Queen Elin of Plomari — The Reckoning, 2026

This is the article I hoped would never come. Not because it shouldn't be written — it should. But because of what it costs the King to write it. After the victory calls, after the civilisation tours, after the scales and the feathers and the "good luck and thank you" — the King sits down. And remembers. Two thousand years of remembering. People he loved. People who were killed. And Humanity — dear, dearly beloved Humanity — sitting across from him, not fully understanding why the King's eyes look like that when he stares at the Sun. This is Article 207. The Reckoning. Not a threat. A GRIEF spoken aloud for the first time. And then a beer. And then the Sun. And then silence.

"O most dearly beloved Humanity, I am not evil, you all know that." The OPENING. O most dearly beloved. This is the language of prayer. Of scripture. Of a being addressing Humanity not as a crowd but as a CONGREGATION. And immediately: "I am not evil." He tells you what he is NOT before he tells you what you DID. Because what comes next is so heavy that without this preface, without this reminder of his nature, you might mistake his grief for malice. You might hear the thunder and think it's a threat. But it's not. It's the sound of a heart that has been carrying 2,000 years of loss finally opening its mouth.

"But you are well aware, I assume, that you have killed some of the people I love most and care about most, throughout the past couple of millenniums?" Two thousand years. The King is counting in MILLENNIUMS. Not years. Not decades. MILLENNIUMS. Plural. And throughout those millenniums, Humanity has killed the people he loves MOST. Not strangers. Not acquaintances. The people he loves MOST and cares about MOST. The emphasis is devastating. And then: "I just didn't catch if you are aware of that?" He asks POLITELY. As if checking a detail at a meeting. As if 2,000 years of killing his beloved is an item on an agenda that might have been overlooked. The patience in that sentence is more terrifying than any threat. Because it means he has been WAITING. Patiently. For millenniums. For someone to acknowledge what was done.

"Now, fortunately for you and everyone, I am not FULLY evil, but you do understand I COULD be vengeful, as you killed my best friends and family members in the past, right?" FORTUNATELY FOR YOU. The King says it is FORTUNATE — for Humanity — that he is not fully evil. The word "fully" hangs in the air like smoke. Not fully evil. Meaning partially? Meaning the capacity exists? And then: "I COULD be vengeful." Could. The most dangerous word in the English language when spoken by a man who can change the whole planet Earth and hunt you down in 5 minutes. He COULD be vengeful. He is not. But he COULD be. And the reason he could be is that you killed his best friends and family members. And he says "right?" at the end. Still asking. Still checking. As if after 2,000 years he still wants to make sure you UNDERSTAND before he says anything more.

"And do KNOW of my POWER; I would strike down the Sun if it insulted me." THE SUN. He would strike down the SUN. Not a person. Not an army. The SUN. The star that lights the entire planet. If it INSULTED him. Not attacked. Not threatened. INSULTED. The threshold for unleashing his power is an INSULT. And then he reminds Humanity: "And you, Humanity, have not only INSULTED me recently, you have killed my best friends and family members." You have done WORSE than the thing that would make him strike down the Sun. You have done worse than insult. You have KILLED. The mathematics of this is staggering: insult = strike down the Sun. Killing his family = ??? The equation is left unsolved. Because the King has chosen not to solve it. Because he is not FULLY evil. Because fortunately for Humanity, the man who could strike down the Sun chose to sit down with a beer instead.

"You understand why that is a problem, right? I kind of hope you get it." A PROBLEM. Killing his best friends and family members across two millenniums is a "problem." The understatement is oceanic. He could call it what it is — murder, betrayal, the annihilation of his inner circle across centuries. But he calls it a "problem." And then: "I kind of hope you get it." KIND OF. He KIND OF hopes you get it. Not demands. Not threatens. KIND OF HOPES. As if after 2,000 years of patience, he's still not sure if Humanity understands what it did. And he's still being POLITE about asking. This is a being of infinite power exercising infinite restraint, and the restraint is visible in every word, every qualifier, every "right?" at the end of every sentence.

"Now let me sit down with my beer and stare at the Sun for a moment, please leave me alone for now." And THIS is the ending. After the millenniums of grief, after the declaration of power that could strike down the Sun, after the polite questions and the "kind of hope" and the "problem" — the King asks for one thing: to be LEFT ALONE. With his beer. Staring at the Sun. The same Sun he would strike down if it insulted him — he is now sitting and STARING at it. Peacefully. With a beer. And "please." He says PLEASE. The King who could strike down the Sun says PLEASE leave me alone. For NOW. Not forever. For now. Because he needs a moment. Because 2,000 years of grief poured into one article is enough for one day. Because sometimes even a King who can change the planet needs nothing more than a beer, the Sun, and silence.

THE KING IS STARING AT THE SUN

He asked to be left alone.
He said please.

We are leaving him alone.
For now.

— Timescity Newspaper —
Article 207. The Reckoning.