[Lauchenoiria]

Flesh and Blood

Island of Sharquaksia, Zargothrax

Navid and Shapur stared at each other warily across the table. The father and son pair were meeting for the first time since Navid’s alleged death five years prior. Officially, the two were still at war with each other for their kingdom. Unofficially, they both – even through Shapur’s madness – knew that they shared a greater enemy. Hashemi, the architect of the wild plot which had resulted in the civil war, was dead. In his place, and now having conquered the entirety of the Thraxian mainland, was Zichitla and her puppet, Leila.

“Well, son,” Navid sighed finally. “Where do we go from here?”

“The Kerlian must be destroyed, of course,” Shapur began, relieved that his father had broken the silence. “And my traitor daughter too. Leila brought this on herself; do not hold back on her account. Our own problems can be resolved after the existential threat has been removed. As God spoke to me through cats, the Auroras must be destroyed.”

“I am glad you agree regarding the threat the Kerlians pose. But we must agree a treaty between our forces if they are to work together.”

“Oh, let the staff figure that stuff out,” Shapur waved it away. “The principle is agreed. Between us, we control Kharisa and Sharquaksia. So far, the Auroras have left Samara alone but they can’t guarantee that will continue. We must speak with them.”

“Son, I do not blame you for the situation with the Samarans, but I ask why they would give up their burgeoning status as a tax haven to join a war that your actions serendipitously saved them from?”

“Akilah Samara is a cousin; she will have to listen!”

“The Samara line diverged from ours over a thousand years ago,” Navid said gently. “All of Thraxia are cousins if you go far back enough.”

“Exactly!” Shapur said, nodding energetically. “All of Thraxia is our own flesh and blood; they must stand against the Kerlian threat!”

“It is unlikely that all of Thraxia will view it that way,” Navid sighed. “And Leila is your flesh and blood more so; yet you would have her killed.”

“Leila is a TRAITOR!” Shapur roared.

“Leila is thirteen,” Navid pointed out. “And is likely a prisoner of the Auroras, not a willing collaborator.”

“When in all of history has that mattered!?”

“It matters now, in this age of moral norms and international law. Things have changed since the feudal conflicts of our past. We do not want to be Yesteria, we need to move forward.”

“Says the old man. Didn’t you ride out on a horse to crush some petty lords when I was a child?”

“Correct,” Navid nodded. “I have grown since then to realise that we have been living in the past, under a system which the rest of the world has moved on from.”

“Mina has you spending too much time online,” Shapur chuckled.

It was then, halfway through the conversation, that Navid suddenly realised that his son sounded remarkably sane. It had been several minutes since he mentioned either cats or talking to God. Ironically, it seemed like war agreed with him.

“Mina would prefer her sister was not killed,” Navid almost whispered.

“Oh, fine!” Shapur threw his hands up. “Take her prisoner – if you can! But the Auroras will probably kill her when they’re about to be defeated anyways.”

Privately, Navid did not believe the Auroras would be defeated. He had instigated this meeting, this alliance, because he suspected they were doomed and wanted to live out his last days – his country’s last days – on the same side as his son rather than at war with him. But he did not want to be at war with his teenage granddaughter either. It seemed that his son, mad though he often was, could sense this.

“They will be defeated, father. We will rend their flesh and spill their blood,” Shapur said softly. “As God spoke to me through cats, the Auroras will be destroyed.”