"At the foot of the throne, a hundred servos whirr, his subjects banished, his polished floors will shine with all the beauty of the sun, this kingdom of the dead, the kingdom of one." - Elegy for Triton

Cracked, barklike skin adorned King Harif's face, and his body told stories, his eye, lost as a soldier, in what seemed like a different universe to his gilded hall and throne.

His arm, wracked in scars gained defending himself from the tantrum from his "most loyal advisor" after issuing his final edict of expulsion. His legs, withering from lack of use. His body, rapidly failing.

His mind, remembering.

He remembered the bullets, the shrapnel, Kahlil's face, so often set in a cocky grin, lying descrated, his eye empty of life, his brain exposed. He remembered her, the portrait of a long dead Queen, on the side of a Tin Can, smiling, radiating the warmth he coveted, he'd seen her while doubled over as the thunder of munitions flew overhead, he remembered the fear.

"WAR IS OVER" read the newspaper, "THE GLORIOUS ARMIES of the Conductor had at long last taken Haken't" it continued, it was delivered to his Trench, he remembered the feeling of the cheap paper, the smell of sulphur, and the sight of the body of Kahlil, rotting, being pecked at by birds, a hawk took a chunk of his eye., and he remembered sharing tears with the great traitor, Sadaq, and their solemn pledge to each other and Kahlil.

The floors in the hall were, in fact polished, and his servants servos did whirr. He remembered the oath him and Kahlil took, they would build something new, something better.

All those many years ago, huddled together, a community of 50, ex-soldiers who desired the abolition of their former jobs.

They were pacifists who had seen the face of war, screaming in horrible ecstasy, coated in a sea of blood, and always, always laughing, with its rictus grin and limbs, held together with the smallest coils of sinew.

He'd heard its laugh every night for the past 48 years, he would not hear it tonight.

He did it all to kill it, and kill it he had, no war, no violence, he reflected proudly, Triton had succeeded, even if he would be her first and final king. "No people" his mind traitorously added.

His throne wasn't comfortable, and hadn't been his entire reign, it kept him grounded, he believed. "You threw them out Harif, your word meant nothing.", his mind, traitorously added.

He had to, they wouldn't understand, they bickered, argued, and he knew that the small things led to hawks eating eyes, and that chorus of sick laughter. "You built a grand tomb for yourself."

Harif called on one of his mechanical servants. "Was i a good man?" he asked.

The servants searchlight eye dimmed to stare his lord in the face,and it began a sycophantic statement: "King Harif is one of the shining examples of Tritonic civilisation, all Tritonic citizens look to their king with admiration."

"They are dead, Harif, They know nothing, Sadaq told you that, and you never listened, and now even he is gone." Harif looked into the searchlight, and slowly, deliberately, picked up his sceptre.

"I must destroy you."

Harif roused himself from his throne, and wielded his sceptre, placing most of his weight onto it, his legs gave out. He sat, doubled over, the pain radiating, and the fear, he wasn't long for the world he'd known and, his body gave every screeching protest it could, and there, doubled over, he saw his portrait, smiling. Wordlessly, the servants massed, and placed him back on his throne, he was crying, from every kind of pain at once.

Harif quietly whispered, to nobody:

"I am so sorry."

Outside, the gardens were still tended, the floors remained polished, Triton was mourned by its former subjects, Harif, was mourned in one, the King of the tin can was dead, there will be no new king.

33- King Harif.