The Tale of Onora: The Boy and the Peddler of Death by Dylan Saccoccio

during the Great War. One of them was wooden and earthy in appearance, as though crafted from the forest. The other was glossy-blue and pristine, like porcelain that was crafted from the sky. The boy found it strange to speak of someone he had no way of knowing had it not been for his father’s potion.
    “Did those belong to Taliesin?” he asked.
    The man looked up at the xuns. His eyes were crestfallen yet they brimmed with gratitude. “It was difficult for me to understand through the brume of pain and suffering,” he replied. “But I am most grateful that those items cause me such pain now. Were it not for the pain of my yesteryears, I would not have attained the love I am graced with today.”
    The boy didn’t get an answer but he hid his frustration. The man remained silent in order to allow him to discover one artifact in particular that would distract the boy and prevent him from discovering the power of the xuns. Sure enough, the object caught the boy’s eye and revealed itself near the bottom of the heap in the corner. Its allure drew the boy up from his seat. He walked over to the dark corner and knelt down. The man returned to gazing at the fire.
    A wave of shock washed over the boy as he picked up the most symbolic and powerful relic in all the land. He could not believe it was buried in an old pile of junk, barely making its presence known. Were it not for the glints of silver and gold mixed with the faint reflection of light from its jewels, this item would be unnoticeable. Yet, for lifetimes it was the most recognizable regalia in all of Caliphweald. It was the King’s Crown.
    “There are only two ways to enslave a nation,” the man said. He didn’t bother looking away from the hearth fire.
    The silence gnawed at the boy’s soul until he couldn’t take it. “Will you tell me?”
    The man was weary of answering, given boy’s bloodline’s lust for conquest, but at the same time to understand these tactics is paramount to preventing them. “One is by the sword.” He reached into his pocket and took out a silver round. He tossed the precious metal to the boy.
    The boy caught the coin and examined it. Its luster reflected the hearth fire’s glow. “What’s the other way?”
    The man pointed to the coin. “Debt. If you control the money supply, you control the people.”
    The boy held the crown dearly. He knew that he was one untimely death from becoming the rightful heir.
    “If you decide to wear that,” the man continued. “You shall spread nothing but debt and death upon your people.”
    “I would make a good king,” the boy replied.
    “Do not be fooled by its illusions,” the man said. “It is merely a tool for enslavement.”
    “I would never enslave my people,” the boy replied.
    “Your subjects are not mine,” the man said.
    The boy’s fingers moved across his forehead as he chose his words. “I meant those under my rule.”
    “Your decision to talk to me about being king over all other matters is disappointing,” the man responded.
    “Not as disappointing as the Shadean secrets you keep to yourself,” the boy said. “You just sent me into the middle of a war. I don’t know what I’m seeing. I have questions yet you won’t answer them.”
    The man could sense the silent tantrum being thrown within the boy’s mind. “A good teacher tells you where to look, be he does not tell you what to see. He lets you decide for yourself.”
    “I have,” the boy responded. “Not one man you’ve shown me was fit to rule anything, including yourself.”
    “Right you are,” the man replied. “You shall never find a man that is fit to rule another. There are only those who seek to.”
    “I’ve found a man fit to rule,” the boy said.
    “Where is he?” the man asked.
    “You’re looking at him,” the boy replied.
    This provoked the man to awaken from his disimpassioned posture and face the boy sternly. He took a moment to allow the boy to stare into the abyss of his