whole day pass if the Chancellor went missing. Yes, surely the day after that… the king was woken up with the news that he was nowhere to be found. They had searched every last corner of the palace, and found not a single hint of his whereabouts! Such panic they showed, as if the king could conjure him with a fingersnap. As if it had been part of a plan he would tell the staff about now that it was in action. As if it had been, in any way, intended… fixable.

But oh, he found him, alright. No one else would ever know he found him, they would never believe it. They would never understand it. For the Chancellor, he was right there, in his own quarters! So much more disorderly than they could see, too, the others simply thought it was disheveled, uncared for, as if he’d walked out in the middle of the night without stopping to pack. But the king, he could see the scorchmark on the wall that had torn every last color out of it, even black and white and grey, leaving nothing but oblivion’s own soot. He could see the great shard of utterly pristine ice impaling the middle of the bed, tall as a man and thick as an arm.

And he could see what was left of the Chancellor, pinned to the bed like a butterfly. Yes, that he could see, ever so clearly. It was all right there, right there, before his eyes!

But there was a thing he did not see. There was one thing that no one there saw, especially him, the thing that made sure that this murder scene, this utter catastrophe, just wouldn’t catch within his subjects’ minds. No, the unknown rune carved into the icy spear that’d ended his pupil’s life, the symbol that sucked the light and temperature out of the room, this hole in the world in the shape of a glyph, where thought and reason and everything else could simply leak out of the room, and the realm itself… he did not see that. He very much did not see that at all. And he wouldn’t see the way tiny filaments of what might’ve once been light tied it to the scorchmark, to the very corpse itself, and he wouldn’t see the way the others’ faces twitched whenever their eyes passed over it, or his own breath fogging up in its vicinity, or the frost growing on the walls and bed flaking off and drifting into the glyph, away from the world.

No, he didn’t see any of this. Why would he? None of this was there. There was nothing there, there was nothing there at all.

And thus, there was nothing for the king to tell his subjects. Why would he? They saw nothing, none of it. They would never understand. And why would he want them to? It wouldn’t help at all. Either it’d leak right out of their minds… or they’d be dragged down with him into a pit where he himself was barely holding on. His lessers, they’d just crumble.

Why, the Chancellor himself couldn’t handle it, close as he’d been to the truth, that had to be why he had been struck down, instead of the king himself. Oh, he’d been so adamant, a bravery that had to be driven by madness… Had he been thought a danger, or did he just see the interloper, and swing first? Clearly he’d made use of the Flame, but… had he missed, or had it simply not been enough?

...it didn’t matter. Either way, he’d been made an example only the king himself would ever know. He was sure of it, this interloper had to mean it that way…

…and thus they’d meant for him to see a glyph where there’d been nothing – to remember that glyph, one way or another, in spite of all his eyes and brain told him. Just like the wings they didn’t have… but this, he remembered better. He might even be able to jot it down, but… surely it wouldn’t work. Surely he needed to not jot it down, and leave it there for it to do its vile work? One of those had to be it, he had the calligraphy for it, and all that hadn’t been there was burned too deeply in his memory not to recall it the right way. If he knew which one it was – which he didn’t – he could take the steps, true or absent, to make it appear…

But no… no, he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t not do that! What if it worked? Would he simply make the paper it was written on no longer be there, straining him with its absence? Or would he miss with it? What if it meant the very Palace wasn’t there anymore, too closely tied to the writing that wasn’t there? Or the realm? Or himself, whose mind would not conjure it and whose hand would not write it down? Would he be gone from his own presence, somehow? Would he be gone from all sight and thought, even his own? No. He couldn’t afford to find out. Not now, not with the interloper that unwittingly taught it to him still about…

...If it had, indeed, been unwitting. Perhaps they’d meant to pose this dilemma to him, and force him into it by letting him learn the shapes, yet withholding one critical datum: Whether writing it, or not writing it, would bring it out. With such things unseen yet learned, things that weren’t there yet he knew and remembered very well, which was the truth? Which one did he have to do to avoid it all? Would writing something lead to nothing? Would writing it in truth, making it something instead of nothing, banish all that hadn’t been there if it dared poke its head in, as it surely would? The thought lingered, festering as he swiftly made his way back to his quarters, slamming the doors behind him and locking them. Whatever happened, especially if nothing did, there should be no witnesses but him. Only he could come close to handling it…

But how? He just had to make sure the glyph didn’t come to pass, but when it wasn’t there, because he hadn’t put it down… how could he draw a distinction between the glyph simply not being there, and not being there? How could he distinguish them before he found no frost on the walls and no twitching in his eyes and it was already too late to draw the line? Which one was right? What should he do? What should he not do!? With the things he hadn’t seen, and yet knew ever so perfectly, how could he even know the difference!?

The interloper, they had to be watching this. They had to know. He knew it. The king could feel it, distant but there. They surely knew what he was doing, what he wasn’t doing. And every moment that passed in this room, every moment that he knew there was nothing there in front of him… How could he know which kind of nothing? How would he know when one became the other, because they decided to intervene? How could he know that he himself, in not intervening, had brought nothing to pass? had the tools, he had the skills, and thus he had the choice, and every moment that he held the choice… every moment where he knew he could act, and find out drawing it would bring nothing to pass, every moment that he knew refusing to act would bring nothing to pass…

The only way to never find out is to never have the option. If he couldn’t do one, he could do neither, and thus he would never find out. He had to rid himself of this choice, of this decision, he couldn’t find out. He couldn’t afford to find out lest nothing happen.

----

In a thoroughly conquered realm, deep within a fortress of black spires, a king did not leave his chambers. The fate of his kingdom and the realms beyond it was now sealed, in spite of the meeting to come, and yet he was not ready for it.

Who was he, after all of that? Who was he now? Lord of the Black Flame, they world had called him, and by process of elimination, there were no other candidates, not anymore… Mad Monarch of the Mountain, whole nations called him that… oh, he’d been mad, looking back, to think so highly, so ambitiously. What else was left? His official title, the High King… king of what. King of a rudderless nation whose monarch had reached for the stars only to catch alight- no, the opposite of alight, caught in the dark and the cold… he’d reached so far, and promised so much, that something, someone, saw him coming, heard him boast…

...his Majesty, they called him right outside the door of this room. They called him, again and again, knocking politely, yet anxiously. They called him, and he could not answer. He would not answer.

Who was there to answer, anyhow? The leftovers of who he’d been just a few weeks ago? A man covered in the ink of smashed inkwells and broken quills, in the ashes of pages torn and burnt. A man half dead, within and without… with fingers shattered against the walls so he’d never pick up a pen. A man with his feet skewered by the remnants of a crown he himself stomped flat, so that nothing he could sign could bear authority. A man with his very eyes torn out against the sconces of the room so that he’d never again see what he was doing, so that even if he remembered he could not see enough to recreate…

Nothing.

That’s what was left, too, wasn’t it? Nothing. The costs of ridding himself of ability, and thus choice… It’d left nothing of him. An irony, when that was so precisely what he was trying to avoid. Without his crown, without his orders, without sight. Even without…

...no. Not quite without the flame. In reaching out for it futilely with mangled, bleeding fingers, he felt its sparks, its warmth, even if he could not see it.

No. Focus. He could see it, and it alone, a little piece of black and white against a backdrop of nothingness. It devoured light like anything else, of course it’d be beyond mere sight…

...Lord of the Black Flame. That was all that was left, wasn’t it? Not quite nothing. Ashes, at worst, and that was infinitely more than nothingness, was it? Ashes and flame… perhaps even plenty of both. Enough to catch the world alight, even, if he so wished. That had always been in reach, he’d simply refused to reach that far. But… maybe his Chancellor had been right to reach further, and the Lord himself, mistaken in leaving it where he had. He’d caught the intruder’s attention, yes… but it was now up to him to fend them off, and there was only one thing they feared, wasn’t it? Yes, the realm might burn, and if they tried anything they, too, would burn with it.

He who’d once been High King raised his hands into the air, focusing, letting the warmth around his mangled digits grow more and more intense until they burned, finishing off all hope of healing, putting an end to decades of signatures and missives. The Mad Monarch of the Mountain brought what was left of his bony hands to his head, letting the fires envelop it, crawl over his hair until it was gone, leaving a crown of flame fit for the title. The Lord of the Black Flame then brought the fire to his ravaged eye-sockets, sinking his fingertips right in, feeling the charred bones against the flesh until the latter was gone, leaving nothing but lingering sparks…

…and with these sparks, the realm was back in sight. A flattened panorama of black and white, where walls and floors were hardly seen, yet the specks of life beyond them were almost ablaze, so much more kindling than the dead stone that surrounded him. Yes, in each thing, his newfound eyes found the potential for a blaze, and since all could burn, he could see all… All that could become fire and ashes to the Black Flame.

Even his own hands, his own crippled hands… ablaze with flames that were, and flames to be. He clasped them together, then straightened the digits out, cracking one after the other as the fires grew between them, searing away what was useless for these new purposes. Yes, he needn’t use these anymore, and the Flame would never betray him in the same way the quills and ink would have. A glyph of nothingness, a hole to nowhere, that would never happen with these hands, wreathed in black fire. Anything holding such a symbol would be turned to ash, any bit of nothingness that led outside the realm would be welded shut.

And thus, the Flame was fed. The ruins of the High King, fed into the lightless pyre that was the Lord of the Black Flame. Better that than to leave the scraps to rot, as they were mere moments ago. There was more of him left still – physically, of course – but that could wait until he needed more tallow. And even then… the tallow could always show up, if his generals’ whining was right.

His generals… yes, he’d have to meet them soon, wouldn’t he. How long had they been waiting while he rotted in bed, so fearful, so meek? It didn’t matter. They waited for him then, and they would wait for him now, more than ever. Especially after what he’d heard. Trouble with some ragtag band of insurgents, he’d heard. All walks of life, all outcasts, all strangely skilled… and worst of all, led by an unknown figure, one that seemed to know the kingdom’s plans well in advance. A spy, surely enough. The interloper…

Perhaps he’d show them, then. The generals, the interloper, these insurgents, the realm entire. Yes, he’d need to show them, so that they would all know, within it and without, that this land was his. His domain, or his kindling, that would be their only choice. And those who looked from the outside in, they’d either run, or burn.

Yes… this was the right path. The interloper… he knew they were watching. He was fine with it now. They could watch as they were dismissed, and their little insurgents were turned to ash. They could watch until the flame drove them blind.

And so, the true Lord of the Black Flame left his old chambers late, and strode past the great open doors of his war room, his generals and staff and even the high marshal all silenced by the sight of the new him. He did not take a seat this time, shoving it aside to stand at the head of the table, hands outstretched and ablaze. And for the first time in weeks, for the first time in as long as he could remember… he smiled.