Chapter 207
The next day, the city of Ao is ready to meet their king. The streets are lined with citizens, their voices filling the water with a hum of excitement that vibrates through the very currents. Banners ripple with the movement of the ocean, displaying Tangaroa’s sacred symbols, honoring the dawn of a new era.
Schools of fish dart in and out of the coral structures, their bright colors adding to the vibrancy of the moment. The entire city pulses with energy, as though the ocean itself is holding its breath for what is to come. The water is charged, humming with something greater than just celebration—it is expectation, hope, the promise of a future they never thought possible.
Every citizen, from the eldest elders with wisdom in their eyes to the youngest children with curiosity brimming in their gazes, gathers in the city square or presses against balconies, eager to witness the historic day unfold.
Market vendors pause their sales, guards stand at rapt attention, and the hum of whispered prayers to Tangaroa fills the spaces between the growing murmurs. Even those who once doubted Khale’s right to rule watch in silence, wondering what kind of king he will be. They all wait, and the anticipation builds like a gathering storm.
Khale’s coronation takes place in the palace's grand hall, a ceremony steeped in tradition and reverence. The hall is illuminated by glowing sea crystals, casting a warm, golden light over the proceedings. The structure itself is ancient, built by rulers long before Raif’s tyranny, and today, it will bear witness to a ruler who will truly serve his people.
The grand pillars are wrapped in intricate carvings of Tangaroa’s deeds, a testament to the god’s eternal presence in their kingdom. The murals depict past rulers, each of them standing tall, crowned in reverence, but today, a new name will be added to their legacy—Khale’s.
Khale kneels before the high priests, their robes embroidered with sacred markings, their solemn voices chanting the ancient rites of Tangaroa. The incantations swirl in the water, sacred syllables wrapping around him like a divine blessing.
His mother stands tall beside him, her face filled with quiet pride and long-held hope. Cora, too, watches with a gleam of admiration in her eyes, her hand resting lightly over her heart as though she can barely believe what she is seeing.
The weight of the ceremonial crown is tangible as it is lowered onto Khale’s head, a mixture of gold and deep sapphire, forged to resemble the rising sun over the waves. The moment it settles onto his brow, the water seems to still, as if the ocean itself recognizes its new king. The moment stretches, weighty with significance.
Then, in the silence, a lone warrior in the crowd pounds his fist to his chest in salute. Then another. And another. The sound spreads like rolling thunder through the assembly, until the entire city is a chorus of warriors saluting their new king.
Khale rises, shoulders squared, exhaling slowly as the weight of his new responsibility sinks in. He is no longer just Khale. He is Dawn King.
After the rites are completed, Khale moves through the palace with steady purpose. He knows what must come next. His people await him. The grand balcony overlooks the entire city, and as he steps out onto it, the crowd below roars with expectation.
His mother and Cora flank him, symbols of the past and the future standing with him as he takes his place as ruler. The cheers reverberate through the water, shaking the very foundations of the city as his people cry out his name, their voices a chorus of hope and renewed faith. The moment is overwhelming, and for a brief second, he closes his eyes and allows himself to feel it—to feel them. His people. His responsibility. His purpose.
Khale raises his hands, and the crowd gradually quiets, their attention locked on their new king.
"My people," he begins, his voice resonating through the open space. "Tangaroa’s light has blessed Ao, and in his name, I promise to be a fair and just ruler. I promise that we will build something greater than what we have known—something better."
A ripple of approval moves through the gathered masses, but Khale does not pause. He continues, his expression resolute. "Our way of life must change. No longer will the incarcerated and the indebted be forced to fight for their lives in the Pit. There will be no more death matches. No more Menagerie."
The reaction is immediate. A stir sweeps through the crowd, some cheering, others crying out in protest. The Pit has been the lifeblood of Ao’s entertainment, its brutality ingrained into their culture for generations. The people have spent decades reveling in the carnage, cheering as warriors fought to the death for sport. To many, it was tradition. But Khale waits, his stance firm, his expression unyielding, then holds out his hands to settle them.
"There will be no more Pit," he repeats, his tone calm yet commanding. "Because we will build something greater in its place. The Pit will no longer be a place of slaughter, but a place of strength. From this day forward, it will be called the Forum—a place where the next generation of Ao’s warriors will train to become the fierce and loyal protectors that Tangaroa intended them to be."
This time, the cheers are louder. The skepticism in the crowd begins to wane as people nod to one another, considering his words. A change is coming, and it is one they can begin to accept. The weight of tradition is heavy, but the promise of something greater is beginning to break through the old ways.
Khale continues, his voice unwavering. "And the changes do not end there. The Darklite mines will be shut down. No longer will our people toil in the shadows for a power that poisons us. The workforce will be redirected to removing all traces of Darklite from our city. Those who choose to take up this task will be compensated with increased pay, their efforts not only rewarded, but honored."
The shift in the crowd is palpable. What was once murmurs of uncertainty swells into overwhelming applause. The people of Ao had suffered beneath Raif’s rule, their lives bent in service to greed. Now, they are given a choice. Now, they have hope. The promise of a better future, one where they are no longer pawns in a greater scheme, settles over them like a warming current.
Khale lets the excitement settle before delivering his final decree. "There are those who have sought to exploit Ao’s people, to use our strength for their own selfish ambitions. I will not allow it. We will hunt them down, bring them to justice, and ensure that no foreign power ever seeks to claim our city for their own."
A chorus of agreement rises from the people, their loyalty sealing around him like a shield. Warriors in the crowd press their fists to their chests in a show of solidarity, pledging their blades to their king’s cause. Even those who had once doubted his rule now find themselves swept up in his words, seeing something in him that they had not seen in a ruler for a long time—hope.
He takes a breath, his golden eyes sweeping over his people one last time. "Ao will no longer be an isolated kingdom. We will not thrive by building walls. We will protect our city by building bridges—by forging alliances, not making prisoners of war. Under my reign, Tangaroa’s people will know true peace, at last."
The crowd erupts, their voices crashing together like waves. It is not just the coronation of a new king—it is the dawn of a new era. The energy in the water is electric, the weight of years of oppression being cast away like a tide finally receding.
As Khale stands there, his shoulders straight, his head high, he feels something shift inside him. He has spent much of his life running, a prince without a home, a fighter with no true kingdom. But now, as his people chant his name, as they raise their voices in unity and unwavering faith, he understands.
He is no longer a lost prince.
He is the Dawn King.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
