The Weight They Leave Behind
966 Words
The castle halls were unusually quiet.
The evening had swallowed the kingdom in hues of crimson and deep violet, casting long shadows over the dark stone walls and glass-panel murals of ancient vampire victories. Torches flickered gently in their iron sconces, and outside, the skies churned with faint, silver-veined clouds—an omen, perhaps.
Prince Kenneth Valdros stood on one of the eastern balconies of the training spire, still in his sweat-dampened tunic. His black curls clung to his forehead. Below, the royal courtyard bustled with preparations—armor being polished, horses groomed, rows of knights lining up for inspection. The war was no longer a distant tale told in history class. It was here.
And four of his elder brothers were leaving tomorrow.
Behind him, footsteps echoed softly. He turned to see Darien and Lucien approaching side by side, as they always were. The moonlight glinted on their matching black-and-silver coats.
> “You’re not asleep,” Lucien observed, smirking.
> “Couldn’t,” Kenneth said honestly.
Darien leaned against the balcony rail beside him, looking out at the battalions below.
> “You’ll miss us,” he said, voice calm as ever.
> “I’ll worry,” Kenneth admitted.
> “You should,” Lucien added. “Aurelius might die if he has to command someone dumber than him.”
> “Lucien.” Darien’s tone held warning.
Lucien shrugged. “What? We’re going to war. Might as well have a sense of humor about it.”
Kenneth smiled faintly, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. There was something heavy pressing against his chest—some growing unease he couldn’t name.
A moment of silence passed before Darien placed a hand on Kenneth’s shoulder.
> “Train harder. If it’s not us, it’ll be you one day.”
> “Don’t get yourself killed,” Kenneth muttered.
Lucien leaned in, lowering his voice.
> “Between you and me,” he said, “I don’t think this war is the real danger.”
> “Then what is?” Kenneth asked.
Lucien gave a small smile. “That, little brother, is what you’ll have to figure out.”
They turned as another presence entered the balcony—Aurelius. He walked like a shadow given royal flesh, tall, proud, cold. He gave Kenneth a look that lingered too long.
> “You’ll never replace me,” he said softly.
> “I never tried to,” Kenneth replied, voice calm.
Aurelius looked like he wanted to say more. Then he turned away.
---
Later that night, Kenneth lay in his chamber, staring at the ceiling. Sleep refused him.
He dressed quietly, slipped out of bed, and made his way down the marble halls to the palace training grounds. The air was cold against his skin. The twin katanas—his now—were resting in their sacred cradle in the armory, as if waiting.
He unsheathed them.
The moment his hands touched the hilts, something pulsed through him. Not pain. Not warmth. Something else.
A memory that didn’t belong to him.
He swung the blades once—and the air seemed to shimmer. He moved again, the katanas guiding his limbs like they remembered movements he had never been taught.
It felt alive.
A voice stirred faintly in the back of his mind. A whisper.
“We were made to cut through fate.”
Kenneth stumbled backward. The blades settled.
> “That sword is older than this kingdom,” said a voice behind him.
Varic.
The weapons master stood silently in the shadowed archway. His expression unreadable.
> “You move like someone listening to the blade, not commanding it. Good. It means it respects you.”
Kenneth looked down at the katanas, suddenly unsure of himself.
> “Why do they feel… familiar?”
> “Because they remember,” Varic replied simply.
---
By morning, the princes were ready. Horses snorted in the courtyard. Knights assembled with polished discipline. War banners fluttered in the wind.
Kenneth stood near the stables, watching as his brothers mounted their steeds. The King stood tall in full black regalia, his golden eyes burning with unspoken thoughts.
> “This is not the end,” the King said, his voice ringing through the stone court. “But the beginning of what must be done.”
He stepped forward, handing a sealed envelope to each of his four departing sons.
> “You command a thousand each. Do not waste them. Bring back results… or don’t return at all.”
The air was thick with silence.
Lucien gave Kenneth a playful salute. Darien nodded once. Sevrin said nothing. Aurelius didn’t even look back.
They rode out.
---
Later that afternoon, Kenneth found himself still holding the twin katanas.
He trained with Varic for hours. His arms burned. His legs ached. His heart was heavy.
He was still struggling with control, but Varic was patient. For once, Marek didn’t taunt him. He trained silently nearby, throwing glances Kenneth’s way every so often.
Eventually, Varic called a break. Kenneth collapsed on the ground, soaked in sweat.
> “You will not win battles by overpowering your blade,” Varic said. “Win by becoming it.”
---
That night, Kenneth returned to his mother’s castle. The stars were out, but his heart felt dim.
Seraphine was waiting.
> “Did they go?” she asked.
> “Yeah.”
She didn’t ask more. Just walked beside him in silence as they wandered the moonlit garden.
> “You’re sad.”
> “A little.”
> “You’ll be stronger than all of them,” she said, like it was fact.
Kenneth looked at her and smiled.
> “You think so?”
> “I know so.”
- Writer
