The Eternal Dance of Light and Dark

by The King of Ravens

Having just survived a nine year long civil war, those of Lucael would be forgiven for entertaining the notion of peace. However, new threats are rising, and as the son of the king, it is Caiellis's job to combat them, despite his youth. But as the leaders of a rival nation declare war and mysterious figures pull strings in the shadows, Cai will be drawn into the fate of the world.

28. A Father's Duty

An explosion of pain was the first thing he felt, the boy's limbs on fire as he shot upwards, but a strong grip held him level and prevented him from injuring himself. Caiellis's eyes blearily opened, his head beginning to loll backwards again and his vision blurred and distorted. He could see the darkness of night swirling around him, brightened by orange and red flames that illuminated the ground in their wan light.

"Wha- … What?" he asked, simply, his mind simply not processing what was currently happening, before he shook his head to clear his vision and painful clarity erupted in his mind with the resurgence of his memories.

Shit. Where I am now, then, if I was just in the middle of a fiery explosion? It was then that the youngest Lucerna registered that he wasn't lying on the ground, he was in the air, and that realisation came with a burst of nausea that almost had the youngster retching violently before he managed to control himself – not even just lifted off the ground and carried, but fully airborne.

Now that his sight had become clearer, Cai could tell that the battle below him was still in full swing, with Welkalites and Lucaelians clashing and blood spilling onto the ground of Fort Egetau, but also that the forces of the Kingdom of Light were winning – to a gigantic extent, as was to be expected, because now the number and power of the troops was clearly showing and with the Summoning of Akroma the Lucaelians were inspired to try and achieve even greater glory in front of their master and king and make their families proud.

He quickly realised that he wasn't holding the Sword of Glass, but the chain coming off it that was attached to his wrist (the fact that the artefact weapon was almost weightless contributing a large amount to the practicality of the action), after nearly losing the precious weapon after reawakening from Aksua's dream realm, had it dangling on the end, not even creating a slight shift in weight as the light handle was the heaviest part.

Caiellis scanned the battlefield below him, pushing aside the burning stimulus still flared across his whole body but mostly his lower torso and legs, although mostly he could tell that he wasn't that damaged by the detonation. Maybe the shield of solid darkness he had created had lessened the impact of the explosion, it just pitching him into brief unconsciousness instead of dealing any significant damage, but he still hurt like he was inside of a fiery hell and couldn't yet move from the thing that was holding him – not that he would want to, as the grip was reassuring and protective.

The boy tried to crane his neck back, but to see what he wanted to – which was the place near to the walls where he had told the Lucaelian group to flee, and was immensely concerned for the men and women he could have caused the deaths of, he would have to twist further, but couldn't turn enough to see it, so instead focussed on something else that would be overall more important to the success of the battle. He was looking for Akroma, a task made harder because of the fact that he couldn't call upon any mana or sense much past rough spikes of White and Red magic in his magical sense, but couldn't find the Angel of Wrath.

Cai saw Iridis, the Seraph of the Sword, in combat with a flaming elemental crowned by horns of ash and spraying fire in every direction that the Daughter of Wrath was hard pressed to repel, but she ignored the flames and swept her shining blade into the creature, cutting it apart in a single elegant stroke as it exploded in ash and fire. He could see several Lucaelian captains with their own potent Summonings teaming up and crushing their Welkalite counterparts, and the boy watched impassively as a huge spirit giant covered in ragged golden cloths and with skin the colour of ghostly blue swatting apart the airship that had been the cause of Caiellis's current predicament. Aymer looked up at the airborne youngest prince, the giant of the man saluting to the potential heir and the Lucerna exclusive seraphim.

Even with all the scenes of violence below him, the littlest prince still couldn't identify and find the location of Akroma, and was about to shut his eyes and try and locate her through his returning mana sense (as the situation of the First Sisterhood angel would show him where the fighting was thickest as well as telling him where his father, who he had disobeyed, was likely to be), but then a sudden thought occurred to him, and instead of wasting the very little mana that was coming to him he looked up.

Cai was greeted by the perfect and unblemished face of the Angel of Wrath, as he had expected, the First Sisterhood's resolute and cold eyes fixed upon a location past Caiellis, which meant that she hadn't yet noticed the awakening of her young cargo – or hadn't deigned to notice him. The angel's milky white hands were gripping his legs underneath his knees and his chest, and although the contact should have hurt his burnt flesh instead Caiellis felt a slightly soothing but still stinging sensation, glittering particles of light repairing his wounds but not reducing the amount of pain he felt from them. That suited Akroma, who wouldn't care about his personal comfort but only about his continued existence, and Caiellis occasionally saw flashes of light as projectiles impacted upon a shield around the angel.

"Where..." he began, but his voice drifted off despite the fact that he wanted to speak further, and was still trying to. The youngster's throat felt extremely raw, and he coughed to try and clear it, which only ended up causing him more pain as he hacked violently.

"Do not worry, Caiellis. You will survive," a voice, infused with an angelic and divine resonance but utterly bereft of any emotion that would make the words seem more comforting, spoke, and Cai looked back up at the face of the angel, who continued to stare at what he assumed would be their destination, but couldn't turn enough to see it. He expected Akroma's voice to be tinted with annoyance at having to abandon her attacks on the corrupt and demon-consorting Welkalites and go to save an errant child just because he was the son of the king, or even to have a hint of hatred because of his role as the host of Akroma's hated sister, but there was nothing to her voice apart from the seraphic timbre that still managed to stir Cai's heart very slightly.

Truth be told, her was more than a little unnerved by being in such close proximity to the Angel of Wrath, as her utter coldness and detachment scared him despite it being something that he wanted at times to be able to emulate – his own angel, Orzhova, was nowhere near as frigid despite being portrayed as such by the people (but then again the Angel of the Black Sun had locked away her emotions whilst serving under Xarius), and Aurelia, his big brother's Summoning, could be quite emotional at times, thought not as much as mere mortals. The only time he had seen Akroma show feeling was when she had killed the thing that Aksua had become, and even then it was just hatred – not anger, not dislike nor sadness, just pure, unadulterated hatred.

"Where are we going?" the boy managed to ask, just as a flurry of glowing red boulders shattered apart on Akroma's shield and rained debris down below on the battlefield. He hurt, but worse than that was the feeling of failure that was starting to press up on him from all sides now that he had become fully aware of his surroundings and body – not only had he completely disobeyed his dad's direct commands, he had also failed in the course of action that he chose meaning that he had no evidence whatsoever to back it up with, unless the men had survived, but even so he had still gotten himself wounded and Marik would insist it was because he had chosen to follow his own plan.

Caiellis really hoped that the short amount of time between enacting his strategy and being blown up meant that Marik would have been too concerned about the part of the battle he was in to notice his son's disobedience, and instead only saw the explosion. However, his dad was a masterful strategist (not that he had been exhibiting any of that when planning this battle), and would have almost certainly noticed the soldiers beginning a retreat (tactical withdrawal, Caiellis corrected himself, as retreat made it sound like an act of cowardice instead of logic) just before the detonation, especially if the artillery commanders had bombarded the walls.

"We are heading towards King Marik," Akroma uttered dispassionately, "So that he can asses your condition and see if you are able to continue fighting or not, or if you will have to be placed out of the battlefield."

Fantastic, Cai thought bitterly, as they headed towards the one person he wanted to avoid, as his father's fury would be momentous if he had discovered his youngest son's insubordination, but would probably wait to punish him after the battle which, judging by the state of the Welkalite forces who were being cut down on all areas of the battlefield and bombarded with holy light, wouldn't last much longer. It was embarrassing that instead of the only First Sisterhood angel helping with the combat and providing inspiration and marshal power to the Lucaelian army, she had to come and play nurse maid for the youngest prince, but then again the vast majority of the Lucaelian soldiers would probably selflessly agree with this deed, and would be happy that one of the Lucerna heirs would be saved.

"What happened?" he asked, and Akroma replied with, "You were caught by the explosion from one of the mana-bombs dropped by an airship."

Thank you, Akroma, he thought in impotent irritation, but his sheer awe for the angel prevented him from replying sarcastically, not that the Angel of Wrath would care, so instead inquired, "How long ago was that?"

"Approximately five minutes and forty-eight seconds ago," the seraph answered precisely, vaguely shocking the boy in her arms, who decided to continue with his interrogation, making his voice more respectful because of the fact that he was in the presence of an exalted First Sisterhood angel (though then again he had never really felt the need to show overbearing deference to Orzhova, just polite respect, and though he treated Aurelia in a similar way to how he was now behaving towards Akroma, he reminded himself that Aurelia the Warleader had often told him not to treat her with such veneration (in Alex's words, the first time he had Summoned: "She doesn't bite.")), and so should be reverent, "Could you tell me what happened after that?"

"No," Akroma replied simply, coldly stating the words, which made Caiellis falter slightly, although at least the angel elaborated instead of just leaving an awkward silence to descend, "Marik wants to tell you himself when the battle is over."

That can't be good, Caiellis thought, sitting up as a hollow feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, as well as frustration at his father's antics – he deserved to know what was happening, and keeping information from him was just going to annoy the boy further the longer it was hidden. His eyes met Akroma's pale grey irises as the angel looked impassively down at his movements, but then switched her gaze to be concentrated once again on their landing point.

He stifled a gasp of pain, though the only person that would have heard was Akroma and the Angel of Wrath had probably picked up on it anyway, as he tried to shift to a more upright position, but luckily the angel seemed aware of his plans and so shifted her grip to accommodate the boy, wrapping her thin (for her size) but incredibly strong arm around his waist instead and making Caiellis seem like he was four years old again, the fluted edges of her gauntlets digging uncomfortably into his bruised abdomen. He ignored the pain because this position allowed him to see better, as the angel's wings flapped slowly, buffeting the his messy brown hair around his head and making it go into his eyes until he brushed it away so that he could see again, wondering briefly if it needed cutting (though he liked it around that length so wouldn't make it short like his brother's hair).

A feeling of trepidation and fear warred with guilt in his mind as he saw the king decapitating a hulking brute of a gladiator with a flourish of his large greatsword, instantly turning around to stonily lock eyes with his angel (ignoring his son's glance, as Cai noted) and making his way back into the Lucaelian lines, the warriors surging forwards parting for the soft landing of the angel and giving their ruler and Akroma a wide and reverent birth.

He saw Mysos also breaking off from where he was finishing off a Welkalite foe, but when his champion glanced at Caiellis he instantly averted his gaze, the boy's exultant brown orbs immediately coloured in shame at not being at Cai's side when he was hurt. The boy wanted to tell the fifteen year old that this wasn't his fault in any way, but that would require shouting and it was something Cai wanted to avoid at this current moment.

"How is Caiellis?" Marik called to his angel, who replied with a curt: "Physically fine, as he has only sustained burn wounds that will heal within a few hours if exposed to White mana long enough because of the fact he managed to shield himself before the blast hit. There are no wounds that will be permanent."

Cai thought he might have detected a flash of relief in the man's otherwise cold gaze, but it was imperceptible enough that Caiellis could have just been imagining it. He knew that Marik didn't want him to be hurt because of the fact he was a Lucerna, but if the wounds weren't life-threatening then he wouldn't put it past his father not to care. The king then turned to look at his son, and the only emotion Cai could perceive in those inscrutable blue eyes was severe disappointment that made his breath catch in his throat and his heart sink.

The man slowly walked towards him, without addressing his son personally in any way, and examined Caiellis's wounds for himself, his strong and gauntleted hands clinically pulling up some of his clothing and prodding the burnt flesh. Cai knew that he did it without the intention to cause his youngest son pain, but it still did and he squirmed in Akroma's steely grip before consciously stopping himself as he thought it would look pathetic and emphasise how weak he was.

"Put him down, Akroma. I want to see if he can stand to assess whether or not he is suitable for further battle," Marik stated, and Cai instantly thought, Why is he talking about me as if I'm not even here, like I'm some sort of test subject? Is it because I disobeyed him, and I'm not worthy of his attention? Or is it because he needs to be utterly focussed on the battle and not his worthless mess of a son?

It never occurred to Caiellis that perhaps the reason for his father's actions was because of a diversion from the last possibility he had come up with: Marik did need to be utterly focussed on the battle, but maybe concentrating on his child wouldn't make him angry, but extremely worried and unable to properly focus with his youngest son having a close brush with death despite the lack of severity in his wounds. In fact, it was a combination of all three factors, but Cai didn't have long to ruminate on the thoughts in his mind before Akroma abruptly let go of him, not even easing him slowly onto the ground.

Cai stumbled, trying to regain his balance so that he could be a part of this final engagement in Fort Egetau and maybe redeem himself slightly in his father's eyes, but his legs refused to acknowledge his commands so instead he tumbled forwards, thrusting out his arms to stop his face planting into the hard stone, the thin limbs blossoming with a stinging pain and his hands scraping on the ground.

He noticed that while dad could have easily helped him and prevented his painful and jarring fall that hurt his arms, the man instead just stared, silently determining if Caiellis was able to fight or not, or if he was just putting on some sort of show. But really, what kind of father did nothing to help their children when they were in pain?

One that wants them to learn how to walk the hard way, Cai thought caustically, as his father barked, "Stand up, Caiellis." It was the first time that Marik had directly spoken to him since he had been brought by Akroma, but it didn't make his son feel better in any way.

Do you not think that I would have done already if I could? The boy was incredibly tempted to shout back, his tone full of anger, defiance and resentment, but instead shame and embarrassment overcame him when he noticed quite a few others – including Mysos, Drax and Lancalo – were watching, and he could see Uncle Tristram making his way over to where he was basically laid on the ground and Marik was glowering down at him. He tried to push off the ground, tried to move his legs round from underneath him so that he could stand up and help in the last part of the battle that was soon to unfold, but all he felt was pain – not just across his body, but in his mind as well, a pounding headache that pulsed in time to his other agony. The wounds may not be permanent, and he may recover in less than half a day's time, but they damned hurt.

Cai looked back up at his father, grunting in pain and exasperation at trying to get himself to stand – he could tell that the members of his bodyguard and his champion were itching to come to his aid and let their wounded prince rest his insubstantial weight upon them, but none were willing to intervene without the express permission of their king, who was continuing to spear into his son with that calculating and judging gaze of his that made Cai able to fully empathise with his older brother in wanting to be alone when wounded.

However, he was sure that when Marik was with Alexander then the assessing orbs would be tinged with compassion and pride in his eldest son battling on against his wounds, whereas now the ice blue eyes were stony, full of disappointment and disdain. It was strange, Caiellis pondered, how his brother and father both had the exact same eye colours but seemed so different when he looked into them – nonetheless, he could remember his dad's eyes just as warm (well, maybe a bit less because of the fact he was a king) as his big brother's before the war.

He had seen this look before, and despite weathering anger, violence and distaste, it was this one that he hated the most – the gaze full of utter dissatisfaction in his youngest son – not anger, not annoyance or irritation, just pure disaffection in the exact same manner that he had been first greeted by the man in nine years.

"Try harder, and stand up, Caiellis," the man repeated again, making anger and frustration mixed with shame rush through Cai's mind, who wished that he could translate that into obeying his father's orders. It might of helped if Marik had inflected his voice with encouragement, urging his son to stand up for his sake and not for his dad's, but all Cai could see and hear was admonition. He felt pathetic, like this was exactly not how a Lucerna prince that could one day reign over the entire kingdom should act, so he tried again but with the same result as earlier.

Cai's expressive green orbs flicked up to his father, hoping that they didn't look too weak and that they weren't brimming with the tears of pain he could sense welling up in them, and then looked past him for a moment, seeing the saddened and pitying gazes of those stood a respectful distance away from his dad. The boy managed to get onto his knees, which he noted were scraped and bruised from his fall and probably the effects of the explosion earlier, but couldn't sit up as removing his arms from where they were locked with the ground would just end in him falling over again. He met with his father's eyes, though he ideally just wanted to hide himself from the condemning gaze, and silently pleaded with him.

It wasn't that he didn't want to help – in fact, Caiellis still thought that he could help by providing evidence that he had survived and aiding with the prosecution of the strategy – or even, at the very least helping with the consolidation and re-organisation of the soldiers after the battle – but he knew that he couldn't participate in any more fighting in the battle for Fort Egetau, though would have definitely recovered enough by tomorrow to fight in the upcoming siege of Usnaan.

Marik glowered for a short moment, before breaking off his stare and looking back up at his angel, then smartly turning around to Mysos, who bowed before dutifully running forwards at a gesture from the king.

"Mysos, son of Xathan. I apologise, but I require the use of Iridis to take Caiellis away from the battlefield," the man explained, his tone clipped but reasonable, making Cai frown – why does he never speak to me in this way? If he did then we'd probably get a long quite a bit better. His son instantly protested: "No, I think I should stay. I can still help."

Marik shot him a bemused and annoyed glance as if to say: "What could you possibly do, my pathetic and useless second son?", and then turned back to the fifteen year old, utterly ignoring Caiellis's protestations, who replied with, "Of course, my lord. Iridis, to my side."

The angel dutifully appeared, her black armour covered in rivulets of crimson blood, though none of it was her own, and instead of staying just aloft like Akroma she landed on the ground and knelt before the Angel of Wrath, crossing her sword over her breast as her expression filled with respect and admiration.

"My lady," she intoned, and the other angel nodded imperceptibly, responding with a simple, "Iridis. Follow King Marik's orders, my daughter."

Caiellis was very intrigued, but would have been more interested in a different situation – the relationship between the progeny of the sisterhoods and their progenitors was an incredibly fascinating one, as each of the First Sisterhood seemed to treat their daughters differently, although he didn't have many points of reference to base this on having obviously never been to the Sanctum Angelica in Sancturia which was originally confused with the afterlife before the First Angel dispelled that myth, because apparently both the material plane and Sancturia were separated from that unknown realm, but whether or not the First Sisterhood angels knew more than humans on the matter was currently not known.

At any rate, he had only observed two First Sisterhood angels meeting their daughters, the first being Alexander's Aurelia talking to Basandra, the Battle Seraph that blessed Hierarch Francis of Gol. The Warleader had been addressed with that title, and the Daughter of War seemed to have a respect for her "mother" (as none seemed to call the First Sisterhood angels that, although in his limited experience Orzhova had made a few references to Serra being their mother) derived from her battle and the two seemed quite close, whereas now Akroma appeared aloof and judging of her daughter and Iridis seemed immensely eager to please and full of adoration for the Angel of Wrath.

"Dad, please," Cai implored, hoping that his gaze conveyed his intention to stay on the battlefield, "I know that I'm incapable of further fighting in my present state – I can't even stand, but I can still help. I can still act as a point of inspiration for the soldiers, and I want to see this battle through to the end. Taking me away from the fortress will just demoralise the troops, and a Lucerna shouldn't have to be evacuated out. I know that I'm pathetic, and that you don't want me in your way, just please let me stay."

If Marik had been considering his proposal, it didn't show in his unreadable blue eyes, nor in his perfectly straight body posture, and Cai tried to squirm away as the Seraph of the Sword grasped onto his arms, but the angel's grip was like iron and he failed to do anything other than cause himself more inconvenience and pain.

"Take him back to the camp with the non-combatants and wounded," Marik ordered, "And then he can wait until I give the order for them to move and help to organise that."

Would it hurt for him to actually talk directly to me? Is that an impossible task, or is he trying to show that he has no time for failures? Or is it because he is so angry at me that he can't countenance speaking to me because he will just explode in rage and doesn't want to do that in front of the troops? Cai mused, and then remembered what Akroma had said earlier.

"What happened to the troops I was helping?" he asked, but Marik's expression didn't change and he began to walk towards his son. He briefly and sarcastically wondered if it would change if he spontaneously combusted right in front of the man, and concluded that either it wouldn't or he would break out in a huge grin and high-five Mysos. Iridis picked him up off the ground, though the novelty of being carried by an angel that wasn't his own was reduced because of the fact that Akroma had taken him from the scene of the explosion earlier.

Cai was honestly quite shocked that his dad would waste time sending the only First Sisterhood angel of the battlefield to save him, but then again just letting a Lucerna die before even the final battle of the war would be massively detrimental to the outcome of the war – he reminded himself that the only reason he was rescued was because of his Lucerna birthright, not due to any personal love from the king.

He almost let an extremely vexed and demanding "Well?" out, but repressed the exasperated response because of the fact it would probably just irk dad further and he might be coming close to tell him personally. For a fleeting moment, as the man came closer and leaned in, Caiellis allowed himself to believe the possibility that his dad was going to plant a kiss on his head or ruffle his hair affectionately, but soon dismissed that absurd notion as Marik's face came up beside his ear.

"I will speak with you later," he uttered, the low volume of the words doing nothing to diffuse their seriousness, and Cai swallowed nervously at the threat and disappointment present in the cold tone. He nodded, trying to look like he was graciously accepting any punishment that would come his way, but for some reason all he could feel was fear – his anger and defiance was currently gone, but there was no doubt in Caiellis's mind that he it would have a fiery resurgence later, when this talk took place. He felt frozen up, paralysed by the ice of his father's glare, and was sure that if the man hadn't been a Lucerna then his Summoning would have been a wintry Blue creature of ice or frost.

He didn't initially react as Iridis took off, flying away from the battlefield with many of the soldiers' eyes on her and her payload, deflating like a punctured balloon and sagging for a moment in her arms, before he ensured that he composed himself and looked impressive enough to inherit the throne one day – and he would not give in to the temptation to cry, bawl his eyes out into her because of the fact that not only had be failed horribly, he had defied his father's – the king of the entire nation's – direct orders to do so.

The journey was silent, the atmosphere a tense mix of mournfulness and resentment, although Iridis seemed completely unfazed and quite frankly uninterested. She didn't look back when the boy gazed into her golden/hazel eyes, emulating Akroma in simply staring at her destination, and though her orbs were not as cold or unfeeling as the Angel of Wrath's the Seraph of the Sword was still quite impersonal.

"If I ordered you to go back, would you obey?" the prince asked after about thirty seconds of silence in which they had almost left the perimeter of the fortress, making it laughably easy just to turn around and once again ignore Marik's commands, but the angel shook her head, the action neither extremely quick nor indecisively slow, just an indomitable refusal that showed that she would not capitulate to any other demands other than her king's and the leader of the Daughters of Wrath. The boy let his gaze hover over the slowly receding fortress, as Iridis was going as fast as possible without damaging her wounded charge, who sighed sadly.

To think that in a single day, he had been focussed and serious when planning the attack on the army guarding Jeksaan, then exultant and happy about his victory against said army guarding Jeksaan, his emotions developing from that to sadness at what he had been forced to do and then relief when he had contacted Alexander and had his big brother reassure him. Then to contentment when meeting Tristram, which soon soured and devolved into a mixture of fear, defiance, sadness and anger which he felt now also. Caiellis thought that with the amount of emotional strain he had gone through the last eleven days (and before that, in fact, as that was when he had been cutting himself), he was going to explode (not that I haven't done already) and just hoped that his big brother wouldn't be the target of that. He was confident that he could restrain himself around Alex, not that the older boy would really care if he did shout and would try to comfort him anyway.

"Iridis. As a Lucerna, I demand that you take me back to the battlefield," Cai tried, though the words lacked any real conviction - that wasn't to say that he didn't have a drive to go and help instead of just leaving in failure and shame, but knew that the attempt had no chance of success. He decided to try a different tact, though whether or not it would work was a mystery to the boy, pleading, "Please, Iridis. I know that you probably hate me because of Orzhova, but just take me back. I need to be a part of this, and I need to discover the fate of the soldiers that I was commanding instead of just waiting for my dad to stop playing his stupid games and tell me."

Despite the deep emotion that was inflecting the words, the angel's face remained stoically fixed on the camp, and Cai wondered if he could take a gamble and start crying – it could help persuade the angel, who didn't seem quite as cold hearted as her progenitor, but would more likely just end up making him look more pitiful, childish and unsuited for any responsibilities. At least Akroma had indulged him with responses, but Iridis was probably scared that if she started to listen and reply then she might start getting persuaded. Then again, Cai couldn't recall the Seraph of the Sword ever speaking to him, so perhaps she was filled with such utter revulsion at Akroma's hated sister's host, and that Orzhova had dared to set foot in the material realm again.

Then a sudden, strange thought occurred to Caiellis – he could actually empathise with Iridis, as if angelic "families" worked in a similar manner to human ones then Orzhova was her "aunt", and Iridis clearly hated her but also feared her, and had never made any attempt to understand her motives whereas Orzhova's sisters would have originally understood more and maybe loved her, which was why her actions in Xarius's reign were more saddening than abhorrent to her equals.

In a way, Iridis's situation mirrored his own with Johnias, as although at one point he had looked up to his uncle (even going so far as to slightly prefer him to his colder father, but he had learned that Marik loved him far more than he did and just because Johnias showered him with gifts and praise didn't change that – not to say that he hadn't ever countenanced Johnias not loving him (which he now knew was completely true), it was just that his dad loved him with a deep and parental affection that he wished still existed now) he now utterly despised him, and had always put off his motivation as simply wanting to be on the throne instead of anything else.

Even just trying to think of what could have provoked him besides greed and ambition brought hatred surging to the forefront of his mind and a bitter taste to his mouth.

"Fine, if you aren't going to listen to me then I'll be quiet. But put it this way, if you don't take me back to the battle then you will spend longer away from it – I mean, what if Mysos dies whilst you are gone-"

"Mysos has the holy protection of my lady, Akroma," Iridis's steely and unsympathetic voice cut in, coloured slightly with irritation and anger, making Cai have to suppress a victorious smile at having provoked an emotional response from the angel, "No harm will come to him whilst She is there."

"Akroma can't protect everyone," Caiellis replied, "And she has to kill the Welkalites as well as that. Anyway, I'm sure she's more concerned about those with more importance in the army than the prince's champion."

"Aren't you supposed to be Mysos's friend?" the angel snapped furiously, and then shut her eyes and composed herself – only an angelic Summoner had the power to rile up an angel so much, and those of the Lucerna line seemed uniquely capable of that.

"Yes. And that is exactly why I want to help him, Iridis," Caiellis stated, his tone becoming stony and his eyes infused with an adamant determination, and feigned confidence that he didn't truly feel – but the Seraph of the Sword didn't need to know that, "That's why I am advising you to turn back. I don't want Mysos to get hurt, as whilst he may be one of the most protocol-obsessed teenagers I know I consider him a friend."

Iridis turned to him for a second, and looked as if she was actually considering his words, and then scowled for a split second before her beautiful features went back to the uncompromising resolve she had exhibited earlier. "I have my orders, Prince Caiellis, and they came from the lady herself. I am not about to go and disobey them because of the wants of a child, even if that child is a Lucerna."

It was worth a try, Caiellis's dejected mind voice murmured, the mental words steeped in melancholy, and then he noticed that his mouth was open, and the words, "Just take me back!" had been shouted out of them, but with no response from the Second Sisterhood angel. They landed outside of the Ordo Medella tent, with the angel waiting until someone came out to take the prince before gently placing him on the ground, where he sank to his knees, and flew off.

"No! Let me go with you! I need to be a part of this!" Cai yelled at the uncaring angel, looking immensely deep inside of himself and conjuring up the Gift of Orzhova. A slender hand grabbed onto his thin shoulder, but he shook it off, ignoring the shout of "Prince Caiellis!"

His eyes misted up with defiant tears that also reflected the pain he was feeling, and the youngest Lucerna took off. Caiellis was absolutely determined that he would be there to oversee the destruction of the last guards of Fort Egetau, and nothing would stop him.

He flew about a metre off of the ground.

Then the stained glass wings shattered, and the boy yelped in surprise and pain as he was deposited roughly on the ground, his forward momentum making his wounded form tumble as he bit his lip, crimson blood trickling down his face as he landed about a metre or two away from where he took off, pain erupting across his whole body. The air was knocked out of him and he gasped in agony, his eyes misting up again. His clothes tore on the dust of the ground, which seeped into some of his more open wounds, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and tried to get up, with exactly the same success rate as before.

Cai wiped his eyes with his slender palm as he couldn't see past the tears, and then violently brushed his bangs out of his face when they whipped into it in the wind that suddenly sprung up. He wanted to try again, but he was still laid down and couldn't move, due to both exhaustion and pain, so instead resorted to defeatedly burying his face in the ground and crying the tears of frustration and misery that he had held in since meeting his dad again.

A soothing voice, rich and melodic, then broke into his sorrow, and said, "I think we'd better get you inside, Prince Caiellis, and onto a bed. You're wounds look pretty awful, and that fall must have hurt a lot, but I'm sure I can see to them."

A pair of slender hands grasped gently onto him, and for a moment Cai's exhausted and pained mind thought it was his mother resurrected, before the pragmatic and ration part of it contemptuously silenced its naïve and childish partner, telling it that Emili was dead and nothing would ever change that. He tried to pull away, but couldn't move at all, and a face appeared in his vision, one that he recognised but one that took a while for his tired mind to identify.

"Choirmaster Esmelde," he murmured quietly, though the Ordo Medella operative seemed not to have heard. She shifted him up into her arms, though the way she did it made it seem like she had been expecting something significantly heavier, confirmed by, "Aww, Prince Cai – do you mind if I call you Prince Cai? – you're so light! You really should eat more."

Cai mumbled something indecipherable in response, so much so that even he had no idea as to what he had just said, but the woman just laughed, "I bet that Prince Alex tells you that every day, doesn't he? Anyway, I'm going to take you inside, fix your wounds, and then you can go to your personal tent, ok?"

I'm guessing that question was rhetorical, Cai though when he detected himself being carried towards the tent without his consent, although if he had been any condition to speak then he would have vehemently argued that he go back and help instead of just remaining a failure, but now more than ever because of his hard landing he needed to rest and recover – especially if he wanted to fight in the siege of Usnaan. No, that wasn't the correct terminology – Cai never wanted to fight, but he was expected to as a Lucerna, and he wanted to appear like a good one, for the people if not for himself.

Normally the woman's patronising tone would have vaguely irritated him, but right now he didn't really care and his eyes closed. He reopened them quickly, determined to at least stay awake so that he could be healed faster – besides he hated people doing things to him whilst he was asleep – but within less than a second his eyelids had already began to droop sleepily.

"Shh, just go to sleep Prince Cai. You'll be as good as new in the morning to meet your brother and fight in Usnaan," Esmelde assured him, and whilst he wanted to stay awake the possibility of sleep became increasingly more and more enticing the longer he stayed conscious, although he knew that he wouldn't get much rest – well, he would get physical respite unless he woke up, but knew that if he didn't go and meet Orzhova (and the angel would want him to sleep despite being fully aware of what happened when he did so) then he would be assaulted by his dark dreams.

"Shhh. It's ok now. You should just go to sleep, Caiellis," the Choirmaster soothed, and Cai assumed he must have been making some sort of noise as he felt warm golden light – but it wasn't an obtrusive glow – wash over him, meaning that they must have entered the tent. Cai's eyes closed again, and his head drooped, so he gave in and let the nightmares take him.

.*.*.*.

With his son being taken away from him in Iridis's arms, Marik found his frustration and anger slowly dissolving away from him – no, not dissolving. More like receding until I see him again, which will probably be after this battle. Actually, if he's asleep (which is more than likely considering his exhaustion and the wounds he has sustained) I should probably leave him that way, as he needs to recover if he's going to fight tomorrow, so that means I will be speaking to him about the fate of the division I told him to help then. I hope I wasn't too harsh on him, but then again I always accidentally go overboard with him, and I probably should have at least asked him how he felt instead of just being cold.

No, that's not true, another, harsher part of his mind interjected, Caiellis just takes everything personally, which means I can never criticise him whereas he's free to just do it whenever he wants. I needed to be harsh on him, as despite my earlier talk he seems to still be in the mindset that orders coming from me can be interpreted in any way he wants, which is not acceptable in any way. Why can't he just be more like Alexander? He never questions, and if he does it is always a legitimate inquiry instead of a thinly veiled accusation.

Well, at least he seemed to understand that he had made a mistake, and the way that he wanted to rejoin the battle despite his wounds was admirable, but then again if I'd have ordered him to go back into the fight he would probably have refused and argued against that instead. Or perhaps not. I don't know, but I know for a fact that he definitely needed to recover and be healed. The wounds may not be permanent, but they looked like they hurt. My poor baby boy, I've dragged him into more pain again. Maybe he should actually listen to me next time then.

Marik's mental voice seemed to be having an argument with itself, periodically switching between disappointed and harsh king with the more loving father that he needed to lock away in these moments where he had to play as the former – besides, when he had tried to be a father after Alexander's wounding and chastise his youngest son before allowing him to return to his eldest's side, it just made him more angry.

At any rate, the problem is presently with him, not me, but my methods evidently need working on. I've clearly been too lenient in not dolling out punishment for insubordination and failure, as while I try to act harsh I've definitely been noticeably lax on giving him penalties for rudeness and disrespect. My father would have beaten me black and blue for the way Caiellis is currently treating me, and while I certainly don't approve of that maybe I do need to be harsher.

I thought that by sending him away to Scientia Mos, he'd become more mature, instead of regressing more into a petulant child. No, that's not fair. He has matured and become more independent, but instead of that making him value me more it seems to have made Caiellis even less inclined to listen to what I have to say. Why won't he just listen to me? Is it really that hard? Anyway, I've been too soft. There is going to have to be disciplining for showing disrespect and derision to his father. Even from his birth, Emili had always been better with our youngest. What do you think I should do?

Enough of that. She's dead, Marik. She can't answer your questions. Meanwhile, the living still need your leadership, and you can continue to cherish the memory of her as much as you want. I've clearly not been able to have enough influence on my boy because of his limited experience with me, so it starts now. When you stop being unnecessarily angry with him, anyway. No, stop thinking like that. If you start believing that you need to change, it means that the boy has already won.

I think that one of the main problems is the amount of power I've given him – at his age, the largest force I had commanded was a squad of elite praetorians (although Johnias was allowed to take command of one of the medium sized armies, showing just how much my father favoured him over me) which didn't relate to leading whatsoever, as they would follow my commands to the letter whereas normal soldiers make mistakes. The fact that I've allowed him to lead an entire legion of over ten thousand soldiers without instructing him myself has made him think that my opinion is worthless, but the reality still is that the two battles he has won – and only one with the legion – were relatively easy ones.

There is no doubt in my mind that Caiellis is an exceptional general (albeit a needlessly patient and methodical one), but he has yet to be truly tested and still needs to listen to his elders – including myself. And from what I have seen from the theoretical practice I've done with him, I think that Alexander could be a general that fits more to my style of warfare, not to slight Caiellis's methods in any way, they just currently aren't suitable. Though I only wish he'd understand that.

Marik silenced the multifarious replicas of his voice debating in his head, purging them from his thoughts until the only one that was left was the one utterly focussed on the prosecution of warfare. He turned to look down at the fifteen year old Mysos in front of him, who definitely looked like a thinner and younger version of his own father, Xathan, and Marik's stalwart comrade in conflict. However, the boy had certainly inherited the brown eyes of his mother, and averted his gaze when he saw the holy king gazing silently at him. He wondered if Mysos and Caiellis were getting on well, as whilst normally he would have objected to making a fifteen year old a champion he knew from experience that his sons would be better off with advisers around their age, and he had fought against the only son of the Cassida Principia Guardian before instating him in the role so knew him to be suitable.

"Come then, Mysos. Let us rejoin the battle," Marik ordered, wondering how proud the bellicose and boisterous Light-bearer was of his teenage son, although he could ask the man himself when he arrived with one of his two daughters tomorrow, and with his own eldest son who he dearly hoped had recovered well and looked forward to seeing. The boy nodded dutifully and waited for the king to pass before running at his side a reasonable distance away, though Marik assumed he was just trying to show respect and knew that Mysos was in awe of him, just like when they had first spoken and he had tried to impress the seriousness of his new role upon the lad.

"How has your time as Caiellis's champion been going?" he asked, ensuring that his voice was a mixture between nonchalance and a simple curiosity to know how the boy felt, an inquiry about his youngest son's well-being and a kingly command that Mysos would have to answer – anyway, he didn't want to frighten the teenager, and just wanted to talk about how his son was taking to the idea of the advisers that he implemented with his own child at an age far younger than what Garius had done for him and Johnias, although Alexander was the same age now as they were then.

"I think it is going quite well, my lord," Mysos answered, his voice caught between stiff obedience and a kind of causality that was forced, as if he was actively trying to put himself at ease in the presence of his king and not seem awed – that was probably something that Caiellis had caused, as Marik's youngest seemed to dislike his royal titles and prefer that his subordinates addressed him by his name (or the shortened, nickname version of it that a four year old Alexander had invented when he first told the boy of his new younger sibling's name), one of the things that Marik had once done himself when he had been younger and more stupid.

He realised now that there always had to be some sort of barrier between the Lucernas and the population of Lucael, otherwise the system that had been in place over a millennium would falter and break down. But at the present moment, he allowed Caiellis that indulgence, knowing that the boy was intelligent and would soon become aware that there was no point in his present actions (well, those ones anyway) and if he tried to advise the thirteen year old then he would rail against it or ignore him, as those options seemed to be the current favourites in the past five days.

However, Mysos seemed indecisive, and hesitant, though Marik couldn't tell whether that was because he wasn't telling the entire truth, wasn't certain that he knew that entire truth himself, or was just apprehensive of screwing up or freezing in front of the holy monarch of the entire nation, so the man then said, "Be at ease, lad. I'm not judging you, so just tell me the truth. I'm not still testing you, or assessing your suitability for the role, as I'm already certain of the fact that you are, I only want to know your opinion on it so that I can see if I am making the right decisions for my son, and the son of one of my greatest friends. You are an exceptional youth, Mysos, and your family will be immensely proud of you because of this – you should be proud of yourself also, as in the history of Lucael only one other around your age has become the champion of a Lucerna, and that is Leodred Montlea, champion of Alexander, my other son."

The words evidently had their intended effect, as though Mysos still seemed relatively wary of making mistakes in front of the man that he had been taught (though not by his father) was akin to a divine being watching over the Kingdom of Light and leading it to victory, his posture visibly stiffened, and he held himself higher with pride instead of being bowed and submissive, although the boy was still respectful. He liked Mysos, feeling like he was an exemplar of a loyal adviser and servant that may make a name for himself in the future, although apparently he did not have the same strategic penchant as his two older sisters. "So, I'll ask you again: how has your time as champion been going? What does my son think of you?"

Mysos's eyes clouded over in consternation, and he mumbled something that would have been an acceptable level of speech had the two been a quiet room, but was otherwise muffled by the din of the battle, "Speak up, lad, I can't hear you from over here. Angels, if only your father was this quiet sometimes."

The boy grinned, more at ease, before his expression went back to the hesitant and uncertain one of before, "Apologies, my king. Personally, I think it is going well, but... It's just … I'm not entirely sure what Lord Caiellis thinks of me. I mean no offence to your son, but he is definitely more … reserved than other people, no slights intended my lord."

"It's alright, Mysos, I know that you are not trying to insult Caiellis. And I agree with you, my son has a tendency to conceal his opinions and thoughts (unless he is shouting them in my face) instead of sharing them with others. He has almost certainly inherited that from myself, however, so it is nothing to worry about," Marik assured him, although Mysos's admittance had confirmed one of his fears about assigning Caiellis a champion and logistical aide, that his antisocial son would barely give them any duties and do most things himself and not actually use them for advice on anything. He had done similar when childishly railing against his father allocating subordinates (though he had been four years older than his youngest son was now, so had less of an excuse for it), until Emili had insisted that he stopped ignoring her and Carlis and refused to stop pestering him unless he gave them something to do, which ended in him finding the most menial and banal tasks he could come up with and dumping a huge pile of them on his future wife's desk. If only they had known then how much they would come to love each other...

Marik shook his head, though made sure the gesture was hidden enough so that the son of Xathan would not notice, just as Iridis clanged down beside her Summoner, her eyes instantly going towards Akroma who had been driving off some of the fleeing Welkalite soldiers.

"I trust Caiellis was received well?" Marik asked, and for a moment the angel looked at him strangely, before her gaze became neutral again and she gave a simple, "Yes, Lucerna king."

"Excellent," he replied, noticing how Mysos winced with sympathy and shame at the mention of his lord, probably thinking that he should have been there to aid Caiellis instead of allowing the boy to get hurt, but then again Caiellis did need to learn to take care of himself (as opposed to just relying on his older brother to protect him). Marik pushed the thoughts of his youngest son from his mind, knowing from past experience that thinking of his children in warfare distracted him immensely – when in the civil war, it got to the point where Johnias had almost won the war within a few battles because of the fact he couldn't concentrate with his mind constantly on his refugee sons, and his dead wife but that was another matter entirely, what he had lost instead of what he had to save.

He could (and was planning to) speak to Caiellis the next time he was awake and teach him the error of his ways, but right now he still had a battle to win.

.*.*.*.

Day Twelve

.*.*.*.

Caiellis awoke, a moment of confusion and terror eclipsing all other thoughts as he was dragged out of the repeated (but no less terrifying and frightening) nightmares of his mother's death and other scary occurrences in his life blended together in a haunting, horrific and violent carnival of dreams. Then he remembered where he was, and repressed the scream that had almost burst out of his lips, knowing that it would be embarrassing for a Lucerna to be seen acting in such a manner.

He shifted in his medical bed, wanting to go back to sleep, and then noticed that what he was laying in wasn't a medical bed at all, as he had assumed, but in fact his royal mattress, just placed with a different orientation to before. That meant that the army had got up and moved to near Usnaan (but obviously not close enough to be attacked before the rest of the army met up with them) and Cai rubbed his eyes blearily, figuring that he should check his watch and then decide if sleep was the preferable action to take (despite it being the one he wanted to). Nine o'clock. Sigh. He should probably be getting up.

Caiellis's eyes flicked from his watch, which he was just strapping over his thin forearm (he found it slightly humiliating that he had to make it go to the tightest setting, something designed for a child much younger than his age of thirteen), to a bowl of appetising looking fruit, bread and cheese that must have come from the supplies made in the photo-refectories.

Whoever had given him the food clearly knew him well, and also knew that he liked light dishes to start the day off with (instead of a hearty breakfast that would just make him feel full or sick and completely put him off the notion of lunch, or even dinner, like what his brother, father, Uncle Tristram and probably most soldiers in the kingdom preferred), and at the moment he was thinking of his Uncles as the ones who had done so, so he slowly ate that and tried to think about what he would say to his dad when they inevitably spoke.

He didn't know if he should apologise, as maybe then he would appear weak and fickle, but instantly defying the man from the start would set him off, which in turn would incense himself as well – so ideally that was something to be avoided. He still supported his strategy (both for the whole battle and the one he had tried to enact with the unknown soldiers), as the Welkalite airship would have probably blown them up anyway (though perhaps with the combined force of the mages running through him he could have acted as a conduit for a more powerful shield) and just because he got wounded and didn't currently have any evidence for the fact that his plan was superior didn't mean that it wasn't – had the airship not appeared, then the soldiers would have survived (perhaps they still did) and would have been able to help, instead of being slaughtered with him to the last man.

Caiellis resolved to show some of the remorse he felt, and admit that he made a mistake, but still maintain that had no anomalies appeared then his strategy was better (though he wouldn't try to force that onto his stubborn parent). He was, however, annoyed at the games Marik was playing with him, what with ignoring him and then refusing to tell him about the fate of the soldiers he had been going to help. He understood that his father was trying to get him to think about what he could have done better, but angels damn it he was doing it in an infuriating manner – but his reticence to tell his youngest son didn't bode way for the poor legionaries.

He might mention that to his dad, but then the man would get annoyed at him for doing so, refusing to accept parenting advice from those he was supposed to be parenting (fantastic job of that he's done so far), so should probably just keep silent.

When he had finished his small meal, the smallest Lucerna shucked off the Medella patient garments that he had been wearing and were far too big for him (as they were designed for soldiers, as in fully grown, tall and muscular adults), blushing profusely when he realised that the undergarments he had been wearing at the time of the explosion had been taken off and replaced with cleaner ones, though the one he thought had done it – Choirmaster Esmelde – certainly wouldn't be interested in pubescent boys, and had probably seen much worse in her time. He traced his fingers over his rapidly healing wounds, realising that over the course of the night and day his entire mana pool had almost been regenerated, which had almost surely aided in his recovery, and the fact that the wounds had been painful but superficial – the scars that he had inflicted himself were taking much longer to heal and stop reminding him of what he had felt forced to do because of the pressure, though at least he had vented his frustration upon himself instead of someone else (cough cough). He examined the wounds in the small mirror next to his bed, glad that they didn't look too bad.

That was the deal with Lucernas, and other beings with a naturally high level of repairing mana (mostly White or Green, and sometimes Black in its own twisted way), the fact that they healed extremely quickly unless they had sustained awful damage meant that when they did so everyone was shocked – like what had happened to Alexander, as his brother's mana levels were consistently low as his body couldn't provide enough energy to generate more without leaving him to die, although the production of mana would in turn heal him. That was also why when the Lucerna got over their mortal wounds, they healed at an incredible rate afterwards, and so could be active when others would still be bed-ridden (or dead).

Cai never really felt comfortable without clothing on, for some reason – it wasn't as if he was that embarrassed – so quickly made his way almost painlessly over to the suitcase in the corner of his tent and selected a suitable outfit for the day, of a similar design to the one before but with darker colours, whereas his brother seemed to like short-sleeved shirts and vests, as if there was ever any reason to wear things like that in the frigid cold of Lucael. He sensed a presence coming towards his tent, and as he hadn't finished getting ready yet he yelled a "Not yet!"

Much to his chagrin (though then again the one who was entering had seen him naked before and he had at least managed to get his socks and pants on), the person ignored him and marched into his tent, and Cai rolled his eyes and repressed a scowl at his father's characteristically blunt entrance, silencing the sarcastic mutter that almost slipped from his lips and would have ruined the meeting before it even started. However, the man just stood in the doorway silently, evidently waiting for Caiellis to finish, and the boy's cheeks began to become slightly tinged with scarlet when he wrestled the not normally awkward shirt past his head and onto the body, progressing into an incinerating blush when it took about a minute and his father was stood there watching him struggle.

He finally got the shirt on, and then could put on his jacket whilst talking to dad, who was gazing at him intently, though his eyes were still inscrutable and belied none of his inner thoughts. Cai thought that the most logical explanation was that Marik had probably been assessing the state of his wounds and maybe looking at the musculature of his youngest son, judging how thin he was, and immediately had to stop himself from snapping because of how awkward the atmosphere inside of the tent had become, knowing that that was just his irritation at looking stupid in front of an already disappointed parent and king.

"Good morning, sir," he offered, trying to sound respectful and not in the mood for an argument (which in itself was only half true), and the king gestured towards the bed, motioning his son to sit down on it. Cai obeyed, already knowing that they were in for a long and emotionally straining conversation.

Marik found the way his son sat interesting, and wondered if Caiellis was doing it purposefully or if it was just an accident – had it been someone else, then he would have assumed it was the latter, but he knew how intelligent his youngest son was (something he would have been hugely proud of if his intellect directly correlated with his maturity, and it didn't mean that he would incessantly question and disobey every five seconds). The boy had shifted up the bed to leave room for someone else to sit down, but both knew that the limited amount of space was insufficient for the bulky king (though Marik wasn't yet in his armour, feeling that it was unnecessary at this point). There was no doubt in his mind that Caiellis would move up if he chose to sit down, but it was if he was trying to say that he wasn't going to simply invite Marik in and that the man had to make an effort himself – not that he wasn't. Or he was over-analysing it, and was getting annoyed at something purely coincidental.

"Good morning, my son," Marik replied, not deigning to sit down and electing to instead stay towering over the boy despite being aware of how long his conversation was likely to last, "I assume you know what I have come to talk about?"

Caiellis nodded glumly, willing to let his dad have the first words in the talk and then responding to the points raised instead of interrupting him, and instead of letting his skinny legs dangle over the side of the bed he pulled them up and wrapped his arms around them, though not to the extent he would look depressed or weak. His father's words were still stony, but they now sounded like an accusation – as anticipated - "Of course you do. Your clear disregard for the plan I explicitly told you to follow has not gone unnoticed, Caiellis, nor has your repeated defiance up to this point. Quite clearly my methods of punishing haven't been working-"

"What, like trying to crush my already damaged arm?" Cai cut in despite himself, his voice soft and melancholic, but it was the fact that he interjected without his father's express permission and that Marik stopped talking, his mouth still hanging open like it was the most shocking thing in the world that his youngest son would dare to interrupt him, that made it more dramatic, and Caiellis had to suppress a smirk at that – as his dad had grown silent, a guilty tint making its way into his piercing blue eyes.

He slowly, savouring his time at the head of the conversation, pulled down the sleeve of his left arm, gently massaging the hand shaped bruise that was still there – apparently the enhanced healing process undergone by the descendants of Matalis didn't apply to bruising, and the mark still hurt when he touched it, "Because I can assure you that trying to break my army didn't make me any more inclined to obey your orders, just more frightened of you instead. So personally I think you'd be better off getting on with the conversation and telling me about the fate of the soldiers you sent to help me. We can discuss punishments later."

Marik didn't moved for a small moment, his mouth gaping open, utterly stumped at the sudden reversal of dominance, but soon brought himself under control, determined that Caiellis would not get the better of him again – besides, the boy's only trump card, the fact that Marik had inadvertently lashed out and ended up hurting him, had been played, which meant he had complete control of the father/son talk now – as it should be.

Why does he never simply accept my authority so that we can get on with it? He makes it significantly harder for the both of us. "Watch your tone, young man. But I agree; informing you about what happened to those troops was one of the main reasons why I came in here."

Caiellis nodded, appearing eager and obedient now that he had shut up his father, and it amazed the man how quickly the boy could switch from challenging and questioning to dutiful and keen, seamlessly blending between the two, although hopefully what Marik was doing would firmly push him onto the side of the latter, "None of the soldiers were claimed in the explosion that hurt you because of the shield you created."

Though the words were said severely, Cai's heart soared for a second, and his relief was evident in his expression and posture, and Marik almost snorted at how young his son looked there, exactly like when he had watched his sons and his wife going to "check for sunlight" in the mornings of the happiest days of his life. "Don't rush to conclusions, Caiellis. I haven't told you what happened afterwards yet."

Feel free to any time today, I'll be ready, Cai thought as his relief was instantly crushed into the dirt, and although he tried not to he was sure that his shoulders had visibly slumped and slight dejection would have trickled past the cracks in the barriers of coldness in his expressive green eyes that made him look too young and were a constant reminder to others of his emotions. He didn't bother to interrupt or urge his father to be faster this time, knowing that he would deliver the news in the fashion that he deemed the most suitable to try and impress a specific message onto his youngest son.

"After you were knocked unconscious by the explosion and the few mages in the division I had sent you to help had driven off the airship, the Welkalites, seeing a Lucerna prince – as that was what you obviously were, as there was no way a thirteen year old boy would be on the battlefield otherwise – tried to take the chance to kill you and swarmed to the attack," Marik explained, his voice as unyielding and unsympathetic as a wall of cold rock crushing Caiellis from all sides, who knew what would be coming next and was trying to brace himself for the worst news, "The soldiers, being loyal, and dutiful Lucaelians, formed a defensive cordon around your downed form, with the wall closed off behind them due to the tactical strike you ordered and therefore blocked in, and suffered casualties that left them reduced to less than ten percent of their original number before Akroma arrived to send the Welkalites back."

Cai rocked back as if slapped, and although one part of his mind, the logical, analytical and utterly cold voice, said, there would be less of them left if the airship hadn't appeared and I had just obeyed my father's original plan, it was soon drowned out by the wave of guilt and sadness that threatened to take physical form and pour out of his eyes, though at least he controlled himself in that respect.

It's my fault … If I'd have just been stronger … been more confident in taking Black pacts despite the damage that it does … then more would have survived. I outlasted an explosion that should have killed me, so if I had just taken more mana in exchange for some of my life – which could have been repaired later – then I could have stayed conscious as well, and protected the soldiers. Angels above … what have I done? I'm so pathetic. Orzhova warned me about this … but I didn't listen. And now, instead of myself, others had to pay the price. Just like what always happens …

Caiellis was so locked up in his own misery of self-loathing, blame and sorrow that he didn't notice the fact that his dad had got on the bed with him, though didn't move his youngest son and just perched on the space that was almost enough to accommodate him. The boy was instinctively rubbing his eyes and tightening his grip on his knees, huddling into a foetal ball as his mind processed the fateful information.

"I know that you had low mana – but that is no excuse for disobedience, nor failure. What in the forbidden name of the abyss were you thinking?" Marik demanded, though he didn't shout and kept his voice just slightly raised, as the content of his earlier words had affected Caiellis more than he thought, and he briefly wondered how many times in the years after Emili's deaths his more fragile son had assumed a similar position. He did want to frighten Caiellis and teach him the consequences of failure, not because he enjoyed watching his baby boy wallowing in self-recrimination and contrition, but because the lad needed to learn that all of his decisions would have ramifications, and that insubordination was not tolerated within Lucael for good reason, that his current personal dislike with Marik gave him no lease to put others at risk, or ignore commands.

"I specifically told you that the plan you had put forward was not to be followed, and when I said that I meant that it was not to be followed! Why do you think that my commands simply do not apply to you? Is it because you are a Lucerna? Is it because you are my son, and a father's advice is never correct – especially when the recipient is around your age?" Marik questioned, but his son clearly wasn't listening to him, and had his head buried in his thin knees and arms. The boy was sniffling softly, and the king could easily tell that tears would be streaming down his gaunt and pale cheeks, "Listen to me, dammit! You can cry later, but right now I want you to realise the cost of failure and disobedience!"

The man was getting more and more annoyed, and the fact that he had started yelling roused Caiellis from his sorrowful reverie, the boy's face emerging from his knees, the wide green orbs so damn reminiscent of Emili's eyes puffy and red with tears, and Marik immediately felt sorry and apologetic for snapping and losing control so quickly. To help rectify that, he shifted up the bed, gently moving his weightless son further down so that he could sit fully on the mattress, bringing his other arm round and wrapping it around Caiellis's painfully thin shoulders.

Instead of comforting the boy, which had been Marik's intention (although not to the point where it was no longer clear that he was severely disappointed and furious with the lad), Caiellis's distracted and sullen features instantaneously contorted in rage, like the emotions of guilt and loathing for himself were volatile and unstable concoctions, with the contact from his father the spark that ignited them in a rush of flames and anger.

He exploded in frustrated rage, his voice almost a scream of anger, "Don't you dare blame this on me! Don't you dare!" the youngest Lucerna shot upright in the bed, fiery tears of defiance flicking from his eyes at the sudden movement, and Marik flinched back off the bed, standing up and backing away, at first thinking that he had hurt the still-healing kid, and was lost for words as his brain took a long moment to process the boy's words, and the sudden confrontational eruption that he thought he had quelled with his earlier speech.

"If you had listened to me for once, none of those soldiers would have died in the first place! If we had just been patient, then the number casualties that were suffered would be significantly reduced! You asked me earlier why you found it hard to accept your commands, so now I'm asking you why you are incapable of seeing a needlessly reckless and dangerous plan when it its right in front of your damn eyes!" the boy yelled, capitalising on the shock his former arguments created in that way that he always did to unleash another barrage of accusations – Marik briefly wondered why he did that, but supposed that because everyone the boy interacted with was older than himself and because he hadn't spent long being royalty meant that whenever he argued, he had to fit as many of his points into the short space of time he was allowed before his elders (most likely his older brother) silenced him with their louder words.

It was oddly redolent of their argument after Alexander's near death at the hands of the last vampire, but this time Marik refused to just slump and give into the boy's bombardment of charges that he should not have to deal with as the superior in the relationship, as when he had done it last time he had taken the pounding of his youngest son's harsh and angry words until he himself exploded with a rage much more frightening than the thirteen year old's.

"Now watch your tone with me, young man, and do not speak to me in that manner again unless you want to be hit," the man replied coldly, hoping that the fact that he forced every syllable to be dripping with the willingness to enact that threat and rebuffed his son's anger instead of stoking the fire further by responding to it with his own would silence Caiellis's anger, but no matter what he did it seemed that Caiellis would not stop shouting at him – had Marik been less angry himself, then he would have taken the time to wonder why Caiellis always seemed so angry around his father when he never was otherwise, but right now was only thinking about the present. He tried to keep his body posture unyielding and resolute, actively preventing himself from shaking with rage at his son's disrespectful and downright insulting tone.

"Hit me if you want then, I'm not scared by you, and the threat of violence isn't going to silence me! You've already hurt me more than enough, but this isn't about me, it's about you refusing to use your brain and realise that the strategies you are putting forward are risking far too many lives when there is a clear, and better alternative!" the boy snarled, his green eyes blazing with defiance, and Marik felt his own anger beginning to break through his barriers. He diverted some mind power to stop it, but a voice in his mind muttered, give in to the rage. Caiellis deserves it, he's been provoking you ever since his force came to meet with yours yesterday. And maybe if you are angry enough he will stop questioning you and know that what you have to say is right. Not giving into his game is clearly not working, but maybe winning – no, completely crushing him – at it will shut him up.

"And what, do you think I should be following your leisurely strategy?! War isn't a game, Caiellis, and the longer we wait the more people's lives are at stake – both in Lucael from the threat of the abyss, and in Welkas from the threat of demons! Or can you not see that clear reasoning behind my actions!" Marik bellowed, striding closer to the bed and towering over his son, who shouted back: "Just because you have a reason for your ideas doesn't make them any less stupid! I know that war isn't a game, and by extension soldiers aren't only game pieces that you can simply throw into brutal combats because of your desire for speed! They are people, with lives, families, hopes and dreams that you are destroying with your impatient and thoughtless approach to warfare!"

"The soldiers of Lucael knew about the risks of warfare when they signed up! Do not think that I don't care about the lives I cannot save, but as the king of Lucael I have to think of the bigger picture, unlike you it seems! You are a thirteen year old boy, Caiellis, and you should not be questioning my decisions!" the king shouted, leaning towards his son's face as the boy's rose to meet him, their blazing eyes locked in an unblinking battle for supremacy, and Cai's face screwed up in aversion as he responded, "What has my age got to do with the fact that you can't accept that this time, I am right?!"

"Because you are just a child!" Marik roared, his voice getting progressively louder, but if he thought that Caiellis wasn't going to rise to meet that then he would be severely mistaken, and the youngster took a deep breath before shouting himself, aware that his smaller lungs meant that he wouldn't be able to make as loud a noise, "And?! My youth has absolutely no relevance to the merits of my strategy! Why can't you see that?! Why can't you see past my age and the fact that I am your unwanted second son and seriously consider my plan for a second, instead of just assuming it is awful because of the fact that I'm still a teenager!"

"And only just a teenager, at that! Why do you think, then, that the soldiers never question my orders?! Why do the generals, the Light-bearers, whose sole purpose is to ensure that I am doing my job as the monarch of Lucael, never raise issue with my strategy if it is so clearly inferior?!" the man shouted back, ignoring the fact that as the adult he should be attempting to diffuse the argument instead of escalating the tension in the room further, though could have laughed derisively at the fact that his little boy was standing on the bed in an endeavour to match his father's tall height, "I'll spell it out for you, since you seem to be much less intelligent than your reputation would suggest: it is because, dissimilar to you, they understand war! They know about the risks, and are fully willing to put themselves in danger for the safety of others!"

"No. It's because they are taught from birth to listen to the Lucerna family, and also taught that we love and protect them from the horrors of the world, but in turn require their complete obedience. Our ancestors have certainly built up a formidable stranglehold on the Kingdom of Light," Caiellis murmured softly, although Marik still heard because of the fact the two were automatically leaving gaps for each other to reply in, as although other people may shout over each other in arguments, drown out their opponent's viewpoints with the volume of their words, something that Marik had always done that his youngest son had inadvertently replicated was to allow the enemy in the argument time to respond.

Merely shutting up the other person just proved that one was incapable of taking on the points raised and had to shout over them to muffle their loss, whereas allowing them to put forward their opinions and then subsequently dismantling it proved that one was the victor. That was why, in spite of the quietness of his words, Marik still heard, as Caiellis and his father both had the same pattern in arguments – whereas Alexander and Emili had both preferred the former, by relentlessly attacking with perspectives and opinions until the opposition was overwhelmed by them (meaning that Cai had always had to use time efficiently in squabbles with his elder sibling).

"Now you're just being ridiculous!" Marik snorted contemptuously, though his voice was still raised – though not to the intensity it was before, and continued, his voice belieing that he hadn't even thought about the boy's words, instantly dismissing them as they were alien to his mind, "I'm aware that you dislike your role as a Lucerna, but like everyone else you have to learn to accept your part in the continuation of the kingdom! Angels above, I knew teenagers were inherently selfish, but you seem to be ahead of the curve on that one!"

"Again, resorting to insulting me instead of addressing my points!" Cai cried obstinately, the earlier thoughtful and introspective tinge that had coloured his quiet words gone, replaced again by that challenging tone that eroded on Marik's willpower to not lash out, "Apart from telling me that it is the blind obedience of the soldiers that prevents them from questioning your authority, you haven't yet given me a reason why you won't consider my opinions!"

"Because I don't have to! Because I am your father, and I have the permission to listen or to ignore you when it is pertinent! Such as now!" Marik bellowed stubbornly, Cai's eyes flashing with irritation at the words, and Marik suddenly realised that instead of disciplining his youngest, he had just given the boy more reason to argue. He needed to bring this back under control before it spiralled out of his reach.

"I've had enough of this …" he broke off for a second, trying to think of a suitable punishment that would dissuade his son from doing this again, but not knowing him well enough to inflict something that would teach him the error of his ways, besides stopping him from seeing Alexander, which was something he couldn't countenance as that would be a punishment to his perfect eldest as well – completely unfair on the recovering seventeen year old, and he wasn't blind enough to not realise that Alexander depended upon Caiellis almost as much as the younger boy did on him, though more for emotional support and a reminder of what he had to protect rather than any actual help his second-born provided.

Then a thought pushed itself to the forefront of his mind, and although he would normally actively encourage Caiellis to do this, it was either he banned something or his son wouldn't ever stop, and obedience came before everything at this point in the boy's short life, "Don't blame me for this, but consider yourself forbidden from reading any books until this war ends and I think you have improved enough to have the privilege returned. To summarise: no more books until I see fit to allow you to read."

Caiellis's eyes widened comically in response, and Marik had to repress a triumphant smirk. The boy stammered, "Wha... What?", before realising he didn't quite know how to reply as his mind was being uncharacteristically slow in coming up with one due to the utter randomness and illogicality of the punishment, opening his mouth to argue but abruptly snapping it shut when no words came out. Marik's youngest's thin shoulders dropped and his head hung low on his neck, his messy brown obscuring his hair and eyes.

Suppressing his smile at having finally, and decisively, won a round, having expected a world-shaking tantrum from his boy and immensely glad that the risk had paid off, though he took no pleasure in restricting the boy from one of his own personal favourite pastimes apart from fighting against those he knew well, and turned to leave the room, shooting a "I'll come and fetch you when the war council of the day begins in an hour's time," behind him.

"So you are just restraining my education because of the fact I question your blind pride?" a sullen voice, tinted with anger, pierced into Marik's back, and it was all he could do not to punch the interior of the tent in frustration. Evidently, his thoughts of victory had been premature, exactly like the birth of his youngest son.

"No, Caiellis. I am punishing your for your constant, and extremely grating, defiance of me. But, as I've already said, I'm tired of this. Goodbye," he sighed exasperatedly as Caiellis spoke again, his words coloured with a vindictive mischievousness he would have never expected from his youngest, "So the fact that you are leaving proves that you can't counter my arguments, and instead of doing so you are punishing me? Very adult of you."

"YOU CAN BE FUCKING ANNOYING SOMETIMES, YOU KNOW THAT?!" Marik thundered, turning back into the room and yelling at his son, anger that he thought he had smothered when coming up with a punishment rising to the fore once again but bolstered by potentially violent rage at the boy's incessant prodding and goading. If he had expected Caiellis to be taken back by the volume of the outburst (if he had been capable of thinking clearly the man would have been worried about anyone else hearing their monarch lose control at his son), then he would be sorely disappointed, and the boy smirked at him in a way that instantly made him want to savagely wipe it off.

"Dad, is this really what you want to do? For you to stop me from reading just because we argue – and I can tell you now that studying had absolutely no correlation with my disinclination to listen to you, whereas your shouting and violence is quite a large factor," the boy stated coolly, admittedly to his credit utterly unfazed by the loud outburst, "I'VE MADE MY DAMN DECISION, CAIELLIS, AND I EXPECT YOU TO OBEY IT OR SUFFER EVEN GREATER CONSEQUENCES."

The man angrily turned away again, both of their bodies trembling with rage directed at the other. Cai sighed, knowing there was only one way that he was going to get his fuming father to listen to him, and forged ahead with that course of action before he could stop himself, "Is this what mum would have wanted?"

Marik fell still, his shoulders slumping despondently and his eyes losing the fire in them, a frown making its way over onto his face, and Caiellis belatedly thought:

Oh shit. I've just said the "m" word. He instinctively backed away from the man as he swivelled back towards the bed, his piercing blue orbs full of a mixture of sadness and anger that was increasing in intensity every second. Cai shrunk back to the side of the bed furthest away from the man, as the king's eyes transfixed him in place and prevented him from reacting in any other way, the force of the glare utterly unlike what he had ever experienced before from his father, although it was an enhancement of his earlier anger. He could feel it radiating off the man in waves, and noticed that he himself had begun to breathe faster, though the breaths were shorter and didn't provide his body with much oxygen.

Caiellis backed up further when the towering man took a swaying step towards him, as if he was drunk, before pulling himself upright and walking at a straight angle, though each step was weighted by menacing intent that made Cai want to use his magic.

He wondered that if he hid under the covers his dad wouldn't notice, and then silenced the four year old in his mind that had suggested that ludicrous plan of action, as Marik paced inexorably towards him. Cai realised then that perhaps arguing with someone more than a foot and a half taller than him and tremendously stronger wasn't the best idea, despite having been hurt by Marik in the past and knowing that the man was capable of significant harm.

Damn that boy. Damn him for bringing up my greatest weakness. This isn't what Emili would want, but Emili is dead, and I am Caiellis's only remaining parent, so he has to follow my orders unless he wants to end up in the same position as his poor mother. Ever since I tolerated him arguing against in me the talk we had about Alexander's wounds, because I subconsciously wanted to release as well instead of curbing the argument on the spot and immediately punishing him with something drastic, he's continued to defy my authority.

It is as if the floodgates of respect and fear of censure that locked away the defiance in his mind have swung open, and it will take monumental force to close them. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm sorry, Emili, that it has come to this, but I need Caiellis to obey me without question so that not only he lives longer, so that the lives of my soldiers are saved as I no longer have to focus on him.

"Sir, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that, ok? I said it without thinking … I'll accept my punishment now …" Cai stammered, pleading with the man and sensing the threat of violence exuding from him, but it seemed that his words had little effect on his indomitable father who seemed more giant than ever, even larger and more towering than Caiellis had perceived him when he was only a small child.

One part of Marik's mind wailed at him frantically, telling him not to do this, before he crushed it under inevitability and the will to discipline his youngest son, telling himself that it would be better for both of them in the long run, that he wasn't just doing this for some selfish desire to shut the boy up before he broke his father with his words, and firmly set himself upon this course of action.

He didn't hear his son's words past the mental battle in his head, and began to think of which way he could inflict the sanction which wouldn't cause long term damage to his fragile baby boy, and not too much pain. He needed it not to seem like he was lashing out angrily, or doing it with the intent to hurt – in fact, he hated seeing any of his family in pain (apart from the one who deserved it), and hated the situation even more knowing that he would have to inflict it to the youngest member of it, but it had to be done.

"Dad please, we can work this out! I'm sorry, ok! Just don't do this … please … dad, I know you … you don't want to do this..."

Marik was so utterly focussed on his thoughts that he hadn't been paying attention to the world around him, hadn't noticed that the frantic begging of his youngest son was becoming more and more despairing and frightened, but then a final plead cracked the shell his thought had formed around his senses, "Dad please! You don't want to do this! I don't want to have to use magic to fight back; I don't want to fight you! Dad! … please! … dad! … please stop! Daddy..."

That was odd. Caiellis never calls me that, and the last time he did was before the civil war. Is he just trying to manipulate me so that I will see him as an innocent child and not go through with the beating? But then again, he sounds strained. Maybe another migraine is coming on, and if so his disciplining will have to wait.

Marik shook his head in bemusement, and then the cage around his thoughts shattered, and he finally noticed what had made his son so frantic, as it wasn't just the threat of violence that was causing the boy distress. The redness that he hadn't noticed had clouded his vision receded, like a crimson fog that was penetrated by beams of sunlight, and it was if a blindfold had been taken off the king.

His son was in front of him, close enough to touch, and then Marik realised that he was touching him. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he took in the sudden scene presented to him – the boy was laid on the bed, his eyes full of terror and fear that a child should never have to feel towards his father, and Marik wondered just what it was he had done, or was currently doing, and severely hoped that he hadn't been "out of it" for very long. The boy's expressive and wide green orbs clearly highlighted how Caiellis hadn't said "daddy" due to any automatic response of being in danger, but to specifically attempt to get his attention and plead with him.

The kid's face was just as pale as usual, although there was a slight reddish tinge to his white cheeks that was slowly turning purple and blue, and Marik sensed his youngest son's mana channelled to such a point that all Caiellis had to do was release it and an immensely powerful spell would knock his father away, but the boy seemed to be giving his father a few more seconds before casting the spell.

Marik felt several weak tugging motions on his forearms and hands, but more disturbing than that the king could feel a fast beating underneath his hands, but more predominantly his thumbs, like someone was playing a mad and panicked drumbeat underneath them.

The father tilted his head down ever so slightly, so that he could still see his son's bloodshot eyes and face but confirm his worst fears. It all made terrible, terrible sense to him now. The reason why Caiellis sounded progressively more scared and strained, the reason why his face was becoming bluer and bluer and was screwed up in fear and pain, and the reason why he felt a beat – a pulse – underneath his fingertips.

Marik's luckily bare hands were locked around his son's slender throat, and although he wasn't squeezing with any crushing force the sheer strength of his rigid grip around his boy's windpipe was severely restricting his breathing, Caiellis's small and weak hands futilely trying to pull his own off his neck, batting in an almost pathetic gesture of resistance. He was pressing the boy into the bed, preventing him from moving or scampering away.

Marik turned to the side, horror filling his thoughts and freezing him up when he saw his frail little baby, who couldn't take punishment as well as his stronger and more resilient older brother, in such pain and fear for his life, though he watched with a kind of sick morbid fascination at the fact that he was presently utterly powerless to move his strangling hands. He glanced fearfully at himself in the small mirror located on the other side of the tent, noticing that none of the emotions of horror and immense guilt were conveyed in his flinty gaze, but soon looked back at Caiellis, who coughed, desperately trying to draw breath into his lungs.

Then, Marik saw the White mana that was flowing out of his hands, explaining why the boy seemed to be on the cusp of his mana generation but wasn't doing anything with it – he was silencing any spells (and speech, but that was another matter entirely) that could have been cast, nullifying them and forcefully dispelling them. He didn't know whether Caiellis would have shown restraint otherwise, or if he would have been launched across the room by a searing spear of light.

For some reason he didn't put it past Caiellis to attack him in self defence, but then again the kid had never acted violently towards him, even when he had been threateningly lifting him off his feet or crushing his arm, just seemed to accept the pain from his father instead of reacting in kind, like it confirmed his suspicions about the man being a terrible parent, much less a dad, which the boy still occasionally favoured him with. Marik knew that that was simply automatic and didn't in any way show that the man was any more than a parent to his son.

He tried to shake his head to clear it, clear the pounding in his skull in time to the throbbing of his son's frightened heartbeat, the blood pulsing through the jugular vein that one of Marik's thumbs were gripping, and the man could only watch in horror as he pushed the tiny boy further down, his thumbs tightening and the boy gagging, though he wasn't yet actively choking Caiellis fully.

Luckily, for him and his son, the entrance to the tent was pushed open, and a figure that was just taller than the king walked in, emitting a gasp of pure shock and horror that broke Marik from his paradoxically paralytic state – unable to react with his youngest son in danger, but with he himself as the danger. He released Caiellis with an exhalation of air, only just noticing that he had been holding his own breath in, a red hand mark on the pale flesh of the boy's neck, but more than anything Marik was hugely glad that the scene hadn't been able to go on for much longer and that he hadn't started bringing his prodigious strength to bear on his poor son.

He was about to apologise, but no words left his mouth, and Cai stared accusingly at him, knowing that while his father had definitely been holding back, and that he could have been choked in unconsciousness within a few short seconds of unfolding blackness if the man had desired it, but it still didn't excuse him strangling his own son. He wanted to shout, to scream, at the man, at his pathetic excuse of a father, but found that he couldn't move, so instead tried to get his hyperventilation under control and hoping that his eyes communicated the extent of his fear, sadness and anger.

Marik knew then, right at that moment, that if he wanted his son to survive, he needed to pretend that he had done that all on purpose, that he hadn't just lost control (again) and almost choked his son to death, something that might have happened had the shocked gasp not cut into his thoughts, so instead of appearing insanely apologetic and grovelling at his son's feet for forgiveness, he forced his eyes to become steely and shot Caiellis a cold look, as one part of his mind muttered that at least the boy would probably never disobey him again. He needed his son to believe that Marik's actions had been perfectly calculated to show him the error of his ways, as while the boy wouldn't feel safe he could at least be made to believe that he had only hurt him for a reason, and that he didn't have to be scared of future violence. Marik detested himself for what he had just done, but the point still stood that Caiellis had caused them through constant disobedience and challenging – had he been more like his brother, then this would never have happened.

Before he could put any words together, and hand gripped onto his shoulder and forcefully pulled him around, as Marik was presented by the furious visage of Guardian Tristram. At first, when he hadn't entered, the man had simply frozen up in the doorway, unable to process the scene in front of him, but then he had noticed the stricken look in Cai's terrified green orbs and the fact that the monarch's large hands were wrapped around his throat, and the instinct to protect the royal family surged to the fore, now replaced by an anger that made his blood boil.

"Marik! Outside, now!" he yelled into the other man's face, a moment of surprise and deep, deep guilt creasing over the father's features before Tristram sensed that he forcefully flattened them, the expression on his face returning to the habitual one of cold austerity that he often wore in his role as supreme Lucerna monarch, through such a force of will that the thirty year old would have (and often had) admired if the situation had not been so dire. The man didn't resist as he was dragged out, and after a short pause at the doorway Tristram spoke, his voice still tinted by volcanic anger but noticeably more comforting, "Cai, you just stay here. Everything is alright now. I'll come and get you in a bit."

Tristram had no idea whether or not the boy heard the words, as the poor lad seemed to be trapped within a world of his own and hadn't yet moved from the position the Guardian had found him in, and it took all of Tristram's willpower not to punch Marik in the face and march back inside and force him to apologise to his son, but knew that forcing it wouldn't make it genuine. He yanked Marik outside, his own eyes blazing at the way the king's blue orbs meandered over the outside of the prince's tent, before becoming colder and resolute again.

"What the hell was that about?!" he shouted, grabbing the man's collar and pulling him upwards, almost yanking him off his feet though Tristram wasn't quite strong enough to pull that off, and the sheer coldness in his eyes scared him, like the king had absolutely no regret for his actions despite seeing it clearly in the man earlier. Marik grabbed Tristram's wrists and pulled the hands away from his collar, stating, "Caiellis needing discipling," as if that justified what had just occurred.

"And strangling him is the right way of going about it?!" he yelled, not caring in the slightest when a soldier walked past the corner of the tent, took one look at the situation and turned on his heels (as opposed to coming to the aid of the king), though Tristram knew he wouldn't be going for reinforcements. He was furious with the man; these boys were as good as his own and anyone hurting them was someone to be hated, including their own father if it came to that. Marik shrugged, making the Guardian want to slam his face across his knee and see if he was so dismissive of the torment he had just caused Caiellis then, and replied evenly, "He was being ridiculous, disrespectful and downright insulting, so I took the course of action that I deemed correct. He isn't going to question me now."

"Don't you dare tell me that that is the reason for it! Don't you dare!" Tristram cried, scrunching his hands up into fists and leaning threatening over the slightly shorter (which still made him towering and very tall) king, who stared at him sternly, as if he was completely overreacting and stepping out of line which in turn made him more furious, "Angels damn it, Marik! I saw the look in your eyes! I know that you would never hurt your sons, so just admit it! You lost control! You never wanted to choke Caiellis!"

"Your talking as if I killed the boy, or strangled him unconscious," Marik scoffed, thinking: why can't he see that I can't admit it without ruining Caiellis's chance at ever feeling safe around his own father! If I admit that I lost control, then I am basically saying that it could happen at any time and that my little boy is always in danger around me, which means that Caiellis will never be able to concentrate, never be able to not be scared. However, if he thinks I did it to punish him, he will be frightened, but not as much, and it will have the added benefit of making him more obedient.

Tristram swung a punch before restraining himself millimetres from his cheek, growling, "Marik, I know for a fact that you are not a bad father. We all have moments in our lives we lose control, and it is a damn shame that Cai was hurt because of it, but this can still be fixed, if you would open your damn eyes! Just fucking concede that you did it without thinking, that a red haze descended or fucking something, for Caiellis's sake and your own! Damn it Marik, I don't know if I can ever respect you any more if you tell me you wanted to strangle your own son..." he drifted off, his voice losing its anger and becoming something more akin to sadness, an emotion the Guardian never showed.

"I don't need your respect. I need your obedience," Marik stated strictly, and continued just as the fire was beginning to spark up again in Tristram, fuelled by a desperate need to know if Marik had intentionally hurt his son, Tristram's youngest student and charge, and if so if he had changed more in the war that the Guardian had initially believed, "And I never wanted to strangle Caiellis, but he forced me into it. Had I had punched him, for example, his frail body would have been bruised and bones would have been broken, whereas this didn't exactly hurt him (physically, anyway), instead it had more emotional resonance over the former punishment," Marik uttered, trying to quantify it to himself as much as he was to Tristram (if not more) and lying through his teeth, but he was perfectly willing to be the object of Tristram's detestation if Caiellis was allowed to think that his own actions had caused this, rather than a man that couldn't control himself or his strength.

"How can you say that?" Tristram hissed, his words full of threat and anger, and Marik hoped that the Guardian would just give in to the urge to hit him – he deserved punishment and pain for what he had done, but knew that as the king, no one would be willing to dole it out. Angels … I just really hurt my own kid, Tristram. Please, lash out. I need the pain. I deserve it far more than my youngest son did. He waved his hand, as if it would erase what had just happened, though he wanted it to be seen as dismissive of the Guardian's words – and, to be fair to him, Caiellis had pushed it far more than he ever had before, ignoring the fact that Marik had threatened him with penalties such as not being able to read, and that violence would have been necessary to curb it, just not … just not this.

"I've made a mistake from the very beginning, Tristram. I should have never tolerated him arguing with me and put it down through the systematic obliteration of all his privileges until he got in line. Now he questions, challenges and constantly defies my authority." Marik stated, and these words were truthful, and he dearly regretted not being able to think clearly when chastising Caiellis about screwing up and being trapped inside of Aksua's dream realm, leaving his eldest son to face her alone, so Tristram responded with, "Marik, do you not think you are being a little harsh? He has his reasons for his actions, and you know as well as I do that he is a strategic genius and just wants to share his ideas-"
"He doesn't know how to communicate those ideas in the right manner," the parent told him, stating it flatly like it was an undisputed fact, "He demands when he should ask, he shouts when he should offer, and he fights when he should explain. I won't accept it any longer – the only reason I've given him longer than most people is because he is my son, and in that I have unfairly favoured him."

"So to fix that you decided to choke the poor lad?" Tristram asked, aghast at the impassivity of his friend's face, who replied, "Yes. I did."

"You're a fucking liar!" the other man accused, ready to launch another barrage of accusations, but was cut off, "Watch your language when speaking to your king, Guardian Tristram, and if I want your parenting advice I'll be sure to ask for it. In the mean time, I have a war council to prepare for."

Marik made to leave, but Tristram grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him back around, "If you ever touch a hair on his head – on either of your son's heads – in anger, ever again – then I won't give a shit that you are the king of the nation in protecting them. Those boys are the best things that have happened to you, you stubborn bastard, and I'm sure they would appreciate it if you started treating them like it, and not trying to kill one of them."

Marik simply stared back impassively at him, as if in shock that he would dare to grab his king again, so the Guardian let go before he decided to punish him, as that was the sort of mood the man was in right now, but in those piercing blue eyes, he saw that his words had had an effect and the sadness barely visible in them made Tristram want to hug the man, before it disappeared like a banal trick of the light.

I know, Tristram. Trust me, I know, and I'm truly sorry for what I've done today, but if I go and beg for Caiellis's forgiveness he will think I am even more pathetic and that I cannot control myself (which is apparently the truth around him). But what you said wasn't entirely right. These sons are my flesh and blood, my little boys, so it is impossible not to love them, whereas Emili was not related to me in any way but completely perfect. She was the best thing that has ever happened to me, Marik thought, though one part of his mind railed against the mind words, insisting that his long dead wife was on an equal level to his young progeny.

Tristram shook his head in disgust at the older male's back as he strode off like what he had just done was perfectly reasonable, and the man felt the spears of distaste piercing into his back.

This was all my fault. Marik thought, thinking about what circumstances had led to him with his hands wrapped around his youngest son's fragile throat and about to squeeze with a killing strength. I never knew how to discipline him properly – heck, before the civil war, I never had to. At the ages of nought to four, Caiellis was far more quiet and well behaved than his unruly (but cute) brother, and I still remember Emili's pride in never having to tell our second son off, as opposed to Alexander's tendency to tantrum before (and after, though at much less frequency due to his age and no longer being the centre-of-attetion youngest, whilst also having a little brother) Caiellis's birth.

I clearly haven't had enough impact on his life. Instead of ignoring him and Alexander after only just coming back from the civil war as I thought I was incapable of becoming a father instead of a ruthless warrior king, and only talking to them a total of once each, I should have brought them into my embrace immediately and had them by my sides and learning instead of treating the fact that I had sons like some sort of burden that I would eventually have to take up. I started to make progress after my battle with Alexander, and should have known not to send him away to the Scholaria Magnus at all – not just because of their awful abduction, but because I stunted the resurrection of our father/son(s) relationship.

And now Caiellis has absolutely no respect for me, something that will have been cemented by my earlier actions, but at least now he won't challenge out of fear and I can begin to build up trust again instead of having him oppose me at every occasion. I have let this attitude slide too long because of my worry for both of them. Even when he was still young, before Emili's death, and had let her raise him more, whereas with Alexander I took a more active role because of the fact I wasn't quite as busy with my new role as king.

Then in the civil war, I wasn't able to impress my (lacking) importance in his life upon him, and because he was half his brother's age he wouldn't have remembered me as well as Alexander did. I had good and bad times with my eldest, whilst with Caiellis as I've said (or rather, thought) I never once had to reprimand him.

Evidently Tristram, Tybalt and his brother have had far more influence in his young life than I have, as there was no question of disobeying commands because he would simply die otherwise. He would have learnt to understood their discipling methods, just as they would have developed them to better suit an unruly Caiellis, contrasting with my fumbling attempts to berate him. Now that he is no longer in life-threatening danger (unless I'm choking him in a blind rage, but thinking about that can come later), he thinks he can select commands to follow, especially because the one giving them is the person that is supposed to be of utmost importance in his life but has had little to no impact at all. Now that I've let other people carry the parenting duties, I now have a surly just-teenager that questions my authority.

I can still fix this, however. With a little tough love, I can turn him around, starting from today (though I'm not sure if banning books after what I've just done is in any way justifiable). I'm certain of it. I can turn him into a first rate prince.

Tristram stared at Marik's back as he disappeared, shook his head in sorrow for his youngest student, and made his way back into the tent, half-expecting Caiellis to have either crawled underneath the quilt and begun to cry or wiggled his way out of the tent through the small gaps (that no one else would be able to fit through without causing significant damage) between the tent and the ground, as he was used to those sorts of antics from a younger Cai when he had been sad. He was mildly surprised to find the boy in the precise position that he had left him, his eyes having not even moved from the spot in the air the gravity of their gaze was crushing, although now instead of being filled with fear they were cold and emotionless, indicating that Cai had raised the walls that blocked other people out.

Periodically, a slender hand would tentatively reach upwards and brush over (what is it with people going for the kid's throat?) the blemish of angry red on Cai's neck, thin fingertips touching the bruise that was forming for a second before slowly falling back down, until the action was repeated again. It was as if he was still in shock over the actions and his mind was having trouble coming to the terms that he had been choked. The second Tristram took a step towards him, the boy's eyes flicked in his direction, full of primal fear, assessing his potential as a threat before he was allowed to enter.

The Guardian stood stock still, allowing the hapless boy to complete his analysis as moving now would just scare him further, but he knew he had been evaluated welcome when a heart-wrenchingly sad smile worked its way onto the boy's gaunt features and he shifted in the bed, his mouth opening and closing like he had suddenly decided not to speak and clearly signalling to Tristram that Cai unconsciously wanted him to take control of the situation, wanted Uncle Tristram (the next best thing (besides from Tybalt) to his big brother) to assure him that everything was ok, and briefly wondered if Caiellis was intending to tell Alex about what had happened. Tristram wasn't sure that if Cai wanted to keep it from his big brother, then Tristram would acquiesce to that, but would first assess the situation, his eldest student's state and the state of the war before that.

"Cai. You're fine now," Tristram soothed, sitting down on the bed next to the painfully thin boy and affectionately wrapping a large arm around him, gently pulling the unresisting kiddo's head to when it was resting on his chest. He found it strange and "nice" that in situations like these, Tristram tried to think of what Alexander would do to comfort his little brother, whilst the middle Lucerna took inspiration from the Guardian. Caiellis still seemed to be holding in his emotions, and hadn't yet said anything, but when the Guardian pulled him close he pushed away, a half-hearted gesture of resistance that just made Tristram feel even worse.

He would have preferred it the youngest Lucerna had just cried, let the tears cascade down his face and bury his head in the Guardian's chest, because after years of caring for two growing up children in the middle of a civil war and after their mother's demise Tristram had become accustomed to dealing with sadness, and could help Cai in that case. But this silence, the way he clearly didn't want Tristram hugging him but was too deflated and dejected to make any effort to inform the Guardian that, simply giving up and letting himself be dragged around like a rag-doll, was way out of the thirty year old's league, and he had no idea what to do.

The worst thing was that to an outside observer, there seemed to be no reason for Tristram acting as he was now doing, like there was nothing whatsoever to comfort Caiellis about and that the day had simply been progressing normally, instead of the smallest prince, a frail and young boy that had only just breached his teenage years, being pinned down and strangled by his own father.

No matter that he hadn't gone "full force", Marik had still completed the actions and there was doubt in Tristram's mind that the man would have stopped choking his son had he not intervened, much as he wanted to believe that his friend would never hurt the children they both dearly loved, but Marik moreso – Tristram had seen the love for his boys in the man's normally cold eyes, before the civil war and after it when they found Alexander and Caiellis fighting (well, losing) against Aksua. There seemed to be nothing he could do to help, so he settled on gently jostling the boy's shoulder, "Cai, I know this is a stupid question, but are you alright?"

There was no response, and the fact that Caiellis was a weightless boy meant that if Tristram couldn't feel the beating of the kid's heart he wouldn't have been sure there was anyone else in the room. After a few seconds of silence and tenderly stroking the side of the boy's mop of brown hair, Tristram tried again, "Marik should not have done that, and I'm sorry for letting him hurt you, both physically and emotionally. I should have been there to protect you in the battle of Fort Egetau, not letting you go off on your own even though I knew you had no mana. We all failed you, actually, but it's my job to protect the Lucerna sons the most. I'm sorry."

"Don't blame yourself, Uncle Tristram," the boy whispered, distantly, and the Guardian pulled him up and looked into his eyes, satisfied that the choked purple and red of his cheeks had receded, though there was still a modicum of colour left, and checked to see if Caiellis's pupils were dilated in shock. The boy stared blankly back as Tristram inspected him, but apart from the bruise (though not as bad as the one Arendus Draal had caused and would fade much, much sooner) there were no obvious signs of distress, though the fact that Caiellis's normally expressive eyes were blank (exactly like the month long period only a couple of weeks ago when he was relentlessly attempting the trial and cutting himself – that reminds me, I haven't yet seen the Angel of the Black Sun) and emotionless clearly indicated that there was something massively wrong – could that be that his father has just strangled him? You're a fucking genius, Tristram.

"Does it hurt to speak?" Tristram asked as the thought occurred to him. Wounds he could deal with. Wounds he could quantify. It was when Cai locked himself away behind his mental fortifications that Tristram found it impossible to offer help, and anything he had ever tried when the kiddo had gone into this state had been met by disaster. The boy shook his head, and then nodded, as if he was changing his mind or answering two different questions in succession, "Yes, kind of. Not as much as it did when me and Alex were kidnapped, but it still hurts. Nothing I can't deal with though."

Taken a page straight out of Alexander's book, Tristram thought, knowing that although his earlier truthfulness set him apart from his big brother (who would have vigorously denied that it was hurting him), the fact that he explicitly stated that it wasn't bothering him meant that he wanted the Guardian to leave him alone. Tristram offered, repeating, "Your father should not have done that to you, under any circumstances. I don't care if you were annoying him, or questioning, but putting your hands around your own son's neck … it is unforgivable. He is supposed to be the adult. Trust me when I say that I am going to have some words with that stubborn bastard-"

"Don't," Cai voiced, simply, his voice soft and quiet but tinged with an emotion of deep sadness that he was clearly trying to hide, "It would have been worse if he hit me..."

Don't tell me you've started to believe that ox-crap as well, Tristram thought, however then again the boy was right – restricting Cai's breathing for a time and leaving a mark was preferable to having one of the boy's bones broken if Marik had lashed out in rage, but there was a special emotional significance in going for the throat that suggested killing and ending the target's life more than a punch or slap did, and Tristram would be damned if he let this issue slide easily.

He was more than sure that Alex would be on his side when he arrived (if he was informed, as Tristram didn't want to make the situation even worse in the day or two before the attack on the capital), and although ideally he wanted it to be Caiellis's choice to tell his older brother Tristram thought he deserved to know if the younger boy chose to hide it. Normally the littlest Lucerna had no qualms about telling his big brother about his problems, but there was a clear tangent of not informing him when those problems involved their father, who had built up quite a strong relationship with Alexander due to the fact that the idler boy was far more willing to try than his smaller sibling.

He wanted to say that it was different because, from what it looked like to Tristram who had seen the look in Marik's eyes before it faded, it appeared as if Marik wanted to kill him, but he didn't want to ever voice the words. Caiellis had been there; he had been the object of his father's rage. He would know already.

"I'm sorry, Caiellis, but that doesn't excuse him in any way. Attacking you is completely out of order, and I won't tolerate it from him. I don't give a shit if he is stressed or not, or has a lot of pressure on him, because he should not take it out on his own sons." Tristram hoped that the conviction his words were suffused with would make him sound like he was brooking no dissent in the matter.

He was proven wrong when Cai sighed, "Better me than my brother," and although Tristram thought, I'm not really sure, as though I would never, ever wish pain upon Alex, he can take it better than you and he is stronger so more able to fight back. Plus, he isn't as fragile or small. Besides, he would prefer it that way as well, but before he could translate those thoughts into words the boy was already speaking, "And he has already hurt me once."

"He's done what?!" Tristram demanded, volcanic anger erupting out of him that he quickly cooled when he saw Caiellis's frightened flinch away from the Guardian, evidently still instinctively scared about being hurt despite what he might say to deny it, "Cai, it's alright. You know I'm not angry with you, but you could have told me about it earlier. When did it happen?"

"The day I was leaving for the train," Cai replied, pulling up the sleeve of his left arm in explanation, the pale white skin discoloured by the ugly purple bruising that made Tristram even more angry, though it still paled in comparison to what he had seen today, and it had clearly faded with time, "But I think he did it accidentally," he lied, not wanting the situation to escalate to the point where Tristram would do something regrettable and immensely stupid and dearly regretting not being stronger and hiding it from him, "Because he underestimated how strong he was in conjunction to how fragile I am," the words felt like ash on his tongue, and he hated admitting that in tandem with lying for his father's sake, "And I tried to twist away."

"Aww, Cai … I'm sorry," Tristram said, not able to think of any other words that would have the boy's probably irrevocably damaged psyche due to what Marik had done to him, and how he had built up an image of a perfect and invincible father that was always thinking of them throughout the war (just like his sons were always thinking of their dad), just to have it smashed apart with the cold truth of what Marik now was, and every time it seemed to be repairing something happened to widen the rift between them.

The boy sat perfectly still for a few seconds, and then decided on a whim to voice his thoughts, "It's strange … I know I should be angry … but I don't feel it. I don't really blame him for what he's just done, despite the fact that my words and provocations were in no way justifications for that. It's weird, how I can simply not hate him for that – though I still do, just not for that, and in no way do I love him – but whenever we argue I'm more annoyed. It's like our arguments are me challenging him to act like the adult and prove that what I am saying is wrong, but the fact that he strangled me simply confirms my accusations. I'm not disappointed, not do I expect anything less."

Listening intently to his heartfelt words and thinking about what he could have done differently to try and prevent this – as he had never had the heart to try and dispel the boys' illusion of the perfect father, though the relationship between Marik and Cai was worse than what he had imagined in his worst scenarios (tainting the fact that Alexander and the man seemed to be getting on perfectly, with Marik very proud of his eldest son and clearly showing favouritism towards him), he hadn't noticed that Caiellis had stood up and already moved to the other side of the tent in the intent to leave.

Nonetheless, now that he had and Caiellis was moving fast but not running, Tristram was easily able to outpace the small four foot eleven boy and catch up with him before he left, cursing his laxity in the line of duty, "Where are you going, Cai?"

"I … I just want to be alone, Uncle Tristram, please," Cai begged, turning around, and the utter sadness in his eyes hit Tristram like a hammer blow to the face, and before the boy left he grabbed onto his arm, "It's alright, Cai. I'll go, and you can stay here, ok?"

The boy shook his head, which was the expected reaction, as Tristram wanted him to stay here so that he knew where he was, and in spite of the fact that he could probably have spoken Caiellis's answer for him he still asked, "Why not, kid?"

"Because …" the boy replied sullenly, casting his gaze to the floor as if feeling guilt for the statement, and Tristram definitely thought he looked all of his thirteen years instead of ten more than that, "Because if stay here, your dad knows that you are here, correct?"

The youngster nodded slowly, glad that Tristram understood, though he had done similar when his father had come to see him in the Sola Atria in Civitas Sol and they had argued afterwards, going into the city where he was certain his dad would not be able to find him, "I'm sorry, but I can't allow that. There is a strategy session soon, and your father will want you to be there for that. Besides, I need to know where you are so that I can ensure that you are safe (not that I've done a good job of that so far), and though his actions may suggest otherwise Marik wants you to be safe as well," the Guardian hated the fact that he felt like he was lying to the boy, who arched an eyebrow in disbelieving incredulity.

Caiellis's youthful and gaunt face fell, and he dejectedly began to step past Tristram and go back onto his bed, sending his doleful puppy eyes in Tristram's direction that were full of sorrow, so the man gently grabbed onto his shoulder and said, "Alright, I'll make you a compromise: I'll let you go be one your own, wherever you choose, so long as you tell me now and do not lie about it, ok?"

The way the lad's eyes lit up and his posture straightened happily made Tristram want to laugh, which he did as he thought that adding humour to the situation might help the boy get over the events of this fateful morning, and fondly ruffled the poor boy's hair, "Just remember that you can always chat to Uncle Tristram, ok?"

"Yeah, I know. I'll only go to that outcropping over to the west," he replied, and when Tristram moved out of the exit to the outside of the camp the boy shot out, the man's smile instantly leaving his face the second Caiellis did so. There needed to be serious changes to the way that Marik treated his youngest son – sure, Cai may argue or challenge, but so would most thirteen year old boys, and Tristram's friend was the adult and should know better. The thing he had seen in Marik's eyes scared him like not much else did, and before today he would have easily been able to say that he would never hurt either of his sons purposefully – physically, at any rate – but seeing Marik's hands wrapped around Caiellis's throat terrified him. The king was not an abusive father, he was a loving one that was just having difficulty embracing his fatherly duties after so long and with his youngest son.

They would be having serious words after this war.

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New Summonings in this chapter:

Aymer Solfortis - Pale Wayfarer

Welkalites: Bloodpyre Elemental

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As usual, I massively underestimated the amount of words I anticipated writing about this chapter, as it was supposed to be the last one before the siege of Usnaan, but as it stands there is one more before that, full of angst as usual. Then I assure you that the battle will truly begin.

I'd like to take the chance to (something I don't do anywhere near enough) thank everyone that has read, reviewed or messaged me about this story so far, and stuck with me despite my tendency to use several billion words where one would have been sufficient. I would especially like to show my appreciation to Lullaby121 and Foxtrot Agent 21, as this story would not have lasted this long without them. Thanks, guys!