YM778.TV Volume 2 Epilogue 1
Fifty years. Half a century of sitting on that throne, of wearing the mantle of king, of pretending to care. The responsibility of an entire kingdom had been placed on his shoulders when he was young, and now, five decades later, it had crushed the last vestiges of ambition. There was no fire left in him, no drive. Just the endless routine.
Sullivan leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping the armrest of his throne as an attendant droned on about a conflict between two lower nobles over border territories. Something about grazing rights, cattle theft— he didn’t care. His gaze drifted over the sea of faces, each one looking to him for direction, for resolution.
I’m done. Sullivan thought bitterly.
He had been done for years now. The rumour circulating the court—of a king who had lost his interest— wasn’t wrong. The only thing more surprising than his disinterest was how long he’d managed to pretend.
Abruptly, Sullivan stood, cutting the minister off mid-sentence. "The court is over for today," his voice boomed, bringing an abrupt halt to the room’s chatter. "I’ll hear the rest tomorrow."
Silence gripped the hall. Eyes widened in shock, but only for a moment. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this. The ministers and nobles exchanged wary glances, their surprise fading to resignation. They have seen the change in his personality— King Sullivan was no longer the sharp-edged ruler they once revered. His abrupt departures had become a regular occurrence, though no one dared speak of it in his presence.
Without a second glance, Sullivan descended the dais, his heavy robes trailing behind him. An attendant and a knight scrambled to follow in his wake, but he paid them no mind.
His steps echoed through the corridors as he left the grand hall behind, responsibilities slipping from his mind as if shedding an old cloak. Ministers would whisper, nobles would gossip— but let them. He was the king, and he had grown beyond caring for their chatter.
His path, however, didn’t take him to his royal chamber, nor did it veer toward the opulent rooms where his queens and concubines awaited his company. Instead, Sullivan walked with purpose, the echoes of court fading behind him as he entered a secluded passage. He made his way through the castle’s winding halls until he stepped outside.
The garden awaited him.
Cool air greeted his face as Sullivan crossed the threshold into his private sanctuary. This wasn’t just any garden. It was ancient— older than his reign, older than the castle itself, or so the stories claimed. Tall, twisted trees with silver leaves stood along the stone paths, their roots thick and gnarled, creeping like serpents through the earth. Exotic flowers bloomed in vibrant, unnatural colours, their petals shimmering faintly in the twilight.
Here, in this place, King Sullivan could almost forget the weight of his crown. Almost.
He exhaled, feeling the tension leave his body, if only for a moment. The truth was, he had been born into this throne, and the kingdom had consumed his life. But there had always been a part of him that longed for something simpler. Something more.
Sullivan stopped before an ancient oak, its bark dark and weathered, its roots curling around the stone bench at its base. He sat down, running his fingers over the smooth stone, feeling the chill seep into his skin. In the stillness, his thoughts were clearer. This place— the only place left where he could think, where he could be something other than king.
But even here, under the vast canopy of stars, he couldn’t escape the reality waiting for him. The kingdom still needed him. No matter how weary he was of it all, no matter how desperately he wanted to walk away, there was no one else to take up the mantle. No heir was good enough. No council was brave enough.
The weight of it bore down again, heavier now than it had ever been. He sighed, the weariness returning like a familiar companion. Perhaps tomorrow he would return to the court, hear their disputes, and pretend to care once more. Perhaps.
But not tonight.
He saw the usual fountain bubbling softly in the centre, its water reflecting the silvery glow of the night sky. Scattered around were stone tables and benches, where the king would often sit in quiet reflection, away from the weight of his duties.
He sighed, his thoughts troubled and confused between finding solace and the heavy discomfort of responsibilities gnawing at him.
Turning, he glanced at the attendant who had followed him. "Leave me for a while," Sullivan said, his voice low and tired.
The attendant bowed quickly and retreated without question. The old knight, grizzled and grey, made to follow suit, his heavy boots echoing as he turned to leave, but the king raised a hand.
"Roderic," he said, calling the knight by name. "You can stay."
Roderic stopped in his tracks, surprised, but nodded silently.
He took up his post by one of the stone benches as King Sullivan moved to tend to the plants, gently brushing his hands over the leaves of a small tree. The garden had always been his refuge, a place where he could lose himself in simple, tangible things. Unlike the kingdom, plants did not ask for rulings or demand answers— they only needed care, and they gave life in return.
After a long pause, Sullivan finally broke the silence. "What do you think of the succession war?" he asked, his voice casual but carrying the weight of years of contemplation.
Roderic stiffened. The question caught him off guard. "Your Majesty," the knight began, his tone formal and careful, "I am your knight. I serve you, not my place to comment on such matters."
Sullivan’s gaze remained on the plants as he trimmed a stray vine. "I’m asking because you’re not entangled with any of the princes," he said. "You’ve served me since I first took the throne. You know the court. You can be frank with me. I don’t execute men for their honesty."
Roderic shifted uneasily but, after a moment, relaxed slightly. "The war has stalled, Your Majesty. All your sons are exceptional in their ways, but none of them have managed to gain the upper hand. And the longer it drags on, the more unrest it sows among the court. It’s becoming… uneasy."
Sullivan nodded. He had known as much, but hearing it spoken aloud only confirmed his suspicions. His sons, each with their strengths and ambitions, were locked in a battle that neither side seemed able to win. And while they fought, the kingdom grew more unstable, more uncertain.
"Thalric," Sullivan said, naming his youngest son. "What do you make of him?"
Roderic’s brow furrowed in thought before he answered. "Exceptional in combat, as you know, Your Majesty. His leadership in battle is growing, and he has the loyalty of many in the military. Ambition drives him— and for a prince, that’s expected. But ambition alone cannot rule a kingdom. A king must guide, not just with strength but with wisdom. He must align the kingdom with his vision, not bend it to his will."
The king considered this, his fingers brushing over a flower as he stood by the fountain. "Ambition is a dangerous thing," he murmured. "It can drive a man to greatness or ruin. Thalric has always craved more, always hungry for what lies beyond his reach. But I wonder… does he truly understand what it means to be king? Or does he simply want the throne for the power it grants?"
Roderic’s silence was telling. The knight had no answer, and neither did Sullivan.
King Sullivan walked forward and stood by a carnivorous plant, its vibrant green leaves wide open, waiting for its next victim. The plant was one of the more dangerous species in his garden, a beauty that devoured anything that came near. He brushed his fingers along its edge, thoughtful, as Roderic spoke about Thalric.
"So, Thalric’s a good fighter and a powerful Mage. Last I heard, he was at the peak of the second circle and he’s not even thirty," Sullivan mused aloud, "but reckless, like this plant here." He pointed to the carnivorous specimen. "It’s strong, capable of consuming much more than its size suggests, but it has a fatal flaw. In its hunger, it often devours poisonous insects and kills itself from within." He glanced at Roderic. "That’s Thalric, isn’t it? Powerful, ambitious… but blinded by his need to win."
Roderic nodded, though he didn’t comment on the king’s analogy. "Yes, Your Majesty. He’s dangerous in battle, but that ambition blinds him to the subtleties of ruling. If he climbs the throne, war with Vanderfall is inevitable."
Sullivan sighed, stepping away from the plant and signalling for Roderic to continue. "Go on then. What about the second prince? And be honest."
Roderic shifted slightly before responding, his face grim. "The second prince, Aldrin, is less inclined to war. He’s more interested in art, culture, and diplomacy, which gives him the potential to maintain peace within the kingdom. But… he’s too easily swayed by outside influences, particularly the kingdom of his mother, Second Queen Josebell. The ministers from her homeland whisper in his ear, and he listens. Too much. While he might keep the kingdom stable, he’s also at risk of being controlled by external forces."
Sullivan approached another plant, this one a delicate vine with broad, colourful leaves that twisted in every direction. It was beautiful, sprawling across half the garden. He crouched next to it, tracing the wayward stems with a tired hand. "Aldrin’s like this vine," he said. "It proliferates, covers a lot of ground, and looks beautiful. But without guidance, it spreads everywhere, consuming everything around it. And worse, it allows other plants to cling to it, using it to grow taller, stealing its light."
Roderic understood. "Yes, Your Majesty. Prince Aldrin could hold the throne, but he might let others— those with their agendas—rule in his place."
Sullivan stood up again.
"And the first prince? What about him?"
This time, Roderic hesitated. The silence stretched for a moment as the knight seemed to rethink his words. Finally, he spoke. "The first prince, Eldric, is… unique. He’s an above-average Mage and skilled at diplomacy. He knows how to present himself, to play the game of politics. Many in the court see him as a potential ruler, and he has the support of the Archine Tower. His connections there give him a significant advantage."
Sullivan’s eyes darkened as he finished the knight’s thought.
"But he’s the puppet of my wife. That psychotic woman."
Roderic’s nod was almost imperceptible. "Yes, Your Majesty. Giving him the throne would be giving the First Queen, Regina control of the kingdom. It’s what she’s wanted all along. Many of Eldric’s decisions, his actions… they’re not his own. They come from her. It’s much worse than most people assume. The influence she holds over him is complete."
The king walked toward the fountain, its gentle trickle now sounding much louder in the silence between them. He gazed into the water, seeing his reflection and wondering how things had come to this. His youngest was reckless, his middle son easily manipulated, and his eldest— his eldest was nothing more than a pawn in a greater scheme. The kingdom he had fought so hard to protect now felt as if it were slipping through his fingers.
Sullivan crouched by a small tree near the water’s edge, a twisted trunk with leaves that never fully bloomed, stunted in growth despite its strong roots. "Eldric’s like this tree," he said softly. "Strong roots, but stunted by something unseen. No matter how much sunlight it gets, no matter how much water… it never fully grows."
The king stood, the weariness of fifty years of rule bearing down on his shoulders. "She’s been playing this game for decades. Setting pieces in motion. But I won’t let her win."
Roderic remained silent, though the unsaid understanding passed between them. The Queen’s influence was a problem they all knew, but none dared confront. None, except for Sullivan himself.
The king turned to his knight, his voice hardening. "The kingdom needs a ruler, Roderic. Not a puppet. And I won’t let it fall into her hands."
This entire conversation felt as if he was confirming his thoughts and talking to himself, but only, Roderic was another voice talking back at him.
The knight bowed slightly, his respect for the king evident in his gaze. "What do you plan to do, Your Majesty?"
Sullivan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked out over his garden, at the plants that both flourished and struggled under his care. The kingdom was no different. He knew now that his decision was inevitable.
He traced his fingers along the delicate stem of the tree before him, the one that had reminded him of his firstborn son, Eldric. "He was brilliant once… But her obsession…that woman’s obsession… has ruined him far worse than I ever could’ve imagined. And now, it’s too late for me to intervene."
He pointed to the tree. "You know the funny thing about this tree," he said with a wry smile. "Sometimes, this type of tree will start to devour everything around him. It happens rarely, but when it does, the tree grows into a man eater. I wonder if that will happen to my son. Though, I doubt it."
The knight, Roderic, said nothing, standing quietly at attention. It wasn’t his place to offer opinions on such things, not without being asked directly. He had served King Sullivan long enough to know when the king needed silence.
Sullivan moved to another section of the garden, his eyes scanning over the carefully tended plants. He paused near a small, blooming flower, its petals a vibrant red. As he bent to touch the soil, he spoke again, his voice more casual this time. "You know, Roderic, I was actually about to give up my throne."
Roderic’s brow furrowed slightly in surprise but remained silent, listening.
"I was going to announce Eldric as the crown prince," Sullivan continued. "Even with that crazed woman lurking, I knew I had to make a decision soon. And honestly, I didn’t think she’d live forever. Announcing a crown prince would give us time, wouldn’t it? But Eldric… he failed my test."
Roderic blinked, finally compelled to ask, "What test, Your Majesty?"
King Sullivan smirked, pulling up a few weeds around the base of a plant. "You know of the beast wave in the Sylvan Enclave?"
The knight nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"I gave him the chance to prove himself, to be a hero, to help that boy Arzan." Sullivan’s tone grew sharper. "It was the perfect opportunity for him to secure his position, but what did he do? He turned his back on it. Instead, he got tangled up in some scheme with the newly crowned Duke. I don’t fault him for it entirely—nobility is always about choosing the better option— but in doing so, he burned the bridge with Arzan. A good king would have played both sides till they were sure of who to choose. He had made his decision from the start. That was the test. And he failed."
The king paused, then added with a chuckle, "You know the funny part?"
Roderic tilted his head. "What is it, Your Majesty?"
Sullivan stood, dusting his hands off. "Arzan defeated the beast wave. Without major contributions from the crown or any noble house. Only Duke Blackwood helped him. The report I received from Veralt is one of the most interesting things I’ve read in years. It seems my wife will be furious when she hears of it. She’s hated Valkyrie ever since… well, that day. And Arzan earned her ire since he was born. It would increase significantly now." The king smirked. "I never expected that boy to grow like this. I thought his path ended long ago. But some plants… some plants tend to flourish even in wastelands."
Sullivan stopped in front of another plant, an odd one, a twisted vine that bloomed in unexpected directions. "You know, Veridia and her tower are going to regret making an enemy out of him. With the combat feats I’m hearing about, she’ll be kicking herself soon enough."
He turned back to Roderic, his gaze sharp. "Where do you place defeating a beast wave on one’s own, in terms of achievements?"
Roderic didn’t hesitate in giving out an answer. Being a knight for so long, he knew how tough it was to hold off a beast wave. "It’s on par with the highest honors a noble can achieve in a war. The beasts would have killed thousands— if not more. Baron Arzan’s efforts should certainly be rewarded."
The king stroked his beard, contemplating. "Yes. He should." He walked toward the fountain, where a soft mist filled the air. "You remember the late Duke Kellius? He had two territories meant for his sons who would lose the succession. The second one never accepted his inheritance. I’ve heard it’s fallen into disrepair."
The knight nodded, already sensing where this was heading.
"I believe Arzan will do well with that land. It’s close to his current territory," Sullivan declared. "And if he’s to be responsible for more territory, he’ll need a higher title to match. Count Arzan… that doesn’t sound bad, does it?"
Roderic straightened, understanding his orders. "I’ll inform the ministers immediately."
The king waved him off. "Go."
As Roderic left, King Sullivan found his gaze drifting toward a corner of the garden, moving from each plant he used to describe his three heirs to the throne. There, among the more ordinary plants, sat a single one that glowed brighter than any other— even the very three he took an example of. Its leaves shimmered with life, its stem standing strong amidst the rest. It wasn’t the largest or the most imposing, but it was undeniably the most striking.
Sullivan felt drawn to it, as though the plant was calling for his attention.
He sighed, turning away from the garden. In this kingdom, as with his plants, survival often depended on resilience. But sometimes, those who grew in the most unlikely places were the ones who thrived the most.