His father was already waiting when he came to the royal audience chamber. The creak of the doors as he entered was magnified in the emptiness of the hall. Judhistir alone sat upon the dais; the four seats fanning his sat empty, and only two of his Maha Garda waited by the foot of the platform. Even then, the Rama waved at them to clear the room once Kiet approached, and they left with a bow, the doors shuddering shut in their wake.

'Too weary am I, Kithrel, to be quenching fires in mine own home. Alas have you swayed me to inviting them here—a people with whom we have shared so tumultuous a history—and see you now where it has put us all.'

'Even knowing then what would have today transpired would I still have held firm to my request, Father. It is time our nations calmed the storm between us.'

'Theirs is hardly a nation! With every passing Khan, a new line threatens to emerge, bringing with them new oaths, new visions, new foes and allies. What use is there to with one man conciliate, when it means nothing to the next?'

'Amargai is very likely to succeed his father and actually maintain hold of his claim. And even were he to lose, we would still—'

'Amargai is very likely to this affront recall for the rest of his days, short-lived or no!' The Rama's voice carried across the hall. Kiet nodded, waiting for him to calm. 'And whomever succeeds him shall undoubtedly too, learn of Khaisan's provocations!'

'Which is why he must be made to apologise before them. Formally and publicly.'

Judhistir laughed, and the centuries-old horns above him rattled. 'You will have Surikhand's heir cower to theirs?'

'Uttered by a strong man, even the most humble of apologies will still no weakness show.'

'A strong man!' His laughter turned to a bout of coughing. It took a moment to pass, and then was the Rama suddenly sombre. 'Unrivalled as Khaisan's theurgy may be, formidable as is his eye with the bow and skill with the sword ... he is not for contrition made.'

The words will sound as venom from his lips. Kiet knew the Rama was right. And that was if they managed somehow to convince Khaisan into apologising in the first place. 'Then you must be prepared for another generation of enmity with the Island Raiders.'

'No, Kithrel. I must prepare for nothing. This grace of mine is all but waned. T'will be Khaisan's burden to bear.'

Gods help us all.

'Time and again has he his ineptitude shown for the throne ... though his performance upon the Hunt gave me hope, I can help not this overwhelming fear; a doubt so great it haunts me in mine dreams.'

'My Rama, today's affairs have affected you more than expect—'

'It is not merely a matter of this day or the hunting day or even a single one of the other days at all! Only one of my progeny has without fail demonstrated whom amongst them could be relied upon, and it is not Khaisan.'

Kiet stepped away, looked around the grand audience chamber as he allowed his father's words to sink in.

The entire room told the story of their realm—those who rose to shape it and those who would rise to lead it. The paper screen partitions that stretched along both sides of the dais, decorated in splotches of black ink: a man, the sea, mountains, a bird. The wide beams propping the chamber, engraved in ancient script. Conquest is the right of kings, but protection his duty, they read. To this am I bound. An eternal reminder of the Ametjas Oath to which every Rama has sworn.

The capradon upon the ceiling, the throne below—low and wide with its stepped back formed of five vertical panels, each of which were carved with its own symbology. The sun and a burst of its rays, a seamless pattern of rice stalks and grains, the curls and edges of a hundred intersecting antlers, the geode-like pamor marking the blade of a keris, and finally a waning moon swimming in spirals of clouds.

Judhistir noticed his gaze and rose from the seat. 'What see you, whenas you gaze upon the hornèd throne?'

Kiet sniffed. 'I see what my mentors long ago taught me to see. The dawn of a realm both prosperous and mighty. The blood right of he who came, cradled upon the horns of the great capradon. And the fall of the throne when comes the day he fails his oath.' He paused, choosing his words wisely. 'You fear Khaisan would fail his oath.'

The Rama only smiled. 'Do you recall from where the words were obtained?'

'Of course.' How could he not, whilst back when he held the title of maharam, the lessons had been instilled upon him for years on end. And then was I made to act as though none of it ever happened. 'It is a line taken from Ranyu's counsel to her champion, the Amethyst Blade.'

A man not born, but borne upon the horns of the great capradon. Kiet knew the tales, the mythos of his House.

If Tsunai had her Spring Mother, Surikhand had her Lady Vengeance—though of course Judhistir's realm was nowhere close to as pious as the Emperor's. Ranyu was known not for her love of worship and ceremony, after all.

But it hardly mattered. Tennu, Ranyu, Ogbu or Fjōr—countless gods and long were they all of them gone. No longer did they play in the rise and fall of kingdoms; no more did they care for broken oaths or ancient covenants.

'Yet they have but forgot to take from it the most vital,' spat Judhistir. 'Ranyu held above all the title of justice! Conquest is the right of kings, protection his duty, and justice a courtesy. These were the words she spoke to the Amethyst Blade. Yet you'll find that without the latter, even a good king cannot a great one make.'

Kiet shrugged. 'Our predecessors removed it from the ceremony for the sake of concision and flair, but all the Ametjas line are taught her counsel in full.'

'Thus tell me how be it that of all Ametjas blood that courses through this realm, only one has held true to our covenant?'

Kiet trusted not his own thoughts to speak.

'For too long I held unto the false hope that Surikhand's heir will rise to the crown. How I refused to see the pyre for its light.' Judhistir turned at last to face him in full. 'How many signs have the gods to me imparted, and still I turned mine eyes blind? But finally their whispers I can no longer deny.'

Whispers of the gods. Kiet fought hard to allow none of his irritation show. Was their voice fair yet aggravatingly smug?

'You alone have endeavoured to remind us all the value of justice. You alone have tamed the first hornèd rukh to have in centuries been seen. You charmed the insular Jade Empire, much as it was you whose name the people called before the stage.'

Half of all that was by no design of mine. 'Those stories have been much embellished.'

'Stories their children shall nonetheless to their own children tell. Stories of valour and glory, befitting of our realm. Generations from now will they look upon the past and wonder, who was it whom then sat upon the hornèd throne? Certainly it could have been not Khaisan.'

Not Khaisan. He knew where it all led, and still Kiet wondered if he misunderstood the Rama. But Judhistir stood, staring unblinking at him, his frown more of resolve than it was anger or disappointment.

'You, Kithrel, will the Ametjas Oath swear. You will bear the crown. You will sit the throne. You will keep the glory of our House and realm.'

  

   

☆ this chapter is dedicated to TyaIsLost ☆

Video: Music is OST for Genshin Impact
Image: Original artists unknown for the middle and left images, but the other two are sneak peeks of original character art

Aghh, this is it. . .the moment we've been waiting for. . .it seems like their plan worked after all?

Only a few chapters left, you guys! How do you think it will all end??