They made it back to the street the day had visibly progressed and evening was nearing with incredible speed. Cyrus looked stunned at the realization of how much time had passed while in Zogos. Nearly the whole day was over and he was nowhere closer to finishing his trial. He would need to return to the palace soon. Up ahead, Lyrik walked with an air of tranquility that annoyed him. It was because of him that he had wasted so much time. Cyrus was growing incensed by the games this man played, all he had done was use him.

  The boy stomped his feet as he walked ahead to cut off the Lord of War. In the late afternoon sun he studied his face. Soft features were hidden by hair much like his own, full and wild. The sandy features mirroring his in everything but color, the darker tone of Lyrik's hair hid his eyes behind a black fog as he gazed at him with two burning orbs.

  “My trial is almost over and I am no closer to getting rid of this stupid coin,” He flashed it in front of his face. “All we’ve done all day is gamble. How is that supposed to help?”

  Lyrik raised his brow in confusion. He had thought the boy grasped the truth of his trial and found the conviction to act. Xenon was not one for subtlety, yet any doubts Lyrik had of Cyrus disappeared when he confronted Kardwin so openly. So he was confused why the boy was animated, what more did he require of him that he had not shown?

  “What are you talking about?” The Lord of War yawned, “Pass the coin off so we can go home. You have proven you are worthy.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cyrus looked at him slightly annoyed, “That’s the problem, I don’t know who to pass it off to, I am not killing an innocent person.” The boy was not a murderer.

  “Oh is that your problem?" Lyrik perked up, “If that is the case follow me.”

  Cyrus sighed in relief, it took a moment but he had finally gotten through to Lyrik, it would not be long now. They did not walk far before they stopped again.

  “Here we are, you can give the coin to him.” Lyrik motioned ahead.

  Cyrus followed his gaze towards a merchant man who had begun to close his selling tent. The man was dressed well, not enough to be a noble but of a standing higher than many commonfolk. His cheerful expression was a welcomed sight as he danced along with his children who did more to hinder his ability to do his tasks than assist him. Soon after the mother of the family appeared from the back, half of her face was covered in a luxurious purple veil. Jewels covered her hand and even partially obscured he could tell she was pretty. It was the way her eyes smiled along with her happy mood of seeing her children.

  “His name is Kenneth Barlow,” Lyrik studied them. “A good merchant, and patron. Enjoys Stygian wine more than most. However when he indulges more than he should, he often beats his wife as he defiles her. As an apology he buys her the finest silks. Though the quality leaves much to be desired if you ask me.”

  Cyrus turned to him, the indifference in his tone too unsettlingly to ignore.

  “It has been going on for sometime now,” he continued. “The wife has yet to report him, for reasons that are beyond me. Or rather I suppose I do not quite care for her reasons. He would be an easy candidate for the coin, it is only a matter of time until he takes her life in a drunken stupor. He is not innocent.”

  The boy looked on as the family laughed and toiled together. He had never had anything similar to that, his earliest memories of a happy family were nothing but a blur, without his mother present it was just his father and Her, who raised him. They were not a family in the traditional sense but he would believe so. It was why he was racked with confusion as to why someone would do that to a person they loved. This man would be deserving of the fate of those who received the coin he held.

  “Why are you hesitating, this is what you wanted corrected?” Lyrik folded his hands, “Run along now.”

  “I-I can’t,” Cyrus whimpered, confused and scared.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to kill anyone,” tears weld in his eyes.

  “Yet you desire power?” Lyrik was confused.

  The words rattled around his head as he looked away out of embarrassment. This was not what he wanted, he wanted to be strong. He wanted Antares to make him strong, killing people was not his goal. This could not be what Antares wanted of him, to spill the blood of people to prove his worth. What could be gained from this that was worth it? Cyrus was at a loss for words, he did not know what to say, unwillingly to meet Lyrik's gaze.

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  “You asked to be made strong by a Lord of War and you hesitate at taking a life?” The Stygian lord’s disappointment was evident, “Has this all been one big game?”

  “No!” he called out. “I do want Antares to make me strong! I just…” he hesitated unsure what to say.

  The silence was suffocating.

  “What do you think power is?” his words were clear with intention.

  They forced the boy to look at him.

  “Do you think it is something that is given, like a birthright? Or earned, like accomplishments? How did you think you would gain power? That Antares would teach you about it in books, you would study it like a scholar? Debate with it, reason with it?”

  Lyrik’s words made Cyrus feel small. He asked him questions he did not have answers for. He wanted strength, he wanted to be strong. However he had never thought about taking a life. Even if it was of a man who deserved it. To bring an end to one's story with his bare hands, what right did he have? What could make him capable of doing that? Why what else but power of course. The boy's eyes widened in horror at the realization.

  “Power is taken, it is an active effort that one exerts over others. It is the right of the strong to take from the weak, just as it is the right of the weak to fight back. Both in search of power to supersede the other.” Lyrik stepped forward, “You have been given an opportunity countless warriors have dreamt of and would slay thousands for-to learn at the feet of a Lord of War. The offering is a measly soul one that is undeserving of life at that. Just one on the long path of a thousand souls you will leave in your wake. You bet your very existence against Kardwin, what is the life of another worth in comparison?”

  Cyrus was stunned.

  “If you cannot even carry the weight of one singular death’s head coin...” Lyrik raised his right hand and rubbed his fingers together while he exposed his left palm. “How can you ever hope to be worthy enough to learn from one of us?” death’s head coins poured out of Lyrik's raised right hand as it overflowed on his open palm.

  Cyrus followed the coins as they fell on the floor all around him. The truth slowly crushed him. The first of the terrifying hands burst through the ground, grabbing his leg. A second emerged, then a third and eventually a fourth until he lost count. Each arm attached to a corpse that called his name. They pulled themselves out of the ground, or were they pulling him deeper inside? Around them dark red liquid oozed bubbling to the surface as death’s head coins sunk into the maroon like tar, the rotten stench of blood filled his nostrils and tears started to streak down his face. The skeletal hands reached for the gold coin in his possession as though urging him to let it fall. Let him join them, just as Lyrik was submerged, so too was Aster and Kyron and Xenon. Even Antares too. All of them possessed countless death’s head coins. The power to end lives at whim with no resistance. That was the right offered to them by the strength they possessed. Was this what he was after? Cyrus closed his eyes as he felt himself slipping.

  I have all the confidence that you will succeed.

  His words reverberated through his head like a cold tune. Flashes of his playful smile crossed his mind. He recalled the evening they spent on the balcony overlooking the city. Or as they journeyed to Eridu and the many questions he asked him. It was as though his words washed over him, a warm hand on his shoulder reminding him all would be well. Cyrus steadied his breathing, this was not what he wanted. This was not the power he sought. To rule over others, to dominate and dictate the life of those around him. This power was suffocating, it was cold and most importantly of all this was not the power he sought from Antares.

  It was not a Lord of War he sought to deliver his fathers letter to. Nor was it a Lord of War that accompanied him to bury his father, or many of the other things he and Antares had done together. Most importantly of all it was not a Lord of War he sought to learn from or become. Cyrus desired to learn from the Antares he knew, and that man would reject the options in front of him. He would find another way. He desired the strength to find another way.

  “I won’t do it.” He closed his eyes, before repeating the words again, stronger. “I won’t do it.”

  “What?”

  The boy raised his gaze to meet the great lord, “I don’t want to become a Lord of War. I don’t care how many death’s head coins you have or how strong you are. That is not the power I want, it is not the power I want from Antares.” Cyrus wiped the tears from his eyes, “I will not do it.”

  “Even if it means failing the trial?” Lyrik enquired, “You would give up your future over your arbitrary beliefs?”

  The king’s ward squeezed his hand, “I-I know one day I’m going to have to take a life.” The thought of it frightened him. “But it will be on my own terms. When it is a decision I make, not one made for me.” The burning glow of his sunset eyes was becoming a common mainstay. He was growing by leaps and bounds.

  “What an arrogant remark.”

  Cyrus smiled, returning Lyrik’s grin. “Good thing I’m after the kind of power needed to make it.”

  “I suppose,” the Lord of War walked past him. “But you know if you return to the palace with that coin you will fail your trial.”

  “I know,” the boy stood next to him.

  “That would be it, Antares would not train you. You would be forced to seek a new path on your own.”

  He bit his lower lip to stop himself from shaking, “That’s alright. I’ve gambled my life once already.” He gazed at the Lord of War with the same warm smile Antares had given him many times before.

  “You just need one opportunity is it?” Lord Lyrik recalled.

  Cyrus chuckled, rubbing his reddened cheek. He looked ahead to hide the tears streaming down his face. “Come on I’ll take you home, your big sister is waiting for you.”