Some people believe that the sun is the brightest thing in the solar system, while others would counter with the opposite; that the moon is a brighter spectacle of the solar system; the two debates alone create debate around the various villages and caverns that surround Bastion Cothbrenias, a forest guarded by knights clad in ivory armor and gilded chainmail, as they raise the flag of their king of the same name—for it was king Cothbrenias Von Zoloto that the knights served with utmost loyalty and devotion, and were even ready to battle with neighboring kingdoms if any fleets came within the sixty-meter stone walls. With no enemies on foot to fight, the Knights of Cothbrenias spent most of their days engaging in activities that were supposed to ease the boredom created on different patrols of the various streets and market venues; chess and cornhole were some ways in which the aforementioned knights engaged in entertainment, with several championships being held at annual rates, all of which guaranteed rich prizes awarded by king Cothbrenias Von Zoloto himself. Most of the champions live in more luxury apartments.
Whether or not it was up to the champion or his opponent, if a knight lost after a victory, he were to be stripped of his dignity and worth, outcasting him as yet another peasant who would have to climb the ranks again; the process is a continuous loop of victory and defeat, as nobody, at least in eyes of Cothbrenias, is worthy to withhold multiple victories in a row without suffering at least one soul-crushing defeat. Defeat to Cothbrenias is said as the following:
“Defeat is the greatest thing known to mankind. To lose is to realize that victory was just one hand away from causality, and such invariable and indefinite times of defeat are only known to those who have won a great victory on numerous occasions—occasions wherein the greatest prize is the lesson of defeat. Nobody wins right away, as everyone mjst experience loss in order to feel what they believe are the sensations of victory; such sensations of winning are different for every person or peasant alike, and whether or not defeat is tantamount to victory is up to the wielder of the contest to decide. To wield the contest is to unsheath the mightiest blade in the land, swinging it to commence henceforth in the direction of victory only to lose upon dropping it due to its unconquerable weight. The true winners are those that are able to wield the sword despite its weight—I call these individuals true champions. Forged from sacrifice, these are no veneer situations where martyrdom is present but rather the truest form of victory known to man: ascension. When one ascends to a higher plane of existence, they do not become God; no, they are not beyond man—what they are is not of opinion or of fact—for the ascendant of sacrifice is the one who is worthy to lift the sun over the moon’s head long enough to grace mankind.”
Standing above the rest as a man of about seventy and a height of six feet, eleven inches, Cothbrenias Von Zoloto, son of Zoloto, the previous ruler of a now forgotten kingdom, stands to upheave the verdict that all is well until it is not for the sake of his pride and prejudice to what it means to rule—for Cothbrenias does not possess a divine right to rule nor was he appoint to the position through tyrannical uprising; he merely was born into the bloodline, guaranteeing that upon his father’s departure into the spirit realm, he would be crowned king. And at his side was the shapely, beautiful queen Sensationia Zoloto, a truest maiden of the night—for she was mostly active about the night hours due to Cothbrenias’ stages of rest maturing with his rising age. Sensationia was a kind albeit unapproachable queen due to the amount of knights that patrolled with her wherever she went; from an innocent night stroll to a trip to the countryside, she was always accompanied by five or six knights at all times to ensure the safety of Cothbrenias’ spouse.
In all of the lands between the countryside and the east to Castle Honestria, beheld the grandest castle of them all, Bastion Cothbrenias, a five-hundered-foot castle layered with granite, cobblestone, silver, gold, and every lavish material the slaves 450 years ago could get their hands on. Although many perished in its construction, the final product is nothing short of beautiful. Its design was that of a blooming rose sprout from the very heart of Bastion Cothbrenias’ enclosure fastened into the ground tightly. Those who dared to impede war upon it were met with the most extreme forms of resistance possible, cannonballs shot straight from the loops that were surrounded around the fifteenth floor to the twentieth; it was not possible for invasion to occur, with all attempts neutralized before anything cataclysmic could erupt.
To ensure peace was made possible, Cothbrenias personally ventured to the three other kingdoms in order to resign a treaty every six months. Under oath, all the kingdoms—Castle Honestria, Fortress Grandra, Kingdom Sprarrow, and Bastion Cothbrenias—when the sun is at its brightest and the moon is at its darkest, sign treaties in a pen that’s signature can only be legibly read in sunlight. Treaties ensure world peace is made possible while also maintaining bountiful foreign relationships and kingmanship-commerce, a practice of bartership and trade between different kingdoms. Every king must have their treaty signed and renewed under oath upon every thirty or thirty-first of every sixth month, as agreed upon by the Four Table, a conference held every ten years by the current kings of the world.
However, the villages outside these various kingdoms that rely on exports for their comfort of living often face neglect due to their shoddy crops and poor quality of clothing, often sown from rags or natural fibers not grand with the kingdoms, especially those in the luxurious Bastion Cothbrenias. Amongst these villages was that of Dale Ventura, a small village with a few dozen cottages that was an hour or two from the Grand Walls of Bastion Cothbrenias, those aforementioned sixty-meter-tall walls that kept out peasant outsiders and potential invaders, who were pirates just trying to make a living mostly.
In Dale Venture, an androgynous teenage boy with a lanky body and golden blond long locs lay asleep in a bed formed from hay and rags and a pillow stuffed with dirty sheep and goat skin and wool. Luxthforthian (pronounced “Lux-forth-ian”) arose from his messy excuse for a bed, and then fell over on his side with thud upon reaching for his hair brush, an instrument tangled with frizzy, golden-blond hairs. He hoisted himself up back onto his feet, extending his arm to the brush before running it down his blond lengths with precise strokes; gentle strokes followed by rough strokes in order to get the knots out since showers were twice a week, and shampoo was homemade from various natural resources like herbs for texture and spices for smell.
Luxthforthian smiled as he turned towards a knock that came from his window, exchanging glances with a stocky individual in makeshift denim overalls that sagged at the right right. This was Gildhart, Luxthforthian’s childhood acquaintance turned best friend through their shared time spent exploring the various forests and caverns that surround Dale Venture. The two of them have never attempted to venture towards the Grand Walls of Bastion Cothbrenias due to the rumors they heard of innocents being struck by arrows from thousands of patrolling Knights of Cothbrenias at all times of the day; the only reason that that amount stayed a number over and not a number less was because of the scariest, loudest part of the day in Bastion Cothbrenias: the shift change. Imagine a thousand armored boots clanking simultaneously against brick and cobblestone streets, echoing throughout the kingdom; that is what many civilians both inside and outside the walls would hear on a daily basic; it has become almost a daily ritual until Cothbrenias himself heard of the loudness, and ordered for a noise reduction. Still, the shift change every twelve hours was loud enough to be heard from miles away, and lasted about thirty-minutes to an hour.
“I’m feeling intrepid today,” announced Gildhart, reaching over through the window with his right stubby arm to smack Luxthforthian on his bare, pale white shoulder. “How about we head for the Walls, what do you say?”
Luxthfortian flustered, reached down for his white cotton shirt, pulled it over his head, and then hoisted his leather pants above his ankles and buckled them at his hips with a belt his grandfather had bequeathed to him, an ivory satchel supposedly mimicking various myths of talisman encrusted in belts meant to be passed down from generation to generation.
“Are you serious, Hart? You know we can’t just leave Dale to do something we have agreed upon to never do under any circumstances.”
Gildhart climbed into Luxthfortian’s cottage fully now, towering over his best friend with stocky arms and puffy cheeks. “I hear the soap’s better in the kingdom—locals say it's the purest thing known to man.”
“Pft! No kidding!” Luxforthian cackled hysterically. “One could only dream here of getting a bar of soap carved from blood, sweat and tears by the gods themselves!”
“I don’t think there’s any gods out there that specialize in soap, Lux,” commented Gildhart, crossing his arms as he analyzed a few buttons that were undone on his friend’s shirt.
Luxthfortian countered in a defiant tone. “If Nickenmintsamare is a goddess of sex and creation, then there has to be a god of soap and cleanliness!”
“You’re thinking too hard here, Lux. I couldn’t imagine there being a god that would waste his time in the wealthy condition of showering. If I could imagine it, then I would be a fool.”
“So you call me a fool?” Luxthforthian chided, charging back his brush at Gildhart’s direction. “And if I was, what difference would that make to the way that fits me best?”
Gildhart raised his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down, Lux. I was just messing around—you know that’s how I am.”
Luxthfortian lowered his brush and placed it back on top of his dark oak dresser. “I know you well enough to know the difference between seriousness and sarcasm with you.”
“And…?”
Luxthfortian took a few steps closer to Gildhart, his bare feet plapping against the birch oak wood that was exported from Bastion Cothbrenias for Dendevorta, a holiday that occurs on October fourteenth every year where a king is required to give one piece of luxury items to the various villages in the countryside. Last year, Dale got chosen for the first time in a hundred years, and Luxthforthian earned the flooring in a contest of archery, beating all the contestants and even his dearest best friend in the process. Installation took about a month before Luxthfortian’s previous dried dirt-stone flooring was replaced with a glazed, polished layer atop of the finest birch oak in the lands, which grew in the middle of Fortress Grandra.
Luxthfortian leered at Gildhart as he caught him glancing at the flooring. “Still upset that you lost to me last year?”
“Shut it!” Gildhart raised his left palm. “I can’t believe you’re still a braggart about some fancy flooring out of all things. They’ve got it pretty bad if they’re going to give a single cottage here new flooring every hundred years.”
Luxthforthian fidgeted with a long strand of his thick, golden blond hair. “You ever wonder what our village’s last gift was or who won it?”
Gildhart twirls his ginger goatee with a pensive expression. “You know what? Yes, I do!”
The two of them walk out of Luxthfortian’s cottage wearing matching leather boots, a staple of their friendship. Although Luxthfortian was more insecure it came to showing off his body the same way Gildhart was comfortable with showing off his, something in the way the latter carried himself always told Luxthfortian that he met the right person on that day he was led astray by his arguing parents into the forest, getting lost amongst the various tall oaks that surrounded the outskirts of Dale. Gildhart, two years older than the eight-year-old Luxthfortian, befriended him after he carried the latter back to his cottage, helping him back to his senses.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
As it turned out, Luxthforthian’s parents had befallen the ultimate tragedy that is death after they both fell off a high cliff, plummeting into a waterfall to never be seen again. Fellow villagers that live in the same area that Luxthfortian does claim that they hear the bootless cries of his fallen parents. Luxthfortian is skeptical of that story in the same vein that Gildhart is credulous to the existence of the divine; the two friend’s worldviews, although different due to their nature and nurture, are very much alike in more ways than they realize because of their friendly rivalry, one that many around the village knew.
The two of them made their way to the village’s nucleus, a place where food rations were passed out and rent for the cottages was paid with items. Luxthfortian had a rabbit's foot in his pocket, hoping that it would pay off the rest of the month’s debt, while Gildhart had empty hands and pockets.
“What’d you bring, a cow’s tongue?” inquired Gildhart with a chuckle, slinging his arms over Luxthfortian’s neck. “I bet that’s worth at least five weeks' payment, eh?”
Luxthforthian pulled the rabbit’s foot from his right pocket, dangling it in front of him before Gildhart snatched it and examined its withered state.
“Hey!” Luxthfortian shouted. “Give that back!” he protested, attempting to reach it while Gildhart held it up over his head.
“It’s decaying. Where’d you get it, the septic pit?”
Luxforthian laughs, a few drops trickling from his eyes. “The septic tank? No, you coot!”
“Then where’d you get it? I’ve never seen a rabbit here at Dale before…unless Cothbrenias sent us another unexpected surprise.”
Luxthfortian, still hysterically wheezing, bent down to catch his breath and reclaim his bearings. He stood upright and took the rabbit foot back from Gildhart, exchanging a mutual glance with the latter.
“A girl a little older than I but younger than you gave me it because I was talking in my sleep about my anxiety about being a homeless villager boy, and she must have heard it,” Luxthfortian began, twirling his feet at his right side nervously. “She told me that with its value, I could pay off my debt and not have to worry for about a fortnight!”
Gildhart smacked Luxforthian’s back. “I always knew you had it in you, Lux!”
Luxthfortian squinted his blond brows. “Knew I always had what?”
“Tell me if she’s beautiful or not already,” Gildhart nudged his shoulder. “But seriously, she’s either the most beautiful woman on earth or the ugliest peasant I’ve ever seen. And tonight, you’ll do the honors of baiting her!”
“B-baiting her?” Luxthforian took a step back, his leather boots kicking up a small dusty wind. “That is something I will not tolerate, even if it is suggested by you, my best friend.”
“It’ll be fine,” Gildhart reassured, patting Luxthforthian on his right shoulder blade. “All you have to do is pretend like you’re having one of your talking sleep episodes, and then she’ll miraculously come in so I can judge whether or not she’s the one for you.”
“This is a terrible idea.”
Gildhart snatched the rabbit’s foot from Luxthfortian’s grasp. “I’ll give this back once this plan of mine is underway. Until then, keep a low profile for this girl. If she is older than you but younger than me, then it’s safe to assume she’s seventeen-years-old since I’m eighteen and you’re sixteen. That’s a one-year age gap for you two if I decide you’re even compatible.”
“First of all, I am not interested; secondly, who gave you the right to control who I have romance with? This is a side of you I have yet to see until now. I find it uncharacteristic of you.”
“See it that way then,” Gildhart said, arms crossed over his puffy chest. “I’m just looking out for you because I don’t want you paired with an inbred retard and their prostitute daughter.”
Luxthfortian’s mouth dropped open, eyes widening. “How would someone who is seventeen already have a daughter…that actually is a prostitute? Do you even hear yourself speak when you say nonsense like that? Seriously, I think you woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.”
~~~
Later that same day, the sun was setting in the east, and cowered in the corner of Luxforthain’s bedroom was Gildhart, in the fetal position. The latter kept chuckling awkwardly every time Luxthforthian glanced at him, reminding the former of his presence.
“Now I will definitely not sleep knowing you of all people are in my bedroom,” Luxthfortian said somberly. “Try to keep quiet with your breathing—you know it annoys me whenever I try to sleep.”
“The thing is: you’re not sleeping; you’re supposed to pretend to have one of those episodes so this lady can come back here.”
Luxthfortian rolls his emerald violet eyes at Gildhart, letting a “tsk, tsk, tsk,” trickle from his throat. “If I had known that the bestest friend in the whole wide world to me was my wingman, I would not hesitate to say I like the same sex.”
Gildhart cackles. “You’d say you’re into boys to keep me off your tail? Amateur.”
“I am not an amateur!” Luxthfortian shrieked, spooking Gildhart into silence as the two of their ears perked to the sound of crunching leaves outside the cottage.
“I think that’s the girl,” whispered Gildhart, raising his index fingers to his lips. “Let’s hope she’s a looker, even if you already know what she’s all about supposedly.”
Luxthfortian squeals as a girl with chopped white hair and bright green eyes climbs through the window of the cottage, chains clinking softly against her inked skin. The candlelight washed over her pale skin and small, compact frame, highlighting a fierce kind of beauty that neither boy had expected.
Gildhart’s mouth fell open, his jagged and unevenly bronze teeth on display. “You’ve seen this chick before?!”
Luxthfortian locks eyes with the white-haired girl, analyzing her heavy breathing. “Not at all actually. She simply slipped the rabbit’s foot under my pillow while I was still asleep, so this is my first time seeing her; I have the same reaction that you have, that of shock and wonder.”
“Wonder?” asked the white-haired girl, pitch low and with less variation. “Boys.”
Gildhart got up, brushing off his denim overalls. He walked over to the white-haired girl, towering over her as she did to Luxthfortian, who was still sitting atop his bed, underside concealed by blankets made of wolf fur.
“State your business!” shouted Gildhart, tone intentionally chivalrous. “Begotten fool knoweth her place before she’s a goner!”
Luxthfortian let out a giggle, covering his mouth while the white-haired girl snapped from his glance to Gildhart’s; it was like Gildhart was the craziest thing she had ever seen.
The white-haired girl crossed her arms, chains clinking as she did so. “The name’s Bernadette, but if I had any friends I’d like them to call me Berney. I’m located just a few cottages over, living with my two hounds and my grandfather of seriously old age.”
“Berney, huh?” Gildhart asked aloud, as he tested the sound of it on his tongue with a skeptical edge. “Tell me something: why is it that you sneak through my best friend’s window anyway? Are you perhaps a burglar trying to make a living through stealing people’s most valuable possessions, and then trading it out with petty theft replacements from the local land pits teeming with animal parts?”
Bernadette feigned confusion. “A burglar? What leads you to that conclusion, tubby?”
“It’s Gildhart, shorty,” Gildhart began as he cracked his knuckles. “And for the record, I’m not even that fat! If you’re feeling intrepid we can spar in the field fifty-feet from here.”
“Gildhart!” Luxthforthian shouted. “This is no way to talk to a girl!”
“Huh?” Gildhart paused. “From over here it looks like a boy—especially that voice.”
Bernadette reached over across the room, smacking Gildhart across his face and sending an echo throughout the village that sent a few owls flying away.
“Just because I wear my hair short like yours, doesn’t mean I’m less of a girl than any of those ones you see at the education center! Learn some respect, Mr. Gildhart, please!”
Gildhart rubbed his face slowly as Luxthfortian jumped out of his bed and ran over to console his friend, holding his right arm as the two of them glared at Bernadette.
“Why are you here, Bernadette?” inquired Luxthforthian as he reached into a satchel and pulled out some bottle of a bright blue liquid, handing it to Gildhart before walking off to approach Bernadette. She watched as his small, lanky frame approached her, offering a benign smile as she placed her hands over her hips.
“Eh Gildhart, your friend here…”
Gildhart drank the blue liquid from the container Luxthfortian gave him. “What about him? Got some sort of problem with his feminine appearance? Going to accuse me of keeping him around because he looks like some angel sent from heaven, huh? Well have at it. I don’t care. As long as I can slap you back across that face as payback in response, I’ll be alright.”
“Ouch,” Bernadette teased, mockingly rubbing her face in unison with Gildhart. “That sound’s like you’d like another slap on the other cheek to teach you a better lesson, hm?”
Gildhart chuckled nervously. “I’ll have to pass on that one. Not a masochist.”
Luxforthian and Bernadette both cackled in unison.
“Is he always like that around pretty girls like me?” Bernadette asked rhetorically.
Luxthfortian glances at Gildhart as he finishes drinking the blue liquid from the container, watching as Bernadette’s slap mark slowly vanishes. “Not really because I never saw him interact with any girls ever. Maybe he is not into girls, and instead is into boys?”
“Like you’re one to talk!” Gildhart shouted defensively.
“I am one to talk! You always accuse me of liking boys, but look at you!”
Bernadette pats Luxthfortian on his shoulder gently, her fingers and knuckles covered in a thin bandage-like material. “Looks like your best friend here might have a crush on you, sir.”
Gildhart throws his fist into the air. “Not even! I’d rather kiss a floor that was trampled by dogs with poop-covered paws than kiss Luxthforthian Ja’Vore!”
“Luxthfortian Ja’Vore…?” Bernadette stopped, lifting her arm back from Luxthfortian’s shoulder before she clasped her arms behind her back. “I’ll just call you Lux for convenience,” she said as she ruffled his hair. “How does that sound?”
“Everyone calls me that, but I suppose we all can make a good friendship,” Luxforthian replied.
Gildhart cackles with a throaty laugh. “Friends, with a girl who just smacked me—are you serious or just a fool, Lux?!” he paused, turning towards Bernadette’s emerald green eyes. “Maybe this could work out after all. But I’m not doing some weird ritualistic, religious shenanigans you village girls do around boys like me!”
“Very arrogant and pompous, indeed,” commented Bernadette as she met Gildhart’s gaze. “I’d mistake you for one of those rowdy hounds of mine if I hadn’t noticed your tight overalls.”
Gildhart rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Here we go again with the fat jokes.”
“You two—please,” beseeched Luxforthian as he moved away from Bernadette towards the door to exit his bedroom. “Let us embark upon the lovely journey of friendship—together!”
“Toghether?” Gildhart and Bernadette questioned in unison. “What makes you think I’d stick around with a tubby boy like him?” inquired the latter with mocking confidence. “Maybe he’ll just eat all the food if we ever decide to go hunting together sometime.”
“Okay, enough,” Luxthforthian said in a stern tone. “You two can beat each other up later when I am not around, but for now behave please? I would hate to get blood on this floor.”
Gildhart bent down to tighten his leather boot laces, and then shouted: “Alright, let’s be friend’s, but like I said I’m not going to do anything weird just because Berney over here decides to invite her girlfriends over to your cottage!”
“Actually, I don’t have any friends,” Bernadette responded somberly. “You two would be my only ones.”
“So it’s settled! We raid and pillage the food shack until dawn!” Gildhart shouted.
Luxforthian let out an exaggerated sigh. “After you, Mr. Future-Cothbrenias-Knight.”
