[•|♪LOST ۝ FORTUNES ♪|•]

[S2] |•13•|

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The window of the old glass palace was shattered. Blowing wind caused the open glass plane to break piece by piece. Entering into the room of the old king, the wind shuddered. It saw a man sitting on a bed  rumored to be of the king and on his knees, sat another man. These men, were good-built, rich looking and as people call it, mysterious.

The man on the floor spoke, his long hair fluttering in the wind, as his voice echoed down the once busy halls of the hidden palace.

"What is so drawling, master, that you brought us back here, into the future, just to be eyes of the follower?"

The man on the bed layed down on the hem, staring with his glowing yellow eyes, and answered the curious question.

"Pet, we are here, because history repeats itself. You know, the fact has always enticed me, the possibility of it occurring is immaculately astronomical, but yet, here we are, to witness the turning of the past, in your name"

"My name...?"

"Yes, Yours. Now, did you do what I specifically asked you to, without leaving any evidential proof?"

"Yes, master."

"Good, now leave and explore the town. Tell me all the interesting stories of those."

"I will, Master."

And with the swoosh of the wind, the man seemed to leave as he came, without a sound, into the night.

The man on the bed sighed, then got up and headed down the hall, to the room of the paintings of the previous kings.

He went through the paint-decorated corridor as if he owned it, and stopped at the sight of two paintings, lined beside the other.

"My dear, Lan Wieran, Makoto is here too, and you as well and I'm here too..." he touched the face of the painting of an awfully familiar lady, you is currently in the process of reading this chapter of her life.

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The great cherry-blossom tree started to wither in colour, marking the beginning of a new season, which, was not very liked by anyone. Here you were, signing some papers for security within the confines of the principle's office. An instructor stood beside you and nodded at you whenever he saw you doing the right thing.

The question, as you swept out of the office was of your life. The Prisoner Festival, for one, was no joke.

In every decade, the festival was held in the memory of the great king of the town and the merciless killer. The merciless killer was punished for his wrong-doings in the very heart of the town. A retiring soldier, had done his job well, once and for all serving justice to the living and the buried.

The Prisoner was killed on behalf of the people he killed. The savior (in this case the king and the aforementioned soldier) was bound to serve justice to those people. They were to have a last spar with the Prisoner. If the Prisoner won, he was released of all charges and was allowed to roam any ground freely. Losing so, the Prisoner was served the inevitable death by the hands and the sword of the savior.

Such was the Prisoner Festival. Thus was the only reason why you hated the festival to no degree. It was not a festival, but a blood bath, and you were certainly not indulged in it. The worst part was, the Savior was chosen of a institution, randomly.

It was a killing, but a legal killing. No one could ever back out or intervene in it, not even the police.

You sighed, because, you had been chosen as this decade's Savior.

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©️ DracDevorak