Two Suns (2)

Thyvarun had his reasons for desiring the throne so deeply.

He was born into the noble family, a lineage directly descended from Zhaldrekh, the T-Rex Slayer, or whatever grand titles he was once called.

From a young age, Thyvarun was indoctrinated to believe that it was his destiny to become king and lead his people toward change.

The closed-mindedness of the Alhamera faith sickened him and his family. They believed it contradicted the concept of progress championed by the First Prophet, Thauren.

To them, this way of life was cursed, and doom would inevitably follow.

"But who here is truly doomed?"

While Thyvarun and the nobles scrambled for power, the common folk lived their lives as usual, largely unaffected by who would take the throne. 

Their existence was divided into the simplicity of sleeping, eating, and working.

For decades, this pattern persisted, and they were fine as ever.

"Could it be my understanding that's flawed?"

His family had taught him that the poor were no more intelligent than a flock of sheep, incapable of making their own decisions. 

They needed guidance to escape their ignorance; otherwise, they'd remain in place, multiplying and suffering over things they couldn't comprehend.

But Thyvarun saw no signs of their suffering.

If anything, their lives appeared happier than his.

Saeollorik was Thyvarun's first subordinate. As the eldest of nine siblings, he had to help his parents make ends meet, even if it meant resorting to criminal acts.

Thyvarun thought it foolish—Saeollorik should simply abandon his family if they were such a burden.

Instead of taking that advice, Saeollorik brought Thyvarun to his home, inviting him to dinner.

He introduced his siblings one by one, passionately describing their talents in ways Thyvarun couldn't comprehend.

One younger brother had delicate hands, skilled with a needle for sewing. Another was broad-shouldered and dreamed of joining the Royal Guard.

During that warm dinner, filled with laughter and stories, Saeollorik declared that his family would always be his greatest treasure, and he would do anything to bring them happiness, even if it cost his life.

Thyvarun found the sentiment utterly irresponsible.

He himself had only three siblings, and they were all rivals, vying for their inheritance once their father passed away.

Even at his lowest, when he learned that the bandits who had robbed him were hired by his own brother.

On the other hand, Saeollorik found inspiration in Thyvarun, eventually abandoning his life of crime as a bandit. He admired Thyvarun's resolve—even in his darkest moments, Thyvarun chose not to seek revenge on those who wished him harm.

Of course, Thyvarun clarified that his decision wasn't entirely selfless; it was part of his 'grand' plan.

Ignoring this detail, Saeollorik believed actions mattered most.

He swore eternal loyalty to Thyvarun, vowing to serve his purpose until death parted them.

It was a vow Saeollorik upheld with solemn dedication, even to the end.

Thyvarun stared at Saeollorik's lifeless body, now severed in two.

The knight who had slain him, Nhaoruk, was someone Thyvarun had once despised—a radiant figure whose light outshone his own.

Thyvarun had always sought the sympathy and love of the common folk, but what he received was hollow, conditional admiration.

The love they held for Nhaoruk was something deeper, akin to sacred worship for a figure of pure virtue.

"Saeollorik …"

"Huh?"

"One of his foolish siblings idolized you, calling you the reincarnation of Zhaldrekh, the Shining Hero, and all sorts of nonsense."

"Let's finish this. I don't have all day."

Thyvarun was shaken. "Of course," he thought. Being among the weak had infected his resolve.

Killing Nhaoruk and claiming him as a trophy was crucial to his grand plan for the throne.

And now, he had even more reason to see it through.

Their battle was grueling. Both Nhaoruk and Thyvarun withdrew with severe injuries.

But the aftermath was far more significant.

The overly radical 'purge' that followed sparked widespread unrest, uniting the weak and poor across the kingdom in protest.

Historians would later argue that if the soldiers had shown restraint and wisdom in dealing with the demonstrations, the Alhamera might have become a more unified and powerful race.

But when a magical weapon was fired, claiming the life of a child, the people decided enough was enough. Dialogue was no longer an option.

Much like the Hope race before them, the Alhamera kingdom descended into the chaos of a destructive civil war.

Though the devastation wasn't as severe as with the Hope, who lost their leadership entirely, the Alhamera suffered greatly.

The rebellion was crushed, but at the cost of thousands of lives, reducing the population by 50%.

Some rebels fled into the forests, forming an independent alliance of Half-Bloods and even Kaovren—the very beings they once cursed—to create a new nation.

Others escaped across the untamed seas, armed with only scant knowledge of its harsh currents and perilous waves.

Fewer than a hundred made it to the other side, where they discovered a new world—a land of unseen flora and fauna, brimming with untapped possibilities.

In time, these settlers would become the most advanced civilization in the world, naming their new continent after the spirit of wisdom and knowledge: Intayan, the All-Knowing.

As for Thyvarun, he spent his final years as a lonely old man.

With only one leg remaining, he relied on crutches or a wooden staff to move.

In his fading vision, he gazed toward the distant skies, reflecting on his long life.

"A life that… wasn't so bad."

He never claimed the throne. He never became a ruler.

But Thyvarun could still say he was grateful for what he had.

If there was one regret, it was the dream he could never achieve—to fly.

In his last moments, Thyvarun looked skyward, hoping the faintly floating home above would take him away.