~V~

Alaric exited the temple, his head swiveling about as he looked for his elder brother. Where had he gone? Then he saw guards spilling out of their quarters, torches and swords in hand.

He had to make sure he wasn't seen to be the murderer. He had to make himself appear innocent, though he was innocent. It would be quite easy for them to blame him.

He debated whether he should call the guards over and show them the scene, or if he should disappear. In the end he saw it better to do the first.

Alaric waved his hand in the air, calling the guards over.

"What are you doing out this late, lord?" One of the guards spoke.

"I heard noises outside and went to investigate." Alaric explained, "then I saw the king's door was open."

"Wait, do you mean-?"

"Indeed. The king is dead."

The guards rushed past Alaric, pushing him aside. If it had been any of the other heirs they would not have dared to touch them. Yet, when it came to Alaric, no one feared him, and everyone despised him. The reason? Alaric could never figure that out. It was yet another mystery of his life.

He never cared for bonds with others anyway, so their spite never afflicted him. He could only imagine it was caused due to him being the youngest son, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

Following the guards, Alaric walked back into the temple and to the murder scene. Why, he wondered, was it that he couldn't feel anything for his father? Why was he so unbothered by the cold corpse laying upon the floor, his throat slit open wide and his eyes glazed over, staring into an infinite void, unblinking.

Alaric explained what he had been able to make of the scene, the window being shot through with an arrow, the envelope, the missing ring as well as the dagger with the Sarua insignia.

In all honesty, Alaric did not believe for a second it was truly the Sarua Clan who had killed their father. Why would the dagger be left out, all it did was incriminate them. To him it seemed like an act of treachery, not just framing another Clan for the deed, but also killing the king for the throne.

That was the only motive Alaric could come to. There was no reason for an opposing clan to act now, and there was no reason for a non-Royal to kill the king.

He hated the thought, but he knew.. he knew it had to of been one of his brothers. But which could it be? Esrian? That seemed most likely..it would give explanation as to why he'd been out as late as it was. And what of Tanon? Why had he been out of his room? What reason had he?

And what if Kelden? There was no reason to suspect him, but Alaric wanted to be certain of whether or not he'd been in his room at all.

Alaric's thoughts were instantly halted when one of the guards roared, "Arrest him!"

"What? Wait, but-" Alaric wanted to resist, but he didn't want to appear guilty. "I didn't do it!"

"Then why is there blood on your shirt?" The guard asked.

"I wiped blood off of the dagger to see its insignia!" Alaric insisted.

"Alaric." Came Tanon's voice then.

He turned and sighed in relief. "Tanon, tell them I didn't do it. Tell them I wiped the blood away from the blade!"

"No." Tanon spoke coldly. From behind him stood Kelden and Esrian.

"What…?" Alaric asked in disbelief.

"The dagger never had blood on it to begin with." Tanon spoke. "He is lying. He killed not only the king but also two of the guards, their throats all slit using a wakizashi."

"Brother..?" Alaric asked, his voice weak and broken. "Why..?"

"Alaric.." Esrian spoke, sounding hurt, which surprised Alaric, "how could you… why would you betray us for the Sarua Clan..?"

"I didn't." Alaric spoke, but his voice was so emotionless, it did not sound genuine by any means.

Alaric's eyes met with Kelden. He hoped that his brother, being the most intellectual scholar in the clan, would be able to see through this lie.. but in the end, who would believe the words of an expressionless doll?

"Put him in the cellar. He will be executed on the morn." Tanon ordered, stepping aside.

Alaric's hands were chained behind his back, the cold, sharp metal scraping and digging into his flesh.

Alaric suddenly felt himself shutting down. His thoughts began to fade, his mind lulling away into a void. He wouldn't resist. If he would be found guilty, so be it. If the Clan was to fall into ruin by the hand of a tyrannous false king, then so be it. He would not resist the hand of fate.

His only wish as he was thrown into the cell, his face slamming onto the cold hard stone, was that Mortadire would burn.

•

•

•

One would think that, having seen Tanon's actions, that he would be the murderer. But that simply wasn't true. The picture still didn't add up. Alaric felt that his brother was innocent and was leaping to conclusions, and the lie about the dagger was to incriminate Alaric, who, in Tanon's mind, was the obvious criminal, and so he'd do what he could to imprison him as fast as possible.

But, the fact that shadows were now undoubtably cast over Tanon was still standing. It was entirely possible he was the culprit and was throwing shade onto Alaric, but, then why would he do that?

He'd have reason to kill the king, sure, the throne. It why get rid of Alaric? He was the youngest son, so he stood no chance against his brothers when it came to claiming the crown. Not only that, but if Tanon was meaning to frame the Sarua Clan, then there would have been no need to throw the shadows of doubt onto Alaric.

The only reason Tanon would've had to lie and incriminate him was that he honestly believed that Alaric was the killer and that he wanted to skip past the investigation, wasting no time.

Alaric felt sick. It was like hot acid was boiling in his stomach, burning out his insides and rising up to his throat. He wondered, was this rage he felt now?

Did he hate his own Clan? Did he hate his brothers..? Did he want to drown in their blood? Is that what this venom rising in his chest was? Or was it something else? He didn't know. He could not understand what he was feeling, like he could barely skim it, but never quite grasp it.

Alaric sat, legs crossed and head bowed, on the cold stone floor. His hands were bound behind his back still and they had become sore, his wrists rubbed raw by the hard metal.

The first rays of dawn seemed to illuminate the room with a divine glow, as though an angel had descended upon him to bless his soul. To purify his venom soaked heart.

The light made the cold dark metal bars turn a shade of red-brown, the rust showing through on the surface of the steel. Along the stone walls one could see moss and mold creeping over the stone.

It was dawn. The new day had begun. The day of Alaric's execution.

The day of his death.

Footsteps began to echo throughout the halls, guards traversing the cellars and marching straight to his, where they came to a halt.

"Alaric Mortadire. You have insulted the King's name, dying this royal family in blood. For your crimes, you are sentenced to death by the new King." One of the guards, the general, spoke.

"I dyed it in blood?" Alaric asked. Then he slowly lifted his head, the light above him casted a dark shadow over his eyes. "This clan has always been soaked in crimson."

"Silence!" The general roared, "Do not insult this great nation!"

"Apologies." Alaric spoke simply.

"To your feet." The general ordered, his keys rattling as he pulled them from his hip. He flipped through them as Alaric stood until he found the right one.

The general inserted the key into the door, twisted it, and with a soft click the cell door swung open. The two guards that accompanied the general moved in, coming behind Alaric and grabbing either arm.

"Move." The general growled. The guards pulled Alaric along, pushing him back and forth.

For a long time the only sound to come to Alaric's ears was that of footsteps and clank king chains. His mind was numb, the rhythmic sounds pulling him away from reality. His body seemed to move on its own as they moved through the dark halls. All Alaric could think of as the sound of clanking metal rang in his ears was the brilliance and beauty of clashing swords. In his mind, he was back in the dojo, his wakizashi drawn towards his opponent. But, instead of his brother, the opponent was completely shrouded in darkness, a mysterious unknown stranger.

As the stranger drew their sword, the sound of scraping metal filling Alaric's mind, the glinting blade was held forward, directed at his throat. The distinct flash of shimmering crimson met his eyes as the unknown figure held their blade.

Who this person was? Alaric may never know, for his time was running short, the string of his fate running to its end.

As sunlight now glared down on him, the brilliant light of first dawn dazing his senses and waking his mind, Alaric saw the crowd standing before him in the open field. He could also see his brothers, looking down on him in sorrow.

Alaric tilted his head back, closing his eyes and letting the sunlight soak into his skin.

This day was the day of his end.