tyrant chapter 23

“Don’t die! Karta!”

A chuckle escaped Karta’s lips at Fiogen’s words. He was feverish and ached, yet strangely, laughter kept bubbling up. Karta had never been nursed back to health before. It was a new and unsettling realization, but family had always been an empty word for him. His mother, consumed by her own death wish, had shown no interest in Karta’s suffering. The Emperor, who treated him with icy indifference, had simply looked away. In his early childhood, the injustice of it all had brought him to tears, clutching his blankets. As time wore on, even that sorrow had withered. Or so he’d thought. Fiogen’s words, the plea for him to live, sparked an unexpected warmth within him.

“Why? So I can kill you?”

When Fiogen had expressed his own desire to die, a profound, inexplicable discomfort had settled over Karta. But today, Fiogen’s strange principle was oddly appealing. Karta knew, with absolute certainty, that he would never kill Fiogen. A Fiogen who wished for death would remain by his side forever. The thought of them together, until old age claimed them both, filled him with a joy so intense he could barely contain it.

“Do I really seem that selfish to you?”

Karta couldn’t help but smile at Fiogen’s outburst.

“My, my. What a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding?”

Whenever Fiogen’s crimson eyes darted around, a delightful shiver ran down Karta’s spine. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but pure instinct that led him to reach out and tuck a stray strand of Fiogen’s hair behind his ear.

“Nothing you say could ever be selfish.”

Karta meant it. He knew, from watching his mother, that someone truly determined to die would find a way, no matter the obstacles.

He had been five years old, a prodigy known throughout the Empire for his sharp mind, when he found his mother, the Empress, writhing on the floor, poisoned. It was his quick thinking that had saved her. But when she regained consciousness, her expression wasn’t one of gratitude. It was a mask of furious anguish. He would never forget the look of rage in her eyes when she realized he had saved her. That was how Karta knew. If there was anyone truly selfish in this world, it was himself.

***

Young Karta, with his flowing black hair and brilliantly intelligent crimson eyes, possessed a remarkable resilience. Despite the Empress’s neglect and the Emperor’s coldness, he thrived, much like a cactus in a barren land. Yet, even he had moments of childish vulnerability, a longing for praise after accomplishing something difficult.

“Mother, look! I finally made a marble!”

He’d rushed in, clutching his prize, only to find the Empress convulsing on the floor. The marble slipped from his grasp, shattering against the stone. Beside her, Karta spotted a sprig of nightshade.

“Nightshade? Who brought this poison here?”

It was a deadly toxin, causing bleeding from the eyes, ears, and mouth, hallucinations, and ultimately, death. The Empress groaned, her body twisting in agony.

“Are you alright?”

“Ugh. Are you happy now? Even in death, I will never forgive you! You were neither a good Emperor nor a good man.”

Her fevered gaze, clouded by hallucinations, fixed on Karta. His hands trembled as he realized she didn’t recognize him.

“W-Wait. Mother. I’ll do anything, I’ll save you!”

“Aagh! No!”

He forced her mouth open, his small hands frantically scooping out the remnants of the nightshade. He poured water from a nearby table into her mouth, rinsing it clean. She thrashed, pinching, scratching, and biting him. Blood welled up on his young arms, but he ignored the pain.

“Aagh!”

“Those aren’t cries of pain, Mother. I’m alright. Don’t worry.”

Tears streamed down his face, fueled by the terror of losing her. Once he’d removed the poison, he frantically rang for the servants.

“Bring me kettle leaves, now!”

“K-Kettle leaves?”

The servants stared, wide-eyed and hesitant, taking in the scene: the dying Empress, the young boy covered in blood, clinging to her. They faltered, seeing the Empress’s resistance to the kettle leaves, a potent antidote even more toxic than the poison itself. But Karta was resolute. He chewed the bitter leaves, forcing them between her lips. After a struggle, she finally relented.

He stayed by her side all night, unable to return to his own bed, watching over her still form. She finally awoke the next afternoon and called for him.

“Karta.”

“Yes, Mother. I’m here.”

His voice, thick with emotion, seemed to chill her further. Just being able to see her face, however cold, was enough for him.

“I hate you.”

Karta simply nodded, his gaze fixed on her. It wasn’t a surprise. He had suspected it for a long time, although hearing it aloud still stung.

“It’s alright, Mother.”

“Next time, don’t save me. I hate this Empire. I hate the Emperor.”