The Cursed: Threads of Destiny

The conflict in Settlement Victor 7 had worsened since they’d last spoken about it, which was about 3 days ago. The King couldn’t understand how that was even possible. He also couldn’t believe that his committee let the situation turn out this way in the first place. But he endures the long meeting before he retires for the day, wanting to fire everyone sitting at the table, because he signed up for it. He tries to remember why he ever agreed to this bullshit, considers that it may have something to do with the Immortal’s brighter-than-the-moon face, and disregards the whole idea because of the fact he does not remember his face. Not that he would remember his face otherwise, but he needs the consolation that he would not be so stupid. He nods along to the rather long description of what has changed in SV7 as he thinks about his trip to Saltor. He knows he’s a few decades late, but he also knows that Dāsna would understand. He tries not to wince when he thinks back on when he decreed that the town be assigned to Dāsna, and he messaged him ‘Is this an apology?’. It had made him think then, for a brief moment, that there might be a possibility that his idea of apologizing was giving the person power. He’d felt a bit arrogant and thought that it was a good way to apologize. But in all his years, a worded apology has touched him more than anything else. Although they haven’t really spoken directly to each other, he is more excited than nervous. Time does heal some wounds. His departure the day after tomorrow is all he can think about, even when there are more important things that require his attention. He is in no way incapable of carrying out his vowed duties, but work’s still work. He tries not to think about tomorrow’s half-yearly gathering. He thought it would be a good way for species to interact and gain each other’s respect, if not trust. He honestly thought it would go badly, seeing as many of the species that attended the gathering hated coming out of their habitat and hated to associate with other species even more. But the ones that surprised him the most were the Mer-people, who he’d seen only twice before the first gathering after his coronation. They were one of the only species that tried to build actual relationships with as many people as they could. He initially thought it was because of how closed off they were—so much more than the ones that lived on land—but he soon realized that it is simply in their nature, which he found endearing in a way. Their nature, while being too forgiving, remains firm and upholds their beliefs. It often seems to be a weakness for them, but usually is a lack of wisdom on behalf of the ones that believe that. The King maintains a good relationship with the Mer-people, even when they seem keen on him marrying their princess, which he finds flattering and forward, but all the more bothering. He brushes his temple before leaning back in his chair, trying not to frown as he reminds himself that he’s going to have to deny their offer of marriage again. It’s for the good of the kingdom, he answers his silent question of why he had to hold the gathering twice a year, the good of the kingdom. The thought makes him think of his mother and how he has become so much like her in the last few decades, more than he’d ever become in all his life. She would’ve been a good Queen, he thinks, as memories of her rush to the front of his mind. Although he doesn’t remember her eyes or the way she smiled, her voice always seems to guide him from the back of his mind. He may spend the day as his mother’s son, but at the end of it, he will always remain his father’s, which saddens him sometimes. His father wasn’t a bad man in any way, but his strictness made him distant, made the King feel that there was a time in his life where his father hated him. He finds it strange that even though he doesn’t remember their faces—not of his mother or father or even his brothers and sisters—he remembers their ways. It is strange that after everything he still remembers them. He never thought his love for them was so great—always thought that it was good enough—but, still, he never thought he’d live this long after them. Perhaps their memories are the reason he still feels alive. A file passes 5 sets of hands before it lands in front of him. The situation in SV7 is being linked to the disappearance of supernatural people in and around that area. The rebels, as they have—to his absolute disapproval and disdain—famed themselves, were believed to possess the kind of resources that would allow the k********g of thousands of people. He believes that rebels can only allow themselves to call that when they stand for a better cause than whatever their whining response to losing absolute power is. What is worse than their identity is how the hell were they able to possess such a resource that allowed wrongful imprisonment of thousands of supernaturals? They weren’t completely sure, yet. They hadn’t actually been sure for many years, and after he had had enough of not knowing, he sent a rather terrifying representative to lead the operation in the right direction swiftly, who yielded desirable results, much to his delight. The disappearances aren’t a new thing—they have been going on since before he came into power—it is the sudden increase in their numbers that is concerning. Hundreds have turned into thousands in a matter of days, which indicated heightening activity by the rebels. As he flips through the pages, something whirls in his stomach. The possibilities of what they are planning to do are nauseating. His shoulders slump down slightly as he feels the restraint of not being able to do anything. He feels it every time he reads or sees something terrible happen and has to remind himself that he is now in a position to do something, nothing like the person he was, just a few decades ago, with all his powers. Maybe he could’ve done something, but he just didn’t care as much as he does now. As the meeting progresses to its end, about two hours after the file was handed to him, it becomes clear that he is going to have to talk to the leaders tomorrow and request reinforcements. They have to take the natural weaknesses of every species contributing to the armed forces into account and assign them to regions where they can function to the best of their abilities while also encouraging the mingling and collaboration of different species. It isn’t that they have not already been doing this, but SV7 is like landmines spanning across a mountain range. The dangers there need to be analyzed for at least half a year before they can even begin to send the troops. And they don’t yet know who will be willing to send members of their species there. Nevertheless, orders are given to start an in-depth analysis of the area which will enable the troops to work to the best of their abilities and hopefully end the short reign of the so-called rebels. Leaders are contacted to make sure that they attend tomorrow’s gathering; more that arrive, more are the chances of them securing enough soldiers. Ideally, they should be politically and emotionally, if not morally, inclined to send aid to the members of their species that have been kidn*pped, he thinks, staring at the report, but you never know. He continues to listen to the advice of all the chiefs and members of the council for a few more minutes before he stops bothering to hide his annoyance and that’s when they know that they should conclude the meeting. He looks at his watch and sighs as he realizes that 5 hours have passed since the beginning of the meeting. He stands from his seat at the head of the table, making the members of his council shuffle to their feet. “I thank you all for your time,” he says, “Our progress is slow, but it is still progress. Since we will all be engaged otherwise with tomorrow’s gathering, we shall continue this discussion holographically the day after tomorrow. I request and expect you to attend. This meeting is adjourned. Have a good night.” “Your Majesty,” they all respond in unison as they bow their heads. He moves to exit the room with his current second and third in command in toe. They don’t speak a word until they reach a car waiting for them to take them to the pack house. They would usually take separate cars, but a delicious dinner is probably set for them at the pack house, and they trust no other than the soon-to-be second in command to get them there as fast as possible. The King lets his body relax on the soft leather of the car seat as the car begins its journey. He feels faint as the magical pedant around his neck glows and there is the phantom burn of the chain. He thinks again about just pulling it off and burying it somewhere no one would find it. He could easily run away from his responsibilities as he has done in the past, but he is choosing to do this right, to fulfill the Wish. Perhaps if he does this one thing right, he might finally be reunited with his family, his soul might finally leave this body. He cracks his neck, breathing deeply before he asks, “What’s for dinner again?”