“The greatest form of worship is following the Path to Godhood.” - The First Preacher, teaching his disciples, in the year 02 A.C.

  The smell of salt in the air and the cries of seagulls overhead announced to me that I was home. Stepping out of the carriage, I stared at the castle in

  front of me, memories cascading through my mind. Some of them good. Some of them bad. ‘It should have been you.’ I sighed. Pincer, the butler,

  approached me. “Welcome home, young lord.” I nodded. “I am home.” Pincer bowed, and then motioned for me to follow him. “Is my father here?” I

  asked. A pause in his step, before he continued. “The lord is in his office right now. He has instructed that he is not to be disturbed.” I sighed. ‘Of course

  he has.’ Pincer led me inside. The familiar sights around me did nothing to calm my beating heart, that was getting louder and louder. Leading me up

  the extravagant staircase, I then followed Pincer through the hallways, my confusion growing. Pincer then stopped and opened a door, gesturing for me

  to enter. “Your room, young lord.” I stared at him. “This is the guest room, Pincer.” He looked at me sadly. “Not anymore.” I gritted my teeth, but entered

  anyway. The large and spacious room was decorated with tapestries displaying the history of the Rivum Dukedom. A large window let in sunlight,

  lighting up the room and granting a view of the city and ocean below. Rivum Castle had been built on a hill overlooking the port city below, where much

  of the kingdom's trade occurred. A large bed with many blankets to protect against the cold nights and extravagant furniture to relax on, sitting on a

  fancy rug, decorated the room. It was all very nice and lovely. But it wasn’t mine. “Dinner will be served in four hours, young lord. If you will excuse me.”

  With that, Pincer closed the door. I stared at it for a moment, and then sat down on the bed. ‘It should have been you.’ I clenched my fist and stood up.

  It was time to stop running. It was time to go and see my father.

  The servants that I recognized looked at me with sadness, the ones I didn’t with barely hidden disdain. As I approached my father’s office, I couldn’t

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  help but grow more and more anxious. What was I going to say to him? What was there to talk about? I didn’t know. I didn’t know how I was supposed

  to interact with him, after what he said to me. But I couldn’t, wasn’t, going to simply run away forever. Taking a deep breath, I rounded the corner and

  walked towards the large oaken doors. Two knights were standing guard outside. I nodded to them as I approached. “Stop.” One of them said. I

  stopped. “The Lord has instructed that he is not to be disturbed.” I looked at him. “Tell him that his son is here to see him.” He shook his head. “He is

  not to be disturbed. Please leave.” I stared at him for a moment, before swirling on my feet and walking away. ‘That’s it? He doesn’t want to see me?

  After over a year of not speaking to me, he doesn’t want to see me?’ Rage was building inside me. Heading back to the guest room, I grabbed my

  sword and headed outside. A servant asked me, “Young lord, where are you going?” “Outside! Now don’t bother me!” I snarled at her. She recoiled in

  fear, but I didn’t care. Storming out the front door, I walked towards the forest surrounding the estate. Entering the cover of the trees, I began sprinting.

  Empowering myself with mana and covering my sword with an azure shine, I dashed forwards and sliced straight through a tree, sending it toppling to

  the ground. “FUCK!” I shouted as I continued to slash at the trees surrounding me. The sounds of trees falling did nothing to soothe my anger, and

  thirty seconds later, I panted, exhausted, with all my mana gone. Gritting my teeth, I continued to swing my sword. Fronthanded, backhanded,

  horizontal, vertical, stab. I unleashed a hurricane of violence on the branches around me, my sword whistling as it carved paths through the air. But it

  didn’t matter. Anyone with mana would easily slice through my sword and my neck with a single swing. My sword wouldn’t even be able to touch them

  before I died. Yet I kept swinging. “FUUUUCCKKKKKK!” I screamed to the heavens. In the past, I had swung and swung over and over again until my

  hands bled, and then I swung some more. I had trained ruthlessly, disregarding all pain. I had fought like a madman, desperate for victory. But it didn’t

  matter. Throughout the many battles I had at the academy, I hadn’t won a single one. ‘It should have been you.’ My fathers voice echoed constantly

  through my head, reminding me that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how hard I fought, it didn’t matter. I would never win, I would never be better

  than Tyrin. I would never make my father proud. I would never make him accept me, make him apologize for telling me that I should have died instead

  of Tyrin. Because he was right. Panting, I stabbed the air one last time, and then stopped. Tears of frustration were running down my face. “Damn it.” I

  growled. Raising my sword once more, I prepared to make another swing when a voice suddenly sounded from behind me. “Your sword shakes

  whenever you stab. You should work on that.” I froze. Turning around, I saw the one thing I never wished to see again. “Hello Corin.” The God of Death

  spoke. “Let's have a little chat.”