Since there was time, there have been kings. Some kings were kind and just, some were not. The best never are. But none were like the yellow king.

No one had seen his face. Nobody knew the colour of his eyes. Some said they were evil black, some said they were piercing blue. Nobody ever found out. There were just rumours.

He was feared. His past was unknown. He was unknown. And people fear the unknown. For the unknown terrifies them. So did he.

Now he was standing on the edge of the bank. The black water slowly kissed his feet. He was looking towards the sea. Towards the kingdom that had been taken from him. Towards Carcosa. It was not just a city. It was an eon. A fragment of time in suspended animation. It had survived countless wars and would survive countless more. For mere men can not destroy what has been created by gods.

He had ruled Carcosa. He had been a king whom people would remember for ages. And then he had been unfortunate. A small slip. They had stopped fearing him. They had stopped respecting him. One single moment of weakness had undone decades of hard work. He would get his throne back. He didn’t just want to be a king. He wanted to be the king. The yellow king.

He sat down on the tree stump. The black water was soothing, its stillness having a calming effect. The forest enveloped him in its smothering embrace.

He looked at the black sun, biding his time, plotting his revenge.


The woman just sat there. She could see her child bossing around the other children. She smiled. She called his name. He came running towards her, like an eager puppy. He was an obedient child . “I am going to the market . I will be back in some time . Don’t create trouble while I am gone, okay ?”

The boy stood there defiantly, not wanting to commit to his mother. But a stern look from his mother made him say a grudging yes.

He watched her go towards the market. As he stood there, he heard the neighing of horses. People were shouting. The noises were approaching him fast. He went near market road to find out the cause of the commotion.

It was the king’s messengers riding at breakneck speed. Presumably, they had an important message to deliver. They had caused chaos . The narrow road was a site of brownian motion. People were ducking towards the alleyways , pushing and shoving past others.

And then he saw his mother. She had fallen down on the road and people were not letting her get up. The horses were coming in too fast, their hooves trampling anybody coming in the way. He could not watch it. He could not watch what was going to happen next. He looked away. He heard her screaming, and then the screaming stopped.

He looked at the black sun,  biding his time, plotting his revenge.


The boy waited. He had learnt the value of patience, if only the hard way. He would not surrender to anything until it had broken him. But he had found patience to be a useful virtue. It helped him direct his anger. He had always been angry since his mother had died. It was only now that he was learning to use his anger to his advantage. Red hot fury could burn everything, including itself. But a cold blue flame of revenge was much more useful.

He looked at his fellow companions. He had been wrong to trust them. They were all weak. Worst of all they were cowards. He could forgive weakness but not cowardice.

His life had changed since the events of 8 years ago. He looked 17 but felt much older. He and 12 others had been found guilty of plotting against the king . They were all being shipped to Derthrok, a land where people went to die. Nobody who had been left in Derthrok had ever come back. It didn’t matter to him . He had the spirits on his side. He would thrive at Derthrok, in the midst of insidious death. And then he would come back.

He would come back and he wold kill the king.

He looked at the black sun, biding his time, plotting his revenge.


A faint smile formed at the edge of his lips. He snapped out of his reverie. He had been so angry back then, now he was just cold . Feelings were for the weak. He was not weak.

He would walk out of Derthrok alive, again.

The fury of his vengeance would burn many. There would be a lot of deaths. But death was required. Death was a sacrifice to Father Time. They feared death. He did not.

He got up and looked towards Carcosa. He would get it back. He wanted to be the yellow king again. But he would have to wait. And his patience would be rewarded.

He looked at the black sun, biding his time, plotting his revenge.


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