- Chapter 19 -

Inevitability

Heiss was strangely pleased that Stocke stood out so clearly amongst the recruits that made up Alistel's new line of infantry. Skilled, clever, disciplined, each of his successive superiors said of him, his deeds earning him commendation after commendation. They called him their best unit, their trump card, their lucky charm, even. And rightly so; every detachment to which he belonged always miraculously achieved the objectives they'd been given, against odds that often seemed impossible to outside eyes.

But out of battle, Stocke's fellow soldiers sang a different tune. Stuck-up bastard, arse-kisser, goddamn cheat, the nastier tongues countered, their whispers hinting at the presence of some foul play. No one could clearly advance so fast through the ranks in such a short time, insidious rumours suggested. A dozen theories circulated in the mess hall and the infantry barracks, but none seemed to truly fit the bizarre set of events that had led the young man to his current position. The only thing that was sure was that he collected enemies and admirers as easily as one gained bruises in battle.

Stocke appeared as if he couldn't care less. They had a war to win, he repeated to his comrades, they had no time to waste on sordid tales and petty rivalries. In a way, this inflexible commitment to his duty (stubbornness, some instead called it) only served to reinforce the sharp divide he left in his wake. Yet, Stocke took all of this in his stride, never allowing the admiring gazes and envious stares to lead him astray from the path he'd set for himself.

And from the shadows, Heiss continued to watch his life unfold.

They had not met again, he and the boy. Heiss found he had a delicate game to play, one that required caution and restraint. He could not allow his emotions to run rampant as they once had in the past. He could not permit another failure like the one that had cost him the services of Daoud and Salvia. And he could certainly not let Stocke make the mistake of leaving his life in the hands of the wrong people, as Ernst had once learned too late to his sorrow.

But then again, Heiss believed this to be very unlikely. Unlike Ernst, Stocke was not subject to the murderous impulses of his father or the corrupting influence of that weak-willed sister of his. The blinders they'd put over his eyes had been lifted, and so, free to see the world for what it was, he could finally rise to claim what had been denied to him – what should have been rightfully his.

Or so he would, if only he could find it in himself to just stay alive.

The time when Stocke injured himself to save Salvia from an incoming arrow was only an inkling of what was to come. Once, an out-of-breath courier rushed into the castle to deliver news of an ambush. Heiss, hidden by the Vanish spell, stalked him to where he was being debriefed by his superiors, where he told them of how one brave soldier—Corporal Stocke, without him, I wouldn't even be here, oh god, how could this happen?—held the line so most of his unit could escape. Another time, Heiss sneaked into the infirmary to find his nephew beset by fever after an infection had settled in one of his legs; he'd died screaming while the medics had attempted to saw it off. The sight had lingered in Heiss' nightmares quite a long time afterwards.

Through each new jump Heiss made in time, the boy evaded certain death, but every narrow escape gave birth to new scars... and new misgivings. Where Ernst had been carefree in a naive but endearing way, Stocke was jumpy, regarding each smile, each friendly handshake like a potential threat. In a way, this did work in Heiss' favour. Before, Stocke's muddy reputation hadn't been quite enough to drive all away from him. Now, the gossips at the barracks were all about the skillful but oh-so-cold swordsman with the red scarf. And so, one by one, the number of people willing to engage with him dwindled down.

"I don't understand your reasoning," Teo once told Heiss. "How is this a positive result?"

"Aren't you entangling yourself further, Heiss?" Lippti asked. "You may think you can mold the world as you see fit, but your actions might have unintended effects. Because Stocke's memories still ripple across the different timelines, he only will—"

Heiss hadn't been interested in what she was saying. He was out of Historia before she could even finish her sentence.

Still, what he did hear gnawed at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was indeed well past the time for careful deliberation. Perhaps it was instead time to get into the fray.

Heiss thought Stocke's birthday would go unnoticed. He was surprised instead when two of the boy's friends—the last friends he still had, really—took him out to the city, ostensibly to celebrate. He was even more amused when he realized said friends were the little sister of the late Director Rowan (Sonja, he believed she was called) and the grunt to whom was grafted the Thaumatech Gauntlet that had quite possibly cost the professor his life. Was it some sort of farce the universe was playing on him? Or was his path—and thus Ernst's path—always fated to intersect with the same people in every iteration of the world?

The two dragged Stocke to a pub somewhere in the first ward of Alistel, where they proceeded to prod him into accepting a mug of the foul thing the Alistellians passed as ale. From his darkened corner, Heiss noticed the young man was barely touching his drink. His friend, the enormous oaf who was apparently named Rosch, managed to finish three fills of the stuff in the time Stocke took to finish one third of his beverage. After a while, the young man excused himself from their table, citing a need for fresh air. The girl called Sonja patted his arm sympathetically, and the great brute slapped him in the back, earning himself a glower from Heiss from the back of the tavern.

Heiss soon followed after Stocke, loudly exhaling in relief as he set foot outside the tavern. He had grown fond of the view out here; from atop of the tallest of the first ward's fortifications, one could clearly see the silvers and blues of the mountains up north against the stark grey of the city. Their outlines were sharper than they had been when Heiss had first moved to Alistel, some decades ago. For some years, his eyesight had steadily grown better. Was it a consequence of the incredible amount of Mana that had settled within his body? It could be, Heiss thought. If so, the usage of the Black Chronicle had possibly even accelerated the process.

Heiss sighed, suddenly forlorn. He had been living in Alistel far longer than he had lived in his birth country, yet he'd never gotten used to the ugliness of its industry-filled landscape or the obnoxiousness of its people. He terribly missed the green expanses of Granorg and the quiet stillness of the Cygnan desert. Only here, atop the fortification, could he find the same sort of peace. He leaned against the railing, closing his eyes; the autumn wind was cool against his cheeks. He cracked one eye open and looked to his left. Stocke, who had similarly propped himself against the metal bar, had stiffened slightly. Several minutes passed where they just listened to the low hum of the evening life of the streets below. Heiss continued to watch over the horizon, waiting for Stocke to make the first move.

"Are you following me?" Stocke's voice finally came in a curt accusation.

Heiss turned to him, eyes round and guileless. "I beg your pardon?"

"Are you following me?" Stocke repeated. "You were in the tavern too."

"I was," Heiss said. "So were a dozen other patrons."

Stocke's eyes narrowed to mere slits above his scarf. "A dozen other patrons weren't also in Alistel Castle with us a few hours ago."

Heiss couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Apparently, we both had business at the same places twice in a row. What an amazing coincidence. I do fail to see why you find this so strange, however."

"I know who you are," Stocke replied. His body was tense, almost as if he expected a fight to break out.

Heiss feigned a smile. "You know who I am? Did I meet you before... ah!" He snapped his fingers together. "You! I remember you! I saved you back in Reginn!"

I met you when you were just a baby in your mother's arms. I saw you die time after time in front of my eyes while I was helpless to do anything. I held your still-warm corpse more often than I can count. The thoughts had crept into his mind unwanted; Heiss had to bite down his tongue to chase them away.

"Yes," Stocke said, his rude tone bringing Heiss back to the present moment. "You're Heiss." He gave a significant pause before adding, "the leader of the Special Intelligence division."

Heiss blinked, in genuine surprise, before giving another forced laugh. "Ah, I remember now that my apothecary persona didn't seem to fool you back then. I recall being so disappointed that you saw through my disguise."

"Your identity is not much of a secret," was Stocke's biting reply. "Most people in the castle know who you are. Isn't that a bad thing actually? Since you're essentially..." Frowning, he took a sweeping glance at their surroundings.

"A bad thing? No, no, I actually don't mind people knowing who I am." As Stocke stared at him, clearly unimpressed, Heiss continued, grinning. "I know what I'm doing. I wouldn't have been very successful in my line of work otherwise."

Heiss could almost feel the scowl in Stocke's voice. "Then, when you offered me a job..."

"I was perfectly serious. When the Granorgite forces attacked Reginn, you fought against adversaries with twice your age and experience and survived. I'd say that's an impressive level of skill."

"Or luck."

"You sell yourself too short, my boy," Heiss said grimly. "You must know that I am not one to be lavish with my praise." He heard the hinges of a door creaking open behind them, and a male voice calling out Stocke's name. Before the boy could head back inside, Heiss came nearer, forcing his gaze into Stocke's blue-green eyes; he couldn't help but feel a thrill of satisfaction when his nephew met his stare without flinching. "What I said back then stands true even now. Keep it in mind if you ever feel the need for a change of pace." Or if you ever feel the need to repay your debt to me, Heiss added inwardly. From his pensive frown, Stocke seemed to have understood the hidden meaning perfectly.

Without any other words, Heiss left the boy to his musings. As he walked away, he felt the empty stare of Stocke's friend on him for a moment; he brushed it off with a chuckle and a smile.

Stocke came to him only two days later. For once, Heiss was pleased with his nephew's aggravating tendency to let himself be driven by an unfounded sense of guilt. Something else had prompted the boy to come forward, however. Heiss couldn't exactly tell what it was, but it was noticeable from his tone, from the way his eyes darted to the side, that Stocke wanted to join Specint—as Heiss' division was now known—not just out of a desire to pay back Heiss for saving his life almost three years ago. When Heiss questioned him on the subject, Stocke set his jaw tight and evaded his gaze. His reaction left Heiss perplexed. He'd seen similar responses from soldiers who had just returned from their first foray into combat.

Who had just experienced for the first time the horror of having to slaughter and maim to preserve their own lives.

The realization was sobering, but it was too late to go back now. It did not matter. Heiss had learned to live with his nightmares; Stocke would too.

And so Specint found itself with the best agent it would ever possess in its short history.

Heiss wished he could say he had expected this, but in truth, he hadn't. Ernst had always been efficient in every task he set his heart into, but Stocke seemed to be, well, born for this job.

The position kept him out of curious eyes... and out of the cruel hands of fate. And so, bit by bit, the remnants of Ernst's gullibility eroded away. A soldier could delude himself by saying that his work was just and honourable, however despicable it truly was. A figure who worked in the shadows and plucked the strings of the world for their own benefits, however, could not.

Heiss kept the boy close at hand, never allowing him too far away from his sight. He was soon presented with a dilemma, however, when he realized just how useful Stocke's innate understanding of the Granorgite culture could be for infiltration purposes. In the end, he decided to let the boy unleash his abilities to the maximum of his potential. I can always rein him back if the need arises, after all...

Stocke usually received his mission details through handlers, but this time, Heiss delivered the briefing himself.

"You will get further instructions after you pass the border," Heiss finished, staring at the young man from over his steepled hands.

"I see," Stocke said. "Is there a reason why you are so scarce on the details?"

"If they knew of it, the high brass would consider this mission a waste of time and resources." Heiss lowered his voice. "It instead concerns, ah, a pet project that is something of an obsession for General Hugo." He tried to give Stocke a mocking grin to show just what he thought of the subject, but his efforts were interrupted by a sudden fit of coughing. Stocke eyed him warily.

"Sir? Are you alright?"

"This is no trouble. You should get going. You have a long way ahead of you." Several coughs grated at his throat again, and he winced as a pain flared in his chest. "Go."

Was it concern that shone in Stocke's eyes just now? It had been too fleeting for Heiss to be sure, but the very hint kept him warm well after the young man had left his office.

Updates from Stocke came sporadically afterwards. The deeper he got into enemy territory, the less frequent his reports became. Behind him, the Alistellian army managed to break through the Granorgite line of defense, their movements aided by the military's ever-increasing use of Specint's intel. Still, Hugo was not yet pleased, as Heiss learned one night while they met with the new director of the Thaumatech Division.

"When will that weapon of yours be finished, Fennel?" he asked Rowan's successor. Unlike the late Professor, the man was old and bald, and he moved about in a Thaumatech contraption that was even stranger that Rowan's mechanized chair.

Fennel's multiple chins sagged under his scowl. "It'll be ready when it'll be ready!" Even as he answered Hugo's question, the man looked at Heiss from the corner of his eyes. Heiss knew Fennel would gladly have him thrown out of all of his meetings with Hugo. "It is still too dangerous to use! Until we can find a component to stabilize the flow of Mana—"

"We have found a component to stabilize the flow of Mana," Hugo interrupted him. "I had come to believe that the Satyros' sword provided that service..."

"No, no, no!" Fennel said. "The sword provides a means to produce the Mana, yes, but not to control it! I know the Imperials created some means to stabilize the influx of Mana, and I refuse to believe we can't repeat this feat. Especially if we get our hands on some of their technologies." He gave a haughty side-glance to Heiss. "Hadn't some of your agents hinted that the Granorgite royal family kept under their castle a vault full of Imperial artifacts?"

Heiss had to contain his laughter as he recalled the Royal Hall. Is he imagining some sort of treasure hoard under Castle Granorg? His amusement soon ran out. It had been tiresome enough to make those two understand that the Thaumatech weapon they wanted to devise would need a certain part to be able to function. It had been even more tedious to plant the idea that the item in question unfortunately happened to be in the hands of the Granorgite royal family. Had Heiss been too direct, they would surely have found his knowledge of obscure Thaumatechnology to be suspicious. But had he been too vague, Hugo and Fennel would have instead never understood the crucial role the Etherion would play in the realization of their objective.

"A vault?" Heiss said, eventually. "Perhaps, perhaps not. But it is certain that they do cling unto some of their ancestors' relics, if only for sentiment's sake. The crown has banned the usage of Thaumatech for almost three generations, after all. Even the brightest of their scholars wouldn't know what to do with these technologies." He cleared his throat and winced; he had been plagued with some sort of sickness ever since Stocke had left some weeks ago.

"How strange," Hugo seemed to muse aloud. "They could have won this war a thousand times over if only they had pursued their ancestors' researches. What made them stop?"

"Bah! I won't look a gift horse in the mouth," was Fennel's reply. "Just keep them out of my way, I say!"

Heiss gave them a slight bow. "I assure the both of you that my agents will help the best they can. And in the end, wouldn't that be amusing if some technology we'd whisked away from Granorg ended up being responsible for their doom?" The smile he'd worn as he spoke was marred by a bout of coughing. The two other men stared at him with indifferent gazes.

"I hope these words are not wind," Hugo eventually growled. "For both of your sakes, I hope to see some results soon."

Don't worry, General, Heiss answered Hugo within his mind, thinking of a jewel he had tasked a certain blond-haired boy to find. I aim to please.

Two months later, the war came to a startling stop, a few days shy of the date that would mark the one-year anniversary of Stocke's service in Specint.

Heiss hadn't quite expected this moment to come so soon. The timing was definitely not perfect—Hugo and Fennel's little side-project was far from being complete, after all—but the premature end of the conflict did bring one benefit.

That of delivering the once-heavily guarded members of the royal family of Granorg within hand's reach in Alistel.

The Alistellian army had ransacked Castle Granorg when they had taken the capital, but the object Heiss searched for happened to be on the queen's very person. When they brought the pathetic form of Victor's widow to the gibbet erected in the centre of Noah Square, Heiss could see that she still wore her husband's crown. The Etherion gleamed violet in the afternoon light, catching Heiss' gaze; while the crowd seemed to focus on the queen's tear-stained face as they threw jeers and rotten fruits at her, Heiss only had eyes for the jewel encrusted in her crown. Does she even know what it is? He gave a dark chuckle. I doubt it.

Coughs racked Heiss' body; he clutched his chest, wheezing, before searching for the figures of Protea and Eruca once more. As Heiss got a glimpse off the horde of people gathered below, he silently thanked whoever had thought to put him with the rest of the higher-ups in the pavilion next to the raised platform where the two nooses were drawn. His head swam enough, and something told him that being stuck in that crowd would only have made it worse.

The crowd grew to a frenzy when Hugo, clad in his silver armour, climbed up the dais. He saluted the cloaked figure sitting on the balcony overlooking the location where the two remaining members of the royal family would be executed. The veiled man raised a feeble hand in response, as the late Noah would have done. The Alistellians cheered for their Prophet, not realizing that Hugo had played them all like fools.

"No!" Queen Protea cried, her voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd. "No, no, no!"

Beside her, Eruca was the picture of composure, although it was evident she had been subject to some misfortunes before. Her short hair was caked with dried blood, and a trail of red dripped from a still-open wound near her mouth. When the masked executioner moved to grab her stepmother by the hair as Hugo rattled the list of their crimes, her pale eyes stubbornly stared ahead.

Finally, Hugo's judgement boomed over the shouts of the people (Death! Death!). The executioner raised a pair of shears that he thrust through Protea's dark curls. The disgraced queen screamed and screamed as he hacked away at her hair. A few of the officers near Heiss pursed their mouths: was it from disgust or disapproval? This punishment was not typical of the ones used by the Alistellians; the idea had been Hugo's. By the time the executioner was finished with her, the woman's sobs had become soft and quiet. Free from his hands, she crawled and grabbed the remains of her once beautiful hair, giving another shriek of anguish when the crowd began to pelt her with fruits once more.

Next to her, Eruca sat silent as the executioner pulled at her scalp to subject her to the same torment.

Heiss turned away, a strange queasiness settling in the pit of his stomach. His gaze wandered through the crowd and—there! That figure in red! Could that be—?

Stocke! Heiss wanted to shout. The young man was swiftly making his way through the throng of people cheering for his sister's death. Heiss hadn't been told he had come back from Granorg. What could he possibly be doing?

Heiss moved to intercept the boy, only to be seized by painful, throaty coughs again. When he finally managed to regain his composure, it was too late; Stocke was standing a mere foot's length away from the platform where the two nooses waited for Eruca and the queen.

Stocke shouted something; Eruca raised weak eyes to him, and she struggled in her captor's grip. Panting, Heiss tried to move forward, finding himself instead falling to his knees in a crumbled heap. His heartbeat was pounding in his temples, and he had to fight to stay conscious.

A collective gasp resounded in the air. What is happening? What is Stocke doing? An officer helped Heiss to his feet. Through eyes blurry with tears of pain, Heiss could barely see the commotion. Several people had climbed the dais, weapons in hand. They were soon met by a group of Hugo's soldiers.

Heiss finally managed to call out Stocke's name, though the word was buried under another bout of coughing. An unknown voice sounded in Heiss' ear, ringing in his tympanum.

"Oh my god! Is that blood? You're coughing blood! We should get you to a healer!"

Heiss dimly realized that there were red spots on his hand. With a hiss, he wrestled himself out of the man's grasp. He limped to the edge, heart almost stopping when he caught sight of the crimson form of Stocke standing in front of his sister, sword unsheathed. The image imprinted on his retina as he was dragged inside the castle.

Heiss was quickly admitted to the infirmary in Alistel Castle.

He segued in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of the healers pacing around him. The mention of 'pneumonia' floated to his ears, but the idea was so ludicrous he barely paid it any mind. What is happening? Where is Stocke? Is he—?

What followed were days, possibly weeks of agony and chilling dreams brought about by the fever. The healers confined him to bed, the infirmary ward becoming almost like a prison for him. By the time he finally found himself with enough strength to escape, he knew enough to know that this timeline was dead in the water. Very few details of what had happened in Noah Square had filtered to Heiss' attention, but what he had heard, however, showed little promise. When he managed to get back to his office, he directly headed to his desk, where the Black Chronicle was waiting for him.

The stillness of Historia was more than welcome after the chaos of the past few days. His breathing still choppy and hoarse, Heiss dropped to his knees, nearly losing himself to the darkness again in the process. His head seemed ready to split open at the seams.

"You have returned, Heiss," Lippti's voice took him out of his daze.

The Black Chronicle was lying open in front of him. The letters describing his latest failures glowed on the violet pages. With great effort, Heiss snapped the old tome shut.

"Where do you intend to go now?"

Heiss' gaze veered toward the twins. Once, their features had been so blurry he had only been able to make out their intent from their words, but now he could see the very contempt they held for him. He saw it in the fold that creased between their brows, in the tightening of their mouths. It was as if the Mana he had gained with the Black Chronicle had literally opened his eyes to their true natures.

"Your plans have gone amiss again, Heiss."

That was Teo. Ever since the day when Ernst had been murdered by his father, Heiss never allowed himself to fall for the twins' fake pleas and so-called advice. This time, however, there was something in Teo's voice that sent shivers of rage down his spine.

"Is that so?" he said, keeping his anger to hushed tones. "Does that please you? Do you take some measure of amusement in seeing me fail time after time?"

Once, Heiss was sure Lippti would have come up with some platitude to calm him down. Now, even she was silent. She truly was as despicable as her brother.

"It does not please us, no," Teo finally said. "We are your guides."

"We must protect you," Lippti added.

"And we must believe in you no matter what," Teo completed.

"Believe in me? You, believing in me?!" Laughter threatened to escape Heiss' mouth, resulting in more coughing.

"The White Chronicle has awakened to you for a reason," Lippti said. "No matter what you think, you were—and still are—a perfect candidate for the Ritual."

Her response left Heiss so baffled he could not speak for some moment. The anger that had been building up within his chest finally rippled out of him in bouts of dark, joyless laughter.

"You're still holding out on this?" he managed to snarl between his guffaws. "On me accepting to do my duty and die like a proper little Sacrifice?"

"You weren't the first to be so difficult, Heiss," Lippti softly said. "Yet you've proved again and again that when the cup will pass to you, you will gladly drink from it. I'm surprised you haven't realized this, in fact."

Heiss stared at her, unable to form words. That presumptuous little chit! Eventually, he thought back on her previous words.

"Protect me?" he told the girl, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it. What good is it to ask? What lies are they going to feed me now?

"Someone has to watch over you since you do such a poor job of it," Teo began.

"Indeed," his sister said, nodding. "That pneumonia would have killed you, you know."

Heiss let out something that resembled both a snort and a cough. "You sound so certain of that." He ran his fingers on his face; his cheeks were still hot to the touch.

"We are," was Lippti's response, "because in another timeline it did kill you."

Heiss blinked, not understanding what she meant. "W-What foolish nonsense is this?"

"Didn't you realize? You aren't the only one devoting their existence to maintaining the life of another, Heiss."

It all became so simple to him. "The Sacrifices... they never die of natural illnesses or accident, don't they? Is it because of you two?"

The twins' silence only proved his claim.

"We have watched you pass away many times as well, Heiss," Lippti said. "One of our duties as guardians is to cull from existence any timeline where you die from natural causes or accidents. It is no... easy task."

The gears were turning in Heiss' head, but a feeling in his guts told him the twins would not elaborate more on the subject. Instead, he forced the conversation back on something else Lippti had said that had caught his attention. "You call me Heiss, now," he told the girl. "I hadn't noticed it before, but you do."

"Isn't that your name, now?" she replied evenly. "Nobody calls you by your birth name anymore. I won't go against your wish."

"I see," Heiss mused aloud. "It's true that everyone who knew me by that name would be unable to recognize me. Either that, or they are dead. Like Victor." He couldn't help but sound smug saying the dead man's name.

"Or Ernst," Teo said.

The two words crushed Heiss' thorax like a hammer. His eyes snapped to where the twins sat, and his breathing grew even more labourious. Dark spots were appearing in his vision again.

"Ernst is not dead!" he shouted, fighting to say the words. "He's still alive because of me! I saved him. He is not dead!"

"You did kill him," was Lippti's response. Her violet eyes gleamed at him, dark with condemnation. "You erased Ernst from existence. The boy wearing his face, this boy who is slowly growing to hate you, is not Ernst, and you know it."

Heiss let out an inarticulate shriek of rage. All he had done was save Ernst from his father's clutches—and from the twins' twisted plans. To keep the boy alive, it had been necessary to purge from his mind the disgusting ideas that those who wanted him dead had planted within his brain. All I want is for him to see as I see—

"—but how could he, having never lived the same life as me?" Heiss completed his thought almost sotto voce. "Once, I was like him. Once, I believed all of your lies." He shook his head, slowly at first, then more feverishly. "Yes, yes... I wonder what would happen if he could see the extent of your treachery with his own eyes?" What would happen if I could extend your protection to him? Without you even realizing you are playing in my hand...

Teo and Lippti exchanged a glance, one that Heiss wasn't able to interpret. Still, it wasn't important. He knew what to do. Yes, and it would help him kill two birds with one stone. The energy of the Black Chronicle rumbled under his fingertips, almost as if the artifact was agreeing with him.

"I said it before. What he needs to do is live. Live and learn and see what the world is going to give him in exchange for his sacrifice." Nothing, the ghosts of past bearers of the White Chronicle seemed to whisper in his ears. They longed for another champion to avenge their meaningless deaths. One to carry their legacy even after Heiss had long passed.

"What do you mean?" Teo asked. His tone was cautiously neutral.

Heiss lowered his gaze to the old tome in his hands, remembering another book that had been his sole companion through days filled with blood and fear and loneliness.

He raised his face to the twins and kept his voice cool and low. "This isn't for you to know." He's the legacy of all of us Sacrifices. Of course he should have the heirloom that ties all of us together. Of course he should have the power to shape the world as he sees fit. He was born to rule.

He was born to be my successor all along.

A/N: As always, thank you readers (and my poor beta) for sticking with me so far. Stay tuned for more!