THE PROCLAMATION OF 571

[Ramon 5186]

Cardinal Godfrey held little stakes in Hanseti-Ruska, and in truth really knew no one from there but his fellow Cardinal Alaric. Though upon hearing of King Karl's untimely passing all the same made sure to light a candle in his memory. As well as to set out to pray for the good Lord's blessings as far as the new ruler's reign was concerned.

[Wavey 2568]

Diamond Dust glitters in the ashes of a spare…
 

Such was Joren’s fate; Yet, no one understood that feeling better than his friend Robert. 
 

There was a difference here, however: Joren was to be a king amidst the sudden loss of his eldest brother.
 

Karl IV was consumed by the pressure of the throne. A man of honor and renown; a man of dignity and principles. Yet, the stress had reached his heart too soon. 
 

As for Nadya, a warrior now thrusted into the politics of the court alongside her husband. 
 

And so, King Joren stood beside his Queen Nadya; Over a Kingdom in a time of uncertainty. 
.

.

.

 

Persist. 
 

or Perish. 
 

Robert knew that they will stand firm. 

[Werew0lf 24180]

"He perished because he did not persist," 

 

St. Raguel, the Archaengul of Justice, looked at the state of affairs in the world with remorse.

 

[Phoebe202 1057]

'Fat Feliks' Ludovar weeps.

[TheGentleDuck 55]

 Wrotek's hammer thudded as beat the metal into form, but the usual rhythm of his forge had been perturbed. Upon reading the proclamation, the gruff and stoic Forge master had buried himself within his work, as was his usual way of focusing on something other than pain.

 

But today, his thoughts were too rattled. Karl had been the King, yes, but the old veteran had pretty much watched him grow up into his position after taking the throne so young. A bright, dutiful and eager lad turned into an honorable, proud and dignified man.

 

Moreover, now the responsibility of rule fell to Joren and Nadya. A warrior and a prince, both without any aspirations to the throne.

 

The patriarch grunted, tossing away his doubts with each beat of the hammer. It didn't matter now. All that was left to do was honor the King's memory and support the newly appointed one where he could. But for now... He set the hammer down, sitting on the stool by the anvil with a tired sigh. No work should be done in times of mourning 

 

Eventually, the only sound out of the smithy was Wrotek's muffled lament.

[__Stal27 2126]

"May he rest in peace, he is deserving of it." The Prince of Monterosa spoke as he was made privy to the news coming from Haense. Traversing through the Palace halls and unknowing of his father's presence upon the balcony. "King Joren will do Bona. . . him and Nadya both, they are worthy." He soon uttered in passing.

[FireAGN 1207]

"Gone too soon, the young King Karl." Malcolm d'Arkent, emissary to Haense for the last eight years, spoke aloud in the quiet of his home. "Joren will do well. Ea know it." Malcolm then began to pen letters to those in Haense he knew well, those he knew were grieving. 

 

Then, he lit a candle in Sunholdt. Praying for Karl's safe travel to the Seven Skies.

[Toffee 2843]

You treat death like it is evil; that his fate is a punishment. Death is transition. His better remain untainted by foolishness.

 

The silvered tips of Zofiya’s hair blew around her face, her dark, stormy eyes—the same as her mother’s—fixed on Erika, stern and unblinking. Wind creaked through the broken spires of the Hexicanum at Erika’s back.

 

It is easy for you to say. For you and those of your oracle blood, death is not an ending. One day, if you ever fall in love, you will be just as helpless. Just as prone to foolishness, and I will be there, not to scorn you, but to tell you I understand.

 

That very night she had sailed for Ba’as. If she could not stymie Karl’s fate, the least she could do was be there when he… When he…

 

By the time her ship finally arrived, he was already gone. 

 

—

 

Erika lay on her back in an open field, the air balmy and filled with the spicy-sweet scent of foreign flowers. It reminded her of the red flower Karl had gifted her, the one from Hyspia with long, tube-like petals and the subtle scent of cedarwood. The night sky rotated above her but she barely saw the constellations, barely remembered their names. 

 

Was he up there among those stars? In the Noendeu, the space between the realms of the ancient gods? Or in the Second Sky, the Byzenbor, the Holy Realm of the Virtuous? She had hoped, one day, to lie on her back in the terrace garden where they often spoke and tell him of the constellations she loved so dearly, all of their names and their meanings. To do the same with their children, pointing out the Wind and the Wanderer. No doubt on the mainland they would be making funeral arrangements, planning for the coronation…

 

A stabbing pain went through her stomach. Guilt. All would fall upon Nadya and Joren’s shoulders now, but instead of being there with them, instead of giving comfort to Princess Milena who would no doubt be sick with grief, Erika was only capable of lying in this field in a distant land staring at the stars. To return to New Valdev and see shadows of Karl in all the forever-empty places he had once walked would be nothing less than torture. Better to lie here and hope the Rhenyari earth swallowed her whole.

 

Through the darkness of the infinite void, four twinkling lights began to form. Faint at first, imaginary, until they blazed red and blue and yellow, a strong asterism pointing for her distant homeland. The brightest of them all warmed Erika’s skin with a strange prickling of yellow-gold starlight, like the sun shining through a chip of citrine. 

 

Since the regency ended, I am a colder sort of person. I find the kindness I used to offer freely is less forthcoming and I am increasingly cynical. I do not want to subject you to that if I continue to grow… Stony-hearted. I could not hurt you like that.

 

Karolus, she would call it. One star for each King Karl of Hanseti-Ruska, the brightest and warmest reserved for Karl the Fourth. Karoli Quartus. Never cold, nor stony-hearted.

 

One day, she would follow him home to Haense. One day. For now, she would stare up at the stars, studying and charting them, lamenting a life and love that could have been.

[Frostdrop1 1843]

 

Dead. Dead of something as simple as an illness, departed from his people forever. A great life, reduced and torn to shreds. It was late that Reinhard heard the news, late as things often were for him. Late was he to have access to home, late was he to lasting friendships, late was he to hear the news. Karl, a friend: dead.

 

After a tumultuous time from his father before him, Reinhard was glad to see Karl rise to his place on the throne even if he were young. No longer did his king look upon him with revulsion, but so too did that king often fail to see the severity of what the devil faced. Even so, he was a friend. There was barely a man or woman alive in that city that understood what he went through and so he could not fault him. Rather, he was glad that all he ever saw in Karl’s young eye was curiosity and more so that his later years were ones of kindness.

 

Albeit, the poor man always seemed weighed. Reinhard made an effort to check in when he could, on that weary young king. He was so cold, and distant. Perhaps he thought that the devil simply made for pleasantries, but it was more than that. A word here or support, and there was given. There were few authorities alive that Reinhard had said a good word about, and yet Karl was one of them. A silent compliment. Yet, he never did ask for a last time if he was okay. Perhaps he would have, if things had not gone so awry. 

The devil’s thin,jagged pupils were bordered by crinkles; how brow was scrunched deeply. When he tried to recollect Karl’s face, he could not. However, he could still hear that voice. He could imagine the boy on the dock, crowded by children, who enquired with neutrality. Lofting a quill, he scrawled down the name Karl IV, the greatest king: it sat neatly in his book of memories.

[EmiliainWonderland 2309]

A yak farmer sits quietly with the bees in Lemon Hill where she’d gone to visit to fulfill her duties to assist with maintaining the bee population. Elizaveta Othaman thinks back to King Karl, sighing softly for the king who could drink with the best of them. She left lemon hill, ordered a drink in the bar back home in Haense, and poured one out for the man she never got to challenge to a well and proper drinking contest.