The Legend of the Constellar King

CHAPTER IV: The Good King and the Princes

Since Xerxes realized his mistakes, he didn't think of anything else, especially remarrying, but instead focused on the administration of the palace and even the other surrounding countries. Even though many beautiful young women were still chasing after him. But even though many said that Xerxes was cursed because he was unlucky in love due to the beliefs of the elders of Thallerion, some still said they were ready to die just to marry Xerxes. However, Xerxes himself was the one who refused them. He improved his army and expanded the territory of Thallerion; he seized the entire land of Wendlock. Because of this, the kings saluted him. As a result, it led to conflict; the Ossibuz tribe, which was close to the land of Wendlock, got angry, so in response, their king, Matar, challenged Thallerion to leave the land of Wendlock because many of the Ossibuz tribe had already moved to the land of Wendlock. But Xerxes refused.

Pyramus was also sixteen; he was grown up and looked like a young man in his thinking, but he also had changed a lot; he became picky and easily angered, especially with his servants. He cut his once long hair, which he used to always have the servants comb, so his youthfulness was more apparent. Because he was of Peronican blood, his skin was very smooth without any blemish. His eyes were inherited from his mother, as was his skin tone. He also didn't like his things scattered around, especially in his room. He was always annoyed with his brother, because he always bothered him, but all Maximus wanted was to play with him.

"Father, I have something to show you!" he shouted while rushing. This immediately got the attention of the people there, especially his father. Pyramus was there, too. 'Where did he get that?' Pyramus said to himself while following Maximus with a grumpy look. "What is he going to show, it's probably just embarrassing!"

"I'm going to play for you." the child happily answered. Everyone was smiling except for Pyramus. "It seems my son inherited from the king of Thartherus because he has a talent to show." Xerxes happily replied. There was a moment of silence at that time, which only showed respect for the young prince. "Silence!" said one of them. The king was also waiting for what his son would do, and a moment later, he blew the instrument he was holding. From his mouth to the hole of the flute, a sweet and gentle sound came out. Everyone applauded what the prince showed. Everyone was amazed because they knew that no one had taught the child, and yet what they discovered was so skilled. So great, some said. "Truly Thartherus blood!"

"So good! Who taught you that?" the amazed father said. "Did King Driother teach you that?"

"Yes, father, grandfather visited me and brought me gifts, and he said he would teach me to play, so I learned to play the flute."

"And also, I taught my friend, too." He happily replied. "Caspard!" Pride was etched on his face for his friend.

"He's Vethor's son." Xerxes said.

"Isn't Vethor just a poor man? Why is a royal mingling with the son of a commoner?" People there whispered. "Be quiet!" Xerxes shouted. "Send for Vethor, right now." But a delegated soldier, Phalleon, objected.

"That man has no wisdom. He doesn't even know how to write. Why are you giving importance to people like that?" he complained. "It's only right to command the ignorant to learn and become your soldiers."

"A person who does good deeds should receive a reward." Xerxes said, because in truth, Xerxes saw a lot of good in Vethor's service as a soldier. "From the beginning, I've seen him as a good example to his fellow soldiers, so because his son also gets along well with my son, I have a special gift for Vethor." The king emphasized.

"I see it in their eyes… that dread… that pity…" He looked down, trembling. "Tell me… what am I?"

Master Caldier froze for awhile, his throat caught dried. His eyes can't deny the fact but he has to settle it down, calmly.

"My son," his voice carried deep breaths. "You are the last descendant of the Draconian bloodline."

" Dra—draconian bloodline?" Evenneor stunned.

" He is the last descendant of Draconian bloodline, the long forgotten bloodline?" Xerxez appeared at their back, shocked as he heard the truth. " I can't believe it... There is no dragon bloodline still exist."

" No, this is truth...he is the last descendant of Draconian bloodline." Master Caldier said.

"How it is possible, there was still a survivor?" Xerxez eyes scrutinized them. " My grandpa's bed stories said, Draconian bloodline was indeed eradicated long time ago."

"Yes...but my wife was Draconian bloodline, but she hide her identity for so many years until one day, when the Wendlock barrier was destroyed... enemies breach in...but she has no other option but to use her ultimate ability, she transform into giant dragon, unleashing fire to the lizard Humans. But then, she died... All the elders keep the secret to hide the identity of my son."And there—on a stone blackened by ancient scorch marks—sat Evenneor. His arms pulsed faintly with searing veins of emberlight, and beneath the ghostly moon, jagged scales shimmered like molten glass struggling to cool.

"Evenneor!" Caldier's voice broke the silence, rough with fear. He moved closer, each step cautious—the air itself wavered with heat radiating from his son's trembling frame.

Evenneor turned, eyes burning faintly orange. "Father…" His voice quivered between fury and despair. "Are you here to scold me again?"

Caldier's expression softened, sorrow shadowing his features. "No, my son. I'm here to look after you. I'm not angry—but please, don't let this consume you again."

"They made me like this!" Evenneor's words cracked like sparks. "The way they stare at me—as if I'm diseased. Do I look cursed to them? They flinch every time I draw near. The elders—they hold me back, restrain me, watch me, even when I do nothing! Is it because of my bloodline?"

Caldier faltered, the question striking deep. "What… what do you mean, your bloodline?"

Evenneor's breathing grew ragged. "I can't control it anymore. The whisper—the voice that crawls into my dreams—every night it grows louder!"

Caldier stepped closer despite the rising heat. "My son, listen to me. Come home. We'll find a way—"

"No!" Evenneor roared. The sound cracked through the clearing like thunder. He slammed his clawed hand against the stone; flames flared and died beneath his palm.

"Look at me!" he cried. "Look at what I've become! Answer me, Father! The elders—they all know what I am, what I carry—and yet they hide it! Tell me the truth!"

He lifted his trembling claws to the moonlight, the scales gleaming like forged iron. "Is it because of these? Is that why they fear me?"

His voice broke into a raw whisper. "I see it in their eyes… that dread, that pity. Tell me—what am I?"

The flames around him flickered uncertainly, caught between rage and sorrow, as if the fire itself mourned with him.On a stone darkened by scorch marks—Evenneor sat alone. His arms glowed faintly, veins of emberlight pulsing beneath his skin. Under the pale moon, jagged scales shimmered like shards of molten glass.

Caldier appeared from the shadows, his cloak fluttering in the dry wind.

"Evenneor!" he called, his voice raw and trembling.

Evenneor didn't move. The air around him rippled with heat. Slowly, he turned—eyes burning faintly red-orange.

"Father…" his voice cracked, halfway between fury and sorrow. "Are you here to… scold me again?"

Caldier's breath hitched. "No, my son. I'm not angry. I'm here because I'm worried about you. Please… don't let this power take over again."

Evenneor's fists clenched, sparks dancing between his fingers.

"They're the ones who made me like this!" he shouted. "The way they look at me… like I'm cursed! Like I carry some disease! They back away whenever I come near!"

He rose to his feet, the ground beneath him glowing faintly with heat.

"The elders always hold me down, always whisper behind my back… even when I've done nothing wrong! Tell me, Father—is it because of my bloodline?"

Caldier's eyes widened. "What… what are you saying?"

Evenneor's breath came in ragged bursts.

"I can't control it anymore… the voice… the whisper that crawls into my head every night—it's getting louder!"

Caldier stepped forward. "Evenneor, listen to me. Come home. We'll find a way—"

"NO!"

The word exploded like thunder. Evenneor slammed his clawed hand onto the rock—flames burst beneath his palm, scattering embers into the air.

"Look at my hands!" he cried, his claws glinting with molten light. "Answer me, Father! The elders know what I am! What I carry! But they hide it from me!"

His voice broke. "Tell me… why do they fear me? Is it because of this? Because of these claws?!"

The wind howled through the ruins as Evenneor's flames flickered wildly, lighting his face in streaks of orange and shadow.

"I see it in their eyes… that dread… that pity…" He looked down, trembling. "Tell me… what am I?"

[The fire dimmed, leaving only the moonlight and a son's broken question hanging in the smoke.]