They summoned another child today.
I felt it the moment he arrived, his soul a fresh ember flaring against the tapestry of this broken world, sixteen, perhaps seventeen at most. Wide eyed, heart pounding with the false bravado of someone told they're the chosen one. They always smell of another sky. Strange chemicals in their hair, strange rhythms in their thoughts. Fear, buried under layers of manufactured courage.
This one is named Aki. or maybe it's Akira. I stopped remembering the names after the twelfth. He has a sword too large for his frame and armor conjured by some Holy Order that's never set foot on a battlefield. His eyes are still shining with naivity and youth. I suppose they tell him this is where he becomes a hero.
They never tell him what I look like. I wonder if they even remember? its been so long since the supposed holy prophets have stepped foot on the battlefields.
I don't wear a crown. I don't breathe fire. I don't speak in riddles. I stand tall because my people need me to. My wings are torn, old scars of a war that no one remembers how to stop. My throne is obsidian not because I chose it, but because our cities burn so often, stone is all we have left.
Aki charges. He screams something about justice. About saving the world. His words are forgotten as he repeats all who have come before him.
I don't want to kill him. I truly didn't, it's never an enjoyable thing but I still do.
Not because I'm evil but because if I don't his magic will detonate and take a thousand of my people with him. They build it into them, you know those so called "heroes." A failsafe in case they fail. How many demons have burned because a boy's resolve wavered at the last second?
I cradle his body once it's done. He's lighter than the sword he wielded. I wonder what food he liked. What music. If he had a mother who will weep at his absence, or if she thinks he's become a legend.
They will etch his name on a statue in some temple far from here. I will bury him in silence among the others who came before.
I asked the High Oracle of the South once: Why do you summon them so young?
She answered with eyes like polished steel. "Because they still believe."
And I cursed Demon King, ruler of ash and mourning. I am the punishment for their belief.
I return to my throne. The stars overhead are red tonight. The priests will say it is a sign of victory. I know better.
They are already preparing to summon another.