“I have grown tired of tending my wounds, Arthur,” Kleon whispers in frustration to his friend, “I have grown dull, trying to sharpen my spirit into the razor it once was.” 

The two men stand atop the castle’s tallest watchtower. Overlooking the sleeping kingdom beneath them, as they shared thoughts and each other’s company.

“What is it we came back for, my friend?” Kleon continues, “We fought those wars and razed those nations just to stand atop the world. We fought to build this empire, yet we find ourselves incapable of earning its love. Our hearts so easily mutilate as we seek love amongst the people we bled to protect.” 

“You are weighing love against war, old friend,” Arthur replied, “One is waged upon a fiery grass field, while the other is fought within the confines of our hearts.” 

“We battled for the right to be survivors,” Kleon says, “Feared for our ferocity, no man could measure against our determination. Forged from our experiences, none could match our wisdom. Shaped by our war-earned scars, who could fall near enough to equal us?”

“Few, Kleon. But none will come close enough.” 

“Why could she not see that in me, Arthur?” Kleon suddenly whispers, sorrow in his voice as he buries his head in his arms, “Why could she not keep her eyes fixed upon me, and deem me her heart’s eternal keeper?” 

“It will always be in their nature, to misunderstand what they don’t yet fully comprehend,” Arthur soothes, “You cannot bear the burden of their ways. Anymore than you can deny, that perhaps you were not special to her, because you were never what she sought.” 

Kleon raises his head. He turns his back to Arthur and walks across the watchtower. Kleon takes in the nightlife bustling beneath them, paths through the kingdom lit by candles and lamps. Hearths within the houses, bellowing smoke through the chimneys as families huddled closely. Kleon makes his way to the other side of the platform. 

Looking over the edge, he says, “Even if I fell, they would not come for me, would they?” 

“No they would not, my friend.” Arthur answered bluntly from the other side.

A sigh escapes Kleon’s lips as his shoulders slump over the guardrail. 

“We are supposed to be paragons, Arthur,” Kleon says, “We’ve seen the world in its entirety. Yet I grow sick and tired of this land and its people mistaking “different” for “ugly”.”

We were born from the stars. We’ve glimpsed the world beyond infinity. Yet still I find myself sickened by how replaceable and worthless they make us feel. 

We bled our entire lives, to stand where we are, to offer what we do. Yet I find myself entertaining surrender, utterly tired of asking for a place in their forsaken world.” 

Firm footsteps thud against the wooden floor as Arthur strides across the platform. Standing beside his friend, he places a hand on Kleon’s shoulder.

“You can tell yourself, a million times, that you’re sick and tired of this land, and its people. Yet still you will wallow through those streets, tormenting yourself with envy when morning rises. 

You can tell yourself, a thousand times, that you’re sick of being seen as replaceable and worthless. Yet still you will fall victim to those who come to drain your heart, and leave you for another. 

You can tell yourself, a hundred times, that you’re going to surrender this battle. Give up this fight for a place in a world that would reserve none for you. Yet tomorrow you will find yourself kneeling by its gates, praying for a chance to be seen in your entirety. Be seen, as you are. 

You can tell yourself a billion different things about the people of this land, each one fouler than the last, and you would be wrong a mere handful of times.”

Arthur gives Kleon’s shoulder a squeeze before continuing, “This person, that the citadel of your mind has crumbled for, ask yourself the questions that matter. 

Do they see you, and want you because they know you can light a region of their soul that no one ever will? 

Or do they just see someone they can replace, at any time, and expect your unwavering gratitude because they willingly choose not to?”

Kleon finds a moment to take in his friend’s advice. He knew Arthur’s words were true, he just struggled with acceptance. It was always in his nature to seek validation from the way that others loved him. But he was truly worn now, from trying to convince people he was worth being loved at all.

“Will there be no end to this suffering, Arthur?” Kleon asks, his voice shaky as he looks at his friend through rising tears. 

Arthur tilts his head to stare at Kleon, his expression changing to one akin to a parent looking at a child in pain. 

“It will never be enough to be different, Kleon. It will never be enough, to be more than enough

Their eyes will never be yours to call your own, because their eyes know not what to make of you.

You are foreign, beneath their gaze. Unorthodox and unpredictable.They will always choose the ordinary and easily understood. This way, they never risk the dangers of gambling for something better.” 

“But what will become of us if we remain as we are?” Kleon forces, as his eyes fall upon a room in the streets below, packed with people, laughing and cheering together, “Standing atop the world as we watch them dance with each other below. Will all we’ve done to stand where we do, ultimately be the reason we depart this world…alone?”

Arthur is taken aback by Kleon’s sudden question, wondering himself why their achievements separates them from the rest of the world. Why that separation is now their life-sentence, for striving to become the best.

Arthur follows Kleon’s stare to the group of people dancing in a tiny room. Together, they watched as the people inside drank, laughed, and kissed one another in joy and celebration. A brief silence passes, before Arthur finally utters, 

“Writhing with pain, be it from the top of the world, or down below, you will find isolation a depressing constant.

Walk into that room full of people, and you will still feel this sinking loneliness within you. 

Laugh together with that room full of people, and you will still feel their glares of unwelcome behind you.

Seek, to be a part of this land and its people, and you will fear their abandonment until the day you depart it. 

There will be no end to this suffering, my friend. 

No remedy for the thousand shards your heart will shatter into. 

No mending the cuts in your feet, as you are forced to walk over those shards, to carry on.

This is the reality of what it means to be different. 

The price you unknowingly paid, at the door from which you entered.”