Prologue

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Hey, Vincent, look at what I found!” 

The young boy skipped past the primrose sands, earmarking his journey with tiny shoeprints as he scrabbled up excitedly to the older teen, who was sitting under the roof of the cove with his back pressed up to the rocks, a slim novel in his hands. When he watched that raven head buoy in his direction, the braided teen placed in the tasseled bookmark and greeted his younger brother with a smile.  

“Oh? Another little trinket for your ever-growing collection? Show me,” he urged, a beaming smile shooting across the younger prince’s expression at the attention as he unveiled the not-so-secret mystery hidden behind his back, presenting an openmouthed clam with a small, dazzling pearl nestled between its jaws.  

“Oh, my! Now, isn’t that a lucky find,” Vincent mused as he stroked his chin. “You may even have what it takes to be a legendary adventurer like good ol’ Captain Yvain. It must be a sign of good fortune, don’t you think?” Vincent added playfully, watching the young prince bounce in place giddily, the oversized blouse his brother had let him borrow eddying about like a jumping cloud.  

“You really think so? Maybe they’ll even let me join the Grove! I should ask him if I can tag along next time he disembarks!”  

Purple eyes crinkling with amusement, Vincent tucked his smile behind a hand and shook his head in a dismissive fashion. “Ah, let’s not get too carried away, little brother. You aren’t quite old enough to catch the Grove’s attention, mind you… but also, you mustn’t forget that your imminent coronation is the work of fate, little prince. Even the bishops say that your birth was a divine event, foretold by the stars themselves. That you are fated to rule this nation, and our subjects are depending on you to lead them to a better future, but you can’t do that if you’re halfway across the sea, can you?”  

Roxxy felt his enthusiasm deflate like a popped balloon. The young prince lowered his head and kicked at the sand petulantly. “Way to crush my dreams, brother…”  

“Hey, hey, I never said that you couldn’t be an adventurer, Roxxy. You carry the blood of our fair queen, after all, and she was the greatest hero that the bards of the Grove have ever written about. I’m sure you’ll get the chance to go on a fun, heroic adventure one of these days, my little swashbuckler. But if you want to avoid the wrath of our dear Mrs. Beatrice,” Vincent wagged his finger from side to side with gentle reproach. “Then you’ll have to promise to keep up on your royal studies.”  

“You’re almost as much of a killjoy as her, Vincent…”  

The older prince placed a hand on his chest in mock offense. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing! I like to think that I’m a lot wilder and more audacious at my age than that gloomy old hag, thank you very much. Why, just last week, I had a total of eight girls come by my dorm and express their undying love toward me! I had to turn them down, of course, but it kills to be such a heartbreaker; you know.”  

“No, I think Donati’s right when he says that you’re just a bumbling flirt. And also, I’m gonna tell Beatrice that you called her a hag!”  

Roxxy stuck his tongue out and pulled down the lip of his eye before spinning around and exiting the scene while he left his older brother in despair. Pocketing his newfound discovery in the satchel he had prepared, which was already filled to the brim with various other “collections” from the beach, including various, colorful seashells and shards of prismatic sea glass, he bounded his way back toward the ocean. The seafront emanating an illuminant, golden glow, reflecting shimmering halos of sunlight as the light slowly faded past the horizon, sinking the firmament into deep hues, dotted with waking vespers. The waves susurrated along the shoreline with gentle hisses and purrs, frosty waters nipping at his unclad toes before receding and restriking.  

The young prince found himself slowly, his brain unwittingly replaying his brother’s silky words as his eyes drifted to the distant beyond, overlooked by the rise and swell of gilded seafoam and silhouettes of isles and promontories too indistinct to make out. Easing his nerves with the tug of its pelagic brume and the sweet, homely scent of brine, yet his heart nevertheless desired more. “… Fated to rule this nation…”  

It was indeed said that the planets aligned on the night of his birth. A watershed legacy coming into bloom like the divine prophecy forewritten by the ancients. Cardinal Daphne decreed him their god reincarnated, born unto greatness untold in the form of a mark upon his left eye of the golden ichor that flows through the bodies of his epochal predecessors. It was the eldest of his many siblings, Ophelia, who was originally destined for the throne, but this unlooked-for development snatched the crown sworn from her hands and placed its unsteady weight in that of a mere infant’s.  

… The biblical dawn of Igerene— no, for the storied continent of Aeron would follow his enthronement, following years of lingering dissension as a result of a tyrant’s rule. His grandfather and the stain of his bloodline, Eligor, whose unquenchable greed and dark ambition saw his own citizens butchered to expand their empire. 

His son and Roxxy’s father, Raphael, had driven his sword through the foul king’s chest, but Raphael was never made for rulership, both he and his council knew: the true heirs having been slaughtered for defying Eligor’s wicked tenets, all that remained was the cowardly, youngest prince born of a maidservant. He was neither strong, nor shrewd, and while he cared for his people and possessed the kind heart that overshadowed Eligor’s past misdeeds and managed to sew the gap that ripped through the sanity of this nation, the people made no effort to hide their distaste of him. Eligor had been a man consumed by greed, but many still regard him as the trueborn descendant of their god’s vicious virtues, powerful and domineering.  

Igerene was the Kingdom of War, and Raphael was no warrior. They’d rather a bloodthirsty demon lead this country than his warmhearted father, for it was the purported will of their gods to fight, steal, and kill. And now, they believe that Roxxy was born to right the errors of his family and restore Igerene to its original state of glory. An eternal, aimless conquest, for the greed of their Lord Antares would only be appeased once all the world has submitted to their control. And he was descended from such brutality: their human avatar and weapon of mass destruction despite the love and warmth provided by his parents, the churches and councils deemed him their bloody savior.  

And he could not deny his fate.  

His sickly mother liked to recite tales of her glory days as an adventurer. She had settled down with the king shortly after the death of his first wife, Vincent and Ophelia’s mother, but after having him and his twin, Donati, his mother became deathly infirm. Roxxy oftentimes blamed himself due to the drastic conditions of his birth: if having nursed the burning star that was his legacy in her belly was what ultimately stripped her of her once-venturesome life as a wanderer and dancer, but she shot his inhibitions down again and again, saying that her family was the one regret she would never have. Yet when she wove soliloquies out of her past exploits, Roxxy could not help but sense the wistfulness and resentfulness buried thereunder at every trailed off word and twitch of her mouth. But it was what inspired his broad imagination, at any rate, given that he was seldom permitted to leave the castle. 

This cove was the closest thing he had to a private sanctuary, cut off from his royal duties in this cloistered little corner of the world. It was near the castle, and when Vincent was not in town it was usually his butler-in-training Edmond or more recently, his new friend Xolani who often accompanied him, but Roxxy felt strangely untouchable on this beachfront, like his inhibitions about rulership and his insecurities were nullified altogether by the soft sea breeze stinging his face. He had heard that this was where his parents first met, actually, back when his father was still a naive prince, and that it was the kindred adventurer who had danced her way into his heart that gave him the motivation he needed to fight back against his father’s oppression.  

Perhaps that was why he felt connected to this place on an intrinsic level. That he, amid all the chaotic expectations and roaring cries of salvation that he felt… at peace. Like he could hold strong to the unimaginable tonnage of the entire continent heralding his unlooked-for prophecy— a witless hero that hadn’t even come into his shoes yet. If not for the kindness of his family, Roxxy likely would have succumbed to that plant-sized burden by now and fall even more gracelessly than the winged hero who had his wings clipped.

And yet, that sense of indecision crept in, nonetheless, as a shaky frown settled across Roxxy’s brows, and he fisted the front of his baggy shirt. The old texts speak of the world that came before, the “Old World,” ruled by a once-mighty king handpicked by the divine themselves, not dissimilar from him. Yet it was this man— Lazarus the Recreator, the alchemists of Codoslia to the west refer to him as— that apparently triggered the downfall of the bygone society and split the heavens and earth forevermore, the gods falling silent out of bitterness following the vindictive war that took place between their two races. 

Lazarus’ treachery became a proverb itself, discouraging overabundance, promoting temperance and humility, and drawing a firm line between humanity and their overambition in the form of the protective shield known as “Law” that kept us grounded. The “sky” that Lazarus’ armies had attempted to overthrow, dissatisfied with their subservience. But as foretold by his desperation for equality, what resulted was immolation untold and a cursed birthright that Roxxy swore not to repeat.  

… But after years of boundless bloodshed, and succeeding a madman that had used the souls of his own people as fodder to fuel his ambitions, Roxxy could not help but doubt his resolve. He was too young to be burdened with the tens of thousands of lives that walked this continent and not nearly as powerful or wise as the kings found in the myths. He desired to change this land and remove the stench of blood-rot from it forever— to follow in the footsteps of Alirense, the gentle but intelligent king whom their great capital was recently renamed after— but the unrelenting malice of men and the sins of his family thwarted his innocent dream of concord at every turn. He doubted that he would ever be able to face the eager eyes of the masses with pride. His father had started to rebuild this bridge, and Roxxy feared that he would not be able to stand with him to finish it.  

He knew he could not save them all. And perhaps some part of him did not desire to. After all, he was only a… boy. A boy straddled with the fate of everything, choking under the stringent, coarse words of the gospel written in his favor. 

His mother once said that we were the “authors of our own destiny,” and yet he felt heartless, cowardly— for wanting to reject his. This story was no longer his to write, anymore, but when they hewed his face into marble, was it that of their youthful, spirited prince— or a mere replica of the god who no longer spoke to them?  

“… I think you’d be more suited for the crown than me, Vincent,” Roxxy mumbled to himself as he bent down and waited for the water to retreat. It resurfaced with a colorful, spiraled shell, but he had hesitated before reaching out, a prolonged sigh drawing out of his chest as he wrapped his arms around his knees and mindlessly watched the dark water flow and retreat. “… I put my own mother in a sickbed. I… I even failed Benvolio. All I have is… blood on my hands. It feels like I can’t even protect a single thing…” 

A stray tear threatened to crawl down his face, but he banished it with the heel of his palm. He could feel Vincent’s concerned gaze boring into the back of his head from his comfortable spot in the shade, and he could sense the hiss of his shoes as the older prince abandoned his reading and began to approach him, but something unexpected had stopped him in his feet. When Roxxy raised his head to confirm, that was when he noticed the bright streak shoot past the crepuscular sky, like a lonely meteoroid ejected from the heavens.

Roxxy blinked confusedly, casting out the lingering wetness as he pushed out his knees and watched as a blazing orb of light penetrated the stratosphere only to dart out of sight beneath the currents. It was as if the sky had been slashed asunder, a cascade of dying stars drizzling down its proverbial mouth and streaking across his vision like celestial rain. Radiant hotspots of light galloping across the twilit sea, intertwining, and weaving fading constellations in a thunderclap of bright color. A meteor shower. It was the first time that he had ever witnessed one firsthand.  

The agitated screeching of the seabirds and the hissing of the waves were overshadowed by the frantic palpitations of excitement in his chest, supplanting any doubt with the childlike wonder he was earned. It was as mesmeric as it was fear-inducing; it felt like the end of the world, but also the dawn of a new galaxy— unspooling before his eager eyes like a whimsical dream.  

Oddly, one of the descending comets looked… almost bigger than its kin. Roxxy took one hesitant step forward, spumes brushing against the tips of his shoes as he paused at the foot of the seacoast. He overheard Vincent’s curious remark but elected to ignore him as something instinctive overwhelmed him, an unknown voice in the back of his head imploring him to open his arms— an invitation— as he watched the gargantuan, falling star abruptly shift course, now flying toward him like a stray missile. Like an old friend bounding in for an overdue hug, and much to his own amazement— he was not afraid of the meteoric heat. 

A rush of blinding wind foreshadowed the celestial body’s arrival, winnowing wildly through his long, raven locks. For a moment, the massive ball of light levitated over his hands, as if hesitant— eager to break its fall, Roxxy stayed quiet and anticipatory. And after a long, breathless moment— the star shattered like a bubble, and from its vast vacuum of light emerged… a boy.  

Unmistakably close to himself in age, their gazes interlocked as the boy remained floating, as if suspended in time over the prince’s waiting arms. Profound fear flashed before the boy’s lone, copper-red eye— no, desperation— before the clock unwound and Roxxy found his back hitting the ground at the shaking weight landing into his chest.  

The prince lifted up immediately and assessed the unfamiliar stranger on his chest. A blotchy, bloodred wound was seared into the left side of the boy’s face, over his closed eye. Like he had been hurled through a ring of fire and had barely brushed death, ethereal, long hair blackened at the tips, shaded with the essence of pure moonlight flecked with bits of detritus and soot. His attire was unexplainable. Roxxy could not directly pinpoint any known ethnicity, but the dirtied robe of white doubtless depicted royalty, with its heraldries and pristine silvers, but it had been reduced to no more than a palimpsest of his former beauty due to the presence of ash and dried blood. At first, Roxxy had assumed that he had broken the fall of a descending angel or something akin, albeit one lacking its fluffy wings. Or maybe he was dreaming.

Judging by the surprised comment and the wide look on his brother’s face in the edge of his periphery however, the prince knew that this weight was tangible— no daydream or passing vignette. When the injured boy raised his head, they shared another long, pregnant stare— and Roxxy felt like the world had narrowed to this one, friable moment, sans the frantic hammerings of his own heartbeat, their cove was tranquil as an abandoned chapel. The silverhaired boy peering at him like he was a basin of water after a long trek through the wastes— like Roxxy was the personification of salvation itself as burnt nails dug into the sleeves of his blouse, afraid that the prince would rupture into bubbles.  

The anguish in his undamaged eye was so profound that the prince feared that he would be lost to a bottomless abyss. He felt like a saint that had been given a starved infant to bless, overrun with this wordless urge to cradle this fractured bird from the horrors of this world as Roxxy slowly reached up to cup the unburned side of his face. “Are… Are you okay? You’re bleeding…”  

And to the boy, this stray whisper of compassion was the asteroid pulverized his walls. Thick tears built up in his lone eye as hands desperately came to grip the prince’s shirtfront, flotsam to anchor him against the raging sea of his fears as the young boy began to wail hysterically. He buried his face in the safe crook between Roxxy’s neck and collarbone and clung to him desperately, momentarily stupefying the prince as his hands hovered in the air briefly before they found the confidence to coil around the boy and cradle him like he was his trustful guardian. His mind scrabbled for answers, but his heart ultimately deemed them unimportant as he cooed the boy softly and rubbed his quavering spine in the same way his father would when he was younger.  

“… What in the world is going on?” He heard Vincent mutter confoundingly to himself. “What… is this boy?”

“I’m s— sorry. I’m sorry, Hector,” the silverhaired boy whined unexpectedly, muffled by the fabric of the prince’s shirt. “Please, don’t abandon me… I don’t want to be alone… I’ll never doubt you again, so… so give me my freedom… like you promised…” 

Beneath a canopy of endless stars, Roxxy tightened his grip around the weeping boy as he gently slicked his fingers through his scruffy mane of white to comb out the dirt and knots. Among all his uncertainties, his life often touched by the whims of fate, Roxxy had recognized in that moment that this encounter was preordained. What legacy the gods have envisioned for him, he doubted he would ever fully fathom— but it was unmistakable that the heavens had placed this poor, frightened soul into his arms with an unspoken mission. And Roxxy knew that he was weak. Countless have died in spite of his alleged gifts and he resented himself more and more each day when he saw how his people suffered. But this was different— it had to be different. 

The angelic boy drew back with a sniffle and Roxxy thumbed away the lingering wetness in his eye with a gentle brush of his thumb. When their eyes met, something devastatingly familiar tugged at his breast— yearning. This was their first encounter, and yet Roxxy felt like he was rereading an old book— unrecognizable at a glance due to the condition of its overworn cover, but knew its inner contents like a cherished, faceless memory. He felt connected to him in an instant, like the moon swirling in the sun’s orbit, fitting together perfectly— necessary for the earth and the tides to maintain balance, and that prior to this, he had only known emptiness.  

“… Everything will be okay now, don’t worry,” the young prince hushed the boy quietly, indescribable determination surging in his veins as he stared into his frightened, scarred gaze. “You don’t have to fear anything. I’m here. I’ll keep you safe.”  

The boy thought of a distant time, blurred at the edges like a faded photograph. Of fields of sandy reeds and a golden moon cast high in the sky, he perceived a figure veiled in diaphanous white and a crown of feathers and jewels.  

Humans have erred, Sandalphon. They spread hate, and pillage, and murder one another, and it seems like their greed is a bottomless well. But… I still believe in the goodness of humanity. We would not exist if not for their dreams, after all… so powerful we may be, we cannot act as their judges. If we want to grow ourselves, then we must hark their teachings, pity them, and humble ourselves. For they possess something that even we as gods lack. As the road that connects gods and humans… I have no doubt that you will become the light that illuminates us all.  

Braided hair bobbed as they shifted their head, but he was unable to fully descry their evanescent features— shadowed by moonglow and stained in yellow text, an epoch never to be retraced. And yet, he could feel the overwhelming kindness pour out from their hazy smile, enveloping him in starlit warmth.  

For the freedom you seek… can only be found in love.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───