Dreams the King
«It was just a dream…»
The old and sick king breathed a sigh of relief. Opening his eyes cost him effort and difficulty, the light made its way between his heavy eyelids.
«My lord», a young man began to speak to him, «you’re in your bed. Whatever you saw, yes, it was just a dream.»
King Airidos chuckled, which made him cough in raspy, puffed breaths.
«Dreams are never just dreams.»
The boy at the king's bedside held his hand. Around him, the servants who busily took care of his comfort, until the last moment, began to emerge in the sovereign's eyes.
«My son?» he asked to the young man, not sure of his words.
«Yes father, I’m your son Eulos. Your other sons and daughters are taking charge of ruleing in your absence.»
«Generous of you,» the king said ironically, still partly in control of his mind and regaining clarity. He let a few seconds give him a reprieve from the excruciating pain. He tried to sit up against the back of the royal bed. Seeing him struggling, his son and servants tried to accommodate him as best as possible, between efforts and suppressed groans of pain.
«Father, we know that no one will ever be able to govern with the same wisdom as you. Let's just follow your lead.»
«Listen to me carefully, Eu… Eu…»
The king hesitated bewildered.
«Eulos, father. I’m your son Eulos» replied the young man, with a woebegone expressions upon seeing him on the threshold of Hades.
«Listen to me carefully, Eulos. Go to the city walls. Among the beggars there is one they call the nameless king. Find him.»
Eulos narrowed his eyes, moving his lips without any words coming out of his mouth.
The old sovereign beckoned him to come closer.
«I used to be a lot like you, you know. Strong and agile. Dark hair like onyx that everyone envied me. Now under my crown there is nothing but a stringy nest of dried straw.»
King Airidos touched his hands and caressed the mother-of-pearl ring. The only one he never wore in his entire life. The head swayed under the weight of the crown.
«These gnarled hands have held dozens and dozens of swords. And now I am the vague dream of myself.»
«It is the fate of us mortals, father. But you have us. Your legacy of blood and virtue. You will live in our deeds.»
«Small consolation knowing that waiting for me to be the faded reflection of my offspring. But there is still time to fix it."
The king started coughing again. A servant poured water into a cup. The king drank accompanied by the usual sobs. Streams of drool ran from his beard, which Eulos wiped away with an embroidered silk cloth.
«Go, my son. Find the nameless king. Heal his wound. It's my last wish.»
The king welcomed his son's gaze, which seemed to give him an unspoken farewell so as not to make it real. Eulos bowed slightly with his head and his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, like every time his resolute soul emerged. He kissed his forehead. His footsteps receding, echoing in the great royal room, and he went out.
The sovereign remained staring at the painting on the opposite wall, which portrayed him in the act of spearing a winged being, inside a room on Olympus with the gods intent on staring at him from their thrones placed in a semicircle around him.
«Bring me a mirror, quickly.»
The command was carried out without hesitation. One of the servants placed an oval mirror with an inlaid silver frame on his legs. He bowed and returned to his chores, but his walk was interrupted by the king's breathless voice.
«Leave me alone.»
The servants looked at each other worriedly.
«My Lord, we have categorical orders to always be present in case of any eventuality. Our life is at stake; and so yours.»
«Death will come when I’ll be ready. And you can't do anything. Leave me alone: this is my order.»
They hesitated for a few moments. The sovereign gestured graceless towards the door and, amidst doubtful glances, the servants left the room. Their presence denied him the pleasure of the small sounds surrounding him. The crackling of wood in the fireplace; the rain hitting the windows; the howling wind, calling to itself the now approaching winter. Even the statues, columns and furnishings that adorned the room emanated a silence full of imperceptible sounds, animated by a spirit that dwelled in the marble given by the gods.
The king tilted the mirror and his own face appeared in the reflection. The man contemplated his eyes surrounded by wrinkles, protruding moles and eyebrows gray as ash.
«Time consumes everything…»
He caressed the lines of the frame following the curves of the inlays.
«The Fates spin the last threads of my mortal substance.»
"Mortal…"
He thought about the intrinsic meaning of that word, with the maximum disgust granted to him by pride.
He took off the mother-of-pearl ring and placed it on the mirror. With a single movement he managed to remove the gold medallion from around his neck and placed it on the ring.
It cost him moments of trouble.
He gathered his strength and hit the medallion with a hammer fist. The pressure caused the ring and the mirror underneath to crack together. The ring, reduced to dust, came to life as a thick, silvery smoke that filled the breacks in the mirror. The medallion seemed to fit perfectly in the center of the oval.
«Lord of the night, lord of sleeping mind. Lord of the world beyond waking...»
The silver smoke became a suspended liquid that swirled like trails of incense.
«I call you as per the pledge established with your gift brought as a sacrifice.»
The sovereign's hand trembled at the idea of dissolution. The mirror that sent back broken images of his face healed itself by instantly melting into a new glass. The result was a muffled, metallic sound. The room began to distort as if seen through the thousand eyes of a drunken fly. His breathing increased in pace. The beat of his heart pulsating as if reached by the vigor of the past, reminded him that he was still alive. The liquid that wavered in mid-air headed lightly towards the chimney, but near the fire it was incorporated into a lightning-fast sob.
It gave birth to a puff of tiny glowing embers like burning pinheads. For a moment everything was pitch dark.
The king could only perceive his breathing. He couldn't feel his body. A voice crept into the darkness, illuminating the shapes of the room.
«Sad is the fate of mortals, who, although clay molded by the gods, are meant to oblivion. Welcome back, King Airidos.»
The old sovereign turned his gaze in the direction of the fireplace. A tall and totally dark figure dulled the light from the fire.
«Whether it's a good thing or not, that's yet to be determined.»
The king got up from bed without effort. In the suspended world of dreams, everything was possible. Even that a dying old man was able to stand up without difficulty.
«Nevertheless, here you are, crying out for my help» the figure pointed out, with the deep, distant voice of a thousand battle horns proclaiming the advance of an army.
«Near always, love and friendship vanish in times of need. The best aid is the one leaded by necessity on both sides.»
The figure took a few steps towards him. It was as if the void were watching him. An indistinct silhouette without eyes or recognizable body parts, whose mass of dark shadow was crossed by stellar vortices, explosions and laments.
«But beyond that, I compose myself in cheers you, god of dreams.»
A sudden wind extinguished the fire in the fireplace and the darkness dissolved everything.
The light bloomed again with gentle calm.
King Airidos saw trees all around. He recognized them without hesitation. He knew that place like an ant knows the innumerable ramifications of its colony.
«I don't see what kind of help you can give me, but as established: you have one request and one only. What is your wish?»
The man spun around. He looked at the endless forest he had ended up in. The positions of the trees changed and dissolved and he couldn't tell if they were moving or he was changing position.
«I'm about to die» announced the sovereign who, having completed the three hundred and sixty degree turn, decided to stare at that eyeless face.
«That's pretty obvious» was the figure's miserable response.
«That's exactly the point.»
«You know that no one, not even the gods, can hinder the spinning work of the Moirai. Once your time has come, the thread of life will be severed. And you will die.»
«I thought the god of dreams might grant me an extension or something.»
The figure moved quickly. He waved what looked like a cloak of the same mysterious substance he showed himself with. Beyond a group of oak trees, the king made out a solitary castle.
«That's where you were born» the figure said, now behind him. «I can see every moment of your life and replicate it. Tear it from the bottom of your mind, your heart or your conscience and show it to you in guises to you unknown.»
The figure placed his hands on the shoulders of the king who lowered his head taken by some memories. A light breeze moved his hair, feeling a shiver from the cold gold of the crown. He felt a presence in the distance to his left. A young himself outside the walls of the small castle, fencing against a human-sized wooden puppet. Guard, high diagonal block, slash to the body and then lunge to the chest.
«But memories can be deceiving» sighed the god behind him. The wooden puppet came to life and responded to the young apprentice's attacks. It deflected his attacks and with the wooden stump that simulated his arm, hit him on the neck, making him faint. The puppet turned towards the king who was observing the scene. It started running towards him. The elderly man could not move, not due to old age or cowardice. A superior force forbade him. The puppet ran. It was now within an inch of him. It jumped to attack and when about to impact, it vanished in a tangle of lotus petals.
«In my kingdom I can do everything, but you belong to men. And there is no force in creation that can save you from the inevitability of the end.»
The words of the god fell like a guillotine to cut off the king's last hope.
The figure waved his hand and went darkness for less than an instant. They were once again in the elderly regent's private room.
«So, what is it you want to ask me?»
King Airidos looked at his own hands. He studied the marks between the knuckles, on the palms, between the phalanges, looking for an answer. Or pheraps, a miracle.
An intuition reached him.
«Take me to your kingdom then!» he spoke before he could think.
He stared at the god, aware that he had wrongfooted him as he had wrongfooted himself. The figure didn't make the slightest movement.
«Are you sure of what you demand?»
«I prefer to wander in the logicless meanders of dreams, to be a thought in the paths of unaware hearts, rather than fade into nothing.»
The king stood up to face the imposing deity.
«Are you capable, or even this is beyond your possibilities, Òniro god of Dreams!»
«The real question is whether you are capable of sustaining such a fate.»
Òniro towered over him with his height, but the sovereign felt that he had reached a point of delicate balance.
«I fought against the knights of Ares, I reached Olympus and showed my worth in the presence of the gods. I was granted the regency of Atlantis and its people. Obtained the blessing of multiple children.»
The old man advanced towards the god, who, annoyed by his arrogance, reminded him of the pain of having almost reached death. King Airidos, limping, continued walking.
«I have established laws, and the world calls me a wise king. I negotiated with chaos, so that there would be peace between the world of dreams and the waking world.»
The king fell on all fours to the floor. He held back his cough and braced himself by clinging to the arm of a statue, depicting a champion with his spear at rest and the tip pointing upwards.
He stood up trembling, but the fire blazed in his pupils.
«The only way you can find out if I'm worthy is to accept me into your world!»
The man was emitting intense snorts through clenched teeth. The cheeks swelled and shrank to the point of hyperventilation.
Òniro stretched out his arm and from the index finger of his hand, the nail extended until it reached his face.
«Give me your left eye.»
The king turned the required side of his face, in favor of the black protuberance like a swirling mass of pitch.
«Dreams the king of being king... sweet dreams for him, king of Atlantis! Please, be my guest.»
The lump suddenly stiffened and pierced the eye. The god of dreams dissolved while the king dying on the floor lost his breath. Half of his face turned black like rotting flesh.
«Dreams the king of being king…»
Those words were now engraved in the mind, if a mind still had Airidos. He got up from the ground and hit his clothes, which were stained with the usual white salt dust that stained his clothes every time he woke up. The fact they were black didn't help. But more than care for his clothes, he tried every time to shake off the torpor accompanied him at the end of each torture.
“Here you are, dear old friend” he thought, looking at the flat horizon always still at the color of the sunset. The salt desert had no boundaries. He had tried to reach the edges, but no matter how hard he walked, the horizon only kept getting further away.
He picked up the rolled up cloak he used as a pillow. Yet he had no memory of ever carrying out that action. For how many ages he had wandered in the desert and how many he had been devoured by nightmares, it no longer mattered but that was a certainty: waking up in a barren salt land with a cloak to keep his head comfortable.
Time was a faded memory. He walked with tired steps.
Òniro was always making fun of him. He showed him crucial parts of his life, and his hypothetical lives if he had made different choices. With each choice, an existence in itself but they all ended up with an atrocious death.
Of the countless deaths and awakenings to then start again, the conclusions that had destroyed his soul the most were those in which Atlantis paid the consequences together with him. By delaying the construction of one of the three main pyramids, his life ended pierced by a thousand arrows during the assault of the overseas peoples. The last image he remembered was of him lying on his back looking at the burning sky as if the stars had decided to explode all together in a purple glow. Touching the ground with the back of his head, he had the impression that the world was upside down while behind him the great imperial palace was sinking, swallowed up by the sea.
For having chosen the halberd as a weapon to train in as a young man, his life ended by being executed by an headsman with a scythe in a public square, becoming the first king of Atlantis to have committed uxoricide. Because of this, Atlantis had paid the price of a fire rain.
“How much suffering for a single choice. How precarious is the fate of the universe if we are the ones who inhabit it?” he thought about every time he woke up. Especially when one of his existences had ended cut into pieces for having only had daughters and no sons. Something over which he had no control. For those actions, Atlantis paid the price of the blood that spilled from the ground to deny that lineage cursed by Olympus.
Upon awakening lost in the time of Atlantis drowned in blood, the salt desert had spoken to him with the Òniro's voice repeating, heaven knows for how many centuries: «Man, without the favor of the gods, is nothing!»
If he closed his eyes, Airidos could still hear the echo of those words that left him powerless.
Once again he wandered across that expanse without any reference of any kind either before him or in the sky.
His appearance now was back to the time of youth, when the heart is in the summer of life. He walked, walked, walked. Aimless, timeless, waiting for a dream to kidnap him, so he can relive his life by making different choices.
Having inadvertently killed a steed during youth training, he was thrown to death from the walls of the city's outer walls. A fall of over sixty floors, crushing all his internal organs and dying with an unpleasant awareness. Atlantis disappeared, claimed by the earth that cracked and was hit by earthquakes. Òniro seemed to have focused the crucial point of his entire existence: the pact with the gods on the liberation of the throne of Atlantis, usurped by the winged man from the stars. A being apparently human but with four wings similar to those of a dragon.
For having refused the undertaking, in one of his innumerable ends he died between the jaws of a chimera sent by Poseidon which devastated the city lashed by rains, reducing it to ashes, while for having spared the life of his adversary by letting him return back to his place of origin, he ended his days thrown into the sea tied to a boulder. He didn't see Atlantis end, but the screams of pain of its people followed him into the abyss.
Airidos walked, walked, walked.
Like a gray maggot waiting to be trampled, he had exhausted any fear or will to exist. Even the constant presence of his thoughts pierced him, preferring the idea of oblivion to prison like the one he ended up in. Especially when an existence ended in the saddest way possible: killed by his own children. Atlantis ended in slow, worn-out decline and with no more fertile men or women to continue the species.
«What is that?» he spoke aloud to remind himself of his thoughts. His march stopped.
On the horizon a mass of gray clouds was gathering. It was pointing towards his position. Useless was to head to the opposite side. The clouds suddenly were encircling him. Òniro ran back with a new and dark experience for him.
In that moment he remembered the last conclusion before he woke up. A shiver electrified his spine. He had died in his bed dried up by leeches due to an unstoppable illness. In that life he had exiled the winged being by giving him a small boat, left to the fate of the barbarian peoples on the mainland. Atlantis had ended up in the spires of a colossal serpent who swallowed its prey and then retreated to the center of the earth. No one would ever knew of Atlantis and its existence.
Some pebbles of salt carried by the wind began to dance around him. Distant cumulonimbus clouds now besieged him. He was in the center of a cyclone. Small whirlwinds now raised large quantities of salt. He covered his face with his cloak. He assumed an arched pose to add stability and grounding to his body, but the wind gained strength, slashing at his skin as if invisible blades were pierced through it. He lost contact with the ground and fell prey to the storm. The wind tore his clothes. He was throwing him from side to side when, having reached the height of the clouds, a lightning struck him right in the chest. The pain was incomprehensible; near to make him border on madness.
He pushed the huge main door that led into the hall of the gods, without much effort despite the size and weight of the marble of otherworldly origin. It was called celestial marble, as it was pure and white as it was possible to find only in Olympus.
The young Airidos was panting, out of breath, but not at all tired. He wore no armor other than studded leather sandals and chaps. Rhino skin kilt and two swords crossed behind the shoulders.
«Dreams the king of being king...» he slurred. He watched the host of gods waiting for which of the two was worthy to claim the Atlantis throne.
Zeus sat on the highest throne, in the center of the semicircle, wearing a simple white tunic with gold embroidery. He had his elbow resting on the armrest and his head tilted to rest on his closed fist. The other gods were totally overshadowed by the light emanating from the father of Olympus. From the large frescoed dome, rays of white light filtered and refracted on the clear marble. The star man bowed and paid homage to the gods. Airidos nodded his head, but he was determined. It required breaking the chain. Countless times he had lived his existence arriving in that room. Zeus snapped his fingers and a small bolt of lightning hit the ground in the center of the two contenders.
The lightning started the battle.
Airidos drew his two blades while running towards his opponent. He twirled the swords which he crossed and separated at chest level. The star man summoned a bronze halberd from nowhere and blocked Airidos's insistent blows. With agile mastery he disengaged himself from the charge of the rotating swords and took advantage of a leap in the opposite direction with which he put a considerable distance between them.
Airidos followed the trajectory of his opponent who was now at the point where he had started his attack. The man continued to turn his back to him and opened his four wings in defiance.
Airidos remained frozen in place, swinging his swords so quickly that they were no longer visible to the naked eye. He generated a small condensed vortex, hurling it towards the opponent who closed himself in a cocoon formed by his own wings.
Having blocked the blow, he remained motionless in that perched position and a resounding voice came from him. He spoke in an unknown language, even to an Atlantean; he was preparing the blow of the four fires of Erebus. Airidos had faced that attack so many times that it knew its way out.
“Are you trying to end the fight so fast?” the king prisoner of dreams asked himself. “Something has changed!” he warned at that moment.
He headed towards the colonnade on the side of the arena where they were standing. With his swords he struck column after column and the entire scaffolding with the terrace above began to collapse in a thunderous domino of falling boulders. An entire piece of balustrade weighing several tons fell on the star man who was unable to complete the evocation of the fires. Now Airidos advanced in a new charge towards him. Lunges, slashes, blocks and uppercuts. There seemed to be an equality between the two in combat mastery and they injured each other multiple times. The arena was stained with the blood of the two contenders. No one could beat the other.
It was Airidos' moment for the final breakthrough.
“Come, I'm waiting!”
He crossed his swords and in the language of the gods began to evoke the strength of the oceans. All the power of the seven seas was concentrated on the blades forged by Poseidon. His opponent seemed to want to return the favor from earlier. His run resulted in a jump. The flapping of its wings moved the boulders around, but Airidos wasn't worried about it. His song of the oceans continued.
The star man flew high, losing himself among the figures of the frescoes on the dome. Then it swooped nosedive toward Airidos. His song still needed time to be finish, but he didn't need it. What he wanted was to mislead him and as soon as the halberd was within his reach, he deflected the attack by interrupting the song. She dropped a sword and blocked the opponent arm with her hand to leave his chest exposed.
“If everything happens again, then let my choice be the one already made!”
Its thrust pierced his stomach.
The star man fell at his feet without breaking eye contact. In his opponent's eyes he saw the end that awaited him: cooked alive in the belly of the iron bull.
Behind, the silence of the gods was anomalous.
Zeus rose to his feet.
«Airidos of Thalassos, you are the warrior destined to rule Atlantis.»
It seemed as if royal swans were singing with his every movement. Every word resonated with the echo of thunder and the crash of lightning.
«Given your purity of soul, we’ll leave the defeated candidate alive. He will live as an outcast in the city of Atlantis, so the end of a madman who challenged Olympus, will be a warning to every mortal. He will be a hungry, wounded man; he will live like an unseen incapable of arousing pity in other’s hearts. And due to his arrogance of flying, he won't even be able to walk with decency.»
A black vortex appeared not far from Airidos. Òniro took shape in his tall and indistinct silhouette.
«As the son of a priestess of the dream mysteries», the god began to speak, «you will honor your crown as sovereign, with the feast of the vigil. Once a year, for one day, nightmares will walk among you Atlanteans. And whoever dares to fall asleep will give me his soul.»
Everything proceeded as his life had been. Reliving it again, he understood that he had no choice but to die in his bed as he had refused. And thus save Atlantis.
«Do you accept the crown and the pact with the god of dreams as king of Atlantis?» Zeus spoke up again.
Airidos looked at the blood spot spreading from the star man's body, staining the celestial marble.
«Dreams the king of being king...» he whispered. The words came out without him realizing it.
“Do you accept the crown, then?» thundered the father of the gods.
«Dreams the king of this deception. Dreams the king of his throne, disposing of others and ruling.»
«Do you accept the crown?» Zeus growled, annoyed by the mortal's arrogance.
Airidos pulled out the sword still in the star being's body. He turned the tip towards himself, and pierced his stomach before the eyes of the gods.
“Man, without the favor of the gods, is nothing!”
Airidos heard the words echoing. He slowly opened his eyes, feeling all the old age in his body.
«What do you want?»
Òniro's irritated voice made his eyelids widen.
He was back in his room, in his bed. He had escaped the desert prison, at least for the moment.
«Of all the choices I made, I wondered what might have taken you by surprise. In the end I succeeded. It took me thousands of years, but I did it.»
The strength to sit up came from the feeling of having cornered the gods themselves.
«Because your action is senseless. Killing you doesn't change things. Atlantis will end its days!»
«And so, let it end at the hands of men and their choices.»
«You asked for an extension and it was given to you. The unspecified mode left me the opportunity to play with my imagination. There is no escaping from death!»
«Year after year, thanks to the day of vigil you have consolidated your power among mortals. Atlantis will end, but not the way you think. This world will not belong to you once our lineage ends.»
«I'd say there's not much you can do about it. But if you like to believe so, do as you wish. Clinging to illusions is the most normal thing at death’s door.»
«That remains to be seen, god of dreams. Now let me die in peace. I tried to change my destiny without success. At least I'll change the Atlantis one.»
«You have seen for yourself how you will die. Do you want to know what end is foreseen for your people?»
«Keep this to yourself. It's not the end of Atlantis I will change, but what that end will entail. The world of mortals will never be yours!»
King Airidos could feel Òniro's soft grin. And the more the laughter faded, the more the darkness faded, giving shape to the people around his bed.
Lightning rent the sky.
The interior of the royal room was dazzled. The hail came down so much so hard that it was impossible to hear his own thoughts.
«Dreams the king of being king...» he repeated.
The dream world was gone. His eyes focused on the figure standing at the side of the bed. His son Eulos was dripping with water like a castaway just out of the ocean.
«Dreams the king of this deception. Dreams the king of his throne, disposing of others and ruling.»
He slurred those words, isolated hook to the life abandoning him.
«No father, you're not dreaming. You are the king, indeed» his last son tried to reassure him. King Airidos smiled.
«No more applause for him, nor glory carved in the wind. Ash-black and stone. That's all I‘ve left.»
Eulos frowned as he tried to decipher the cryptic language. Then he came to the point.
«I found the nameless king, father. I wanted you to see him and reassure you.»
The young man turned to the servants.
«Let him in!»
The door opened and an emaciated man dressed in rags stepped forward into the dim light. He was dripping with water too.
«Everyone in the world dreams of their existence.»
King Airidos shook at the sound of the man's voice. He placed himself in an elevated position without anyone's help, using his last strength.
«Who will take the stars kingdom if he knows he must wake up in the sleep of death?» replied the king as if reciting a script kept secret in the memory of the youth. The nameless king dragged his bad leg and took a few steps closer.
«We are disembodied shadows in the hands of the gods.»
«I dream of being here, chained; and of seeing myself sovereign, I dreamed.»
King Airidos was amused by his son's gaze, unable to understand what was happening.
«As I said my son, heal his wounds.»
The nameless king stripped himself of his rags. The large, putrid of a gangrenous' wound on his leg was clearly visible. Behind his back, four large scars.
«I don't understand father, why should we treat a beggar?»
The servants were already set to intervene and waited for the sovereign's response.
«To fix an old mistake. The gods play with us mortals and turn us against each other, when perhaps our true destiny is to cooperate against the tyranny of heaven.»
«Do you know what the price will be for your people?» asked the naked man.
The king made a sign to encourage the servants to treat his leg wound. The miraculous ointments of Atlantis had a reputation on Olympus as well for healing even extreme wounds in a few minutes. They immediately bandaged the leg and waited. The king saw the mirror on the bed and the medallion detached from the center.
On the hand, the ring was missing.
He asked the nameless king to come closer and hand him the medallion.
«Atlantis will end anyway. Whatever I do. I prefer that before the end, the gods do not smile at us like puppets, but change their minds about us. And that they can begin to see us for what we are: beings free to choose how to die.»
«All the good in the world is not worth a breath, but if there is a single remote hope of saving Atlantis from the fury of the gods, I will realize it» promised the nameless king, and placed a hand on the sovereign's forehead which he felt like a pain relief. The four wounds on his back began to open and dragon wings blossomed like unfurled sails blown by the wind.
Dismay gripped the servants and the young Eulos.
«Because life is just a dream that must be dreamed until the end» continued the being of the stars.
Old Airidos felt a strange sensation in his nose. The smell of wet grass at the sunset of a spring that spread the scent of juniper and honey into the air. He had few breaths left. He took off his crown and hand it to the star man.
«Remember my son, dreams fade. Promises, on the other hand, weigh like a pact with destiny.»
Eulos went to his father's side to hold his hand. He observed that man who in a few moments had revealed his divine nature, legacy of an ancestral force.
«Follow your nameless king. Follow the king who comes from the stars. Promise that you will remain faithful to our destiny, even if it means ending up in the abyss. I dreamed of being king. Now make my dream come true!»
«Dreams are never just dreams. Your words father.»
Airidos narrowed his eyes. He had peace in his heart. Life was abandoning him.
«This time yes, my son» he sighed. «Of being king I dreamed, and that dream was only a dream.»
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