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“Ah, so they didn’t break your jaw. Good.” He chuckled. “Let me fix that.” Arwin drew his fist back.

The Sealian grunted on impact, spat a glob of blood and turned back to Arwin.

“Listen. You can survive this. You can renounce Valda and pledge your allegiance to me. Because, let me be honest here, you might be Sealian, but you are a formidable soldier. Of course, not formidable enough to actually finish your mission. But that’s fine. Nobody is perfect.”

“You want to rule?”

“Are you listening to me, Captain Tadpole?”

“I can hear you loud and clear. I just want to skip all your bullshit and get to the fucking point.”

Arwin stood up straight, his gaze fixated on Isen. “I should kick you for that.”

Isen tutted. “You are the leader of the rebellion… You are a cockroach. You only do shit when hidden. Skylians will never bow to a nobody like you, Arwin.”

“General to you, Captain. Respect the ranks.”

Isen spit again, this time he almost caught Arwin’s boot. Isen grinned. “Stay still, let me see if I can get your face next.”

Arwin shook his head in amusement. He lifted his hand, and with a soft movement of his wrist, the air inside the cavern grew thick and heavy. He drew the air out of Isen’s lungs, encapsulating his head in an empty airless void. Surprised gasps sounded around him, but his attention was on Isen’s face, on his wide eyes and open mouth. Watching him gasp for air, struggling with his chains, brought him joy. Yet, he lowered his hand, freeing Isen and allowing him to breathe again.

Isen’s gasps echoed off the walls of the cavern, muffling Arwin’s steps as he moved close to him. The General fisted blue hair and pulled Isen’s head back until he was looking down at cobalt eyes. He smiled and as gently as he could, wiped the blood from Arwin’s lips. “Did you like my magic trick, tadpole?”

Isen heaved in air, his hands clenching on the chains above him for dear life. Still, he answered the General’s question with a slow dip of his chin.

“Ah! You did?” He chuckled. “You make me blush, Captain Hurley. Would you like to see what else I can do?”

“You— you do not bear the mark.” Isen grinned. “Do you?”

“I don’t need that stupid mark on my forehead to rule.”

“You are a bastard. That’s why you are angry.” Isen began to laugh but Arwin’s grip on his hair tightened, making him hiss in pain. “The king died in battle, you hoped to take his place, but instead you were hammered down as the General. Not High Commander. No. Just General.”

“If you keep running your mouth, you will see where you will lie. I might as well leave you to die under Umbriel’s sun. What do you think?”

“I’d rather die than to pledge my allegiance to you.” He spat again, this time in Arwin’s right eye.

Arwin released him and planted the sole of his boot on his face. He wiped the saliva from his face and then turned to his soldiers, who looked at him with a petrified gaze. “I want him tied up and thrown out miles away from here. I want him to burn down to a fucking crisp.”

One of the soldiers nodded while the other moved out of Arwin’s way as he left the cavern. The General took one last look at Isen before grabbing a bag by the holding cell and leaving.

Arwin watched from the corner of the throne room as Brontes pressed his forehead to the now deceased king. At any crowning ceremony, the heir would press their forehead to the dead ruler as a way of passing on their knowledge.

Arwin thought it was a load of garbage.

His grip on his sword tightened as he heard Brontes proclaim himself king and place his crown on his head. A theater, he thought. Everything was a theater. As the leaders of every town and city came forward to congratulate Brontes and give their condolences, Arwin couldn’t help but turn to face the corpse of his father.

His father…

He couldn’t even mourn his death properly. The man never treated him as a son, he never treated him with the same warmth he treated Brontes. Arwin understood the reasons, but after the death of his mother, and moving into the castle at the tender age of ten, he thought that maybe the man who had given him the gift of wind would treat him like he treated Brontes. But no, he treated him as less, as another soldier in training. What Arwin wouldn’t have done to at least receive an affectionate gaze from the king. Just a fucking gaze.

Arwin blinked the tears away and cleared his throat as he saw the new king walk towards him. Brontes smiled at him brightly, and surprisingly pulled him in for a strong and warm hug. Arwin froze, his hands unable to move, unable to process what was happening.

“We will be fine,” Brontes told him, as if the death of their father would affect them the same way. “We got each other, right?”

Arwin nodded, his shaking hands moving to hold onto his half-brother. “We do.”

“You won’t let me do this by myself, right?”