NBA Dramatique, Prelude 5

There is no kingdom. There is a great fighter, with great power. They knew he was coming before he ever arrived, and all of the armies of this splintered nation waited and hoped that he would rise within their ranks. When he was found, it was in a region that had long been in need of a leader - a land that had never stood triumphant over all of the warring armies. An army fights behind him - an army that believes in him, and follows his lead, and calls him “King” even now, before his reign begins.

The One Who Would Be King dressed quietly, and alone. The others had not yet arrived. As he suited up and prepared for the coming war, he thought not at all about those who would fight beside him. Though he cared for them, and at times considered some of them friends, he knew that they were in some ways forced to live in his shadow. He knew that if he was to obtain the glory that was his destiny, it would be attributed to his own actions. History would not be awed by the work done by those around him. Sometimes this made him unhappy and ashamed, but only sometimes. He would prefer not to think about it, which is why he was not thinking about it now.

If he thought about it, he would have to think about those in his army that had fought for far more years than he had. Not one of them had ever been seen as “the chosen one”. He would have thought about the wars of the past, and how sometimes his troops would fall, and not be capable of combat. They were never happy to miss it. They felt useless and dishonored. He would have thought about the politics of this world he planned to shape, and knew that the man he called friend today could be an enemy next week, and an enemy could become a friend tomorrow. But thinking about these things would confuse the real issue, and he would not have that.

The real issue was winning. The real issue was beating everyone else. The real issue was claiming the title and the throne that everyone knew was his destiny. The real issue was to become King James not just in name but in station. In jewels on his hand.

He was within reach of the throne once, only to be soundly defeated by the onslaught of The Machine. The Machine was getting old, and breaking down, and he did not believe that The Machine would survive a final showdown with him again. There were other factions that he was more concerned about this time. The Western Banner had broken the Machine in the last war, then battled and lost against the Bastion. The Western Banner employed the world’s most dangerous assassin. If there was one individual that James felt was a threat, it was that damned assassin. Every tribe got stronger with every new war, it seemed. There were easily a half dozen armies the last time that fought hard and gave them trouble. There would be probably a half-dozen more that would come back stronger this time.

Z came around the corner and found James alone. James looked up into the face of Z. It was the face of a man that was never considered “the chosen one”, was never going to be glorified if the glory came. It was the face of a man who had fought many times, and for many years before The One Who Would Be King had shown up. It was the face of a man that James often considered to be a friend.

“We will win it all this time?” Z asked.

James looked him in the eye and said nothing for a moment.

“Yes. All of it.”