# Chapter 1: The Price of Everything

The sun beat down mercilessly on the back of the peasant's neck. He straightened up from the wheat he was harvesting and wiped sweat from his brow with a dirty forearm. His back ached from hours bent over the crops. The fields stretched far around him, golden under the summer sun, but his eyes weren't on the wheat. He stared upward, beyond the clouds, where something else golden gleamed.

The castle floated impossibly in the sky, defying all natural laws. It shimmered like a mirage, except it wasn't a mirage. It was always there, day and night, hanging over the kingdom like a second sun. Made entirely of gold—real gold, not just golden-colored stone—it caught the light and threw it back a hundredfold. Some days it hurt to look at it too long.

The peasant sighed. Folk said the castle had been there longer than anyone could remember. His grandfather's grandfather hadn't known a time without it. The golden castle and its master were simply facts of life, like the seasons or death or taxes.

"Kell!" His father's voice snapped him from his thoughts. "Stop gawking and get back to work! We've got half the field left before sundown."

Kell nodded and bent back to his task. His father was right. Staring at the castle wouldn't put food on their table or coin in their purse. The wheat needed harvesting, and the king in his golden castle certainly wasn't going to help them do it.

He grabbed another handful of stalks and swung his sickle. It was going to be a long afternoon.

---

"And then I told him—I told him straight to his face—'That's not a dragon, that's my mother-in-law!'"

The tavern erupted with laughter. Ale sloshed over the rims of tankards as men pounded tables and roared their appreciation. In the corner, a pair of adventurers—real ones, with swords at their hips and scars on their faces—sat drinking steadily.

The taller one, a man named Doren, wiped foam from his beard. "Good one, Tav," he said, still chuckling. "Though I did face a real dragon once, up in the Northfells."

Tav, stockier and younger but no less weathered, rolled his eyes. "Here we go again," he said to no one in particular, but his lips curved into a good-natured smile. "Was this before or after you single-handedly fought off a dozen bandits with nothing but a soup ladle?"

"That was Markham's story, not mine," Doren protested. "I stick to the truth."

"The truth, eh?" Tav took another long pull from his tankard. The ale was cheap but strong, and this was their third round. "Like that time you claimed you saw The King up close?"

A few nearby drinkers quieted at the mention of The King. One man glanced nervously toward the ceiling, as if expecting to see something—or someone—there.

Doren didn't notice the change in atmosphere. "I did see him! From a distance, anyway. He was visiting the eastern garrison about five years back. Just a glimpse, but I swear his eyes really do glow gold."

Tav snorted. "Right. And I'm the Emperor of Azazel."

"The King's not so special anyway," Doren continued, alcohol making him louder than was wise. "Just a man with some fancy magic. If you ask me—"

"Nobody's asking," interrupted Tav, suddenly serious. He glanced around the tavern, now noticeably quieter.

"No, but listen," Doren leaned forward, lowering his voice despite his drunkenness. "They say he's immortal, right? Been ruling for centuries? Well, I say anyone who lives that long probably isn't right in the head anymore. Probably sits up there in his shiny castle playing with himself and—"

"Doren!" Tav hissed, kicking his friend under the table.

But it was too late. A pin-point of golden light appeared on the ceiling directly above Doren. It grew brighter, expanding to the size of a coin.

"—and honestly, what kind of ruler doesn't even show his face to his people except once every few decades? I say The King can take his golden cas—"

The light shot downward faster than an arrow, striking Doren squarely in the chest. For a split second, he glowed from within, his skeleton visible through suddenly transparent flesh. Then flames erupted from his mouth, his eyes, his ears. His scream died before it fully formed.

In moments, there was nothing left but a pile of ash on the tavern bench, still shaped vaguely like a sitting man before it collapsed in on itself.

No one moved. No one spoke. Then, as one, everyone in the tavern dropped to their knees, foreheads pressed to the sticky floor.

Tav, shaking uncontrollably, whispered into the silence: "Long live The King."

---

Meanwhile, in the shadow of the floating golden castle, real castles of stone and mortar seemed to cower. The Royal Palace of Aurum, capital city of the kingdom, was the largest structure on the ground, yet still diminutive compared to its skyborne counterpart.

Lord Verien stood at one of the palace's many balconies, gazing upward like the peasant had done miles away. Unlike the peasant, his expression held calculation rather than wonder.

"It's getting worse, Hadley," he said to the man beside him. "The northern territories report three more villages completely abandoned."

Duke Hadley Merrin frowned, tugging at his precisely trimmed beard. "Refugees?"

"Some. Others simply..." Verien made a vague gesture. "Disappeared. The provincial governor believes it's the work of beast-men."

"Beast-men this far south? That's concerning." Hadley leaned against the balcony railing. "What does The King say?"

Verien's lips thinned. "Nothing, as usual. My requests for audience have gone unanswered. The Master of Petitions claims The King is occupied with 'greater matters.'"

"Greater than the safety of his northern provinces? What could possibly—" Hadley stopped himself, glancing upward. Even here, in private conversation between two of the realm's highest nobles, caution was wise. "Well, I'm sure His Majesty has his reasons."

Verien snorted but nodded. "Of course. Always."

The two men fell silent for a moment, looking out over the city. Aurum sprawled below them, a testament to human industry. Markets, guildhalls, temples, and homes stretched to the city walls and beyond. People scurried about like ants, their problems and concerns utterly mundane compared to the matters of state.

"The merchants are nervous," Hadley finally said. "Trade routes to the north are becoming too dangerous. The Ventari Company lost an entire caravan last month—guards, goods, everything."

"The Merchant Council has petitioned for military escorts, I assume?"

"Naturally. And been denied, also naturally. The army claims they're stretched too thin already." Hadley shook his head. "Meanwhile, goods grow scarcer and prices rise. The common folk suffer most, as always."

Verien nodded grimly. "And when the common folk suffer enough, they tend to look for someone to blame."

The unspoken question hung between them: Who would the people blame first—the nobility they could see and reach, or The King in his untouchable golden castle?

Hadley straightened his jacket, a nervous habit. "Speaking of troubling northern matters, have you heard the rumors from beyond the Frostpeak Mountains?"

"Which ones? There are so many these days."

"About the... excavation." Hadley lowered his voice further. "They say the Northlanders have found something in the ice. Something old. Something powerful."

Verien raised an eyebrow. "Northlander superstition, most likely."

"Perhaps. Still, why take chances? We should send an envoy, at least."

"And risk offending the Northland chieftains by showing interest in their territory? They're touchy enough as it is."

Hadley made a sound of frustration. "We need The King's guidance on these matters. A word from him could—"

"Yes, well." Verien cut him off. "When was the last time anyone received 'guidance' from our golden sovereign? The weekly edicts hardly count—they're nothing but ritual pronouncements. I doubt he even writes them himself anymore."

Both men fell silent again, this time more tensely. Above them, the golden castle gleamed, serene and untouchable.

"We should return inside," Hadley said finally. "The Council meeting starts soon, and we both know how Treasurer Lowell gets when people are late."

Verien smiled without humor. "Heaven forbid we delay discussions on the spring tax rates."

As they turned to go, Verien cast one last look at the floating castle. For just a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of movement at one of its windows—a face, perhaps, looking down at them. But it was gone so quickly he decided it must have been a trick of the light.

---

Atop that impossible castle, in its heart, sprawled the throne room. The chamber defied human architecture in its proportions—a hundred paces long and half as wide, with a ceiling that soared upward nearly fifty feet. No supports or columns interrupted the vast space. The walls, floor, and ceiling were solid gold, yet somehow not gaudy. The metal had a warm, living quality, almost pulsing with inner light.

At the far end, upon a dais of gold seven steps high, sat the throne itself. Unlike the rest of the castle, it was simple in design—just gold, shaped like a chair, with no ornate carvings or jewels. It didn't need embellishment. Power radiated from it in almost visible waves.

And on that throne sat a man.

At first glance, he seemed unremarkable—average height, medium build, neither young nor old. His hair was brown, his features pleasant but forgettable. He wore a simple white robe, unadorned. He could have been anyone.

Until you saw his eyes.

They weren't just golden in color. They glowed, literally illuminating his face from within, casting strange shadows across his cheeks and nose. They held no pupil or iris—just pure, molten gold from corner to corner.

This was Xeos. The King. The Immortal Sovereign. The Golden God.

He sat perfectly still as a man in black robes approached the throne, stopping at a respectful distance and bowing deeply.

"Rise, Damar," said Xeos. His voice was unexpectedly ordinary—neither deep nor high, neither melodious nor harsh.

The advisor straightened. "Thank you, Your Radiance. I bring the morning report."

Xeos made a small gesture with his hand, indicating Damar should continue.

"The situation in the northern provinces continues to deteriorate," Damar began, consulting a scroll he carried. "Three more villages reported abandoned, bringing the total to seventeen this season. Reports suggest beast-men activity, though some witnesses describe 'shadows that walk like men.'"

"Interesting," said Xeos, though his tone conveyed no real interest. "Continue."

"In the east, the monster army has grown. Our scouts estimate their numbers at three thousand now. They've destroyed two garrison outposts and appear to be moving toward the Eastwatch Fortress. General Korven requests reinforcements, though it's doubtful they would arrive in time."

Xeos nodded slightly but said nothing.

"To the west, drought continues to plague the farmlands. Crop yields are expected to be less than half of normal. There may be food shortages by winter."

"The granaries are full," Xeos said.

"Yes, Your Radiance, but distribution remains problematic without your direct authorization, and—"

"I'll consider it. What else?"

Damar hesitated, then continued. "In the south, the sea raids have increased. Three coastal towns sacked in the past month alone. The navy has engaged the raiders twice but lacks the ships to patrol effectively."

"Build more ships," Xeos said.

"Of course, Your Radiance. The shipwrights have been ordered to increase production." Damar cleared his throat. "There is also the matter of the Northlanders beyond the Frostpeak Mountains. Our spies report unusual activity—some kind of excavation in the ice fields. They appear to have discovered something of significance."

For the first time, Xeos showed a flicker of interest. "What have they found?"

"We're uncertain, Your Radiance. Our informant was discovered before learning details. All we know is that the Northland chieftains have gathered their shamans at the site."

"Send more spies. I want to know exactly what they've found."

"At once, Your Radiance." Damar bowed again. "There are also domestic matters requiring attention. The nobles grow restless without direct guidance. Lords Verien and Hadley in particular have been vocal about the need for a cohesive response to these various crises."

Xeos waved a dismissive hand. "The nobility always complains. What about the eastern monster army? When will the mages arrive?"

"The Arcane College estimates three months before a sufficient force can be assembled. The most powerful adepts are scattered across the kingdom on various assignments."

"Three months." Xeos fell silent, his golden eyes staring at something only he could see. After a long moment, he spoke again. "That's too long. I'll deal with it myself."

Damar's composure slipped for a moment, surprise evident on his face. "Your Radiance? You haven't left the castle in—"

"I know how long it's been, Damar." There was a hint of irritation in Xeos's voice. "Tomorrow. Make the arrangements."

"Of course, Your Radiance." Damar bowed deeply. "Will there be anything else?"

Xeos seemed to lose interest again. "No. Leave me."

The advisor backed away, bowing several more times before turning to exit the vast throne room. When he was gone, Xeos remained motionless on his throne, golden eyes fixed on the far wall, seeing beyond it to the entire kingdom spread below his floating castle.

His kingdom. His people. His responsibility, whether he wanted it or not.

---

Night fell, and three moons rose over the kingdom. Xeos stood at the window of his bedchamber, naked, watching them climb the sky. The largest moon, pale yellow and pockmarked with craters, was called the Mother. The middle-sized one, blueish-white and smoother, was the Daughter. The smallest, tinged reddish like rust or old blood, was the Stranger.

Together, they cast enough light to see by, even in the darkest hour of night. The landscape below was washed in their combined glow—silver-blue from the Daughter, warm yellow from the Mother, and faint crimson from the Stranger. It created an otherworldly effect, like seeing the world through a colored glass.

Xeos stared at the three celestial bodies for a long time. Something about their arrangement tonight bothered him. The Stranger seemed too close to the Mother, their lights mingling unnaturally.

He didn't like it.

He blinked.

And the Stranger was gone. Simply gone, as if it had never existed. The sky held only two moons now—the Mother and the Daughter, yellow and blue, their combined light purer without the Stranger's blood-tint.

The landscape below changed subtly with the altered light, shadows shifting, colors clarifying. The world seemed cleaner somehow, more orderly.

Xeos studied it, head tilted slightly to one side. After a moment, he frowned.

No, this wasn't right either. The balance was wrong now. The tide patterns would change. The night was too bright in some places, too dark in others. And there was something else, something he couldn't quite articulate even to himself—a feeling of incompleteness. The sky needed that third moon, annoying as its positioning might be.

He blinked again.

And the Stranger reappeared, exactly where it had been before, as if it had never left. The world below returned to its previous state, bathed in the mixed light of three celestial bodies.

But Xeos was no longer at the window. The bedchamber stood empty, the sheets on the vast golden bed still perfectly smooth and untouched. Only the faintest shimmer in the air suggested that someone had been there at all.

---

The next day dawned clear and hot over the eastern plains of the kingdom. The monster army had established a camp of sorts—though "camp" was perhaps too organized a term for the chaotic sprawl of beings that defied categorization. Some resembled overgrown insects, others twisted parodies of humans or animals. A few seemed to be nothing but mouths and eyes arranged in impossible configurations.

They numbered in the thousands, spread across the rolling grasslands like a disease. The vegetation died where they tread, turning black and crumbling to ash. Animals fled for miles in every direction. Even the air seemed fouler here, thick with the stench of rot and something else, something not quite natural.

Three miles away, on a low hill overlooking the horde, a single figure appeared in a flash of golden light.

Xeos stood motionless, white robe rippling slightly in the hot breeze. His golden eyes surveyed the monster army with clinical detachment. He felt no fear, no disgust, not even particular interest. Just a task to be completed.

In the throne room yesterday, when Damar had mentioned the monster army, Xeos had remembered that this was something kings were supposed to handle. Threats to the kingdom. Enemies at the gate. It had been so long since he'd bothered with such things directly. Usually, he let his generals and mages deal with these matters.

But something had stirred in him—perhaps boredom, perhaps a vague sense of responsibility briefly remembered. And so here he was, doing what no one else in the kingdom could do.

One of the larger monsters, something like a cross between a bear and a spider, noticed him on the hill. It reared up, making a sound like rocks being ground together, and pointed with one hairy limb.

Others turned to look. A wave of awareness passed through the horde, and suddenly all activity ceased as every monstrous eye focused on the solitary figure in white.

For a moment, nothing happened. The monsters seemed confused by the appearance of a lone human. Then, as if by some silent command, they began to move toward the hill. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, the entire horde surged forward, a tide of twisted flesh and chitinous armor.

Xeos watched them come. He raised one hand, palm out.

Golden light gathered there, a tiny sun in his palm, growing brighter and brighter until it outshone the real sun overhead. The light expanded, forming a sphere that hovered an inch above his skin, pulsing with power.

The leading edge of the monster army reached the base of the hill, clawed feet and hands and tentacles scrabbling at the slope. They climbed with unnatural speed, thousands of them, a wall of nightmares rushing toward the solitary figure.

Xeos's expression never changed. His golden eyes reflected the sphere of light in his hand as it grew to the size of his head, then larger, until he appeared to be holding a miniature sun.

The first monster crested the hill—a thing with too many legs and a human face stretched across a body that resembled a giant cockroach. It lunged for Xeos, mandibles clicking.

Xeos released the sphere.

For a heartbeat, the golden light hung in the air between them. Then it expanded outward with impossible speed, engulfing the hillside in an instant and continuing to grow. A wave of pure golden energy swept across the plains, consuming everything it touched.

Thousands of monsters simply ceased to exist, their bodies converted to light and heat in a fraction of a second. The ground itself melted, rock and soil fusing into glass under the unimaginable temperature.

The wave expanded for six kilometers in every direction before finally dissipating. Where the monster army had been, there was now only a vast crater filled with bubbling lava. The heat was so intense that the air above it shimmered, creating mirages that danced and twisted.

In the center of it all, on what had been the hilltop but was now a small island of solid ground amid the sea of molten rock, stood Xeos. His white robe remained pristine, untouched by the destruction he had unleashed. His expression remained neutral, as if he'd done nothing more strenuous than swat a fly.

He surveyed his work with those inhuman golden eyes, then nodded once to himself. Task completed. Problem solved. The monsters were gone, and the eastern province was safe.

Without another glance at the devastation, he vanished in another flash of golden light, returning to his castle in the sky.

---

Back on his throne, Xeos felt... uneasy. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one he hadn't experienced in centuries. Not fear—never fear—but a restlessness, a nagging sense that something wasn't right.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of the golden throne, the sound echoing in the empty chamber. Usually, the displays of power soothed him, reminded him of his purpose and position. Today, it felt hollow.

What was wrong with him? He'd just saved thousands of lives by destroying that monster army. His subjects would be grateful. Isn't that what kings were supposed to do? Protect their people?

But the unease persisted, worming its way through his thoughts. After an hour of sitting motionless except for those drumming fingers, Xeos stood abruptly and left the throne room.

He walked through the golden corridors of his castle, passing rooms he hadn't entered in decades, centuries even. Servants bowed deeply as he passed, their faces carefully blank. They never looked directly at his eyes.

At last, he reached a part of the castle few ever saw. A long hallway ended in a pair of massive golden doors, twice the height of a man. They were plain, unadorned, with no visible hinges or handles. To most observers, they would appear to be merely decorative—a golden wall shaped to resemble doors.

Xeos stared at them for a long moment. Beyond these doors lay the source of his power, his immortality, his very existence as "The King." Behind these doors was the truth that no one in the kingdom suspected, the secret that had allowed him to rule for centuries.

The unease grew stronger as he approached the doors. It had been... how long since he'd last come here? Fifty years? A hundred? Time blurred after a while.

He reached out, and his right hand changed. The flesh and bone liquefied, reforming into a small golden key, ornate and ancient-looking. The transformation was painless, effortless—a reminder that his human appearance was merely a convenience, not a reality.

He inserted the key-hand into an invisible keyhole in the center of the doors. There was a sound like a distant bell, and the doors swung inward silently.

Beyond lay a chamber unlike any other in the castle. Unlike the throne room's warm, living gold, this place was made of cold, dead metal that gleamed with an unnatural light. The walls were covered in symbols—not writing exactly, but something more primal, more fundamental. These were the symbols of the Eighth Circle of magic, far beyond what even the most advanced mages in the kingdom could comprehend. Most couldn't even reach the Seventh Circle in a lifetime of study.

In the center of the chamber hung a being. Or perhaps "being" was too limited a word.

It was enormous, filling most of the vast space, yet somehow it seemed larger than the room could possibly contain, as if parts of it existed in dimensions beyond normal perception. It appeared to be made entirely of golden light, but the light moved and flowed like liquid, forming and reforming into patterns that hurt the eyes to follow.

Occasionally, it would take on almost recognizable shapes—a face here, a hand there—before dissolving back into formlessness. And through it all ran currents of darker gold, like veins, pulsing with a rhythm that matched no earthly heartbeat.

This was no mere creature. This was A God. One of the thirty-four Lesser Gods of the world, specifically "The Lose," representing the concept of golden loss. It had been captured and sealed here millennia ago, when Xeos first established his kingdom during the formation of Azazel's Empire.

Every spell Xeos cast, every miraculous feat of power, drew energy directly from this imprisoned deity. Every golden flame that incinerated a disrespectful subject, every protective barrier around the castle, every act of god-like power—all of it was actually god power, siphoned from this captive being.

The God had no eyes in the conventional sense, yet Xeos felt its awareness turn toward him as he entered. There was no hatred in that attention, no anger, not even resentment—just an ancient, patient observation. Gods experienced time differently. What was a few millennia of imprisonment to a being that measured its existence in eons?

Xeos walked to the center of the chamber, directly beneath the hovering deity. Here, the air hummed with power, making his skin tingle and his golden eyes glow brighter in response.

"Show me," he said simply.

The God's form shifted, parts of its golden substance flowing together to create a sort of window in its center. Within that frame appeared images—not of the present or future, but of the past. Ancient memories, preserved perfectly.

Xeos saw a man—not himself, but someone else. Tall and regal, with normal human eyes that nevertheless commanded respect and loyalty. Azazel, the true emperor, the last real ruler. Around him gathered others—advisors, generals, heroes—all working together to build something great and lasting.

The images shifted, showing Azazel's Empire at its height—countless kingdoms united under one banner, peace and prosperity stretching across continents. It had been magnificent, unprecedented in human history.

And Xeos had been there, just one of many serving the great emperor. He'd had a different name then, a different face, a different purpose. He'd been mortal, limited, human.

Until he wasn't.

The God showed nothing of what had happened next, the transformation that had made Xeos what he was now. Some memories even gods chose not to revisit.

Xeos watched the images fade, leaving only the flowing golden form of the imprisoned deity. He felt a profound longing, not for power or immortality, but for purpose. In those days, serving Azazel, he'd known exactly what he was meant to do, who he was meant to be.

Now...now he was The King, ruler of a kingdom that barely needed him, caretaker of a legacy he hadn't created and didn't fully understand.

"I won't be coming back," he said to the God, though whether it was a promise or a threat remained unclear.

The deity made no response. It simply continued its slow, liquid movements, existing in a way no human mind could truly comprehend.

Xeos turned and left the chamber, the golden doors swinging shut behind him. His hand reformed into its human shape as he walked away.

He would never return to that room, never again face the evidence of what he had been and what he had lost. There was no going back to those days, no recapturing what had been. Azazel was gone, the empire fallen. All that remained was Xeos, The King, immortal and alone in his golden castle.

Unfortunately, he would never return from where he had gone, either.