Two years after Prince Heiko witnessed the death of his father during the 91st Battle of Tyton, and subsequently, the defeat of his kingdom, he was sent to the gates of the victor, armed with nothing but empty words and a command from his elder brother to form a treaty of peace. 

Two years after General Celestino Adesso released the arrow that felled the great king of Simo, he is presented with the youngest of his sons. Though barely a man at seventeen summers, the prince was far from wet behind the ears. In fact, his tactful yet brazen form of statecraft vaulted him far beyond his years. Coupled with his draconian mannerisms, and a knack for callous pleasure, it was only a matter of time before Celestino caught a whiff of something sinister. 

But Prince Heiko was no fool. He was betting heavily on that sharp nose. He wanted a sense of dubiety to gnaw at the general. He needed to create mistrust in his elder brother in order to build credence in himself. Because he knew of Celestino Adesso, and of the illustrious king he served. He knew they wouldn't trust him over his elder brother any more than they would trust a raincloud to bring sun. He knew that to those men, he wasn't honorable, and because of that, he was forced to play the games he was known for. The ones that conspired in the dead of night, the ones that spoke no words but shifted kingdoms. The ones that could obtain the allegiance of General Celestino. Little did the young prince know, however, allegiance was not all he would obtain. But no matter how much Heiko wanted to offer the man what he desired, he could not - not while bound to the gods. 

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Hallowed Be

“Supercilious and cocky,” Cele parried with a grin. The general didn't question why conversation with the young princeling was so facile when no one else was around to obstruct them, nor did he question why the entirety of Prince Heiko's demeanor shifted so drastically. He still possessed the same aloof pretension he displayed in Ilyos, but when on Simonese soil, this disposition seemed far more... effective. And perhaps, to some, even beguiling. But certainly not to the great General Adesso. Certainly not. “Though, I guess it can’t be helped - you were a Muse once, no?” 


The flames danced shadows across the princeling’s skin, shadows and light of orange and yellow. But not red. The red, lightly brushed across only his cheeks, could not be blamed on the fire. 


“Who told you?” His voice did not betray what his cheeks, sitting high with the cheekbones, did. 


Temperate Penumbras - Part 4