The Ashes of a Dream

--- The Ashes of a Dream ---

To whomever survives the fire,

This world was not built for men like me.

I once believed I could change it—that I could mold order from chaos, and carve peace into the bones of a continent strangled by blood and pride. I was born into that fire: a child cursed with the blood of a god and a devil, both. Neither of my choosing. My mother vanished into disgrace. My father cursed her name and took his own. I inherited the fire of Fala, but the world only saw the shadow of Loptyr.

So I learned early that the truth of blood was not holiness—but weight. A crown made of guilt.

They told me to hide it. To survive. So I did.

I learned to speak carefully, to trust rarely, to strike only when the blade would not miss. And when the chance came—when Kurth died, when the court splintered, when the nobles turned on each other like wild dogs—I took the throne.

And for a moment, I was right.

For a moment, there was peace. For a moment, the law held. For a moment, I believed the dream I carried since childhood could live.

But peace built on ashes does not breathe for long.

I did not kill Sigurd because I hated him. I killed him because I feared he would destroy the fragile order I had forged. Because he stood where I once stood—idealistic, blind, burning with justice—and I knew what this world does to men like that.

So I broke him before it broke me.

I loved Deirdre. I loved her in a way I did not know I could love. I did not know who she was—not at first. And when I learned the truth, I said nothing. To spare her. To spare myself. A lie made of mercy.

And from that mercy, Julius was born.

My son. My curse. My failure.

I tried to stop him. Gods, I tried. But he is not the boy I raised. He is not even a boy. He is a god’s vengeance, wearing my face, speaking with my voice. He took Deirdre from me. He hunts my daughter. He tears apart the world I bled to unify.

And now you come—Seliph. Sigurd’s son. Her son. My son’s brother.

I give you Tyrfing. I give you justice. I give you vengeance. I will not raise my blade against you.

Because I know what I am.

I am not the devil they made me out to be. But I am not the savior I once believed I could become.

I am Arvis of Velthomer. And I was almost right. Almost great. Almost free.

Almost.

Let the fire take what’s left.

— Arvis Chalphy Castle, Final Day