Part 3: Memory of Indrik: The Last Meal

The Last Meal

Young Indrik can feel Lokrin's sinister gaze. The six-year-old's nerves scream. The patrician's shadowed figure has yet to move. Please look away... please look away.

"I am here to collect you, young royal," had been Lokrin's only greeting. The patrician had interrupted Indrik's farewell meal. But it is sacred! This is unfair! Indrik's even-tempered parents acquiesced and urged Indrik to finish eating.

A pause.

A scrape.

Indrik glances up. The patrician swipes a long fingernail across a bone-white coin. Indrik hides a shudder. The boy half-assumed this night would never come. He was wrong.

Indrik attempts to take a bite of food, but he can't follow-through, not even methodically.

"You have a duty to perform, young royal," Lokrin declares. "If you're finished neglecting it, we go."

Indrik's parents whisper good luck to their son. Not even a hug? Why? Indrik, glassy-eyed, tries uttering farewell but the words die in his throat.

Lokrin snatches Indrik and tows him out the door. With a tight-lipped snarl on his face, the patrician leads Indrik through the streets of Pygaria. Predestined to become Emperor, Indrik remembers his duty: he must fulfill his lineage to Iontrek, the first emperor who, three-hundred-years ago, united their convocations. The successorship includes the role for patricians and commanders and has wielded a worthy standing empire.

I know! I will be the best Emperor Pygaria has ever had. Better than Iontrek!

But something else swells within Indrik. Something confusing between instinct and responsibility.

"What will I study first in leadership training?" asks Indrik.

Lokrin does not answer. The quiet lingers on, prompting Indrik to ask again.

The patrician cuts him off. "I heard you the first time!" He pauses. "You want to lead? Good. But first, you must endure servitude."