Chapter Three

“What ails you, my little prince?”

The young prince was perched on a flowered promontory, overlooking seas of misty, golden clouds and bespeckled starlight. He sobbed into the now-dampened shirtfront that belonged to ever-attentive mentor while gracile fingers kneaded through tousled tufts of white hair that was freckled with showers of vagrant, shimmery blue petals from ethereal canopies hanging overhead. 

 His friend’s imperturbable countenance remained unshaken as the younger of the two blubbered and howled with the intensity of an aggrieved infant. Coolly, he cradled his lurid cheeks and brushed away the amassing wetness with a careful thumb, then addressed him with an unopposable softness. 

 “… My kind prince, o’ sacred child… wreathed in the prominence of the stars… Tell me: are you dissatisfied? Is that why you weep? Because the denizens of this realm… your moon-kissed brethren— they all look upon you with such hollow, disinterested eyes. None of them bear the capacity to care about your plights… no— they were not designed with those faculties— for they are little more than mere replicants of dreams your forebear could never pray to attain,” his friend kindly tucked back a stray strand of hair that had dipped down in front of the prince’s rheumy eyes, then went to cup the back of his skull. “… It’s lonely… isn’t it?”  

“I… I’m… I’m scared… Hector, I’m scared,” the small prince admitted, hushed and quavering— clawing into his robes as yet another miserable tear slid forth. “It doesn’t feel real— none of this… now that I know there’s… there’s so much more to this world, I… I can’t stand it… it hurts to breathe, I… I want… I just want to be free…”  

“… That cruel god has deluded themself with conceptions of what they believe to be paradise… but what they have yet to realize is that this place— this… false, asphyxiating grove of theirs… it is little else than a… dollhouse. A manipulative space engineered to keep you restrained… ignorant,” elaborated his ever-wise, knowledgeable, faithful friend— the boy trusted his honey-toned creed like it was the very principle of living. Indisputable— unquestionable and reputable. His words were a religion to him. 

“… Actually, there is… a famous myth from my homeland. It involves a woman who was once given a box but was instructed by a higher force to abstain from opening it, for it contained all the miseries and evils that would eventually sip out and infect the world… but ultimately, curiosity prevailed in the end— and her rash actions precipitated the origination of sin and impulsivity. It is a nice parable and all, but… I cannot help but wonder if there’s anything inherently wrong with what the woman did. I cannot hold her culpable— as humans, we are born with questions, are we not? Do we deserve to be punished for our inquisitiveness? Do we deserve to be ostracized for seeking what it is that we cannot have because some greater entity has deemed us unsuited? Is that not the very definition of restriction? 

… After all, it would not have taken such a trifling box to expose the cruelty of the world. We humans— for all our beauties and curiosities indeed… we have been rotten to the core since the moment that we were first conceived… but regardless I am devastated by my love for them— even if they are ugly, abominable monstrosities… at least their hearts are purer than their makers.” 

The hand in his silvery hair became nigh painful; however, the shortsighted, ever-young prince overlooked the dull ache as he was then led upward to rest their foreheads together in an affectation of affection. 

Eve shall not notice the snake’s wiles, however— the clueless, childlike woman she was— and Pandora shall open the box, and the world shall be washed black with sin, and we cannot escape it. We cannot escape what makes us evil and vile at our cores. We cannot escape the punishment of the unknown— nor its venomously sweet enthrallment. 

“… But, my brilliant star child… blessed and loved by the avatars of the sun and the moon… I have come to you bearing the truths of this world, which that monster of a god has earnestly withheld from you as a means of controlling your purity and innocence. You are but a cog to them, after all… and this is but an artificial hell comprised of deception and lies… but—

… Never will you find anybody as sincere as I, my darling prince.” 

His lips were stretched impossibly high— a ghastly crescent moon imbued with darkness and mania; but for the young prince, who only knew his duplicitous kindness and poisonous promises, at the time— how could he know that he, too— was being coerced into undertaking the taxing weight of Pandora’s transgressions— that he would be the crime, the punishment, and the sinner all at once.

 With a hand caressing his cheek, he whispered words of toxic salvation into his ears.

“… But fear not, Astrophel. Even if the Black Dragon is foredoomed as a harbinger of the end… I will not turn my eyes on you. 

… For you must be the blade that beheads the corrupt King.” 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

“… Betelgeuse? As in the Patron God of Codoslia?”  

Instead of answering, the god descended from her perch and crossed into the main room in fluttery, white trails. Granting her environment a quick once-over, a moue of displeasure formed on her face as she commented under her breath, “How drab,” before plopping gracelessly onto the edge of the mattress. Jevon, who had immediately pursued her, blinked incredulously as he came upon the surreal image of an all-encompassing deity casually sitting cross-legged on his bed. Well, Jevon supposed that he had no obligation to complain when he himself was something of a cosmic quandary. He wordlessly seated himself in an old rocking chair, of which responded to the unfamiliar weight with a quiet groan of protestation.  

Hands folding on his lap, outwardly, he attempted to appear patient; however, his overwrought body inevitably betrayed him with the nervous bouncing of a leg. But he maintained his stare with unshattered determination— whereas the god played absently with one of her numerous curls, enwrapped in a ream of moonlight that snuck in through the parted drapery. Unlike before, however, she neither looked unearthly nor unapproachable with her herculean gait and soul-shaking timbre— reclined on his mattress, she was nearly indistinguishable from the common person. 

Though local mythos usually depicted Igerene’s revered god as a towering warrioress with cascading hair and a blade of fire, no doubt inspired by the original queen, who was oftentimes regarded as an incarnation or proxy of Antares— throughout the years he has spent earnestly studying the world around him, he has come across a myriad of contrasting tales and portrayals. Outside of gender, from feminine to masculine to otherwise unspecified, some believed Antares was the selfsame lion— with its conjoined skulls and heavenly wings— that served as the widely feared crest of the illustrious royal family. While there were some who perceived Antares as faceless— merely a representation of the warrior spirit.  

… as for the form she was currently sporting, whether it was out of convenience or otherwise genuine, Jevon was unsure— not that it truly mattered, anyway. Though she was quite beautiful— even if his attraction was usually limited to masculine-presenting individuals, there was something about her appearance that stirred his heart… not for the reasons one would assume, but rather… it was her striking resemblance to—  

“No need to look upon me with such intensity in your eyes,” Antares interrupted with an irritated snap of her tongue, shattering his reverie. Abashment painted his cheeks pink as he recognized his suspension of manners, and duly bowed his head in apology. “… It is all right— I can imagine how odd this must be for you. I mean, I suppose it is not every day when the god of a nation graces her subjects with her presence, after all… well, on the other hand, I am inclined to say that this is rather routine for you, star child.”  

“I have never… I mean, outside of… outside of the inhabitants of Arcadia, I’ve never… had a chance to meet any of their… our kindred. My forebear… usually kept to themself, after all… and detested outsiders…”  

“… Indeed, they were quite the stubborn one indeed. Cloistering themself in that smothering sanctuary of theirs… they performed their duties accordingly, but I am afraid with such a sheltered temperament, the two of us could not have ever gotten along… among other reasons, but while I care deeply for my subjects… they— or that is to say, you— scorned the people of this earth… almost to a destructive extent… but an idol in name alone, truthfully…

… But… I do suppose that we’re getting a bit off track. Beating around the bush w ill not do either of us any good, so I will speak plainly this time— listen up,” Antares swapped legs and folded her arms across her chest.  

“… Firstly, as an outsider, how knowledgeable are you about the history of this country?”  

“Well… I’m familiar with the essentials, I’d like to believe. I am an emissary, after all… From what I know, Igerene started off as an unregistered slab of land that oftentimes served as a warring ground for the surrounding nations. It was arid and mostly infertile, and due to its insufficient resources, it was considered undesirable… but due to its strategic positioning, it was nevertheless sought after and reduced to a vassal state for one of the empires of old… as a result, the native people of this country suffered greatly… exploited and left to bear the weight of famine, starvation, homelessness… Until one day, a humble farmgirl led an insurgency that would eventually lead to its independence…”  

“… And after acquiring its independence, Igerene embarked on a vengeful conquest to destroy its former opposers. That includes Codoslia— despite our… prehistoric ties to the Old Kingdom of Elysia. But while Codoslia venerated the Traitor King and became heretics in his name, Igerene focused on shoring up its own strength— seeking true and uncompromisable independence,” the god finished for him. Antares paused, tapping her fingers once, twice— thrice against the opposite arm before proceeding. 

 “… A millennium has passed since then, and the blood that has spilled between our respective nations has yet to be fully forgotten. Not since the first Emperor, Drucilla, struck down their beloved general— and swore to set fires to their villages. Countless attempts at negotiation followed her early death, but it was only within the last century or so that we’ve managed to shed our reservations and cooperate with them… but then, that young girl… I should have… I should have been able to protect her, but I failed in my duty…”  

Antares carried herself with unfaltering gravitas; however, her solemn tone had shifted by the end of her speech, evident shame marring her unflappable disposition. A god expressing regret toward the demise of one of her subjects… such a thing was unheard of, at least as far as Jevon was aware— for they were typically silent, borderline unhelpful beings that watched as calamity unraveled from their cozy seats within the heavens. But Antares… there was something more lifelike about her— and perhaps that’s why he found it so strangely easy to converse with her… upon other reasons.  

“… Considering that Codoslia once colluded with Igerene’s greatest enemy— the Asterian Empire— to assassinate Emperor Drucilla, the impetus that signaled that long and bloody war that continues to stain our kingdom’s legacy to this day… No, it is not surprising that the people have yet to suspend their prejudice entirely. Hatred breeds war, after all… and these are my children… my stubborn, prideful children… 

… But most forget that, following the end of the original war… Emperor Drucilla went inexplicably mad, and in her hysteria, she was determined to drag the rest of the nation into the depths with her, it seemed. Even after she had taken it upon herself to decapitate their star general… even when they officially yielded thereafter— it did not stop there… No, for she had ordered a hecatomb— one that she personally carried out herself… and it was through this godless barbarity that seeds of dissent and fear were further sown among the masses, so much that a merest whisper of her name would have our enemies kneeling and pleading for mercy. The surrounding countries were in utter shambles, and Igerene exerted its superiority… That is, until the heavens justly called for order…”  

“… Are you referring to that great pestilence?”  

“… Indeed. Shortly after the conclusion of the war, a deadly plague beset the kingdom… and hundreds upon thousands perished… for their shortsighted queen refused to receive aid from their mortal enemy, who dangled the antidote before us like bait… But, of course… Drucilla was far too arrogant to submit— even if it meant dooming not only her subjects… but even her own self, who also inevitably fell victim to the disease— to certain damnation… even if it meant… leaving behind her own son… and foisting the ramifications of her mistakes onto him to bear alone… 

… Everything she tirelessly worked for… she sacrificed in the name of stubbornness,” Antares let out a humorless laugh, fixing her attention momentarily on the intricate whorls interplayed into the molding of the walls— her head turned as though to conceal the truth of her expression. “… Truly, she embodies the spirit of Igerene like no other.” 

When she faced him again, Antares had returned to her usual austereness— that sprinkle of guilt but a fleeing crack in her immovable façade. “… Afterward, the young prince Alirense rightfully ascended the throne and immediately called for peace… right up until his final breath, he strove to remedy the errors of his predecessor, and desperately sought parley with the likes of Codoslia… and all others whom we had quarreled with… Following him, numerous rulers would appear with contrasting ideologies… none of them quite bearing the same benevolent spirit as he did… until Raphael was born, and thanks to that darling little Camilla that danced her way into his sheltered heart… he was able to overcome his cursed heritage and pick up where Alirense left off. That… should’ve been a revolutionary point for our nation… However…”  

With a firm shake of her head, Antares thereafter rephrased herself, uncrossing her legs and splaying her palms over her thighs instead— and meeting his eyes straightforwardly. “… A thousand years have passed… but the consequences of that deadly war still linger. It has given birth to so many things… some beneficial, but mostly harmful. Igerene’s ever-growing stardom… begetting universal fear and respect from the rest of the world… our deep-rooted, seemingly ceaseless struggle with the likes of Codoslia… but above everything else, that wretched calamity gave birth to a malevolent deity… borne from the accumulated despair and malice of the people of Codoslia… from the vengeful blood of their dead women and children… A violent and unruly scourge that the heavens saw fit to chain within the bowels of the underearth… 

… That is Betelgeuse, who was once revered as a god of the hunt— of bounty and goodwill… but has since become irreversibly corrupted by vengeance and bloodlust.”  

“Betelgeuse…”  

Again, his knowledge of the other gods— in a way, his own kin— was rather limited due to his… sheltered lifestyle, in the simplest of terms. Within the Lower World, a hierarchy of gods— sometimes referred to as Patrons, or in other cases— the Divine Principalities— maintain authority over their chosen piece of territory, and are venerated in turn as a godly figure by that particular region. Whereas his predecessor ruled above, overseeing the universal structure of the world from their high-standing throne in the upper echelons of the worldly hegemony, the deities of the soil were— well, bound to the terrestrial earth— to guard everlastingly over their respective dominions.

… Regarding Betelgeuse, he heard that, by the end of that disastrous war, the people of Codoslia— feeling betrayed and humiliated by their formerly beloved deity— ceased their worship of him entirely. The College of Alchemy came into the limelight shortly thereafter and has acted as their main governmental body since— and their first order of business was to whitewash Betelgeuse’s image and ban his worship altogether. His churches and shrines were dismantled and burned, and an era of scientific evolution blossomed from the ashes of his keen reverence. Codoslia fostered a generation of believers who valued the provable over mere mysticism… but that was essentially common knowledge. 

He could not help but consider it a rather sorrowful existence. A millennium’s worth of suffering— shackled among the cold, endless tenebrosity, unacknowledged and forgotten even by his own worshipers. It would be unsurprising, if he could trust Antares as a believable source— that it would eventually flood over and lead to mindless rage and hatefulness, if not complete and utter insanity. 

However, judging by the god’s complex expression— an unexplainable mixture of resentment and palpable shame— yes, he had a feeling that the origins of Betelgeuses’ feral anger ran far deeper, perchance. 

“… For a thousand long years, Betelgeuse has remained imprisoned… However, a few moons ago… those manacles that have kept him bound without fail all this time were suddenly broken, and Betelgeuse escaped from his cell. I felt it— the moment of his unleashing; it struck me like a thunderbolt, shocking me to the very depths of my being… but I was unable— I am unable to investigate further due… well, a Principality shall not leave her territory nor her duties… that is divine law, of course…

… But as he stalks the grounds of his former nation, I fear that anyone— Igerenian or otherwise… who has become swept up in his warpath will meet a horrific and violent end. Until he achieves his revenge… even if it means engulfing the entire world in the fires of his wrath… he will not rest.”  

“And your assumption is that… the one who unfettered the rogue god… was…” The tightening of his throat brought his query to a nervous halt, and as if he had swallowed a rock, breathlessness overtook him. A hand settled over his Adam’s apple as rapid flashes streaked across his vision— widespread purgation, eyeless corpses, gutted stomachs, blood-soaked robes— teeth clenched, grinding as Jevon sought to ground himself. Merely uttering that accursed namesake was akin to digesting pieces of glass— he would vomit before he could pronounce so much as a single syllable.  

“… As I said before, the extent to which these eyes of mine can see… it has diminished significantly,” Antares continued charitably, seeming to acknowledge his floundering. “… You see, my power… it is waning,” a hand fell over her chest, and fleetingly, Jevon pondered if his celestial brethren possessed a heartbeat as he did, or if he was unique on that account.  

“… But even still, I can tell when a rat has snuck its way into my domain… but I must commend this ghastly little thing— he assumed the guise of another and tiptoed under my radar… by the time I finally noticed, the deed had already been carried out… Indeed, like how that unscrupulous rodent defiled the pristine garden of your creator… he audaciously decided to make war with my kingdom by slaying an innocent woman for the sake of sparking chaos.”  

“You mean…”  

Kill them, whispered the devil, sickeningly sweet as he combed his fingers through his hair, untangling infinitesimal knots and unruly curls.  

“The one who killed Lady Camilla…”  

Kill them all, with gentle hands cupping his face, his dejected tears were dispelled— bestowing upon him a smile whose luminance could outshine the likes of any known star. 

“Was… was him…?”  

Because, dear Astrophel, I’m the only one who can truly understand you.  

His image, one of holiness and stainless grace— was an amorphous, infernal shadow in the crimson rays of the moon.  

The delicious emancipation you desire above anything—  

Hands darted out like a pouncing snake and coiled tightly around his throat. 

I can give it to you— I can give everything to you… but first… but first—

With an ominous grin, he whispered his sinful entreaty once again, for it never truly stopped— not the voices; not their screams; not their pleas; not the roars of the fire and certainly— not the sins crawling down his back—

Kill them for me, Astrophel. 

Flying up from his chair, his heart gained a frenzied tempo as he cradled his agape mouth in shock and abhorrence. He sincerely wanted to doubt her profession— wanted to delude himself— tell himself that it was impossible for these otherwise disjointed events to possibly be connected, but— he knew wiser than to equate this to some morbid, inappropriate jape. 

His reason for invading the heavenly capital under that compassionate pretense— for staging the assassination of his predecessor— as the artless, hopelessly naïve boy that he was— of course he never questioned the particularities of the case. He had doffed his former identity and adopted a façade of mundanity, desperately trying to outmaneuver those niggling memories and ravenous pangs of guilt that stalked him from his dreary dreamworld into reality.

… But could it be that their death— it was merely the first step in some massively catastrophic scheme? Snuffing out the divine intermedium, adding excess weight to that metaphorical scale and setting the cosmos off its kilter… all so that he could slink about without that ever-watchful eye detecting his plotting?  

Then—  

… If it was that man who schemed the death of the former queen— and consequently unbound that unhinged god-demon— was this entire war… the escalation of a thousand years of cresting tensions… was this but another product of his nefarious cunning? After laying ruin to the heavens, he now intended to spread pandemonium throughout the Lower World as well?

 No— right now, the specifics did not matter… once again, countless innocents were to be sacrificed so that he can bask in his fiendish ideals… and once again, he has mercilessly slaughtered, manipulated, and lied— burying his opposers under his heel without so much as sparing them a glance. And because of him—  

… The people of Igerene lost a compassionate queen who had been wrongfully penalized by misfortune and restrained to a lonely windowsill as she watched time move on without her.  

A commoner at birth who once saved an isolated prince from certain corruption— who educated him on love and kindness and helped him inaugurate an era of harmony for his people. 

A sickly, innocent woman— 

And Roxxy…  

Roxxy…  

Consumed by heartache and rage because of that wretched creature— he shed his watertight morals— cast aside the tender heart he received as a generous hand-me-down from his dearest mother— and went on to contribute to the gratuitous violence of this world— the thing which he disputed and abhorred above all else—

And now… he was locked away in some decrepit chamber, hurting and alone—  

“Child, calm yourself.”  

A gentle hand came to rest upon his cheek; for Jevon, who had sunken into an abyss of dark thoughts, it was the lure that hauled him back to the surface, puzzlement eclipsing over his formerly dimmed expression. His knuckles ached; their color drained from them— and with a grounding breath, they loosened, collapsing at his sides. He did not even hear Antares approach him; albeit her constitution was somewhat phantasmal, quieter than a scampering mouse. 

She ran her thumbpad along the arc of his cheekbone before withdrawing, taking a step backward, arms locking behind her. “… You mustn’t fall prey to anger, child. I know that there are no words that can probably express your astonishment over this revelation, but… one must always maintain a cool head if they wish to succeed. Well, I do suppose such advice sounds rather hollow from the mouth of the spirit of war…”  

“… No, thank you, Antares… I… you’re right. I should… I should calm down,” Jevon insisted, and yet, as he returned to his seat, he more so stumbled into it, throwing his entire body weight into the ancient chair— groaning and undulating crazedly for a few moments before winding down to a comfortable sway.

 Jevon situated his elbow on one of its wooden arms, clasping his forehead— taking a minute to fully absorb this absurd efflux of information. The gruesome tragedy that befell his heavenward homeland… in some inexplicable twist of fate, he has gone and tripped right into the clutches of that wily puppet master and his disreputable contrivances yet again. One too many times for Eve to have fallen prey to that itch. 

Sometimes, he wondered if he and that prince, adored by the heavens as he was— were indeed linked by a cord of destiny. But now— Jevon thought otherwise. If by falling into his arms on that fateful day, did he instead curse his beloved Roxxy to a future of misfortune and suffering? If they had never met at all— would the queen have survived— and would he still be able to smile?  

“… Before you start blaming yourself, I want you to acknowledge that none of this is your fault,” Antares interjected, as if she had been scanning his thoughts— which would not baffle him, given that these deities likely all came with their own unique perks and tricks. With her arms crossed, she reassumed her place on the edge of the mattress. 

“… This likely would have occurred even if you and my pupil had never crossed paths. That is, it is likely that this plan of his has been in the works for a long time, now… it was merely a matter of collecting all of the pieces he needed to aptly assemble it. And with the Great Mediator dispatched… disorder will inevitably run rampant. It won’t end with Codoslia’s destruction— until this entire world has become completely and utterly ravaged, I wager, he will continue to perpetuate mayhem…”  

“… Why would he wait until now to unleash Betelgeuse, then?”  

Clutching her chin, Antares pondered his question. After a few seconds of contemplation, she supplied him with an attempt at an answer. “… I presume that it is something of a last resort…  Part of me wants to doubt that he would go through this much effort simply to satiate his lust for chaos… But regardless of what his intentions are, by unleashing that dishonorable beast… Perhaps he seeks to drag me out of my hiding place. Not that I would stupidly rise to such obvious bait, anyway… but Betelgeuse does need dealing with before he ends up destroying both of our realms.”  

“… And I assume that’s where I come in,” Jevon guessed, releasing his forehead and grabbing his knee instead. “Because your power is diminishing, right?”  

“… Yes, this supercilious war god loathes to admit that she has grown weaker, but even for divine beings like myself, erosion is an inescapable variable that will eventually come to affect us all… A frightening cycle that neither man nor deity could ever hope to elude. Truthfully,” with an elbow propped on her crossed leg, she leaned her chin against her knuckles as an unreadable smile curled onto her face. “… I should have perished long ago, but I have stubbornly clung on regardless… hoping that I could foster a proper successor before Mother Eden comes for my soul, and I return to the stars at last…”  

“A successor… you don’t mean—”  

“But what say you, child?” Uncrossing her legs, Antares straightened her posture, interlaced hands settling on her lap. “You must embark to Codoslia anyhow in order to recapture our captured prince… Considering how fate has treated you thus far, I believe that it is safe to assume that you will ultimately encounter that wild god during your travels… and now that you know that it all links back to that selfsame scoundrel who called for the extermination of your people… As their only surviving prince, will you continue to stand by while he continues to slaughter wantonly? Or… will you take up your blade and fight for those who have died— and for those who have yet to fall prey to his evil?”  

“… I have no right to act like a savior,” Jevon said after a contemplative beat, shifting his gaze down to his widened hands— distinctly, he could make out the blood on them, faded but nevertheless eternal— and it would continue to cling to his flesh, this indelible guilt— until the day his body turned to stardust, he imagined. 

No, he was no savior, no martyr— for it was him who unlatched that forbidden reliquary and dispersed its vile contents— the strings around his wrists notwithstanding, he still allowed himself to be used in order to achieve his own selfish aspirations…  

But— 

“… All this time that I have spent running away from my sins… too frightened to confront the reality of my actions… I know now that I can never atone… but even still…”  Determinedly clenching his fists, Jevon overcame his perpetual stammer and swore with conviction. “… I will bring that loathsome man to justice myself. I won’t… I will not stand aside while his inequities run unpunished.” 

“Oh, so it would appear that you possess some backbone, after all. And here I thought you were no more than a sniveling child who could not let go of the past,” Antares rose to her feet and strode over to him— pursued by streams of billowy sleeves, like clouds chasing sunlight. “… I jest, I jest— no need to scowl. In truth, though, perhaps I was a little too harsh on you beforehand. You must forgive me, Your Highness… for I was merely trying to spur you into action. I cannot stand indolent people, you see.”  

“… I think a stern talking-to is what I needed, probably,” Jevon chuckled. Fingers interconnected and disconnected, wiggling fitfully as his eyes trailed downward, focusing on nothing in particular. 

“… You know, I… I kept telling myself that I would change… that… by the time that he finally returned, I’d… I’d have become someone that was worthy of him. But… the truth is, I… haven’t changed at all. I’m still the same, scared child who fell into this world twelve years ago… and these scars— they are a testament to that fact,” as he caressed that conspicuous stretch of damaged tissue, that stutter he just couldn’t seem to repress inevitably resurfaced. “… It’s strange… I… I craved mortality… more than anything, I wanted to ease the emptiness inside of me… in many ways, I have achieved that dream. This body of mine is more mortal than it is godly at this point, and yet… I was not created with the capacity to love. There… has only ever been hatred. Nihility… and I do not know if I can even muster the strength to mourn those who were forced to die to carve my pathway to freedom…” 

“Your Highness…”

A hand clenched his chest— ever stupefied when he felt it thrumming considering that it was sat uninhabited. “… But now, when I think of him… my… my heart aches… This longing… I fear that it may just devour me at this rate… I… I want to give him everything— he deserves everything… more than what fate has cruelly handed him… Even if I am not worthy, I still… I wish to devote myself to him… to him and his dreams of a kinder future…” 

While that charlatan gave him the vast seas and the verdant forests in the form of rhymes, and songs, and grand epics—  

The foundation of humanity— what defined them, what inspired them— was love… and the one who taught him about its beauty, its complexities, even its ugliness… and the one who set his unbeating heart ablaze… was Alirense— 

Roxxy. 

So be it god, demon, or otherwise— no matter how many oceans he has to cross, or mountains he must scale— 

“… Roxxy… and all of the kind souls I’ve encountered since falling into this strange, wonderful place… The depth of my gratitude to them is boundless… They have given me so many things, and in return… I’ve dawdled and exploited their kindness… so, what else can I do but face the dawn? I won’t allow the beauty of this world to be tarnished by such a disgrace.” 

“… Your situation reminds me of an old tale,” Antares mused as she slid her fingers into his hair, casually kneading them through those rowdy strands. “… There was once an angel who descended from paradise and ended up falling in love with a mortal. This forbidden romance of theirs begot calamity… and neither escaped unscathed, as one would anticipate… but even then, I do not think either of them would have ever regretted coming to know each other… Yes… a devastatingly transcendent love that defied all purpose and reason… that could span across galaxies and lifetimes…”  

“Now, I think you’re… exaggerating a bit,” Jevon pushed her hand away, an embarrassed blush tinting his cheeks. With an amused laugh, Antares thankfully yielded and stepped out of his cozy bubble.  

“You two are rather cute, though, I must say. But I once again ask that you forgive this old woman for her nosing, Your Highness.” 

“… Antares, another thing.” 

“Yes?”  

“… You needn’t address me so formally, I’m not… I mean, I am no longer… who I was before I fell, I have long since rescinded,” he stated, glancing down at his lap. “I… after all of the sins I’ve committed, I didn’t feel as if I was… worthy to wield such a title anymore. “Jevon Fulbright” is the alias I have ultimately come to assume, but…”  

Antares raised an eyebrow in questioning, and Jevon ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “But given that you are aware of my origins, it feels a little redundant to use my alias… Even though I have long foregone my original name, it… is the only aspect that still remains that reflects my former godhood. That is…”

“… Astrophel, right?” Antares answered for him, smiling. “In the language of the Arcadians, it translates to the “lover of the stars”… quite suitable indeed, I would say. Do I have your consent to use that name for you?”  

It was indeed strange; however… his heart had given a little flutter when the sacred name rolled off her tongue, as if reuniting with a long-forgotten friend. Those flames had devoured everything, after all— and from the ashes, all he could extract was this name— this insignificant moniker— the last piece of a dead kingdom.  

“… Yes, feel free to. Thank you, Antares.” 

“No, no… I am not worthy of such gratitude. In my stead, you have offered to undertake a perilous mission for me… one that a person of my status ought to be able to take care of with my own hands… as much as it wounds my pride, I suppose I’ve no choice but to demand of you… That said, I do believe that there are benefits to be reaped. Reuniting with your special someone… and perhaps, unearthing the truths of your turbulent past… Regardless of where your journey ultimately leads you, I have utmost faith in you, child of the heavens.”  

 Antares extended a hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Jevon returned the gesture— intertwining their fates.  

“… I look forward to working with you, Astrophel.” 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Jevon adjusted his brooch; his face ashine in the bright, morning light that seeped down through the curved panes, illuming the empty corridor. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but he maintained his gait— straight and broad-shouldered, gaze pointed unflaggingly ahead.

He was accustomed to operating on little to no sleep, and it was not as if he could crawl under his sheets in good conscience after that maddening volley of bombshells that were ruthlessly dropped onto him the previous night. After Antares’ departure— disappearing in a flash, as if she was never there at all— that paltry breadth of time before the inevitable rising of the sun was spent processing and theorizing. It was only when he was jolted by a knock on his door that he finally returned to reality, still dressed in his ball attire while a servant dutifully strolled into the bedroom with a tray of tea and breakfast sweets. His stomach, which he has unintentionally neglected, had growled in appreciation. 

Afterward, he hurriedly changed into his usual attire and began his march to the building that occupied the senate— perhaps a bit earlier than asked, but he found it terribly difficult to sit still, his anxieties a raging hurricane within him.

 As he walked, his conversation with Antares replayed endlessly in his mind— the unchained god, the truth of the war, and the identity of the queen’s killer… the seeds of conflict had been expertly sowed and promulgated by that infuriatingly guileful egotist, intending to recreate the disaster that left his homeland in flames. But most of all… 

“Antares, do you believe that Betelgeuse may be colluding with the Codoslian forces?”  

The god had tapped her chin in wonderment. “Well, we definitely cannot rule it out,” she decided, refolding her arms. “But Betelgeuse has become a prideful— intractable creature in his dotage; I know personally that he would not stoop so low as to plead with mortals for aid… But if he is serious about achieving his revenge, I am inclined to believe that he will do just about anything— even if it means damaging his dignity as a god.” 

“… I ask because there’s been rumors of a neutral party that’s been spotted on the battlefield, slaughtering indiscriminately… Based on your descriptions, I cannot help but think that this may be Betelgeuse himself.”  

Antares laughed humorlessly. “… Oh, that descriptor certainly suits him, all right. For revenge indeed, I don’t doubt that he would even resort to sacrificing his former worshipers. Or on the off-chance that he does decide to collude with them, he will just end up using them as stepping stones… 

… Either way, the fact that your prince was defeated so easily raises many questions. As the celebrated warrior he is, it is hard to believe that an ordinary soldier was his downfall. No, it’s quite possible that… he may have encountered that beast you speak of… and was thereby turned in as a bargaining chip…”  

Betelgeuse, who scorned Antares— and in turn, people— and sought to reduce Igerene to a pile of ash— encountering the venerated Crown Prince and trumping him in battle, then promptly dumping his half-dead corpse onto Codoslia’s doorstep to negotiate… it definitely seemed plausible.  

Plausible, yes… but…  

A dark, ugly sensation took root in his stomach, bringing him to a standstill. His fists tightened into firm balls, pain radiating in the back of his mouth in which his molars were ground together, apprehension converting into anger quickly, overwhelmingly. His dear prince, stuck in some filthy cell, beaten and bound—  

“Uh, Jevon? Everything all right?” 

The familiar, lighthearted voice dispelled his gloomy thoughts, fists unclenching. Xolani’s hands were lifted— if he guessed, it was likely that they originally had the intention of spooking him— but their expression was instead rather confused and bug-eyed. Flushing, he bowed his head in greeting. “Hello, Xolani. You’re up bright and early, I see.” 

Dropping their hands, Xolani quickly plastered on their usual cheer and swung an arm around their taller friend. “Of course! I may be a hopeless ne’er-do-well— but even I can comprehend the importance of this conference. It’s not as if you silly little fools could manage without my shining intellect, right?”  

“Right as always, my friend…” 

“And how are you feeling? I know this is your first war meeting and all, so I imagine it might be a little nerve-wracking… but you’ve got nothing to fear! Trust in the wisdom of the Great Xolani, and I promise that I shall concoct a scheme so deliberate it’ll surely knock your socks off,” they declared, a hand splayed dramatically across their breast. Then, Xolani began to fiercely pat his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the person they were trying to persuade was themself, not him.  

“It’ll be fine— just fine! No need to be nervous; His Highness is in capable hands. Why— with my superior intelligence and unsurpassable charms, and your… Jevon-like finesse— there is nothing in this whole wide world that the two of us can’t handle! So, come on! Let me see that gorgeous smile of yours, darling. No need to look so stiff!”  

If only to please them, Jevon performed a smile, though it was noticeably forced. Xolani thankfully did not critique his attempt and instead looped their arms together, pointing forward. “Come now! Onward to our destiny!”  

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Crossing the arched threshold, Jevon and his energetic companion entered the war room, shored up by marbled pillars with elegant acanthi engravings. Ornate tapestries and pennants bearing that recognizable leonine symbol were strung along the walls. Permeated in natural light, the wrought iron candelabras remained unlit. An emblemed rug was rolled out underneath the long chestnut table, which rested a large, uncoiled map that was speckled with strategically placed markers. Upon further inspection, it seemed to portray the four primary territories that made up the kingdom— Hermia to the north— Aldemar— or at least the shadow of it laying to the west— Alexis to the east, and Tybalt to the south— with Alirense, the royal city, bordering the coastline near the Alexis Dukedom.  

Due to his diplomatic work, Jevon, of course, has been required to meet with the various lords and ladies of the acclaimed dukedoms. The Tybalts, for example, had graced Jevon with an invitation for tea— and he recalled with great detail how kind the aged couple had been, lavishing him with compliment after compliment until he had to beg them to stop. But there had been a lightness to his step as he left their secluded manor, encompassed by beauteous orchards and sprawling nature— his chest fuzzy with appreciation.  

With the dismantlement of House Aldemar occurring around two decades prior, he has yet to come into contact with any of its remaining scions… if there were any left, that is. He had heard that the majority of the reported casualties from the uprising consisted of sellswords and volunteer soldiers who had been enlisted by House Aldemar to undertake their dirty work— either too arrogant, or too frightened to stain their own hands, apparently.

Furthermore, the erstwhile lord of the dukedom, along with any of his fellow, blue-blooded conspirators, naturally received the capitol sentence for plotting the dethronement of the king: exile… and while outsiders may perceive this as a lighter punishment than, say, execution— its true, more insidious nature was widespread knowledge among the locals. When he once interrogated the prince about it, the implication of horror that had unraveled on his face was something he would remember until his dying breath.  

As the madam of the household had been unaware of her husband’s machinations, she ultimately went uncharged; however, she would later go on to hang herself in what he can only presume was the consequence of the public shame that haunted her consequently. He had come across rumors of a survivor— the heir apparent, who was only a mere child when their predecessor launched his assault on the royal city— but their name, along with the glory of their family, has since fallen into obscurity, their lost territory having since merged with their eastern rival, Hermia. Speaking of which— 

He picked out a few of the statesmen that he had spotted at the assembly the previous evening. Members of the king’s retinue, some young and some aged— each ensembled pristinely, and were already seated at their respective spots, quietly reviewing reports or exchanging hushed chitchat amongst themselves. 

Whereas the king himself had assumed his high back chair at the end of the table, his large hands interwoven and eyes closed in prolonged thought. On one side of him sat Mercutio, who… well, appeared just as glum as ever, a perpetual scowl marring his features, thick arms folded across his chest. His mighty blade, sealed within its decorative scabbard, was reclined against the leg of the chair. 

Parallel to him was the royal advisor, a man by the name of Kanan— broad-shouldered and dark-skinned, his hair was bound up in a deep black bun, a few fleeing strands drooping down in front of his brown eyes. He was dressed in a crisp, scarlet waistcoat with a plain white undershirt, cuffs trimmed in gold and an affixed fluffy cravat. Of course, Jevon was well-acquainted with Sir Kanan— he had a tendency to grace the Diplomatic Affairs department with bimonthly check-ins to assess their progress— the regional manager, if you were to make comparisons.

 His first diplomatic assignment even consisted of a consular mission that he accompanied Kanan on when he decided to visit his homeland of Rauska, otherwise known as the Empire of the Sun— an opulent nation located north of the great Sidra Desert. His disposition was one of unmatched serenity, possessing an unflagging sense of composure— principal components for a trustful counselor. He took a regal sip of his tea while passing Jevon and his boisterous companion an intrigued glance upon their arrival.  

“Ah, Sir Fulbright!”  

A somewhat petite, dark-skinned man with a raven ponytail and a set of emerald eyes pushed himself forward from where he had been leaning against the edge of the table, a hand raising in greeting. Immediately, Jevon was snatched by the floral insignia that was embroidered onto the breast pocket of his castleton green overcoat— the symbol of House Hermia, and this bright-eyed gentleman… yes, this must be that young lord who succeeded the viscount— his father— upon his untimely passing: Lord Julius. 

“You must be… Lord Julius, yes? It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” Jevon said, keeping his tone formal and polite as he extended a genial hand. Awkwardly, Julius met his gesture with a flushed smile.  

“The pleasure is all mine, Sir Fulbright, I… I’ve heard all about your work for the diplomatic welfare of our country, and I must say you’re, um…” Scanning him up and down, it was as if the much smaller male was trying to take in their ridiculous contrast in height. “… Ahem,” untangling their hands, he straightened out his back and puffed out his chest in a fruitless attempt to make himself appear bigger.  

“Any… Anyway! On behalf of House Hermia, allow me to thank you for your contributions to the cause thus far— you have truly been an indispensable asset of our department… You are indeed someone whose book we can all afford to take a leaf from.” 

“Ah, that’s… I don’t believe that I’ve done anything worthy of such praise, but… thank you, Lord Julius. You… have my condolences— your father seemed like an upstanding man.” 

“Unfortunately,” popped in an approaching voice, accompanied by the distinct clinking and clanking of armor. “Our good viscount was succeeded by an indolent son who honestly has little reason to show his face here, if I am being totally honest.”  

A young woman that was clad in ornamental panoply stepped into his sightline, and Jevon immediately identified her uniform as the same type that was modeled by the elite Valkyrie. Of course, during his time within Igerene, he has had the pleasure of fraternizing with their elite sisterhood— and even dining with several— oddly, he seemed to be rather popular within their circles, for whatever reason. This one in particular, however, he could not seem to recognize.  

Her short, somewhat messy hair— dyed an unusual shade that he could liken to lavender— retained a gilded, featherlike headpiece that was often found ornamenting the helmets of her brethren. She was a bit on the shorter side as well, and possessed an olive, sun-dyed complexion with a beauty mark inscribed under her left eye. The irises themselves were onyx-colored— sharp and calculative, her mien one of stringent professionalism— as anticipated from one of her station, though. One of her ears contained a bit of jewelry though— a piercing in the shape of a gem-like, deep purple rose. A scabbard adorned with roselike patterning was affixed to her beltline, securing a steel broadsword.  

Julius coughed, forcing politeness as he regarded the armored woman with a meek smile. “Lady Antigone, now that… I mean, as the newfound head of House Hermia, I’d really like for us to… put aside our differences aside and attempt to get along. I know that my household has caused trouble for you in the past, but I wish to meliorate—”  

“I’m not interested in bargaining with you, son of Hermia. This isn’t the time nor place for such things. Now, do me a favor and look the other way; I’d rather not catch your idiocy— that is, unless it is a genetic thing,” snapped the woman— Antigone, now that sounded familiar— if he was correct, then this woman must be… 

“Lady Antigone, please…”   

Disregarding him, Antigone murmured a, “fool,” under her breath, then turned to face Jevon— and courteously bowed her head, bumping her chest with a gauntleted fist. “Lord Fulbright, pardon my delayed introduction— my sisters have told me plenty about you, but I’m afraid I’ve been far too preoccupied with my duties— not addressing the war-sized elephant in the room— to make any formal introductions until now. I am Antigone— knight of Princess Ophelia… as well as the former heir presumptive of House Aldemar… However, I must ask you to refrain from jumping to any conclusions— House Aldemar is no more, as you know— and my blood relation to them is overshadowed by my devotion to the wellbeing of this kingdom and foremostly, Lady Ophelia herself.”  

Antigone Aldemar— yes, she indeed must be that rumored heir who survived the culling of her household decades prior. Apparently, she was knighted when she was merely a teenager by none other than Ophelia— the eldest daughter of King Raphael and one of the army’s most respectable and fearsome generals— and has since worked in her service as both a duteous retainer and a sworn friend. 

As for her antipathy toward Lord Julius, it was more than likely that it had something to do with the absorption of her erstwhile territory into the Hermia Dukedom… but judging by her brash coldness, he wondered if this matter was a bit more complicated than it appeared on the surface— perhaps even personal. Well, he had no obligation to stick his nose into business that he wasn’t otherwise involved in.  

“You needn’t apologize, Lady Antigone. I’m thankful that we could finally meet; I’ve heard much about Princess Ophelia’s earnest knight— they say that your skills with a blade are unsurpassed,” he took one of her gauntleted hands into his own to deposit a genial kiss along ironclad knuckles. “It is a pleasure to be in the grace of such a lovely woman like yourself, my lady.”  

“Indeed— as lovely as a flower, is she not? So sweet, so delicate,” Xolani purred, leaning an elbow against one of her decorative pauldrons. Antigone, in turn, shot them an icy glare.  

“With all due respect, Mx. Alexis, that sounds like nothing but hollow cajolery.”

“Come now, we’re all friends here, aren’t we? You, Sir Julius over there, and myself, of course— are the children of the new generation. Let’s try to get along, hm, dear? Ah, but speaking of which,” Xolani looked between the scowling knight and the young head of House Hermia, taking their chin between thumb and forefinger. “Why are the two of you here? 

“Allow me to explain,” Julius started, noisily clearing his throat. “As you may know, my territory— that of Hermia— abuts our border with Codoslia. Furthermore, I was the one who delivered the message they received at Fort Valenciennes, overseen by Her Highness, Princess Ophelia— she… she was the first who was notified by His Highness’ capture, you see. When House Hermia inevitably caught wind of it, I… well, I thought that there must have been something that I could do, so…”  

“In all honesty, it doesn’t make much of a difference whether you’re here or lazing about in your posh little manor like you Hermias have always done,” Julius tried to formulate a comeback it seemed, but ultimately, all that came out was awkward spluttering, lowering his head shamefully. Antigone decided to pick up from where he left off. “I’ve been ordered to standby here at the castle for the foreseeable future; however, our little errand boy here informed me that my lady wishes me to return to her side at once. That said, if you intend to make the journey to Codoslia, then you’ll have to cross through the fort— and since we’ve the same destination, I suppose that means I must accompany you.”  

“Ah, me as well— that is, if you’ll have me,” Julius inputted sheepishly.  

“I don’t believe anyone asked you to tag along, Lord Hermia,” Antigone retorted.  

“But as lord of the domain—”  

“With all due respect, Lord Hermia, there’s no place for privileged rich kids like you on the battlefront— I’d say you should leave it up to us soldiers. Unless you want to be our emergency rations or something like that, then feel free to join us.”  

“Emergency… pardon me, but last time I checked, cannibalism is illegal here!” 

“It’s not cannibalism if I consider you beneath me.”  

“Lady Antigone, please, could you be any cruder?”  

“Gladly.”  

“Ah, Lord Julius, Lady Antigone,” Jevon intervened, inserting himself between the quarreling pair lest a civil conflict broke out on top of the one they were currently undergoing. “There’s no need to argue; I’m deeply grateful that you’ve offered to lend your support, but for the prince’s sake, let’s… let’s try to get along with each other, all right? This little endeavor will require all the manpower we can muster…” 

“My darling Jevon is right about that— you two kids need to learn how to play nicely,” said Xolani as they practically draped themself over their taller friend. “This isn’t some school playground, you know. This is war; if you’ve got time to wrestle amongst yourselves, devote that energy to aiding us with His Highness’ rescue, hm?”  

“Mx. Alexis, on that note, I wanted to ask— what exactly is your relationship with Sir Fulbright?” Julius questioned, a gloved hand falling over his mouth— looking akin to a gossiping midwife exchanging clandestine secrets with her neighbor. “You see, it’s the talk of the hour— how you and Sir Fulbright are apparently engaged—” 

Oh no, was Jevon’s instant thought— he thought that they would be too distracted by the ongoing situation to consider Xolani’s fraudulent proposal the previous night— but among nobility, canards and bavardage was their lifeblood. Of course they wouldn’t overlook such a tantalizing pearl of information! It certainly didn’t help that the schemer themself looked as equally shell shocked by the revelation as he did!  

“I’m interested as well,” Antigone piped in, shoving Julius out of the way— her eyes sparkling with intrigue. “Come on, tell us!”  

“You too?!” Xolani blurted, thunderstruck. “Ah…” They let forth a heavy sigh as they scratched the back of their head. “… Well, you see, it was… er, just the wine speaking, you know? Jevon is a dear friend of mine, but he isn’t exactly my… type per se. Too much of a pushover, this one. I could blow on him and he’d fall over like a house of cards…”  

Pushover? Excuse me?  

“Actually, I’ve heard an anecdote or two about your… behavior from the likes of my fellow sisters, Sir Fulbright,” began Antigone, her frown dipping toward something troubled and wary. 

“… They’ve described you as an unrepentant playboy who’s strung their hearts along only to crush them by the end of the evening… incurring hopeful expectations that ultimately didn’t go anywhere it seems. It was even recounted to me that you’ve taken the deputy captain of my very own squadron out on a moonlit gondola ride shy of midnight… the argent rays reflecting off the waves, romance abounding… she was fairly heartbroken, you know? I had to give her time off so she could mend her spirits… so now I cannot help but wonder if you’re toying with Mx. Alexis’ heart as well.”

A number of things occurred afterward; first, Xolani burst out into laughter, and not the subdued, almost kittenish sort that usually interlaced their airy speech— but full-blown, chaotic guffawing that had them doubling over like they were about to puke. Secondly, he heard someone snort in the background— likely Lord Kanan, but he otherwise played it off and straightened his hands on the desk. And thirdly, he felt his jaw basically unhinge as it dropped to the floor— or well beyond the crust of the earth and straight down to its veritable core.  

“Hah! Who knew that my sweet, soft Jevon was such a heartless womanizer!” Xolani cackled— hysterical tears beading, arms enclosed around their midriff. 

Once the initial surprise subsided, Jevon rushed to defend himself— waving his hands around frantically. “That’s not— no, it was merely out of courtesy, I swear! I would never… I mean, for one thing, I only exclusively like the company of men—” 

“If you children are finished yacking,” came Mercutio’s firm tone, drawing their attention— with the exception of Xolani, who had caved into their joyous nausea and had slumped to the floor, convulsing wildly. “We have important matters to discuss— sit down.”  

“Mercutio,” the king mollified. “We should appreciate that they’re still able to keep their heads attached in spite of everything that’s happening— allow them to indulge a bit of humor, hm?”  

Raphael’s soothing yielded naught but a displeased grunt from his retainer, however— who thus cast his eyes on a vacuous corner in purposeful evasion. Once Jevon was able to pry his hackling friend off the floorboard, he proceeded to seat himself other end of the long table, opposite of the king— with Xolani and Julius on either side of him, whereas Antigone opted to remain standing, her arms folded behind her distinguishably. Raphael then propped his enfolded hands on the tabletop, giving a courtly, “ahem,” before addressing his advisor.  

“Lord Kanan, your report, if you will.”  

“Certainly, my liege,” straightening out the papers in front of him, Lord Kanan parsed the data before relaying it in a condensed but concise manner.

 “While we don’t know all the details yet, it would seem that House Faust and the College of Alchemy intend to bargain with us in exchange for His Highness’ safe return— “yield to us, or your prince shall be executed.” However, as you all are likely thinking, this modus operandi doesn’t suit Codoslia at all. Well, then again, it was also impossible to anticipate that they would end up taking Her Majesty’s life… With those variables in mind, it may prove difficult to understand what it is they are ultimately after… If we follow through with their demands, then it could very well result in our destruction. But on the other hand, I wouldn’t dare suggest that their dangling the prince’s welfare in front of our eyes is a mere bluff… Especially considering it seems they’ve become acquainted with a rather fearsome ally.” 

“A fearsome ally? Illuminate us, Lord Kanan,” the king encouraged.  

“Our foot soldiers reported a strange figure among the carnage— we believed initially that they were a neutral party spurred on by unknown reasons… but now, it would seem that they’re openly colluding with the Codoslian forces. What’s even odder is that that paranoid king of theirs even bestowed this supposed outsider a title befitting that of a reputable general… but even then, they continue to attack without aim. Igerene, Codoslia— they have no scruples about sacrificing either…”  

If this was indeed Betelgeuse, then it would seem as if Antares’ speculation was correct, Jevon considered as he peered down at the mahogany. A ladder built from the corpses of his subjects, even if it meant jeopardizing his godly ego— to attain his revenge, there is little he would not do… but more so, if he was to believe that man was tied to this too— was… Betelgeuse the one who ordered the prince’s capture? Or was it—

“… Currently, it’s hard to pinpoint what their exact objective is; however, since recruiting this new ally of theirs, morale has increased at an exponential rate. I’ve even heard reports of… soldiers who were supposedly slain miraculously returning to the land of the living… but that cannot possibly be true, of course,” or so the advisor insisted, but a micro-expression of doubt flitted across his features, a blink-and-you’ll-miss flash— before he hurried over to his next point, setting the papers down and twining his hands instead. “… If we do not act quickly, I fear that we may find ourselves overwhelmed… Of course, I understand that we’ve no intention of surrendering, despite what they’ve requested.”  

“One of our diplomats offered to infiltrate the country and make an attempt at negotiations, but if it is as you say… then it would be risky to confront the king— or the College, for that matter, at this moment of time,” Raphael stated, bestowing Jevon a quick glance before readjusting his slanted posture, enlarging himself. “… And at their whims, it is hard to say what they will ask us to do. So, we’ve no choice but to sneak in and remove the foundation of their threat. Of which I shall entrust Lord Alexis— Xolani— with… I haven’t a doubt about your guile, child.”  

“Why, thank you, Your Majesty— the Great Xolani is truly humbled that you would trust them with such an imperative task. Well, not that anybody else in this council has the capacity to handle it,” ignoring their father’s eyes, Xolani pushed themself up with their arms and leaned over the table, selecting one of the varicolored markers.

 “So, as you’re all well aware, Fort Valenciennes sits just around our border with Codoslia. Currently, it is being manned by Princess Ophelia and her forces; they’ve tried to take it numerous times, but our dear princess is not called the Unbreakable Sword of Igerene for no reason, hm? Anyway, upon one of my recent visits to the fort, I came upon a rather… revolutionary discovery, you see. Apparently, where the fort is stationed today, hundreds upon hundreds of years ago, the old Codoslian capital once stood,” plopping the marker down on the undetailed illustration of the aforementioned fort, Xolani dragged it along as they continued their explanation.  

“… And underneath it lies what I can only assume was once the royal tomb. A vast network of catacombs that span across our two territories. As one would expect, the border is heavily guarded— we can’t just waltz on through uninvited, now can we? As much as the thought of traversing some… musty old ruins doesn’t really appeal to me, I do believe it’s our only shot at a smooth infiltration. Of course, as the genius I am, I already drew up something of a map in advance. Though, I’m not going to say it’s one-hundred-perfect foolproof; if we ended up getting lost, then… Well, I can assure you right now that nobody’s going to hear our screams so deep underground. Not one of my cleanest plans, but I do think it’s worth considering regardless. Hey, I think it might even be a little fun, don’t you think?”   

“Your levity is unbounded, Lord Alexis. How can you possibly derive fun out of such a difficult situation?” Antigone commented with a dismayed shake of her head. “… But all in all, if I may put forth my own opinion, it doesn’t sound like an entirely awful plan. I was aware of the catacombs’ existence as well; however, Princess Ophelia strictly informed the garrison to avoid that place at all costs… Of course, she was likely concerned that we would get ourselves horribly lost, but I’ve also heard rumors of the… supernatural sort.”  

“Ah, yes… they say that they’ve got some kind of evil spirit trapped down there, right? Well, Lady Antigone, I’m not the kind of person who believes in baseless folktales. Considering that people are entombed down there, of course it’s going to give off unpleasant vibes,” argued Xolani, their arms coming to fold across their chest as they swiveled around to lean their weight against the table. 

“… Well, it is rather dangerous. That’s why I’m asking for His Majesty’s approval before anything… But I solemnly swear that so long as I am in charge of this operation, I will not allow any harm to come to the people under me. That is, I’ll be Sir Fulbright’s dutiful shield,” throwing him a reassuring smile, Jevon answered with one of his own— and once again thanked the universe for blessing him with such a truehearted friend… even if he truly did not wish for them to get involved, knowing of the danger they would undoubtedly encounter— he wondered if this was acceptable.

After an intermission of consideration, Raphael lifted his head to address the room— a touch of humor gracing his worn expression. “… That certainly sounds like the sort of scheme that you would devise, Xolani. You have my permission to carry it out— so long as you are confident in your capabilities. All I ask is that you remain vigilant— this world we live in is a mysterious place home to unexplainable phenomena. Though I suppose that is indeed part of the excitement, right? You never know what it is that you will encounter out there.”  

“Precisely my point, Your Majesty. This is a rescue mission, sure, but you know what they say— the greatest part of an adventure is the journey itself, not the conclusion,” Xolani chirped. Afterward, they redirected their attention back toward the map— fingers trailing across sprawling woodlands and lofty peaks and serpentine rivers. “Furthermore, after bypassing the catacombs, it ought to be a straight shot to the capital. Codoslia’s terrain mainly consists of forests and valleys. The capital, Laurent, is located just at its center,” Xolani snapped their fingers. “I estimate that we should be able to reach our destination before that unpromised day arrives— at the tail end of spring.” 

“Very well, then we should make preparations to leave at once,” Antigone asserted. “We cannot afford to dally— even though they’ve so kindly given us a considerable amount of time to twiddle our thumbs, Codoslia won’t be patient forever. With His Highness’ life on the line, we must be willing to do anything to guarantee his safe return.”  

“… Jevon, my boy— what are your thoughts on this?” Raphael asked as he glimpsed at his seat. “You were the one who suggested the rescue plan, after all. We will not make a move until you have given us your cue.”  

Of course, telling them that he was visited by their regional deity and that their queen perished at the hands of an evil from his past would likely end with an exorcism or a beheading— maybe even both. Truth be told, he was still trying to ingest these realizations himself— ruthlessly bedeviled by anxieties and what-ifs that were kept confined behind a composed exterior— but he has already made peace with what he must do.

“… Lady Antigone is right,” he ultimately said. “I’d say that we should try to leave the day after tomorrow at the earliest… Time is a villain that stops for no one, after all. We need to act quickly.”  

“… Very well then, son. If you believe that this is the road we should take, then… I shall place my faith in you. My son’s future is in your hands,” beseeched Raphael, as if he needed to ask— Jevon already intended to risk everything to bring his dear one back— limbs, head, his own beating heart— no matter what it took, the prince will return to his people.  

“You needn’t fret, Your Majesty. I shall execute my duty as a soldier of this kingdom without fail,” pledged Antigone, bringing a fist to her heart. “Under my watch, I shall ensure that no one gets harmed… Even the little whelp from Hermia, since gods know that he cannot look after himself.” 

“Ah, that isn’t true! I don’t need… I mean, I don’t need your protection, Lady Antigone. I am more than capable of protecting myself,” Julius contended.  

Antigone raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that so? I’m afraid that the art of helplessly running away isn’t aligned with what they teach us at the Knight Academy— but I’d be willing to hear more if the master wishes to teach me himself.”  

Jevon muffled a chuckle in his palm. “Lady Antigone, Lord Julius, I ask once again— let us all try to get along in the meantime, all right? For… For His Highness’ sake.”  

“… So long as this plebeian abstains from speaking out of turn, then I’ll certainly do my best to drown out his despicable warbling,” Antigone acquiesced.  

Julius pushed his face into his hands, whining. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have come at all…”  

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

With the meeting adjourned, Jevon excused himself with a bow of his head and followed the small mob of statesmen as they began to file out of the room. First, he intended to drop by Diplomatic Affairs and inform his hard-nosed manager about his plans henceforward, hoping that the man would sympathize with him for a change and count it toward his otherwise unused vacation time… but he was no optimist— he was more or less expecting an earful and a half. 

Afterward, he’ll return home and begin making preparations posthaste— he felt a bit guilty, knowing that he’ll have to beseech his kindly though geriatric landlady to housesit, or rather, catsit during his extended sabbatical. He had no doubt that she would comply, wrinkled smile and all— but he should really consider treating her upon his return…  

Afterward, he should—  

“Ah, Jevon, dear?”  

Halted by that familiar airy lilt and the rhythm of prancing heels against the marbled tile, Jevon threw a curious glance over his shoulder as Xolani strutted up to him with arms akimbo. “Sorry, I know you’ve got a lot of work to do, but would you mind hearing me out for just a moment?”  

“Of course, Xolani. What do you need?” 

“I was wondering if you could, perchance, grant me a teeny favor? Ah, don’t blanch like that— I swear I’m not roping you into another one of my nefarious schemes… for now, anyway. Heehee. But seriously, I was just wondering if you would mind escorting me to the church later? I wish to inform Lady Daphne that I intend to accompany you on this little quest of yours… Of course, I was also thinking that as the archbishop, mayhap she could bestow upon us some divine tidings for the long journey ahead… or something like that. I’m not much of a believer myself, but it’s always reassuring to have the blessing of the gods, right?” 

There was no way that Jevon could tell Xolani that he recently became acquainted with their very patron idol, nor his own celestial lineage for that matter… so he merely gave a nod of assent. As far as he was aware, Xolani and Cardinal Daphne enjoyed a stabler relationship in juxtaposition to them and their adoptive father, as Xolani was originally brought up in the orphanage that was mothered by the resident clergy, they perceived its aforementioned leader as a sincere parental figure despite her sternness and aloofness. Well, he can only surmise that it was from a place of uneasiness that Xolani felt impelled to invite him, so chaperoning them was truly the least that he could do, even if churches and their ilk oftentimes incurred… unpleasant feelings in him.  

“Your kindness knows no bounds, Jevon. Ah, I’m truly blessed to have you as a friend,” Xolani thanked him with a hug, but an ephemeral embrace— despite its fragile brevity, Jevon reveled in it, unable to keep his mouth from perking upward in glee— thinking that it was Xolani’s unwavering friendship that he ought to applaud, not vice versa… which is why he wished that they would not imperil themself— 

“Meet me there in a bit, ‘kay?” Xolani stated per their separation while leaving little room to fit in an argument— swiveling around with a pendulous flourish of their deep black locks. “See you then, darling!”  

Jevon will have to bring the matter later— he resolved while watching his dear friend peacock away.  

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

With ringing ears, Jevon sought a moment’s breath amidst the flora, soothingly serene.  

The scent of spring pervaded the air, backdropped by the persistent bombinating of the springtime pollinators, leaping from one fluorescent petal to the next. Reposed in the shade of a verdant pergola, he was dappled in varisized sunspots from where warm light spilled in through the gaps of the entwisting foliage and wisteria wreaths. With a protracted sigh and an exhausted hand dragging down his front, Jevon thought that, perhaps— that could have gone a bit better— but his meeting with his supervisor went about as one would expect, tinnitus and all. 

Well, at least his job was still intact; he sorely thought his supervisor would pull no punches and slap him with that ill-fated pink slip, but he managed to escape mostly unscathed. But in the words of one Princess Noemi— Jevon was her favorite, so there was a good chance that she would not permit him an early retirement. 

… Regardless, he still needed a second to anchor himself before barreling forward lest the roaring maelstrom within his breast escaped to deluge him whole—  

Then, he spotted it: a resplendent ephemera, butterfly-like in shape— aflutter in lucid, fluctuating snatches of red. Simultaneously tangible and ethereal, like a passing dream. 

 Enraptured, he pursued it, following a flickering stream of stardust, clinging to the material world for only a blink before dissolving. It led him across bridges and manmade pools, replete with wriggling pondlife and dormant swans, wings folded inward and necks arched sleepily.

 Into a fruit grove, adorned with the beginnings of life, the ripening season just upon them. He bypassed the labyrinthine hedgerows, pinpointing those fading traces and hastening himself accordingly. A blur of a foxy orange skittered across the pathway— a momentary impediment— before vanishing into a wall of shrubbery. And believing that he had lost track of the phenomenon, Jevon experienced a pang of remorse, decelerating—  

… Then, as he circumvented that last corner, he disinterred it: that is, what appeared to be a discreet alcove reserved for picnics or teatime, tucked away in the deepest recesses of the orchard. There was a bench of elegant iron embellishing, albeit a touch rusted— for it has likely gone unused in some time— situated in the shadow of a gargantuan, ripened tree that was pregnant with lush verdure and spots of rounded, pristine scarlet.

Reclined on the seat, however, was the true phenomenon: surrounded by a pack of inquisitive butterflies, a poetic conglomerate of yellows, whites, and browns— was a girl, her forefinger outstretched, docking one of those flittering creatures— though she herself sported an unreadable look. 

Her braided coiffure was as red as the apples themselves, her irises likewise— albeit the shape of their pupils were a fantastical pink and miraculously echoed that of her winged associates. Her fragile complexion was a medium shade of brown with a mole accompanying the underside of her leftmost eye. 

Her attire featured a predominance of blacks and whites, including a dark, pleated skirt— which stretched down over her knees— underscored by rows of frill and fluff. A poet shirt with stylishly puffy sleeves was secured into it, and it was furthermore paired with crisp white stockings with lacelike embellishing. 

Additionally, she wore a black shoulder cape with exquisite lacework. There was also the occasional splash of red to disrupt the monochrome, namely the trimmings of her black, tasseled boots and an embroidered roselike design impressed on her skirt. There was a glistening, appropriately shaped, begemmed butterfly-like brooch affixed to her neckline to clasp the cloak— and most arrestingly— overtop her undershirt lay a tight-fitting, wine-red corset with black, sinuous floral patterns that interweaved with complementing butterflies. In terms of additional accessories, she had crowned herself in a black, tasseled beret and had invested in a bright red ribbon that was used to tie the tip of her long scarlet braid— alongside a pair of red-rimmed spectacles. 

… And in that moment, it was truly as if all the anxiety, stress, and grief that have accumulated throughout the course of this emotionally damaging weekend had flooded out of his system, superseded by an all-encompassing onrush of yearnful joy.

Taken by her winged friend, the girl did not detect his coming initially. However, after a few, silent moments of racing heartbeats and gaped mouths, she finally glimpsed in his direction, upending the still harmony as the insects scampered away in a frightful storm. A rush of wind winnowed through, almost climatically— catching her overlong braid for a swift moment before unclenching its hold. With no such pretenses to disguise his childish eagerness, Jevon approached the girl step by step— his smile painted high and bright on his face.

“… El!”  

“… Jevon,” the girl answered back with astoundment; her mystically bright eyes a slow clockwork of disconcerted blinks. Then, happiness arose— it washed away the shock, and heaved her from her seat as she brushed her skirt back into place and flipped her awry braid behind her shoulder. 

In comparison to him, she may as well be an ant— for she harbored a physique that could maybe scarcely reach chest level with him, small and dainty— albeit befitting for a diehard scholar who enjoyed most of her time holed up in the bleak light of her study. She only bothered to engage with the outside world every other blue moon, really. She was often mistaken as a child due to her diminutive appearance— even though she was his senior by at least five plus years.

Widening his arms, an unspoken invitation to welcome his beloved sibling into a well overdue embrace, Jevon waited for her to scale the oppressive distance between them, crouching ever-closer—  

Wam!  

For one with such minimal arm strength, her punches certainly packed the, er— quite the punch— and Jevon thought that he might have overheard wrestling bells dinging in the distance when the defeated was forced to keel over while clenching his pummeled stomach, desperately struggling to regather his broken breath. There were obviously no referees available to call off the match, however— and so, with a casual Cain-and-Abel-esque sort of sibling-born ruthlessness, Elena pounced in for the coup de grace, straddling her brother from behind as she ensnared him in a throttling headlock while grinding her knuckles mercilessly into the back of his skull. Jevon clawed and smacked at the dirt helplessly while she cackled with all the dramatic tyranny of a stereotypical supervillain. “Uncle, agh, uncle! El, have… have mercy—!”  

“Hm? What was that? Sorry, that didn’t sound much like an apology to me. After ignoring your darling older sister for however many fuckin’ months, like— man! Do ‘ya know how I must’ve felt— sitting there at my boring fucking desk job waiting each and every day for one of your stupid, wordy letters or hells, even a visit? I’m stuck enduring countless hours of bitching and whining from all those spoiled, hoity-toity little brats and let me tell you, that shit gets positively mind-numbing after a while, my overstimulated little baby brain needs its distractions, something… And then you’ve got all my shitty coworkers accusing me of not having a social life, held up in my office, surrounded by my books, the stereotypical depiction of a lonely nerd since my only friend and only contactable family decides that he’s just gonna ghost me out of nowhere. 

… And here I am, forsaken and forgotten by my own flesh and blood— not really, we’re adopted— but whatever, the blood of the covenant runs thicker than the water of the womb, blah, blah, blah. Anyway, I’m doomed! Doomed to spend the rest of eternity alone! Oh, how agonizing! How ruthlessly cruel! The gods could strike me down where I very well stand, and the pain would be peripheral to this gruesome betrayal—!”  

“Elena, please— you’re… agh, you’re strangling… strangling me—!” 

Thankfully, before Jevon had gone completely blue in the face— his sister at last pitied him and relaxed her stranglehold, leaping herself back onto her feet and taking a moment to neaten out the rumbles in her clothes. “Fine… fine… I’m a nice person, so I’ll let ‘ya off easy this time… but I don’t care if you’re all grown up and you’ve got some cushy government job, I won’t stand aside while ‘ya neglect family, ‘ya little— oi, release me, you heathen!” 

Swiping the little scholar up into his arms, he angled his face in a way so that he could delightfully rub their cheeks together, his smile all mush and gush and adoring. Ultimately, the older of the two had no choice but to relent to the affections of her sweet baby brother, and sighed with exaggerated frustration, though ultimately made no move to disentangle herself. “Yeah, yeah… I missed ‘ya too, ‘ya big lug… glad to see that Noemi hasn’t gone ‘n’ worked ‘ya to the bone yet, at least. Even after I offered to make you my assistant, I can’t believe you went ‘n’ chose another woman over me!” 

“I’m sorry, El… I’ve missed you more than words can theoretically describe, I… it was not my intention to ignore you in the least bit,” he repented as he drew back just a hair to scrutinize her facial expression. “Things have been… well, to say it hasn’t been hectic…” 

“I know, I know,” she appeased, poking him squarely on the nose for some added comedic effect. “You’ve got a lot on your plate— I get that… but I think I ought to have some sort of priority as your one and only sister— you should ask that damn princess for some well-deserved vacation time so ‘ya can come up and visit me at the Royal Academy once in a while. You don’t even comprehend how fuckin’ boring it can get— what with all those shitty little brats and my good-for-nothin’ colleagues… if it wasn’t the headmaster gettin’ on her knees and begging for it, I never would’ve taken up this teaching shit…” 

“Not very professional of you, Professor Fulbright,” he snickered as he rightfully deposited his sister back onto the ground. 

“And allow me to beg this question— how am I supposed to get a lick of work done around here when those snotty ass students of mine are always bugging me? I mean, who doesn’t understand that the thickness of the lines will dramatically alter the potency of the transmutation?  Ugh, the longer I think about that shithole the more prone I am gettin’ brain damage,” the scholar resigned as she parted her arms to shrug while shaking her head defeatedly. 

“… It’s a real surprise that I managed to scrape away undetected. Welp, I’d fight through fire and rain if it meant I got to see you, my delightful brother-in-arms,” her frustration curdling before the might of a joyful grin, Elena repositioned her hands to grasp her sides as she held her posture up in a high, proud way. 

… As one might anticipate, he and Elena were not related genetically. However, he has always preferred the philosophy of building your own family— the nonexistence of shared blood hardly subtracted from the resilient bond he has managed to foster throughout the years with this hot-blooded yet sagacious girl. 

Elena Sothia Fulbright— she was the trueborn daughter and top pupil of a renowned alchemist— her father and his own self-declared mentor, Joseph Alexandre Fulbright. When he initially fell to this world, he had spent his first six months under the protection of Castle Montague— but at one point, Elena and her forebear manifested in his world like fate itself— and after much deliberation, in an effort to broaden his horizons as it were— he decided to accompany them on their journeys throughout the globe for a short period of time before he eventually returned to Igerene to enroll at the Academy proper. 

He liked to think that he had formulated something of a tight-knit connection with his teacher as well— one foregrounded by deep admiration and gratitude— after all, Joseph— a reclusive man like that… of course, it was likelier that he had invited Jevon into his company with the intention of studying him, but even still— he was everlastingly grateful for the opportunities he provided. A marvelous firsthand experience to learn and enlighten himself on the unknown, multifaceted and ever-enriching culture of humanity. 

… Though shortly after his enrollment papers were processed, his dear teacher seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth— and he has not seen hide nor hair of him ever since. 

As for his successor— well, she was indeed a magus of much repute, naturally— and was invited into the Royal Academy of Aeshantis— the capital of the Tybalt Dukedom— as a top researcher to contribute to the steady cultivation of Igerene’s understanding of the scientific arts to ready them for the inevitable revolution their social economy was indeed cursed to endure in the coming years. Due to the superstitions surrounding her field of practice, Elena was rigorously working to defend herself and her colleagues in that theoretical court— to illustrate the pros of their protoscience— occultist roots notwithstanding.

… If hearsay was anything to go by, anyway— Elena was a strict, undevoted but indisputably excellent instructor— but above everything else, she was a keen researcher who was all but nose-deep in her studies most of the time in the haven that was her darkly lit office— and merely used her profession as an excuse to finance her ongoing research. 

Jevon has been offered a chance on more than a number of occasions to learn about the intricacies of the alchemical formula from both Elena herself and his dearest teacher— but truth be told, he could never quite wrap his head around the complexity of it all. For while alchemy had the potential to cure and dazzle and propel the world toward new and innovative heights— it was indeed an intricate and messy form of study, and it was liable to spin the wisest sage down a path of greedy bloodshed, citing the infamous Lazarus parable as a profound source of caution to be heeded by those who wish to create and destroy as gods do. 

The modes of practice varied from person to person; but the universally accepted and primary goal of alchemy, or rather— its magnum opus— and that was the acquisition of bodily and spiritual enlightenment— or, in other words, the complete absolution of one’s mortal form— for there was no knowledge without sacrifice, and the consequence of knowing may yet warp those who have hungered and scavenged for that veritable truth all their lives. 

… In that vein, alchemists can be considered sinful, arrogant creatures. From a religious standpoint, it was an egregious case of pride— denying the flesh imparted upon them by the heavens, seeking to ascend to previously uncharted approaches of cognitive existence— and casting off their mortality in pursuit of total purification… but in his personal opinion, while there… undoubtedly more than a handful of bad apples, he always found himself impressed by their sheer tenacity as they pushed themselves to the brink every day and night to realize their beliefs, no matter how unfounded.

 Elena in particular— well, even though all the scientifical poppycock that left her mouth was as digestible to him as a foreign language, her determination was something to be commended indeed. He only wished that it would not distract her from forming genuine human connections— though it was not as if he had a right to speak since his only other friend outside of the one that was at war and the one who was his sister— AKA the one he invested most of his time in was, well. Only Xolani. Yes— he could not critique his sister for being the opposite of a social butterfly despite her whole… motif— but it would be nice if she could set aside her textbooks for a moment and attempt to put herself out there a little more. 

… Well, the dates he has set her up on in the past have all concluded sourly… that is, each and every woman she has reached out to in a desperate attempt to spark some overdue romance in her adult life always came with complaints such as— oh, she was rude, foulmouthed, and overall highly unpleasant to be around. Unladylike to a T and the sort of person who preferred to march to the beat of her own drum— if only that drum was not the loud and abrasive sort that came without a filter installed to restrict her churlish attitude— like a sea-hardened sailor had been reincarnated into the body of a cute, petite girl. 

Her slightly problematic personality aside, Jevon deeply cared for the girl he has come to cater to like they have been siblings since birth— a flight of fiction for a vile outlander like himself, but— before her— before Master Joseph, he had not a clue as to what it meant to belong to a true family— nor had he realized how desperately he had yearned for it.

“… So, what’s been shakin’ lately, o’ brother of mine?” Elena queried, popping that intrusive stream of thoughts like a needle to a balloon as she grinned cheerfully— nudging at him with an elbow. “… Other than slaving yourself away at your o’ so important government gig, ‘ya little bigshot.” 

“I really don’t mind the work I do, El…”

“And only a small handful of lucky bastards have the pleasure of sayin’ as such in this tired old society of ours,” she stated as her arms interlinked across her chest. “… I mean, just one gander at ‘ya… you’ve got the looks, the charisma… a pliant sort of personality—” The “hey” he warned her with went unacknowledged as Elena continued to nod along to her “points.” “… And what I can only surmise as a whole army of rabid fangirls just waiting for a chance to have you grace them with your angelic charm. Got anymore ravishing love letters wedged into your locker that ‘ya wanna share with the class?” 

“I am a gentleman… but I think you’re exaggerating my popularity a bit.” 

“Oh, hush. Naturally charismatic folks like you’ve got no right to feign modesty,” Elena grunted as she kicked away an inoffensive pebble before bending her arms widespread to assume a dramatic pose. “When shall I be bestowed with the gentle kiss of a fair and beautiful maiden—? Ah… or not— let’s be real: most women can’t understand me on an intellectual level. A shame, really— I mean, they’re missin’ out on all of this,” she gestured at herself bodily then let her arms fall slack against her sides.

 “… All right, jokes aside… I’m glad that you haven’t gone ‘n’ dug yourself an early grave yet, little bro… I’ve been worried, ‘ya know— since you’re Noemi’s favorite, she’s always foistin’ all her extra work onto your feeble little shoulders and I worry it’s gonna end up crushing ‘ya… so if you ever need anything—” 

“I know,” Jevon assured with a quiet and thankful smile. “… I am indeed blessed that I can lean on you whenever it becomes too trying, El.”

Satisfied, a grinning Elena bounced up to her brother and supplied his shoulder with some hearty patting. “You betcha! Us siblings gotta stick together… I’ll always be here for ‘ya, come rain or shine— so don’t hesitate to bend my ear when ‘ya need to,” she then pointed at herself with a thumb and mimicked a deep, heroic voice. “The Great Elena will always lend a hand to defend the weak!” 

“Haha… of course. Thank you, El.” 

“Don’t mention it,” she assuaged with a wave of her hand. “.. By the by, I don’t mean to sour the mood or anything, but… well, I,” faltering, all the mirth and joy stumbled from her face like a yet dried painting splashed with moisture— and she twiddled her fingers— eyes skirting to and fro. “… It’s… I mean, I overheard the soldiers talkin’ on the way here… about Roxxy… is it true that he was captured? 

There was a moment of hesitance before Jevon could brave himself for an answer. One of the stray butterflies had returned to alight itself on a nearby flowerhead; its fateful, blue wings a slow, swaying waltz. “… It… it’s true,” he eventually mustered, studying the shape of his shoes rather than the intensity of her stare. “… They intend to transact with his life on the line if we… fail to comply with their demands.” 

“… Well, shit,” Elena expressed with a sour exhalation as she kneaded at that ever-tender spot between one’s eyes. She then lifted her chin and studied the subtle susurration of the virid leaves that embodied the orchard, riding the warm breeze.

 “… I wanna do a whole I told you so moment but… what the hell did that moron of a prince think would happen? He knew what he was gettin’ himself into— even after he spouted all that sanctimonious bullshit in the past about righting the wrongs of his heritage and whatnot… and yet, he let himself get swayed by something as ridiculous as revenge… completely betraying his poor ma’s wishes…” 

“… Yes, perhaps… perhaps so.” 

The irradiant boy who once dreamt of touring the vastness of this culturally rich wonderland we call earth. Who was versed in the tender language of the flowers, and often brought him bouquets with different meanings each and every time as a way to uplift him. Who shone like a summer day incarnate, and whose ideals and principles— the very which he inherited from the kindness of his mother— as frail as she was, she wanted to appreciate life nonetheless, even while bed-bound. They would have reshaped the future of this land— bequeathed a light that would cast away the hateful filth that has sought to pervert it. 

But no— this… carnage… this hate… she would have desired neither for her precious son. But Jevon knew what it meant to be pushed as far as that one would feel obliged to shed their fair morals to embrace savagery— to be utterly pushed to their psychological limits so utterly that it destroyed them. A filthy harbinger understood that form of mania better than anyone, he liked to say. 

“… Sorry, bro. I… didn’t come out all this way to upset you or nothin’,” said Elena as she performed a facsimile of a smile and patted his bicep in apology. “… But you ‘n’ I both know how horribly stubborn that little pest can be… it’d take a lot more to push ‘em to the brink— so… let’s have faith that it’ll work out, yeah? At the very least, I doubt the people will be able to rest ‘til they know that their beloved Crown Prince was returned safe and sound.” 

“… Yes, I…”  

..No, he can’t tell her that he intended to infiltrate Codoslia himself— for Elena has an extensive history of impetuously waltzing into danger due to her untamable temper— and he was already reluctant to invite Xolani, knowing that the road ahead was wrought with uncertainty. But at least Xolani had an idea where their head was— while his sister, on the other hand… not to undermine her doubtless acuity, she was exasperatedly quite the handful at times. 

“I need you to watch after her for me if you can, Jevon—” 

Or so a dear master of his had once asked. 

“She is a restless girl… whenever something catches her fancy, she will bend all of her attention and passion into its study— and keep at it until she arrives at a satisfying conclusion… even if it means working herself past her limits… or if those wings of hers shrivel up and she goes crashing into the depths of the ice-cold ocean, she will continue to pursue her research subject without respite… 

… Furthermore, she… what she needs is an anchor… someone who will moor her before she can drown.” 

“… Forgive me, El. I… I would love to catch up, but…”  

“Yeah, yeah… I gotcha— our star diplomat’s far too busy to make time for a sad little commoner like myself, right,” when she spotted that ashamed downturn to her brother’s lips, the scholar quickly rephrased her former sentiment and waved the back of her hand in a shooing-like motion. “… I’m just teasing— gods, we gotta work on your sensitivity issues some time… anyways, don’t look so dejected, little brother. I’ll be in town for a while yet, so we’ll find plenty of time to catch up later, okey-dokey? So, go on and do whatever it is ‘ya fancy government workers do. File your taxes? Or do you file other people’s taxes? I dunno.” 

With an apologetic nod, Jevon swung around and began to hasten off before regret could catch up to him. However, he would only take a few steps forward before suddenly halting— a question leaving his tongue unbiddenly. “El, have… have you heard anything from Master Joseph recently?”  

Suspiciously, a glint of bewilderment flitted across the scholar’s features— but it was only for an instant, gone in a blink— and with her gaze now cast downward, she came off as indifferent, unmoved. “… Nope— not since a little over seven years ago, anyway. Who knows where he’s run off to this time— you know how he can’t sit still. There’s always somethin’ out there waiting to be studied at length, right? I doubt he’d be able to rest until he accumulated all the knowledge this Lower World of ours has to suggest… 

… But hey, it is an alchemist’s folly to be overly curious.”