Salvation of The Scum Fifth Prince

[92 - salvation; finally found]

Damien stopped in his path blankly, slight confusion clouding over. When he lifted his foot to move, there seemed to be a barrier stopping him.

Pale red flowers suddenly lit up the edges of the path, blossoming and unfurling their delicate petals to light up the passage. Some wilted, while some were brimming with youth. Flowers in all different stages of life.

It was welcoming Alvara Jones, the lost God of Time.

A golden thread wrapped around Alvara and Raphael's wrists, never loose but also able to be stretched. Lydia had given them it, although it hadn't been gold originally, just an invisible string tying them together. It was necessary for the hero to find his watcher, when the watcher had already found the hero.

However, the fox couldn't proceed. Alvara turned back, frowning. "Aren't you coming?"

"I can't." said Damien quietly, planting his feet firmly on the ground as he gazed at her. "You'll be fine, Alvara."

"What—already? I... I'm not confident." She snapped her head to Raphael, falling to pieces. "What if I can't save him, what will you do? What'll I do?"

"Alvara."

The soft-spoken tone that was steady made her panic freeze. He tilted his head, raven ears following his movement before he lowered his chin—a sign of respect and submission. That he saw her as an equal, and that he trusted in her.

"You are bound to me." The oath they'd sworn only a day before. "If you speak, I'll listen. I'll hear you, no matter how far you go. Do you understand?"

She swallowed, shaky and uncertain. Her legs ached from the walk, and the nerves that tossed in her stomach didn't make anything better. But she looked and saw Damien's confident stare layered over that soothing emerald, and turned and saw Raphael's determination and faith set over stern features, ready to cross the universe for the one he sought.

It wasn't that Raphael didn't feel anxious, or fear. It wasn't that he wasn't aware of the failure that might occur. But it was that even if he didn't succeed, he knew he'd simply walk on a new path and try again until he did.

He'd failed a hundred times. And he never stopped walking. Struggling. Surviving.

The necromancer couldn't help the tremble in her throat. "I understand." She lowered her chin, smiling. Damien paused, then the corner of his lips lifted the tiniest fraction, too.

Alvara turned around, and Raphael grinned that lazy, confident smile that he often wore before they both started to walk, the path disappearing behind them. If they turned back, which they didn't, couldn't, they would've seen Damien bow to the simmering shadows—to the master he hoped for—and then allowed the darkness to swallow him whole.

The others, having fulfilled their purpose in saving the small, tragic fragments of Soren's history, soon met the same fates in the worlds they stood.

Outside a bright supermarket with neon, flickering lights, Brioc laughed. "You're actually not so bad, Leny~"

"Still with the nicknames, Haze Prince?" wondered Erlen with frustration, though his shoulders shook slightly after they'd spent several hours navigating this strange land in search for food for the malnourished child, now fast asleep in Erlen's arms.

He sold his jewelry for a price he was fairly certain was undervalued, but as he stared at the slumbering ball, the terrible prince couldn't help but think—had Soren been this small, once?

What an awful thing to imagine it was. How a child, as small as this, might've trembled under the sheets in the deep darkness, cried endless tears.

Erlen furiously closed his eyes, and prayed.