“No man should ever have to give his life for a king who is not willing to sacrifice his own life for the sake of his people!” The king yells. The advisor frowns, dismayed. “My king, this is preposterous! These savages will strike you down without any remorse! The morale of our troops would collapse. If this is your will, then I want no part in it.” He shakes his head, turning his back to the king, distancing himself from this foolishness, letting his carefully chosen words be his final advice to this suicidal king. The prince gazes at his father with a confused look upon his face. “We have an elite army with the bravest men of the known world at our disposal; we can fight together, side by side, and drive them back into the sea from where they came,” he boldly suggests. The king rises from his throne, preparing his lungs for the royal voice, addressing all who stand in awe. “No wife will become a widow! No son will be raised without a father, and no mother will watch her son be burned or buried. I will face them alone, for I will not send men to die in my name,” he declares. “I will be a son raised without a father! You can’t win a battle against a thousand armed savages! You’re abandoning your people when they need you the most!” the prince yells with the same genetic fury. The king makes his way down the dais, reaching amidst all that stand shocked. “I have made my decision; our soldiers will man the walls and protect the city. I shall meet them in the field - alone.” The prince rushes towards his father and falls to his knees. “Father, please, don’t do this. I beg you.” The king pulls his son up from the floor, placing both hands on his shoulders. “Son, a king should never beg, for a true king is a righteous one, and righteous ruling need not be begged. Now, I demand that you show leadership to our valiant soldiers, man the walls, and let no enemy cross it. When I fall, you must rise. Your final lesson in ruling is to witness my death. You have been raised with a father; you will grow old and wise without one.” The king wipes away the tears from his son’s face. “Father, I don’t understand. Why have you decided to commit this suicide?”
“You will, in time,” the king answers, as he is helped into his armour by soldiers moving around him. “Go now, my son. You have a duty to fulfil.” The prince does not comprehend his father’s final instructions, gazing doubtfully at him, not willing to leave. “Now, go!” the king yells with fiery fury in his voice. The prince staggers at the forceful command, uneasily stumbling away from the royal chambers. “My king, your horse is ready. The men at the gate know about your arrival,” the general informs with his head bowed. The king nods towards his lifelong friend and loyal general. “Thank you, my dear friend. I have one last request before I go.” The general raises his head. “What is it, my king?” As the king is handed his helmet, he holds it before him, brushing off the dust. “Look out for my son. Help him as you have helped me.”
“A request that need not be made,” the general responds, extending a deep obeisance. The king smirks gratefully as he puts on his helmet. A soldier delicately carries a chest towards the king, striding past the grim-faced prince who is on his way out. The prince glimpses at the unusual chest, not recognising its origin. The soldier marches a long way before presenting the chest to his king, kneeling before him, raising the chest above his hung head. The king opens the chest gently. Inside lie two curved swords forged from an unknown metal. As he traces its shape with the tip of his finger, dust sticks to his fingerprint.
War drums echo from wall to wall in a mesmerising city - one that rightfully fears the sound of danger to their peaceful existence. The king rides, fully armoured, ready for war, trotting through the muddy streets. The common folk watch the traversing royalty, cheering passionately for their brave king, knowing that this breed of royal blood is willing to sacrifice himself with the devotion to protect them. Despite mud and dirt flying from the hoof steps of the royal horse, people run behind their king - uncaring to be stained by any of the flying filth. As the king approaches the giant gate, it opens haltingly, and he who dares to fight alone quickens his pace. He passes the gate, entering the plains where his demise is destined to take place. The crowd come to a halt since soldiers prevent them from following their royal leader. As the king gazes over his shoulder, glancing at the people gathered before the closing gate, the cheering quiets down. They watch with dread-filled eyes and lowered spirits as the gate gradually obstructs their view, distancing them for the dangers that their king shall face alone.
The sun shines brightly on his royal armour, giving him a yellow glow, and like a floating star, he races over the brown dirt, galloping towards the army of savages. When near enough, he slows his pace and dismounts his royal horse. “Not even you shall die for me,” the king tells his four-legged companion while petting its head. He then releases the saddle from its back, letting it fall on the ground. “Only I shall die for my people.” He smacks the horse’s rear with his hand, making the beast run off, not towards the city or the enemy but right in between - towards the distant open grasslands. The king turns to face the savages that stand in disciplined lines before him. They don’t speak; they don’t move; they simply stand and hold their ground, breathing this foreign air, waiting for their glorious moment to come. The king pulls out his swords, grasping the hilts tightly. Without any warning, the enemy soldiers immediately march forward. “I give you this one chance!” the king yells at them with great power in his voice. The soldiers, clearly affected by this, stop dead in their tracks. “Leave now and be spared, or take another step and be burned!” the king furiously exclaims. The enemy soldiers hold their ground while creatures fly over, ready to feed on the first corpses. As a few still moments pass, doubts seem to rise because of the king’s powerful assertion. Hope for a bloodless resolution settles in, only to be quickly destroyed when their spears fall forward and shields rise. Guarded safely behind his soldiers, a lieutenant yells aggressively in a foreign tongue unknown to our king. With his eyes closed and breathing steady, the king waits. “So be it,” he avers. The soldiers march onwards, their spears aimed towards the lonesome warrior. “Fire will keep the tears into our hearts.” The king opens his eyes and swings his swords in the air, directing them at his enemies. From left to right, he continues slashing at nothing but air. The soldiers circle the fearless king, and when in striking distance, the swords of the royal blood begin to glow red. One brave soldier tries first to stab the king’s heart with his spear, wanting this charade to end quickly, proving himself worthy to lay siege on this foreign city. As the brave soldier rams his spear towards the king’s chest, the glowing red sword cuts the incoming spear in half, burning it with a fiery explosion that instantly spreads to the soldier’s hand, arm, chest, finally engulfing his screaming face. The daring soldier bursts into flames ignited by the now screaming and fiery king. The other soldiers step back, as the air is filled with the horrifying screams of the blazing man, whose metal armour glows red, forging into the shape of a falling dying man.
Standing atop the city walls, the prince watches his father’s fire with thoroughly astonished eyes. “Father?” he whispers in amazement. As bright fire flows like waves over the battlefield, he continues to ponder, “Is this is my final lesson?” The general standing beside him nods, while watching the fire being guided. “It is, my prince. It’s the power of sacrifice, which is only granted by the Gods to those who are worthy. Your father proved himself before the skies from where the Gods watch. A king that’s willing to die fighting for his people, is the only kind of king the Gods deem worthy.” The new royal blood gazes at the bright star on the battlefield, envisioning his final lesson, and within seconds, he exclaims proudly, “Then ready my horse, for I’ve learnt what it means to be king!”
The king circles his swords around himself, shouting aloud with passion as he delivered one blow after another with his blades. A bright fire bursts into flames from the air that the swords make - the flying fire controlled by the king who chose to fight alone. Those caught by its blaze run away screaming but are quickly consumed by the monstrous fire, repealing their desperate efforts to make way for the sea. Only the bravest of these savage soldiers test their strength against the king, attempting to pierce their spears into him. The king slashes his fiery swords towards all who dare to face him. He advances towards the centre of the army and surrounds himself from all sides. Half of the savage army scurries away, routed by fear or fire. A tenacious high-ranking officer sees an opening and tries his luck, attacking the fire-spouting king’s leg from behind. The king is too overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemies to block this cunning attack and cries out as the metal spear pierces through his armour to enter his flesh. The loud cry erupting from his lungs reaches the blue sky and is heard by all the Gods watching this mighty champion fight. The Gods hear his cry and accept his offer, turning his painful shout into a blood-like fire that he breathes from his mouth towards the first enemy to shed his blood, disintegrating the officer where he stands. The remaining bold soldiers, seeing the spear stuck at the back of his leg, find strength in knowing that this valiant creature can be hurt, and with that knowledge comes the courage to fight and overwhelm the wounded fire king. One spear after another, these savages shove into his armour, cutting deep into his flesh. As the king’s tight grip loosens, his swords fall, and the fire around him dissolves into thin air. Yet, the foreign soldiers continue to attack the falling king. But, the spears in his back and his torso prevent him from falling on the ground. The king heaves loudly. With every breath, more blood drips from his many wounds and is absorbed by the dry cracks of the brown earth below. The remaining soldiers gaze at him, frightened and amazed by the endurance of the still-alive king who has been pierced with over a dozen spears. With great effort, the king turns his head towards his saved city, seeing a cloud of dust flying, followed by his own elite army on horseback. The new royal blood rides in full force to finish off the remaining soldiers. The enemy trembles in panic and give in to their fear by either kneeling towards the dying king or dropping their weapons to surrender. The cavalry crushes the bravest of the enemy, driving them back into the sea. The new royal blood stops his horse near his dying father, dismounting it swiftly to approach him. With his head held high, the old king smiles proudly at his son - meeting the eye of the new king - as blood streams down his teeth. The old king finds his peace in the moment they see each other for the last time, and the strength that held his head up fades away, letting it finally hang. The old king may have fallen, but the spears stabbed into his flesh keep his body raised. The new king removes his father’s helmet, kneeling before him - beside the savages that chose life over death.
In front of the statuesque grave of the old king, all surviving soldiers who fought in this tragic battlefield kneel before his corpse held upright by the pierced spears. The foreign invaders who were defeated by the lonesome warrior bow right beside the soldiers who learnt on this day what a true king was.