The Fifth King
By Micah Siemens
The lands of Menor were divided into four kingdoms, each vast and distinct, yet all under the distant authority of the High King, whose throne lay upon the Mountain of Light. He had entrusted four of His stewards to govern the realms in His name — each noble, each flawed, each crowned with both glory and burden.
They were called King Tharos of the North, King Delane of the East, King Kael of the South, and King Erion of the West.
In their time, the people said the North feared, the East wavered, the South burned, and the West exalted itself too high.
For so it was: Tharos ruled by Fear, Delane by Doubt, Kael by Anger, and Arion by Pride.
And the Fifth King, the High King, whose name was seldom spoken aloud for reverence — Aureon — ruled them all.
The King of Fear
In the North, King Tharos sat in a fortress of black ice. He trusted no one. Every door was double-bolted, every servant watched, every whisper treated as treason. His people starved behind walls he called safe.
He remembered too well the night his father was slain by an assassin’s blade — a blade said to have come from within the palace. Since then, Tharos had built not a kingdom, but a prison of vigilance.
When Aureon’s messenger came, robed in white, Tharos hid behind his guards.
“The High King calls his stewards to council,” said the messenger. “The realms wither. The law of flesh devours what the Spirit gave.”
Tharos’ eyes were hollow. “If I leave, my throne will fall. If I trust, I die.”
“If you stay,” said the messenger, “you already are dead.”
The words stung. And so, trembling as he went, Tharos left his northern walls for the first time in many winters.
The King of Doubt
Far to the East, King Delane ruled from towers of crystal that caught every light but gave none back. He was loved once, for his wisdom and gentle heart. But wisdom without trust had turned to questioning every truth, every promise, even himself.
His people waited for his judgment in endless assemblies that never ended. Crops spoiled while he debated which god sent the rain. His scholars wrote scroll after scroll, proving and unproving all things until nothing could be known.
When the messenger came, Delane was surrounded by advisors.
“The High King calls for counsel,” said the messenger.
“And how am I to know this?” Delane asked, folding his hands. “Perhaps you are a deceiver. Perhaps there is no High King. Perhaps I have dreamed all this.”
The messenger smiled. “Then wake, my lord. Come and see.”
Doubt gnawed at him. Yet something beneath it — something buried under years of uncertainty — stirred. Hope? He followed, though every step argued with itself.
The King of Anger
In the South burned the kingdom of Kael. His lands were fertile, but his heart was fire. He had inherited a broken people, plundered by enemies, and he vowed to never be weak again.
He ruled through punishment and war. Every slight was met with wrath, every disobedience with blood. His banners were red, his throne forged from melted swords.
When Aureon’s messenger entered his hall, Kael struck the floor with his spear.
“What business has the High King with me?” he demanded. “I have defended His borders with my life’s blood!”
“He calls His sons to counsel,” said the messenger. “The land bleeds more than your enemies.”
Kael snarled. “I am the sword! I am justice!”
“You are the flame,” said the messenger, “and your flame consumes your own fields.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. He hated truth more than insult, but he was not deaf to it. He rose, wrapped in crimson, and marched north toward the council.
The King of Pride
And in the West, King Erion dwelt among marble halls and golden spires. His kingdom prospered; his scholars sang his praises. He called himself “the reflection of the High King,” though he rarely looked toward the Mountain anymore.
He loved his image — loved how men bowed, how they carved his name in stone. He had built temples to Aureon but inscribed his own deeds upon the altar walls.
So when the messenger came, Arion smiled thinly.
“The High King calls you,” said the messenger.
“Does He?” Erion replied. “And why should He not come to me? Has not my wisdom preserved His glory among men?”
“Because you have built a mirror, not a window,” the messenger said, and left him with silence.
For the first time, Erion saw his reflection and found it empty. Pride, left alone, is hunger that cannot be quenched. He followed too — though not to serve, but to justify himself.
The Council of Kings
They met at the foot of Aureon’s mountain, where white mist touched the earth and the air hummed with stillness. No throne awaited them, no feast, no guards. Only a plain stone table set among the grass.
They sat — the four kings — and silence reigned. Tharos eyed the shadows, Delane questioned the purpose, Kael burned for reason, Arion wondered who would lead.
Then the Fifth King came.
He was not as they imagined. No crown glittered on His head, no sword hung from His belt. His robe was simple, His face radiant with peace. Yet when He spoke, the wind itself bowed.
“My sons,” said Aureon, “you have ruled what is Mine — yet by the law of the flesh, not the Spirit. Tell Me what you have wrought.”
Tharos trembled. “I built walls to keep evil out.”
“And you have kept love out as well,” said Aureon. “Fear builds prisons and calls them safety. You must trust the Light that guards without walls.”
Delane lowered his eyes. “I sought truth but found only questions.”
“Because you looked within shadows,” said Aureon. “The Spirit does not argue truth — it reveals it. Trust Me, and you will see clearly.”
Kael pounded his fist. “I have fought for righteousness! I have purged rebellion!”
Aureon’s gaze was steady, neither condemning nor soft.
“The law of the flesh makes all anger unjust,” He said. “For it seeks to destroy what offends the self. But anger ruled by My Spirit is holy — it restores what is broken and brings rightful change. The fire that consumes becomes light when kindled by love.”
Kael bowed his head, the flame within him trembling toward something gentler, purer.
Erion stood tall. “I have exalted Your name through my greatness.”
Aureon’s eyes pierced him. “No man can exalt My name through his own. Pride crowns the self where only grace should reign.”
Then Aureon placed His hand upon the stone table, and light flowed from His fingers like living fire.
“You are stewards,” He said, “but stewards cannot save what they govern. Only by My Spirit can life return to your lands. Will you surrender what is Mine, that I may make it whole?”
The kings bowed — though for each, the bow cost dearly. Tharos bowed through trembling, Delane through uncertainty, Kael through resistance, Erion through humiliation. But they bowed.
And when they rose, their crowns gleamed with a new light — not their own.
The Restoration
When they returned to their realms, the change began.
In the North, Tharos tore down his walls. He walked among his people, unguarded. He found that fear had chained him more tightly than any enemy could. As he trusted, peace spread like spring thawing winter.
In the East, Delane ended his endless councils. He spoke one decree: “The Light is true, and in it I rest.” His people followed with faith, and knowledge became wisdom once more.
In the South, Kael laid down his spear. He built homes where prisons had stood and taught his soldiers to guard, not to destroy. His strength became a shield instead of a flame.
In the West, Erion removed his statues. He raised a single altar — not to himself, but to Aureon. And his people saw beauty not in their king, but in the One whom he reflected.
Each kingdom flourished again. Not because the kings had gained power, but because they had surrendered it.
The Return to the Mountain
Years passed, and the four kings met once more at the foot of Aureon’s mountain.
No messenger summoned them this time. They came willingly — no longer out of fear, doubt, anger, or pride, but out of love.
Aureon awaited them as before, His eyes alight with joy.
“You have learned the law of the Spirit,” He said. “To rule is to serve, to lead is to trust, to live is to die to self. And now your kingdoms are truly Mine — and thus, truly yours.”
And as they bowed, the mountain shone brighter, and the kingdoms of Menor sang with one voice.
For the Fifth King ruled — not by force, but by Spirit — and the four who once were slaves to the flesh became sons of the Light.
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