Fate/Thorns of Glory

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A throne room of mirrored marble.

Not just polished—reflective.

The floor, the columns, even the throne itself: all surface, no substance.

A place built to never hold a shadow.

Two kings sit opposite each other.

One clothed in golden silk, light touching his hair like a benediction.

The other draped in white that gleams like bone, thorns invisible beneath his skin.

No guards. No witnesses. Only them.

The saint. And the villain.

Both named Leonas.

---

The false king pours wine. Pomegranate-red. Sweet as syrup.

"You came to tear it down," he says, handing the cup across the mirrored table.

"But have you looked? Have you seen their smiles? Their peace?"

Real Leonas accepts the cup. Looks into it like a scrying pool.

"It's sugar-spun rot," he mutters. "Happiness stitched over corpses."

He drinks. And spits.

"That's not wine. That's delusion."

---

The fake king doesn't flinch. Just sighs.

"I remember what we endured. I do. But I chose this shape for a reason. This world… lets them live."

Real Leonas scoffs, running a finger along the edge of the glass.

"They're not living. They're posing. Their suffering was part of them. You took it away, and now they're hollow."

He leans forward, voice quiet.

"Even the dead deserve to be remembered. Even pain deserves to echo."

---

The fake smiles faintly.

"We were made to give hope."

"You were," Leonas replies. "I wasn't."

He stands. Steps down from the mirrored dais, reflections warping beneath him like rippling water.

"I crawled from the gutters. I ruled with fire and iron. I died for them—not so they could forget, but so they could carry on."

His voice rises like smoke from a burning temple.

"You turned my war into a lullaby. My thorns into petals. You're not hope. You're erasure."

---

The false king remains seated, eyes filled with an ancient sorrow.

"If they remembered everything… would they still smile?"

"No," Leonas says, almost gently.

"But at least they'd be themselves."

---

A pause.

The room groans.

Mirrors tremble—not from force, but from truth.

Cracks spider across the walls, silent but spreading.

The illusion is fraying.

---

The fake king lowers his gaze. Then finally stands.

"If you break this world… they'll cry again."

Leonas meets his eyes.

"Good."

He turns. Begins to walk toward the exit.

"Let them cry. Let them scream. Let them remember me."

The doors open. The real world waits.

Behind him, the fake king whispers:

"Then you are truly a villain."

Leonas smiles, slow and cruel.

"No.

I'm their king."

---

End of Arc II: The Thorned Mirror