Arrin’s first demand when he awoke was to see the Arch King. He later learned he had awoken after several days, finding himself in a plush mattress, soft and dark.

No flickering firelight, no hard stone, no shadowed men. He pulled away the curtains which draped overhead his bed, taking more effort than expected with just his sole hand. The glass windows taller than his height let through the daylight. His bare feet landed cool upon the white marbled floor.

The maid gawked at Arrin, mouth half agape.

He then asked his question. “Where is the Arch King?”

There was an odd tingling to the point of his bandaged left shoulder, as if there was still memory of feeling, yet there was nothing in its place. Arrin had read the tales of veterans losing their limbs but he had never imagined such a sensation. A feeling of something lost and never being able to recover what was now gone.

Krystos appeared, garbed in a grey robe that was fitted to only strengthen his pointed features. Arrin gazed out the window into the Royal Garden, the sun warming his skin. Everything was trimmed, hedged, and grown to the exactness of the gardeners.

“Were you ever going to tell me of my true lineage?” he asked softly.

The Arch King paused. “No. No, if I had it any other way, I wouldn’t have.” He peered out from the other window beside. “You are still my son. You are still my heir.”

“Except I’m not.” Arrin turned to face him. “Thael was my father. The man who helped you become King. The Kingmaker.”

“Where did you learn that name?”

“Does it matter?”

Krystos faced Arrin in turn. “No. Perhaps it doesn’t.” He stepped towards the door. “Do you wish to see your parents’ tombs?”

Arrin stared at the pale marble coffins before them. All carved into inhumanly made likeness by the dwarves, their forms impossibly imposing even laid in death. He had never visited the Royal Crypt. Never bothered to, as it was always dark, cold and forgotten. Arrin suppressed the urge to shudder from the torchlight Krystos held, casting down its ebbing orange glow onto their carved faces. All save for two blank flat tombs. Instead, etched in Glyphic, was a name upon each: Verena Hargraves. Thael Tanaka. And a phrase upon each: So will you be forgotten. So will you be free.

“Why the phrase?” Arrin questioned.

“They were both Wraiths. It is a saying for those fallen within their Order. Men and women serving Arcadia, knowing their deeds would never be remembered. Such was their… sacrifice.”

“Tell me about them." Arrin rested his hand on the smooth marble. "Tell me everything.”

“I first met your parents when I had just reached Magehood,” Krystos began, eyes distant.

Arrin nodded, envisioning every word.