The Shattered Crowns

P.O.V. Veneres

Veneres set the goblet of spiced wine in the center of the table, his gaze lingering on the rippling surface. He stood over the map of Reem, its parchment scarred with thick, inked lines marking territories and boundaries. Around him, portraits of forgotten lords and nameless conquerors loomed, silent spectators to his contemplation. His lips tightened as he leaned against the edge of the table, one gloved hand tracing a path across the marked city.

He began to circle the table, speaking to someone cloaked in shadows. "But will it work? This strike into Reem—will it yield the change I've promised? Will it bring the people the peace they've been denied?"

The shadowed figure's voice emerged, low and silken, like a serpent's whisper. "That depends on you, my lord. Your strength is what binds us. If this move topples the gangs and steadies the mercenary factions, then perhaps the people will see you as the savior they crave. But the path forward is uncertain."

Veneres pressed a finger to a point on the map, his voice firm. "It will work. We'll crush the thief dens, storm their homes, and leave the streets clear of their filth. When we return from the raid against the Hopekiller, the people will know whose hand delivered justice. They've suffered too long."

"Perhaps," the figure replied, their tone neither affirming nor denying. "But do not think it will be simple. You may command a loyal few, but you are no Angel of the Red Sands. Nor are you the God-King who rules from the throne. You are...something else. And this course you chart—this ambition of yours—treads on dangerous ground."

Veneres's jaw tightened, his words slipping through clenched teeth. "The title of the Angel of the Red Sands cannot be claimed, no matter how much I bleed for it. I know that. But don't mistake my humanity for weakness." His glare cut through the dim light toward the shadowed figure, but they remained unmoved, an unfathomable presence in the room.

He pulled the helmet from his head and set it down beside the map. For a moment, his gaze turned outward, beyond the walls of the chamber, to the churning lunar storm that lit the night sky with its eerie glow. The moons hung there like unreachable dreams. He exhaled, his voice softening with a trace of longing. "There are legends that say men came from the moons. What I wouldn't give to walk among them, to escape these small desires that chain us all."

For a brief second, his expression faltered, a crack in the mask of resolve. "But I know better. A life of peace was never mine to live. It was stolen from me—by my father, my mother, and the countless hands that shaped me. Yet I can't blame them. No...this isn't a dream. It's something else."

He returned his focus to the map, his fingers brushing its cold surface. The chill bit through the enate armor he wore, a cloth-and-plate ensemble marked by a single scarlet diamond set at the heart. He placed his palm over the gem and murmured words half to himself, half to the shadowed figure:

"'He who shakes the lands of Reem holds the blood of the ancients and gazes at the moons with longing. He will rise higher than the heroes of legend. Kingdoms will kneel, and swords will crown him—a king who wanders the very layers.'"

His voice fell silent, but the words hung in the air like a prophecy. He turned back to his unseen guest, lifting his goblet in a toast. "Tell me, then. What would it take to challenge the God-King himself? What must I become to surpass the Red Angel, to outshine that legend?"

A cold chuckle slipped from the shadows. "Nothing in this world could make you the Angel of the Red Sands, Veneres. Not even the God-Kings dare claim that title. It is not something to be seized—it is an identity, an existence far beyond mortal grasp."

Veneres laughed softly, though his eyes burned with restrained frustration. He steadied himself, raising the goblet to his lips. "Then we proceed as planned. The gangs will fall, the smugglers will be eradicated, and we will extend a hand to the other western kingdoms on this side of the bridge. The groundwork will be laid."

The shadowed figure tilted their head, a trace of amusement threading their reply. "Ah, so you are planning something grand. Care to indulge me, my lord?"

Veneres's lips curled into a wry smile. "Rich words, coming from you. They say your tongue can flatter the wary while lacing their hearts with venom."

"It's a useful gift," the voice replied, their amusement fading into a quieter, more deliberate tone. "But I care little for flatteries. What I seek is truth. And you, Prince of Nothing, are full of carefully crafted songs. Even the minstrels weep for the beauty of your words, or so I hear."

"Perhaps," Veneres said with a smirk. "Though I've considered composing a ballad about snakes and their ever-questionable value."

The figure chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "Be at ease, Veneres. I bear no conflict with you. What I desire is simple: to see how far this ambition of yours will go. Your plans intrigue me, even if I suspect they are not as noble as you wish others to believe."

Veneres stopped pacing, his hands gripping the edge of the table. His tone shifted, becoming quieter, colder. "Do you believe in prophecy?"

The figure was silent for a beat. Then came their reply, slow and measured: "Prophecies are riddles written by men who fear time's march. Some are fulfilled by chance, others by design. But in the end, all that begins must end. Heroes, empires, gods—all crumble, sooner or later."

"Then we agree." Veneres touched his cheek, his smile faint, his words almost wistful. "I have no illusions of destiny. What I want is not divinely decreed. It is mine, forged by my hands. I wish to sit upon a throne built of victories. I wish to look down upon those who sought to break me, those who underestimated me. I want the idea of Reem itself to kneel before my will."

The shadowed figure's voice turned sharp, almost disdainful. "And for what? Control? Power? You would destroy kingdoms for such a petty goal?"

Veneres's smile deepened, and for a moment, his eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger. "Perhaps. But pettiness is all I've had to cling to. It's what kept me alive when the world tried to bury me in rubble."

The shadow fell silent, the room thick with tension. At last, their voice broke the stillness, now tinged with a dangerous edge. "Very well, Veneres. If this is your desire, I will support it. I will send gifts to the kingdoms. I will lay the groundwork for your conquest. But know this—ambition has a price, and even kings are not immune to it."

"It matters little," Veneres replied, his tone resolute. "This is not ambition. This is inevitability. And the world will bend, because it must. I won't just be a King."