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The ancients knew, everything comes and departs by the sun.

My family grew in this tradition, as generations before. In every other religion, every other myth, our truth was hidden, only for the initiates to recognise. Death and rebirth, sacrifice and resurrection, all following the dictates of the sun rising and falling, day by day.

Once a year, the sun demands more. In its centre is the eye, and the mouth, and it must see and drink blood. We all know, for so is it written.

Others have built their little beliefs on approximations of this truth. Or risen to power, as despot or pontiff, it is all the same. We instead remain in shadows, which can only be cast by the light of the sun, and in logos and slogans and political motifs. And we wait.

The hungry sun calls to us. Dragon’s fire demanding its due.

It knows one of its faithful, favoured sons, requires its beneficence. To rise to the highest office in the land takes light, belief and hope. In the sun we may see the risen son once more.

So another must fall, into the moonlight’s lesser beams. Tonight, we drive the knife within a single heart so the heart of the entire land may once more be replenished. So that the sun will shine on our endeavours, and our empire. And none but us will see the sacrifice, and none but us will count the cost.

But when the votes are tallied and a world looks back in wonder and awe, we will know. Only we will know how the new king rises on the sun, and what this glow has cost.

(c) Helen M Valentina 2017