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Basti had turned his back toward the arena a long time ago. The fighting and bloodshed had been thrilling, as had proving himself. Standing on top and looking at those who you defeated, the cheers of your admirers ringing in your ears; that was life pure strumming through your veins. Once the adrenaline rush finds you, it refuses to let you go.
Yet the more you win, the more blood you spill. It will stick to your sword, the smell lingering in your nose, drowning your world in red.
The more you win, the more eyes turn towards you, watching your every move. Every trophy another stone of which they build their expectations, higher and higher, until falling means certain death. A thousand opinions attach themselves to you, bind you tighter and tighter, until you suffocate in their web. A puppet, made for entertainment.
When Basti laid down his sword, yearning for peace, it felt as if he could finally breathe again. They questioned him, screamed at him. For what is a fighter who gave up if not a coward?
He tried to pay no mind to the chattering as he picked up a shovel and started building. Stone by stone, a kingdom was created, filled by a variety of folks. And who would be their king if not their hero, shining in so many stories?
His crown may rest heavy on him, yet not as heavy as the expectations.
It was a serene life, and Basti knew how to entertain himself. But while he grew proficient in a miscellany of skills like studying the lands, others trained themselves in the art of the blade. He tried to pay them no mind, they weren’t his enemies, just friends like Hugo and Wichtiger.
He’d see them in the corner of his eyes, chasing each other through the kingdom. He’d hear their laughter over the clanking of metal, the sound grating in his ears.
It wasn’t about the possibility of betrayal; no, he trusted them. It also wasn’t about jealousy, not exactly.
Do not tell anybody, but Basti was afraid. They were his friends, but they were younger, their minds sharper and their steps full of vigor. A new generation of fighters. For now they looked up to him, eyes shining with admiration. Would it last, once they had surpassed him? Knowing he wasn’t the shining star they made him out to be?
He didn’t dare try to battle them. Maybe in some games, funny challenges, but never in a duel. If they would cross blades, he didn’t know who would step out the ring a winner.
It was never about them winning; he’d be proud to see them succeed. But if they won, he’d lose, and BastiGHG didn’t allow himself to lose. He couldn’t.
The eyes would watch again, seeing their king defeated, and push him off his pedestal. He’d fall, spiralling in a mad crash, and hit the ground. And Basti was afraid of falling.
He may try, but he will never escape the clutches of expectation.