Long May He Reign 3 (Patreon)

“If I may, Your Highness, who was the niece?” Cristoph asked.

“Her birth name is Emma Barnes, though I believe that these days she is more commonly known as Matriarch of Seven Waters,” The King answered, an amused smirk on his face as he thought back.

Cristoph blinked in surprise. Matriarch of Seven Waters was one of The King’s oldest allies and was reputed to have been the one to slay the Ocean Devil that served the Golden Foe, not long after the formation of the Silver Throne.

“But, back to the story. I had arrived in an alleyway, standing between my friend, niece, and a myriad of thugs, barefoot and with no armor but a thin pair of loose sleep pants to guard my modesty…”

For several long moments, no one spoke or moved. I glared at the thugs that had threatened Emma and Alan, while they stared at me in justified shock. I broke the silence with a growl, as that same energy that transported me here emanated from my barely clad form like an aurora.

“You would be wise to run,” I gave them one chance. If they were too foolish to flee, then what happened next would be on their heads.

“Fucking Cape!” one of the thugs shouted, turning their weapons on me and firing.

I brought up one arm to protect my eyes, prepared to die, only to feel the lightest of prods all over my torso and arms. I lowered my arm, as their weapons ran empty, surprised to find that I was unharmed, not so much as bruised. Examining myself momentarily, I returned my gaze to the thugs, my eyes hard and solemn.

I only said two words, “My turn.”

I’d been in fights before, but young drunken bar brawls were not enough to prepare me for the sudden influx of instinct and knowledge that flowed into my mind and body as I pushed off the ground with my left foot. Faster than my conscious mind had anticipated, I was in their midst, hand flat like a blade cutting through flesh, muscle, and bone to decapitate the first thug, a young man not much older than Emma or my daughter.

As my conscious mind tried to understand what I was doing, my body continued to act on instincts that I did not know I had. A hand reached out, grabbing the nearest weapon, something from the back of Alan’s car, and with speed beyond what the thugs could follow, lashing out with it. The energy within my body flowed from my hand into my weapon, altering and enhancing it, before the remnants left the hooked blade in an arc of glowing white power.

The arc, blunted by inexperience and lack of knowledge in utilizing my power, slammed into the remaining thugs, sending them flying onto their backs. I glanced at my impromptu weapon, a simple landscaping tool, a brush ax, empowered, reinforced, and crackling with arcs of power like it held a bolt of lightning within.

My distraction was costly, because one of the thugs managed to reload her weapon and fired. She might have been aiming for me, I do not know for sure. If she’d intended on hitting me, her fear impaired her aim so badly that she completely missed me. But she did hit someone.

Cristoph waited several moments as The King fell silent, his mind back in that moment all those centuries ago, before hesitantly speaking up, “Your Highness?”

The King shook himself, affecting a melancholic smile, “My apologies. Even the weight of centuries doesn't heal all pains. Alan died that night, a man that my core self had considered a brother since childhood. Even two days later, I would have enough awareness and control over the Kingsforce to have been able to save him.”

The King sighed, running a hand through his hair as servants came and took the empty platters left over from their meal before returning with goblets and pitchers of drink. Each pitcher was nearly the size of Cristoph’s torso, and despite the impropriety, the sheer weight demanded that The King pour both of their goblets full.

Cristoph eyed the goblets curiously, they were simple things, looking more like what would be expected from a dockside tavern and unadorned with the sort of majesty worthy of The King’s station. Regardless, Cristoph gracefully took the offered goblet and took a sip. Much like the vessel it was in, the drink had the profile of cheap tavern swill.

The King chuckled at the look on Cristoph’s face, “I have a crate of the cheapest beer my wives and daughters can find shipped here every month. It serves as a reminder of where I came from, so that I do not forget my origins. You’ll forgive me if I skip over the immediate aftermath of Alan’s death…”

The next few days were hectic. I took Emma home, explained what had happened to her mother, Zoe, and called Annette to explain why I’d vanished from our bed so soon after waking from my coma. My daughter, Taylor, was at a summer camp, and Annette called them so they could tell her I’d awakened.

With Emma safe at home, I returned to my own and endeavored to understand the power I’d gained. Beyond the energy I’d utilized, I could sense that there was more to the power I’d gained in the incident. I could channel what felt like limitless power through my body and into the items I held, the brush ax I’d used being a particularly noteworthy example. In my clumsy use that night, I’d forged an unexpected bond with it, turning it into something more than just a tool for clearing stubborn brush. It was inextricably bound to me, able to be called to my hand from anywhere in Creation, and, as I later found, made the formation of wormholes a much simpler matter.

But, there was more than just the energy. I couldn’t put into words how I knew, but I could tell that there were aspects of the power I’d been given hidden from me. My best guess was that I was not yet ready for them, or had yet to experience what they needed in order to be triggered.

But I wasn’t the only one who realized I had power now that I was awake. Three days after the incident with the thugs and Alan’s death, I was in the basement, examining the brush ax, trying to feel out what the infusion of energy had done to it, when I heard Annette’s voice.

“Danny, there’s someone here to talk to you!”

I left the brush ax on the workbench in the basement and ascended the stairs, surprised to see the armored form of one of the local Protectorate members in the entrance hall.

“Daniel Hebert? I am Armsmaster, and I wish to speak to you about your powers.”