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  • Writer's picturebucky

"Helmet" (2022)


Calas didn't want it.

His father's war helmet, an aggressive piece of armour decked out in Shellurian opals and ornate beading. Half the inlaid accoutrements had been knocked out during combat, (something of an honour, or so he'd been told,) and the metal was peppered with deep welts of claw and weapon.

It sat atop a silk cushion, protected by a glass case, a guarded relic until the time came for Prince Calas to inherit the weighty heirloom. Despite it's storied history, it's honourable place above his father's head, ๐˜Š๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ด ๐˜ฅ๐˜ช๐˜ฅ๐˜ฏ'๐˜ต ๐˜ธ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ต ๐˜ช๐˜ต.

Everybody told him how important it was. How blessed he was, to receive such an item from such a noble King. How it was his place to take over, inherit the relics and rule over Shelluria. Nevermind the fact he was barely a day over 21. Nevermind the fact that he ๐˜ฅ๐˜ช๐˜ฅ๐˜ฏ'๐˜ต ๐˜ธ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ต ๐˜ช๐˜ต.

The impressive helmet served only one purpose for the Prince. A reminder. Heavy, unbearable almost, a living fossil to remind him of his father's passing. Visible claw-marks to invoke the gory details that stole his father from him. Thick metals to portray the crushing pressure upon his shoulders. Cracked opals to foretell the inevitable downfall of a Kingdom inherited under duress.

No, the helmet wasn't a blessing. ๐™„๐™ฉ ๐™ฌ๐™–๐™จ ๐™– ๐™˜๐™ช๐™ง๐™จ๐™š.

Originally written and shared as part of Verbuary 2022:

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