**"Give him a week,"**
Was the promise sent back, not mild or meek.
Not a message, no — more like a vow,
With time as his weapon, he'd show them how.
Sunless would return with names in hand,
Allies or targets, by his own command.
Whether the list would serve or slay
Depended on what he carved from the clay.
**Day One:**
**Fear.**
The one truth every Sleeper knows,
From shadowed halls to sunlight's throes.
It gripped the city, whispered through stone,
In every heart, it carved a throne.
Fear held the Host in stitched-together grace,
Fear bowed to Gunlaug's shining face.
Fear built civility, masked with delight,
But fear was the reason no one dared fight.
Even the guards that met him with cheer
Were planted tools to dig and peer.
A drunk fool's trust? A simple trick—
But Sunless proved a touch too slick.
He drank, he laughed, but never slipped,
No secrets spilled from lips well-zipped.
And when day closed, with nothing lost,
A pale woman's shadow tracked his cost.
**Day Two:**
Transcended.
Gunlaug's armor, gold and bright,
Glowed too fierce for naked sight.
But Sunless, blessed by blood-wrought thread,
Saw power coiled in plates of dread.
To meet the King? A week was short.
Such things required official court.
But rules, like chains, can always bend,
If whispers find the proper end.
Generals? Elusive ghosts.
Pathfinders gone from castle posts.
The guards were present, stiff and proud,
But led to doors too tightly cowed.
The Handmaidens, wrapped in grace,
Could be the voices he'd embrace.
Their leader stern, but not unkind—
So through their veil, his words would wind.
**Day Three:**
Harus, the shadow hunched and pale,
Dressed in silence, thin and frail.
With crooked spine and sunken cheek,
He met with Sunless, bade him speak.
"I offer freedom—nothing less.
A gift to end the King's duress."
No gilded lies, no song or jest,
Just truth laid bare at his request.
Harus left, no word or nod,
Vanishing down the halls he trod.
His silence spoke, it carved a path—
Now came the calm before the wrath.
**Day Four:**
No noise, no shift, just watchful eyes,
That blinked away when Sunless passed by.
A thousand whispers spun like thread—
Harus had moved, and word had spread.
**Day Five:**
A summons came, and Sunless knew
This was the fruit his silence grew.
Gunlaug the Bright Lord bade him near—
The golden King now wished to hear.
Two handmaids led him, sweet and fair,
While hidden guards clogged up the air.
And still he walked with steady pace,
A subtle smirk on shadowed face.
Another watcher trailed aside,
A woman cloaked, with steps to hide.
But Sunless saw her presence too—
She'd mark his path 'til supper drew.
The hall was rich in ancient pride,
But Gunlaug's glow outshone the wide
Stone pillars, tapestries, and flame—
The golden King eclipsed the game.
"Come dine, dear Sunless!" Gunlaug cried,
"Today, the cooks have truly tried!"
A boisterous mask on a hunter's face,
With hospitality draped in lace.
Sunless bowed and took his seat,
Careful not to show defeat.
Gunlaug's armor gleamed like wrath—
A crown of fire along his path.
"You know," said he, with playful tone,
"That Harus rarely meets alone.
He's not one for idle grace,
His solitude—a shielded place."
He sipped from wine with practiced flair,
His words still light, but laced with care.
"He's judged for looks—dismissed, ignored.
By those too cruel or too bored."
"But imagine then the weight I bore—
To learn my friend was used once more."
His chalice clinked with hardened edge,
The room now hushed beneath his pledge.
"So tell me, guest, with eyes so grim—
Why did you lie and toy with him?"
The game was clear: don't name the prize.
To speak too soon would draw demise.
But traps were laid and points were scored
By shifting blame with sharpened word.
Sunless smiled, the lines rehearsed—
No lie disguised in honest verse.
"My Lord, I fear you misconstrue.
No ladder climbed, no trick pursued."
"I met him, yes, but brief and fast.
Idle talk was never meant to last.
I cut to truth, for he's no fool,
And I—no pawn in someone's duel."
A pause then hung, both minds aligned—
Each hunter watching for a sign.
Gunlaug, the madman clothed in sun,
Knew games like this were never won.
But he leaned in, voice low and sly,
Still cloaked in jest, but close to pry.
"And what," he asked, "did you confess,
That let you leave his halls no less?
What words were said in those deep halls
That kept you safe within these walls?"
Day six:
The castle halls grew strangely loud,
With scurrying feet and voices proud.
Rooms once dead now breathed anew,
Where dust of decades gently blew.
For there within those papered tombs,
Lay keys to clear impending dooms—
To fame, to wealth, to rising fate,
If only one could bear to wait.
No swords were drawn, no banners flown,
Yet whispers chilled them to the bone.
For through the court, with silent grace,
Had slithered in a *treacherous snake*.
The King, who once brought law to lands
That bled beneath a thousand hands—
Who gave the Shore a dream, a light,
A place to rest, a chance at right—
He'd not begun his reign so still,
Nor with a crown, nor with a quill.
Before the throne, before the pact,
He'd lived a life both raw and cracked.
A madman once, with mind unchained,
Who danced where other men were maimed.
He swam the Deep before the dawn,
When hope and bread were both near gone.
They called him fool, a reckless shade,
Who risked for those the world betrayed.
But from the Sea he rose, behold—
A madman wrapped in molten gold.
And thus the last Bright Lord was born,
His madness wrapped in light reborn.
He ruled with peace, his fire at rest,
A sleeping storm within his chest.
But snakes, you see, know how to wake
The storm that slumbers for its sake.
It whispered not of war or flame—
But freedom, home, and endless fame.
It sang of thrones without a war,
Of prizes won for doing no more.
And though the King had turned away,
The words took root in golden clay.
For deep beneath that placid gleam,
The madman stirred within a dream.
The snake, it never sought the crown—
It sought to pull the silence down.
On day the seventh, dusk fell red,
The snake with doll and fire met.
Their plans were drawn in shadows thin,
They gave their gifts with knowing grins.
Then off they slipped to darker nights—
For now, the snake seeks armored knights.
To guard his lands with blade and stone,
To claim a dukedom not his own.
But dreams, oh dreams, they whispered loud,
Within the serpent's coiling shroud.
Of slaves in chains who sang his praise,
Of shadowed halls and endless maze.
He dreamt of snakes with silver eyes,
That slithered songs and honeyed lies.
He dreamt of dancers cloaked in shade,
That moved as one, yet none the same.
He dreamt of blood in sacred clod—
Of shadows dancing for a god. .
.