Ruins And Royalty

The night sky was aglow with the concrete moon and the flickering of stars. It shone right into the window, illuminating a fireplace where we sat comfortably. The crackling fire amused the dancing hues of orange flames, softly falling on our faces. I gazed at the sight, mesmerized as if I had seen it for the first time. “The fires in Atlas glows brighter, warm to the touch, but burns not.” A calm voice exclaimed. I turned my head towards the way of which the voice came. It was my mother. Her jet black hair run like the finest silk down her back, gently folding over the chair she was seated in. She was as close to the fireplace as I was. The glowing embers alight her face and fine young features. I was on the floor, a perfect copy of her, mirrored. I looked up at her, already knowing the story she was about to tell. “The Gods cannot burn, nor can they drown. The mortals, lucky enough to ever see the heavens of Atlas, cannot burn either…” She continued, looking me deep into my dark, ocean blue eyes. This was my favourite story as a child. She would frequently sit with me on the cold dreaded nights in front of the fireplace, indulging me with the wonders of the land of our Gods. “Beautiful temples and a palace build from the finest marble, unbreakable and unstained. Diamond waterfalls and emerald grass, fields with the brightest of flowers…” I listened in awe. Her words so passionate, I could taste the sweet air, feel it gush against my skin. I closed my eyes and for a moment I was there. “Floating islands, carrying such magnificent beauty on its back in perfect balance, accessed only by portals through marble arches situated on each piece of floating rock.” The hissing of wood sap and the sound of crumbling logs pulled me back to reality. I stared at the low burning fire for a moment, realizing how I had lost track of time. “I want to be there, can’t we go?” I asked with desperation in my voice. My mother chuckled softly then placed one hand on my head, leaning forward. “Now now, Aaron, the Gods don’t just let anyone into their haven. One must cross the ocean to the island of Athros where the gates to Atlas opens, but only the strong can manage such difficult path that lies ahead as its way is protected by the most powerful creatures.” Her words were powerful this time, the gentleness still there, but she knew this way of speaking only eager me on more. “I will become the strongest in all the land. I will train until my hands become heavy and my bones ache. I will walk until my feet bleed and swim until my muscles grow tired. I will sail without sleep and fight my way through. Nothing and no one will stop me!” I shouted, jumping up. This reaction was no surprise to my mother. She gave me a smile, leaning back into her chair. “The road will be hard and long, but the sons and daughters of Emperos has always been strongest and I hold no doubt that you will be no exception.” She stood up, laying a hand firmly on my shoulder. Her face, now serious and voice firm. “When the time is right, my son, you will enter the Game of The Gods and claim you’re place alongside them. You will be crowned champion and enter the gates to Atlas.” I was only nine at the time, young and naïve. The memory of that night was as clear as day, as if it only happened the day before. I treasured that memory years after - the affection, the dream… How unfortunate that something I held so close to my heart turned out to be so devious. Those late nights at the fireplace were never about bonding, never about the two of us, mother and son wanting to be close. She planted a seed and kept watering it, night after night until it was the only thing I thought about, dreamed of. I absorbed every word, every moment. It was never just stories, or about me… it was about fame and glory. My family fed on it like pigs, fattening with each bite- more, more! My father let her do as she pleased to guide, not only me, but my brothers and sisters as well. He sat back and watched as she filled our minds with the wonders of Atlas until it was what we believed we were meant for… born for. I once overheard them talk in the throne room one day, when I was thirteen, about how they would watch all their children die just to see one thrive. Having offspring enter Atlas added popularity and wealth to the family name. There was no better honour in the world than to be crowned champion. This was the way, but I did not waiver. I knew well my mother and father’s intentions and as I grew older it became clear to me, but this did not sway me, in fact, it motivated me. There was nothing on this earth worth staying for, if not for a mother and father’s love, then what for? If they could treat me like a pawn in the game of power and glory, who to say no one else would do the same? Entering the heavens was the only escape. I’d let them pick the fruits of my labour as I would have it sweeter. I’d be a God, looking down at them.