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

Cele had found his way back to his chambers after the meal that was neither breakfast nor lunch. He wasn’t followed by Heiko, since there were preparations to be made, preparations that he insisted Cele needn’t be a part of, so, instead, he sat idly on the chair he had fallen asleep in. 


The midday sun of Simo was harsh and white, vastly different from Ilyos, where it could’ve been likened to a welcoming friend. Well, welcoming for natives, Cele supposed, his mind drifting backwards in time. When the prince sat beside King Vincente at the wrestling spectacle, even in his Ilysian clothing, the lightest of perspiration gathered on the back of his neck. At the time, the general could only mull over how ill-fitted he was for Ilyos. Now, his thoughts wandered where they shouldn’t have. How much exertion by the prince would be necessary to elicit the same amount of moisture? Would the heat between two bodies – even in the frigid Simonese climate – be sufficient? 


Temperate Penumbras - Part 12