A Knife Among the Feathers

Finale: The Betrayal of the Knife

For the first time in his life, he begged the gods or whatever it may be above to free him from these agonizing chains.

Of course, he had never believed in such spiritual things. He had looked down on it for his entire life; his beliefs are made iron. To him, they were nothing more but stories and legends told to children to make them obey and be oppressed.

Fate's ironic, is it not? The pathetic being he was, oppressed and tempted to call like this for help and comfort to the gods. It made him question his sanity sometimes.

But of course, no one heard his bootless cries. No, not even the filthy rats that live with him in the underground prison would hear him. After all, why would you answer to a cry of someone who loathed you for the rest of his life?

He never felt so powerless as this before. It was so pitiful that he pitied himself for the fate he weaved by his own words. What was on his mind when he said those words? Those simple words that could bring about havoc and death to the land?

He punched the grimy wall beside him in anger and confusion, the chains around his wrists clanged to the impact. He let out pitiful groans of insanity. Is he under some spell at that time? 

Just as he was about to let his anger out on the wall, a prison guard approached him with irritated eyes.

"You feculent renegade! If you strike that wall one more time, you will get to taste this blade of mine for the last time." the prison guard gritted his teeth. In response, he stopped his hand midair and glared at the guard.

"Good. Be silent and rot there forever. That is only right for you, renegade." he glared daggers at the retreating guard as he disappeared into view. The prison halls were dimly lighted by flimsy torches. Anything could be hardly seen, and so it was hard for him to escape. He had also never been here before, so he didn't know the layout of the prison. 

He could do nothing but to idle forever and hope that someone might free him. But the chances of those happening are very odd... he turned his back to his friends, family, the royal family, the citizens of this kingdom, and especially... To the Crown himself.

He could only gulp at the bloodshed that night... all because of those words he said.

He sighed in exhaustion as he looked up to the starless night. There was only the moon overhead, dimly giving him light in his prison cell. His eyes began to feel heavy as he slowly drifted away to slumber; while he softly thinks about the times he had with him...

"Get up!"

His eyes stirred at the gruff voice, and immediately he felt a kick in his stomach. His eyes flew open at the pain as he instinctively held the spot where he was kicked. The rags he wore was partially torn at the spot where he was kicked. He was met by a fuming officer dressed in a soldier's uniform adorned with many medals.

"You aren't getting up, eh?" the officer kicked him again. Swallowing all the pangs of discomfort, he shakily got up, refusing to meet the bloodlust eyes of the officer. The officer then hastily freed him from the chains restrained to his feet, and he somehow felt a sense of relief wash over him. Finally, he can breathe after days of suffocation from the prison.

"Now, move!" the officer threatened him as the former released his sword from its hilt. He quickly stepped out his cell barefoot to avoid getting stabbed at the officer's threats. He is frightened what would happen next, yes, but secretly he was glad and excited to have gotten out of that cramped place; even for a short time. Because he knew, eventually execution awaits him. In front of the surviving crowd, his head would roll from the guillotine. 

To think that even moments before he die he would be humiliated...

As they got out of the underground prison, the warm sun shone brightly at him that he would cover his eyes with his arm. It felt to him that the sun was greeting him like an old friend would. As they walked towards the olden castle, he recognized it little by little overhead; it's still the same old castle he would gaze at in wonder, awed by its intricate carvings and architectural designs. However, that once magnificent castle was destroyed, its stone statues completely wrecked and its walls diminished. It's such a shame that its grandeur was trampled on by their adversaries.

Well, who else could he blame for its destruction other than himself?

They came to a halt as the golden, huge doors leading to the throne room were carefully opened, in fear that it might fall down.

There he saw in a distance was a familiar figure sitting on the throne, head bowed down so that no one might see his face. There were soldiers, each one seems high-ranking, standing motionlessly on each side of the throne room in line. The officer beside him pushed him to move and he complied. Slowly and quietly, he took a step forward.

He could only bow his head chagrin as the glowering eyes of the soldiers preyed on his pauper-clothed body. It felt like he would be dead at his feet the moment he stepped into the room if it were not for the presence of the king.

"Stop there." the officer growled, then bowed his head and knees in front of the king. The king finally revealed his stoic, emotionless face, making him bow his head lower in shame.

"Your majesty, here is the renegade you have commanded to be sent out of jail." the officer said with utmost respect, head still bowed.

"Very well," his cold voice that dripped of venom echoed in the room, which surprised him because his voice is just too cold; to resentful.

"I want everyone of this room out. I would like to judge this traitor's fate for myself. Out." at the king's command, the soldiers obediently got out and locked the door of the throne room.

The atmosphere between them shifted to an ominous one, as he was left with the person who dreaded him the most alone in the room. He stood unfazed in front of him, not once his eyes meeting the sharp gaze of the newly-crowned king. His lips quivered at the thought.

Even if he didn't say it, he knew what he would get is an eventual execution, or worse, torture before execution. The stigma he placed upon himself deserved even more than just that after he indirectly brought about the deaths of hundreds of innocent commoners, and the deaths of the former king and the former crowned prince.

All because he lusted after the gluttonous promises of power and glory promised to him by some neighboring prince named Namjoon, which to his misfortune, never happened.

Suddenly, the king got up from his throne and walked towards him. He heard the unsheathing sound of the sword coming closer to him. Was he going to kill him right then and there? The silent footsteps of the person he once loved stopped in front of him.

Mustering all the courage he had left, he looked up and beheld the king raising up his sword in the air, the king's sharp