The air in Nifarat, a distant city from Hestros, was thick with the scent of burning resin and damp earth. The town, isolated and shrouded in mist, had become the perfect hiding place for King Marcella and his followers, who had long been exiled from civilization. Deroki seldom ventured so far south, but for a man like King Marcella, he made an exception. After all, Marcella was destined to be the crucial key in the success of his long-standing plan.
Inside the dimly lit stone walled chamber, the infamous fugitive sat on a high-backed wooden chair, his dark eyes flickering with suspicion as he studied Deroki.
"I still can't understand, what do you get out of this?" Marcella asked, his deep voice laced with distrust. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the old map-strewn table between them. "You've never been the kind to fight someone else's war."
Deroki eyed the old man's ragged Kingly clothing that he should have given away a long time ago. The man held on to his old life like a lifeline even though he was no more than a outlaw, dethroned and shamed for his poor conduct. Deroki had no sympathy for the man but sympathy was not what brought him here.
Deroki remained unmoved at his disrespectful question. He leaned forward and poured himself a goblet of Marcella's finest wine, though he barely spared the drink a glance. "I have a very strong motive, Marcella," he said smoothly, lifting the goblet to his lips before setting it back down. "And I don't see you as important enough to share it with."
Marcella's jaw clenched. His reputation as a tyrant and war criminal had left him few allies in the world, but he was not a man accustomed to being spoken down to. But Deroki held power over him and power was something he enjoyed flauting a lot.
Deroki's aid was not optional. It was the difference between winning and losing. Between reclaiming his stolen throne... or fading into obscurity like a forgotten ghost.
"You expect me to just follow your lead, then?" Marcella asked, his voice heavy with skepticism. "Blindly, without question?"
Deroki smirked, tilting his head slightly. "I expect you to be intelligent enough to recognize your own limitations," he replied, fingers idly tracing the rim of his goblet. "You are a forgotton King, a delusional conqueror with laughable resources. And wars are not won by will alone. They are won by strength, army and by strategy. You may have some loyal followers but they are not enough to win this war against Victor. Taking my held is not optional it dire necessity for you."
Marcella exhaled sharply through his nose. "And you think you have the resources?"
"I know I do."
Silence fell between them, save for the faint crackling of the torches along the stone walls. Marcella's hands balled into fists before he forced himself to relax. "Fine." His voice was clipped, begrudging. "Tell me your plan, then."
Deroki leaned forward, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. "It begins with you finding me something."
Marcella frowned heavily, his fingers tapping against the wooden table in the dimly lit chamber. Outside, the distant howls of wolves echoed through the misty night, a reminder of the lawlessness of Nifarat. He had heard many outlandish plans in his years as a ruler, but none quite like this.
"What is it that you want me to find?"
And Deroki gave him the detailed instruction of exactly what he wanted the man to find.
"You want me to invade an ancient temple?" Marcella scoffed, rubbing his temples. "A temple that has been buried under rock and time itself?"
Deroki, lounging in his seat with the elegance of a man who had already won, merely smirked. "You make it sound like an impossible feat. But I know better. Your men have sacked greater fortresses, burned entire capitals to the ground. Compared to that, digging up an old ruin should be child's play."
"Why can't you do it yourself?"
Deroki clenched his jaw, suppressing his irritation. If retrieving the weapon were that simple, he would have claimed it millennia ago. But it was beyond his reach, not because of power or skill, but because of who he was. Only a Truth-Bearer, one of the long-lost natives of that sacred land, could access it. And those who remained scattered across the world would never help him. They knew the truth of his past, the weight of his sins. They would sooner let the weapon be lost forever than place it in his hands.
Understanding Deroki wasn't going to answer, Marcella folded his arms. "And this temple... Swathil, you called it?" He leaned forward, his sharp eyes narrowing. "What exactly is hidden inside?"
"A weapon," Deroki answered, his voice a low whisper, as if the mere mention of it carried an ancient power. "A weapon unlike any that exists today. One forged before the first kingdoms were even born, before men knew how to wield fire properly."
Marcella raised an eyebrow. "And you expect me to believe this weapon is just sitting there, waiting to be claimed?"
"No," Deroki admitted, tilting his head slightly, his skin illuminated by the light. "Which is why you must find a Truth-Bearer."
Marcella frowned. "A what?"
"The Truth-Bearers were the native people of Gir, the natives of that place, people who were given the duty to keep the weapon safe by the gods," Deroki explained, knowing he had to give Marcella some information if he expected him to do the job right. "But they were wiped out centuries ago. Floods, wars, time itself erased their presence from history. However," he leaned forward, fingers tapping against the table, "a few of their descendants remain, scattered across the world, their blood diluted but their connection to the temple still intact."
Marcella ran a hand down his face. "So, let me get this straight. You want me to find one of these so-called Truth-Bearers, people who are supposedly long dead, drag them back to this ancient, buried temple, and somehow convince them to retrieve this mythical weapon for me?"
Deroki's smirk deepened. "Exactly."
Marcella let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "And what makes you think I can find one? Let alone influence them to get this weapon for me?"
"You have ways of persuasion," Deroki said, waving his hand dismissively. "Bribes, threats, torture, seduction... whatever suits your taste. Find one. Manipulate them. Make them believe it is their destiny. But remember this," his voice dropped into something colder, more dangerous, "the weapon will only respond to a True-Bearer. If anyone else touches it, they will die."*
Marcella's expression darkened, as if realising the weight of the task.
"And what do you get out of this, Deroki?" Marcella finally asked, watching him closely. "Because I don't believe for a second that you are doing this just to see me back on my throne."
Deroki chuckled softly, standing up with the grace of a predator. He turned toward the firelit walls, tracing his fingers along the maps pinned there.
"Let's just say," he murmured, "this is part of something far greater than your little mortal war, Marcella. You reclaim your throne. I get what I want. We both win."
"Fine," he bit out. "I'll find your Truth-Bearer. But when I do, you will help me launch the war without any delay.
Deroki turned, his smile sharp as a blade.
"You have my word," he said.
***
Deroki entered his bedchamber, weary from the long day, only to find Marisel waiting for him. He exhaled sharply, irritation flaring in his chest. He had locked the doors, yet here she was. Gods had no respect for locks. He had exploited that power countless times, yet when his siblings used it against him, it felt like a violation.
"What is it?" he muttered, already stripping off his outer robe as he headed toward the washroom.
"You broke his heart," Marisel said, her voice trembling.
Deroki stilled for a brief moment before rolling his shoulders. "He had it coming."
"He had it coming?" she yelled. "He had it coming?!" In an instant, she was beside him, grabbing his shoulder and yanking him to face her. Her eyes burned red, grief and fury warring within them. "His love for you has always been pure, selfless, and you, " her voice cracked, "you monster, you crushed his fragile heart like it was a mere plaything."
Deroki clenched his jaw. "We have been through this, sister. Again and again. And yet you return with the same accusations, the same self-righteous orchestra." His eyes darkened. "His love for me might be pure, but it is not enough. He clings to his mortal values, to his fragile humanity, like a child gripping a tattered security blanket. He sees nothing beyond his brief, flickering existence. He is not capable of loving me, Marisel," he growled, his mortal heart hammering against his ribs. "Not in the way that I love him."
Marisel swallowed, but he didn't stop. If he wasn't so tied he would have scoffed her off, he would have made fun of her worry, might have teased her for caring but he was too irritated to be pretend it didn't affect as it did.
"I would kill for him. I have killed for him. I nearly brought down the entire immortal realm for him, didn't I?" His breath was ragged, raw. "And what did he do? He betrayed me. And he keeps betraying me. Every lifetime. Every rebirth." He laughed bitterly, the sound coming from a deep place of his that he didn't let himself go often. "So keep your sympathy to yourself, little sister. Yes, I broke his heart, because I refuse to let him break mine again."
Marisel's face remained steady, her gaze unwavering. "Just know, Deroki, he is a better person than you. A bigger person than you."
Deroki let out a low chuckle, but it sounded wounded, hollow. "Of course, he is. Heroes usually are." He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "And I? I never claimed to be a hero." He took a step closer, voice dropping to something cold and final. "I am a villain, Marisel. And it's time the gods learned what I am truly capable of."
Her expression dropped. "What do you mean?" she asked urgently. "What are you planning?"
Deroki merely smiled. "You'll see." He turned his back to her, dismissing her like a speck of dust. "Now get out of my fucking room before I throw you out myself."
There was no sound from Marisel. Like she wanted to say something but knew it wouldn't make a difference. But then she moved, the click of her heel loud as she stormed out, the heavy doors slamming behind her.
Deroki stood there in the silence, fists clenched. His heart pounded, not from anger, but from something far more painful.
***
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