Two Gods, One Child

What does it mean to be a true king?

My father has asked me that question many times.

"My son, what does it mean to be a true king?"

Every time, I would give him an answer. He would simply smirk and leave it at that. He never told me whether I was right or wrong. My father was a mysterious man. Whenever I thought I had finally figured out what he wanted me to say, he would only respond with the same words.

"What do you think?"

My father was unlike anyone I had ever met. Sometimes, it felt as though he understood things even the gods themselves kept hidden.

Even being born with the marks of two gods, I still had no clear path laid out before me. Whenever I asked my father what my future was supposed to look like, he would tell me that the path ahead would often be hazy, and that I would need principles to serve as a compass through the fog.

Principles?

What principles did my father use to govern the kingdom? And how was I supposed to know which principles I should live by?

I simply couldn't wrap my head around it.

"Why must Father be so confusing?"

I tend to think out loud a lot. It's a habit I seem to have picked up from my mother.

My father ruled the Kingdom of Aethay, a beautiful land filled with endless mountains, winding rivers, ancient forests, and more animals than I could count. The kingdom was prosperous, blessed by the gods, and rich with nature.

And I was born into a kingdom that expected much from me.

I was surrounded by stories of kings, warriors, gods, and war. Everyone seemed to have an idea of what I was supposed to become.

Honestly, it was exhausting.

But none of that mattered much to me at the time.

I wasn't thinking about crowns, kingdoms, or what it truly meant to be a king.

I had far more important things to worry about.

Like escaping my lessons, finding a way into the wilderness, and discovering what strange creature might be waiting for me beyond the castle walls.

"My son..." My father's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "One day, you will understand."

At the time, I had absolutely no idea what he meant. I've never felt like my father. His influence was great enough to shape an entire kingdom, and he possessed the ability to accomplish things most people could only dream of. For generations, the Vox family had led this kingdom, and my father, Kairos the Fourth, was no exception. He was a man of many talents, but his skill with a sword was legendary. It was said that he once slew a dragon with nothing but steel in his hands. And that was only my father.

Every generation of the Vox family seemed to have someone remembered for something extraordinary. My grandparents had their own accomplishments. Their stories filled books, paintings, and the conversations of nobles who spoke of them as though greatness itself ran through our blood.

So… What did I have? What was I good at? What would people remember me for? At the time, I didn't have an answer. As I walked through the royal halls, passing the portraits of the kings who had come before me, I found myself wondering the same thing over and over. One by one, their painted eyes seemed to follow me as I passed. What had made them great? And when my time came, what would make me any different?

"Kairos! Kairos!"

I slowly lifted my head from the desk. "W-what time is it?"

"My prince, you mustn't fall asleep during your lessons."

I groaned and sat up, rubbing my eyes.

“Is it your head again?”

"I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, if you're sure.”

“Sir Chronos, how many lessons do I have to take before I grow old and die?" I said, dramatically pouting.

Taking lessons was, by far, the most boring part of being a prince. I had never asked to be royalty. I never asked for a title or all the expectations that came with one. Sometimes, I simply wanted to be a normal nine-year-old boy—to run around without guards following me, get dirty without someone scolding me, and spend an entire afternoon doing absolutely nothing important.

But that wasn't the life I had been born into. Even though I was nine years old, the people of the kingdom didn't even know I existed outside these castle walls. Well... there was a reason for that. I was a freak. My parents always told me I was special, but that didn't explain much. All I knew was that I had two marks.

Just like my father and the generations of Vox kings before him, I had been born with the Mark of Aethay—a blessing passed down through our family for generations. The mark was in our eyes. Every Vox king possessed brilliant blue eyes, but they weren't an ordinary blue. If you looked closely enough, it was like staring into an endless night sky. Tiny lights shimmered within them like distant stars, with galaxies stretching endlessly behind the color. That was the Mark of Aethay. And as far as anyone knew… It was supposed to be the only mark I had.

But within my arms resided another mark. The Mark of Nyx. Unlike the vast, sparkling galaxies within my eyes, my arms carried a darkness resembling an endless void. It was unlike anything I had ever seen—a deep darkness that seemed to have no beginning and no end. But it didn't feel evil. Not exactly. Just as the stars had their own meaning, perhaps the darkness did too. Perhaps it had its own message to share, or perhaps it was a sign of something yet to come. Its meaning remained uncertain.

There was a saying in the Vox family: "The ways of the gods exceed mortal understanding."

I was a walking example of that. Two opposing gods. A single host. Nothing like me had ever existed before—or, at least that we know of. But here I was. Now, if only I had some type of talent of my own. Instead, all I seemed to have were these extreme migraines that had been with me for as long as I could remember. I think the first time they became noticeable was when I was around five.

"My prince!" A maid hurried after a giggling five-year-old as I sprinted through the corridors with a loaf of fresh bread tucked beneath my arm.

"You haven't eaten breakfast or brushed your teeth!"

"I can brush later! Besides, I am eating breakfast!" I shouted back, tearing off another bite before disappearing around the corner.

The maid sighed in exhaustion. "He gets that from his father."

"What's this? Speaking ill of the king, are we?"

The maid was startled and quickly turned around. "Oh! Your Majesty, I didn't mean—"

"Oh, come now." My father grinned. "I'm only joking."

The maid relaxed, though her cheeks remained slightly flushed.

My father glanced down the corridor where I had disappeared. "Tell me, how is my boy faring?"

The maid hesitated before taking a quiet breath. "Well... he is certainly a simple boy. Curious, mischievous, and always finding some sort of trouble to get himself into."

My father chuckled softly. He seemed almost proud that his son had inherited some of his traits—for better or worse. "That sounds about right."

"But..." The maid's expression changed. My father's smile slowly faded. "There are times when he gets these terrible pains in his head."

The air suddenly felt heavier. "Head pains?"

She nodded. "They come without warning. He'll stop whatever he's doing and hold his head as though he's trying to make the pain go away."

My father's brow furrowed. "How long have these been happening?"

"Not terribly often. But they've become more noticeable lately." She lowered her voice. "And then he starts whispering."

"Whispering?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"What does he say?"

The maid looked toward the corridor. "Always the same thing." She swallowed. "'Stop.'"

Before he could respond, soft footsteps approached from the opposite end of the hall. "What's happening?" My father turned. My mother stood nearby. She had heard enough to know the conversation concerned me. His expression softened. "Nothing you need to worry about." She gave him a knowing look. "Don't lie to me." The maid immediately lowered her head. "My Queen..." My mother stepped closer. "What happened to Kairos?" My father hesitated. Her eyes moved toward the corridor. "Is he hurt?" "No," the maid answered quickly. "Not physically." My mother's concern deepened. "Then what is it?" The maid glanced toward my father. He gave a small nod. "He has been experiencing headaches," my father said quietly. "Severe ones." My mother's face fell. "How long?" "A while." "And you didn't tell me?" My father sighed. "We didn't want to worry you until we knew what was happening." She looked at him sharply. "He's my son. I should know." My father lowered his gaze. "You're right." My mother turned toward the maid. "What happens when the pain comes?" "He holds his head and sometimes falls to his knees. Then..." She hesitated. "What?" "He whispers." My mother's voice softened. "What does he say?" "'Stop.'" My mother stared at her. "Stop?" Her eyes drifted toward the hallway. "Does he hear something?" "We don't know."

My mother slowly walked toward the window. Outside, the evening sun painted the castle walls in gold. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she whispered, "He used to tell me that sometimes he heard voices when he slept." My father looked at her. "Why didn't you tell me?" "I thought they were dreams." She turned back toward him. "He was so young." My father's expression tightened. "His eyes glow when it happens." My mother looked toward him. "Aethay?" My father slowly shook his head. "It can't be." His gaze fell upon his own reflection in the window. "I've carried Aethay's blessing all my life. I know his voice. I know his presence. But what stirs within our son..." My father's voice faltered. "...I cannot name." My mother slowly approached him. "It must be something." "I'm at a loss." For once, my father's voice held no authority. Only fear. My mother reached for his hand. "Then we'll find out." My father looked at her. "Together." She squeezed his hand. "Our son shouldn't have to face this alone." My father nodded. "No. He won't."

Down the corridor, faint laughter echoed through the castle. Mine. The sound brought a small smile to both of their faces. For a moment, they simply listened. The laughter of a child—pure, innocent, and full of joy—filled the halls. And for that brief moment, their worries seemed to melt away. Nothing else mattered. Not the marks. Not the headaches. Not the voices. All that mattered was their young boy's laughter.

The headaches only grew worse from then on. But little by little, they began to change. At first, there was only pain. Then came the emotions. I remember sitting in the middle of a lesson one afternoon when a sudden wave of anger crashed through me. My hands tightened around my book. I wasn't angry. At least... I didn't think I was. Then, just as suddenly, the anger disappeared. In its place came something else. Loneliness. Deep and endless. It was so overwhelming that tears gathered in my eyes before I even understood why. That wasn't my loneliness. It wasn't my anger either. As I grew older, the feelings became harder to ignore.

As I grew older, the feelings became harder to ignore. Now that I was nine, I could finally make out pieces of the clutter inside my head. The emotions were still confusing, and the voices were often nothing more than muffled whispers, but they had slowly begun to grow clearer. Clear enough for me to understand one thing. They weren't mine.

And that brings us to the present. Nine years old. Still trapped inside the castle. Still taking lessons I had absolutely no interest in. Still wondering what, exactly, I was supposed to be good at. My father was a legendary swordsman. My family had ruled the kingdom for generations. Even the marks of the gods seemed to expect something from me.

Meanwhile... I had fallen asleep during another lesson. "Kairos!" I slowly lifted my head from the desk. "W-what time is it?" "Not again," Chronos said. Chronos took a deep breath and looked at me with the utmost sincerity. "Kairos, these lessons I teach you aren't simply meant to prepare you to become the next heir to the throne. They are lessons for your life." I blinked sleepily. "Nothing can truly prepare you for the real world or the cruelties that may inevitably befall you. But knowledge..." He paused for a moment. "Knowledge can be applied to anything. With it, you can overcome problems, understand the world around you, and accomplish wondrous things."

"Okay, I get it," I said, putting my head back down on the desk. Chronos looked as though he were about to burst. For a moment, he simply stood there, taking a slow breath and gathering what little patience he had left. Then he calmed himself. "Kairos, I think it's time for your sword training to begin." My ears perked up. "What do you say?" My head slowly lifted from the desk. "You mean..." I sat up completely. "We actually get to do something fun?" "Fun? Fun, you say?" Chronos laughed. "We will see how much fun you truly have." Finally, it was time for me to begin my training.

I was going to become a dragonslayer like my father. A warrior so skilled that no enemy could stand before him. Someone capable of facing an entire army and changing the tide of battle when all hope seemed lost. That was what I imagined, anyway. Three hours later, my vision was blurry, my lungs were burning, and my hands were sore from gripping my wooden sword. "WHY!?" I bent forward, struggling to catch my breath.

"I can't even land a hit on you! I thought I was from the House of Vox! Shouldn't I be able to do anything I put my mind to? But for the past three hours, I haven't even come close to hitting you!" I hated feeling weak. I hated the burning in my lungs. I hated the soreness in my hands. But more than anything… I hated losing. My father had slain dragons. My ancestors had led kingdoms. Every portrait hanging within those royal halls seemed to remind me that I came from greatness. And yet there I stood, unable to land a single hit. I wanted strength. No. I wanted power. Enough power that no one could ever look down on me again. As those thoughts filled my mind, something stirred beneath my skin. Darkness seeped from my fingertips like flowing ink, slowly creeping across my hands and climbing toward my elbows. The Mark of Nyx. A sudden cold spread through my arms. I stared down at my hands. My fingers trembled. Chronos lowered his wooden sword and studied me carefully. I stood across from him, exhausted and frustrated, my hands still shaking as the darkness continued to crawl across my skin.

"That is enough for today." I dropped my wooden sword onto the ground. As the tension slowly left my body, the darkness covering my arms began to fade. Like ink being drawn back beneath my skin, the Mark of Nyx slowly receded toward my fingertips until only its usual traces remained. "Finally." Chronos raised an eyebrow. "You lasted longer than I expected." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" "No." I glared at him. It didn't.

Later that evening, I found myself sitting alone near one of the castle windows, staring out toward the distant trees beyond the walls. I had barely spoken since training ended. My father found me there. "You look troubled." "I’m clearly not a swordsman." He stood beside me. "No, you're just young." For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he looked toward the distant forest. "Come with me." I frowned. "Where?" "A place I used to go when I was your age." That caught my attention. My father turned toward me with a small smile. "My secret place."

We left the castle before sunset. At first, I thought we were simply going for a walk. My father didn't bring his crown or ceremonial robes. He wore simple clothes, and for once, there were no guards walking beside us. That alone made the journey feel strange. As we moved farther from the castle, the sounds of the kingdom slowly disappeared behind us. The forest welcomed us.

Birdsong echoed between ancient trees. Sunlight slipped through the leaves in long beams, painting the ground with shifting patterns of gold. Strange flowers leaned toward the fading light, their petals glowing faintly in colors I had never seen before. I stopped walking. My father continued for several steps before noticing I wasn't beside him. "What is it?" I looked around. "...It's quiet." He smiled. "Exactly." We continued deeper into the forest.

Along the way, my father showed me the places he remembered from his childhood. A stream where he used to skip stones. An enormous tree he once tried—and failed—to climb. A clearing where he would lie beneath the stars whenever the weight of being a prince became too much.

"You felt that way too?" I asked. "Of course." "But you're Father." He laughed. "That doesn't mean I was born knowing everything." I thought about that. It was difficult imagining my father as anything other than the man everyone admired. The dragonslayer. The king. The warrior who could supposedly change the course of an entire battle. But standing there beneath the trees, he didn't seem like any of those things. He was simply my father.

We eventually reached a quiet lake hidden deep within the forest. The surface reflected the sky so perfectly that it was difficult to tell where the water ended and the heavens began.

My father sat beside the shore. "This was my place." I sat beside him. "Why?" He picked up a small stone and tossed it into the water. "Because no one expected anything from me here." I watched the ripples spread across the lake. "No lessons?" "No lessons." "No sword training?" "Especially no sword training." I smiled. For the first time since that morning, the frustration inside me began to fade. My father leaned back against the grass. "You want to be strong." I looked at him. "Yes." "Then ask yourself why." I frowned. "Why?" He smiled. "Always ask why, Kairos. Question everything. Try to understand everything you can. And never stop learning." I listened carefully.

"Now tell me." He turned toward me. "Why do you want to be strong?" I immediately opened my mouth. Then stopped. I didn't know how to explain it. My father didn't pressure me to answer. Instead, he looked toward the trees. "Strength is important, Kairos. But don't spend so much time chasing power that you forget to see the world you're trying to protect."

I followed his gaze. The forest stretched endlessly around us. For the first time, I noticed how alive it truly was. Insects hummed beneath the grass, birds called from somewhere high above, and leaves moved gently with the wind. None of it cared whether I could hold a sword. None of it cared about the House of Vox. None of it cared whether I would one day become strong. And strangely... that made me feel better. I didn't understand it then, but that forest would become important to me. Not because it made me stronger, but because it taught me that there was more to life than becoming powerful.

"The blessing of Aethay is strong here. Do you feel it?" I looked toward my father. The galaxies within his blue eyes seemed to shimmer faintly. "I do," I said. "A little." "Good." He smiled. "That means you may be beginning to hear Aethay more clearly." my eyebrow raised. "Hear Aethay?" "Yes. He will be your greatest companion, just as he has guided the House of Vox for generations." I looked down at my hands. What about my hands? I wondered. "But you must listen." My father picked up another small stone, turning it thoughtfully between his fingers. "Aethay does not simply give wisdom away. You must seek it. Question what you do not understand. Learn from what you experience." He tossed the stone gently into the lake. "And above all else, show that you are worthy of his counsel." I watched the ripples spread across the water. "Worthy..." That word felt much heavier than it should have.

My eyes drifted down toward my hands. The dark markings were faint now, resting beneath my skin like ink trapped beneath glass. "Father?" "Hmm?" I held my arms out toward him. "What about these?" For the first time since we had arrived at the lake, my father's expression changed. He looked at the markings in silence. "The Mark of Nyx," he finally said. I lowered my arms. "Is Nyx going to talk to me too?" My father didn't answer immediately. That made me nervous. "Father?" He sighed softly and looked out across the lake. "I don't know. But I can only imagine" My eyes widened. "You don't know?" "I have spent my entire life with Aethay's blessing, Kairos. My father did as well, and his father before him. The House of Vox understands Aethay."He looked back at me. "But Nyx..." His gaze fell upon my hands again. "...Nyx is something we do not understand." I look down at my arms. "Is that bad?" My father's expression immediately softened. "No." "But everyone acts like it is." He was quiet. I looked down. "Am I dangerous?" My father reached over and gently took one of my hands. "No, Kairos." His hand was warm against mine. "You are my son. People just aren't fond of the unknown" I looked up at him. "Nyx's mark may be something new. Something frightening, even. But being afraid of something we don't understand does not make it evil." I thought about that. "Then what does Nyx want?" My father smiled faintly. "That’s..." He looked toward the dark forest stretching beyond the lake. "... something you may have to discover for yourself. Like I said your path may be foggy- but, if you have principles that you live by you will have your compass."

After that night, I found myself returning to that same forest many times. It became a place that reminded me of everything my father and I had spoken about, but it was also where I began learning how to listen to Aethay. Her presence came little by little.

At first, she was barely more than a feeling. Then came the faintest traces of a voice, soft and distant, like mist drifting through the trees. There was something ethereal about the way she spoke, as though her words had traveled across an endless sky just to reach me. Aethay didn't speak often. And when she did, she rarely said anything that made immediate sense. Her messages were cryptic. Vague. Sometimes downright frustrating. To be honest, she was quite a pain sometimes. But little by little… Her voice began to grow clearer. And as the days passed, she began speaking more and more ever so slightly.

As I continued training with Sir Chronos, I slowly became more efficient with my movements. My swings became cleaner, my footing steadier, and I didn't have to think as much about every movement anymore. For once, I felt like I was actually getting somewhere with the sword.

I wasn't sure when it happened, but sometime after I turned ten, something inside my head began to change.

One afternoon, while Chronos and I were sparring, I heard a voice.

Not a whisper.

Not a muffled sound buried beneath the constant noise in my head.

A voice.

Clearer than I had ever heard before.

“I am Aethay.”

I froze.

For the first time in what felt like forever, my head was completely free of pain.

I could think.

I could breathe.

There was no pressure behind my eyes, no voices fighting in the back of my mind, no crushing headache threatening to bring me to my knees.

Just silence.

And then that voice.

"Aethay?"

Sir Chronos lowered his sword slightly. He seemed to notice the change in me almost immediately.

"It seems you're about that age."

I blinked.

"Age?"

Chronos gave a small smile.

"Your father told me this would happen around now."

I lowered my sword, still trying to understand what I had just heard. Sweat ran down my forehead as I looked at him.

"What would happen?"

Chronos rested his wooden sword against his shoulder.

"According to your father, around the age of ten, those who bear the Mark of Aethay begin to hear and feel her presence more clearly."

I stared at him.

"Why?"

"That," he said, "is a little more complicated."

Chronos took a breath before continuing.

"The gods seem to restrict themselves when their marks are placed upon children. They don't reveal everything to them immediately."

"Why not?"

"Your father believes it has something to do with how the mind develops as a child grows."

I frowned.

"So the gods are... waiting for us to grow up?"

"Something like that."

I looked down at my hands, then back toward Chronos.

"Then why can I hear Aethay now?"

"Because you're beginning to reach the age where your mind can understand more of what the mark is trying to show you."

I stood there silently.

For years, I had wondered what the voice inside my head was.

Now, for the first time, I had an answer.

Aethay.

But somehow, having an answer only gave me more questions.

"Can I talk to her?"

Chronos chuckled.

"I suppose you'll find out."

I looked toward the sky.

For once, I wasn't thinking about the sword in my hands – I was listening.

The doors to the training grounds creaked open.

I turned toward the entrance, expecting to see another servant coming to bring me back inside. Instead, a familiar figure stepped through the doorway.

My father.

A servant must have noticed what was happening and hurried to find him.

My father looked at me for a moment, then at Chronos.

His expression changed slightly.

“So... it’s that time, is it?”

Chronos immediately bowed his head.

“Your Majesty.”

I stood there facing my father, still trying to process everything I'd just learned.

“How come I always seem to be out of the loop about these things?”

My father smiled.

“It’s as Chronos said. You were too young to understand. Though I wouldn't say you're quite grown up yet. You are still only ten, after all.”

I puffed out my cheeks.

“Pshh. Whatever. I’m used to it by now.”

My father raised an eyebrow.

“Used to what?”

“Having to figure things out on my own, I mean.”

Chronos quietly cleared his throat, trying not to laugh.

My father, however, simply smiled.

“Perhaps that isn't such a bad thing.”

“How is his training coming along?”

Chronos straightened and gave a small smirk.

“He’s doing really well.”

My father’s face immediately lit up with a wide smile.

“That’s wonderful.”

I couldn't help but smile a little myself. Hearing my father praise me always felt good, especially when it came to something I'd worked so hard at.