When the Blood Moon Rises

To proclaim the responsibility of the realms rests on my shoulders is a gross understatement for what destiny has placed upon me. I am the heir of Etias, and before long, I will be king -- the Reaper of this land.

As the only child of Lord Xanthus and Lady Syllia, not a soul may claim the sovereignty from me. Only a fraction of the population is not envious of my lifestyle. From my birth, I obtained power, wealth, and glory, most could not fathom. I may call upon an alluring female, sometimes more than one, in my bed each night. The people both adore and fear me across the dimensions.

Alas, I am not content with these luxuries, for the looming cloud of my ever-nearing ascension still darkens my every waking moment. I shall be the sole ruler over not a town, a city, a country... but over the entire realms. I have the direction and support of my grandfather, the current Reaper. He rules over this land, as he has for centuries. But who will I seek respite when he is no longer king?

No one.

The world’s eyes are forever scrutinizing me with their expectations and comparisons of myself to him. They demand me to be their strength, leadership, salvation, and solace. True, my sincerest aspiration is to be an effective leader. I want to change the arrangement of this monarchy, though I discover myself in the throes of self-doubt on a near-constant basis. Will I reconstruct the ancient order? Am I strong enough to run Etias alone?

I am only one man. No, not a man for I do not, nor will I ever, associate myself with the likes of humans. My father made it unquestionable since I was young that humankind is the weakest in the realms. A man holds no jurisdiction beyond the tools he crafts. He is manipulated by pride, greed, or lust. Their lifespan is short, and soon, my eyes must gaze upon the fall of millions while governing them.

My damn eyes! I hate the utter mention. I have yearned to rip them from my skull more than once. Blindness is preferable than to witness the atrocity that occurs should one make eye contact with me. Vivid was my recollection of my first victim when I was but a mere boy. I had insisted to the girl my mother’s warning not to glance into the gaze of anyone but those of blood relation. The child had persisted, saying my eyes were dazzling to behold. When I succumbed and gazed at her, I...

My hand trembles as I pen these words now. These pathetic emotions dwelling deep within my heart will never cease. It is fitting, this reality I am forced to lead. To represent what mortals dread but cannot evade. My stare depicts the lie of existence and the horror which they cause symbolize the truth of death.

I curse the gods and their cruel imprint on my being. I have come to the belief they have set me in this position as part of their malicious game. There is no escape, from my fate or my torment.

- Prince Kyvan Andurth