Ranboo spends his mornings taking lessons from Quackity, his days transcribing shabby old scrolls and fetching ink bottles in the archives, lanterns burning so bright that it feels like there's a second sun nestled in the ceiling, the buzz of lowered voices and scribbling of quills on paper merging into colorless background noise. Sometimes Tubbo would sneak in, carrying a basket of baked goods. This was Ranboo's favorite part of the day, chatting with his mouth stuffed full of still warm tarts, staining his fingers sticky with crumbs and sugar. As workers begin to leave, candles flickering out of life one by one, the buoyant atmosphere withers into something more quiet and sinister. Still, Ranboo stays, until the last of scribes file out with some scroll tucked under their armpit and he becomes a sole living soul amidst the dead city of empty desks and towering shelves. Ranboo sits down in his cramped corner, lights the reading lamp, and continues his search.
That one talk with George had completely flipped Ranboo's perspective on everything. The palace and court no longer seemed so confusing when he imagined them as a massive game of chess. Princes, servants, guards, commoners – all of them were just pieces rowed up on an invisible grid, following their own set of unspoken rules.
Manipulate, or be manipulated. Listen without question to those who have authority over you. Don't make unnecessary enemies, form useful alliances, fight for your position, struggle for resources... and most importantly, survive . Anything can prove to be useful when you're groveling at the bottom of the social hierarchy, receiving slaps and stinging words from everyone who sees themselves as standing above. Ranboo might not have much power as of now... but a pawn, too, can turn into a queen.
He searches for any information that can prove itself to be useful: historical records, old maps, records of travelers and diplomats who visited the newly formed kingdoms a thousand years ago, rewritten five times over as the old paper and leather wearies itself. To build a future, one first sorts through their past. Ranboo has made a full circle through his life and returned back to his roots in Esempi: the land of seas, bright colors, and powerful, mysterious creatures by the name of fae.
The palace archives turn out to be surprisingly scarce when it comes to that part of Esempi's history. No two records agree on what exactly fae – faerie or fairy, depending on which author you chose to believe – could do. Some write of malicious curses and memories stolen along with one's name, of forest spirits who mirror what they see and never stay in one shape for too long.
Southern nobility took pride in their roots, though they rarely showed much resemblance to their ancestors. Like feathered wings were a symbol of pure blood in the Antarctic Empire, so were green eyes among far descendents of fae.
Among other things, Ranboo has dug out a picture; a graphite pencil drawing pressed between pages of a travel diary. A young girl furtively peaks at the artist sketching her face. Two dragonfly wings rest behind her back at each side, translucent film curling into patterns so delicate that it seems like they're about to twitch and peel themselves off the page at any moment.
Princess Hannah. One of the last times she was captured on paper, measly months before King Schlatt had commanded her execution. There is something equally morbid and captivating in knowing that Ranboo looks at a portrait of a person who has died decades ago. It feels as though a part of the princess is still alive: in the sly curve of her lips, in fingers fiddling with a rose in her hair, but most in the color dripped into her eyes – mesmerizing, ethereal jade.
Floor creaks under someone's feet; the groans of old wood akin to a forlorn howl in a dark night. Ranboo freezes in the middle of a yawn, shivers herding along his back. He lifts up the lamp to spill more light around himself, but the flickering flame isn't enough to cut out more than a narrow circle in the oppressive darkness.
"Is somebody here?" Ranboo calls. Echo of his voice travels along the wall and into the nothingness, and when it dies down it's just him and the sound of his heart speeding in his ribcage.
Thump thump thump.
Thump thump thump.
Meow.
Wait, what was that?
But it isn't just Ranboo's imagination traveling to wild places; the meowing repeats again, and when he brings the lantern closer, a pink nose juts out from behind a shelf. Covered in white fur, fluffy tail piped up, the cat blinks at him with eyes the color of freshly sawn summer grass.
While Ranboo stands in a stupor, wondering how an animal could have gotten in here, the cat jumps on the desk and nonchalantly paces across it, peering into the manuscripts as if it could understand anything from them. Ranboo's hand, attempting to gently scoop up and remove the cat, is promptly batted away with a warning hiss.
No touching, he got it.
Ranboo sighs, slumping back. "Just a little, harmless kitty," he mutters.
"Hi, Ranboo from Esempi," someone says. "What are you doing?"
Ranboo jolts, screams, and swivels around, accidentally swiping all the books and scrolls from the desk. The startled cat makes a beeline off the edge and into Ranboo's arms. He barely manages to catch it, the noise of all the other objects crashing and scattering making him physically cringe.
Charlie blinks, unbothered, at the mess. On his head, drooping from the side and chiming with a tiny copper bell, is the most ridiculous nightcap Ranboo has ever seen. While Ranboo holds his breath, too afraid of spooking the cat into jumping out of his arms, Charlie crouches down and picks up one of the books.
"Oh." The sound that he makes is small and soft. "If you wanted to know more about me, you could've just asked."
"About... about you?"
But Charlie seems to be too lost in his own world to notice Ranboo's confusion; he brightens up and holds the book closer.
"About me," he cheerfully agrees. "I was lost for a very long time, and then Quackity found me and I didn't have to be lost anymore. That is what he is good for! Finding lost things and giving them a new purpose."
"Did Quackity send you here, then?" Ranboo asks, accepting the book Charlie readily offers back to him.
Charlie falls into deep thought, as if Ranboo has queried him on the biggest secret of the universe.
"No," he finally decides, raising one finger up. "I have a mission from Quackity of L'manburg, but this was not it. I just wanted to check up on you, Ranboo from Esempi!"
"Thank you? I guess?" Ranboo winces, setting the book down. "I'd really appreciate it if you talked a bit quieter, though."
The cat stirs and looks up at Charlie. Charlie seems surprised first, jumping to the toes of his heels, and then claps his hands excitedly with a broad smile.
"What a coincidence," he exclaims. "You're here, too!"
"You mean," Ranboo looks down, perplexed. "The... cat?"
Charlie stays unbothered. He rocks forward and nods without hesitation, as it seems, both at Ranboo and the cat.
"I'm gonna show you something," and without a warning, Charlie takes Ranboo's hand, snatches up a lamp, and drags him off into the darkness.
Charlie knows the archives better than he does, or at least it appears so, given the confidence that he charges forward with. Ranboo has a few close calls with shelves that suddenly jump at him from the dark, Charlie yanking him out of the way each time, encouraging him on with a cherry, 'almost there now!' every five seconds. Ranboo was predetermined to fail against Charlie's quirks, but part of him is also curious to see what has gotten the guy so riled up. Which is why he's slightly disappointed when the two of them – three, counting the cat – run into a dead end.
"Here it is!"
Charlie points to the wall with both hands like he expects a firework to erupt or an orchestra to appear out of nowhere and play a solemn melody.
Nothing of the sort happens, and after a long awkward pause, Ranboo clears his throat, "Charlie, that's, um, that's just a wall." And he knocks on it to prove his point.
"No, it's not," Charlie whispers conspiratorially. "Look!"
Ranboo releases the cat to peer at the spot Charlie is so insistent on showing him. To his surprise, he discovers an odd indent in an otherwise unscathed panel, shaped to fit something round and small around the size of Ranboo's thumb pad. Just pressing on it doesn't do anything. Not like Ranboo had expected it to be that easy, but it was still worth a shot.
"It needs some sort of a key..." he mumbles, the cat weaving right around his legs.
"I know it, I know it! Here, I can even give you a hint." And Charlie wiggles and folds his ring finger.
A ring, a ring, Ranboo definitely has seen a ring somewhere before...
It hits him, then.
"The Emperor's emerald? You're sure?" Ranboo asks, worrying his lip, and Charlie makes some noise that supposedly means, 'congratulations, you've guessed it correctly!'. Ranboo appreciates the enthusiasm, but it only leaves him with even more questions than he had before.
"I don't understand..." He brushes a hand along the rough stone, feeling every crack and nook bulging against his palm. "Why would Phil need a vault in the archives?"
"Why do you think people make secret vaults?" Charlie queries back. "To hide all sorts of secrets, of course... and you'd think those must be some very important secrets that the Emperor doesn't want his sons to know of."
"Not even Prince Theseus?" Ranboo asks, and to himself he thinks, that can't be right. Isn't the crown prince supposed to know everything that the Emperor does?
Charlie presses one finger to his lips, as if trying to contain himself from spitting something important right away. He looks around, left and right, then two more times before finally leaning closer.
" Especially not Prince Theseus," he whispers into Ranboo's ear.
Ranboo glances over at Charlie. Someone standing so close to him makes him want to reell away, to hide – but for some reason, he finds himself unable to move, as if all muscles in his body have suddenly decided to rebel against his control. Fur brushes against Ranboo's leg, the cat sitting down and tipping its head back. Waiting, unblinking.
"And you know all of this because...?" Ranboo trails off.
Charlie smiles again. For the first time ever, it doesn't reach his eyes, or hold any joy; Ranboo would've called it condescending if he was even eligible for comparison with the thing that takes over Charlie's body. His gaze makes Ranboo feel incomprehensibly small, as if on the other side of this humanly disguise – just a shell, something easy to look at – was something that knows more about him than he ever would.
Ranboo doesn't know how he hasn't noticed it earlier that Charlie's eyes, too, glow a misty green. He gulps, and dares to ask, "What are you, Charlie?"
But the sinister look has already wiped itself away. Charlie blinks and turns back to how he always is: a little too cheerful, a tiny bit terrifying. Locking his hands together behind his back, Charlie bounces off, the bell on his hat jingling as it swings from side to side.
"Humans are the most honest when they think that nobody's watching them, Ranboo from Esempi," he says for a goodbye, lavishing on the border of light and shadow the moment before the candle wick squeezes out its last dying spark.
The world succumbs to black gloom, whole and greedy. Even as Ranboo's eyes have not yet adjusted to dark, he knows that Charlie is gone, and when some outlines start surfacing again he sees that the cat is too.
Ranboo never heard any steps.
Ranboo hasn't meant to eavesdrop. Not in the beginning, at least. He blames Charlie for putting that idea in his head– but really, it was a pot in the brewing, bound to overflow one day or another.
He's heard people talk all sorts of things about Wilbur, none of them pleasant, but it all came down to one thing, one day, one decision to run away fueled by grief and fear. And Ranboo knows what it feels like, how helplessness can make people jump from ashes to fire. It would be hypocritical of him to judge Wilbur for his choice, especially when the world is already so keen on making him pay. Wilbur is a good father to his son, but he's ridiculed that the son's mother is a commoner. Wilbur treats servants well, and gets put next to nothing among nobles. Wilbur wants people to like him down the ache to his bones, and well– Ranboo knows how that one feels too.
But then there is Theseus.
Prince Theseus, who is to blame for most of Ranboo's problems since the day he arrived at the palace. Prince Theseus, who've beaten Ranboo, humiliated him, who treated his best friend worse than a servant and took revenge on him for walking away from a relationship that clearly was doing him more harm than good.
But also,
Prince Theseus who smiles at bees and finds solace in nature, who is ready to skip a night's sleep and a day's rest at his nephew's one word, Theseus who accepted the alliums from Ranboo and played the piano so that half of the palace would listen with bated breath, whose eyes clouded from open sky to rain and who holds so much behind every word and look exchanged with Wilbur. They are polar opposites in everything they do, a black and a white piece of a game orchestrated majorly by their movements. Brothers , Ranboo would say, if he could comprehend the true gravity of that word. But when Ranboo spotted Wilbur earlier tonight he thought more of how tired he was of wandering in the dark. How much he wanted to just get to the bottom of a mystery coating these two so he could stop getting caught in it.
Now, as Theseus storms out of sight, marking his path by a barely sensible saccharine smell, Ranboo wonders how it has happened that he only got himself involved deeper. Secrets yelled at one another in a fit of anger were now binding him too. Instead of running away and forgetting about it all, Ranboo has tottered out from behind a column and into Wilbur's path.
Wilbur doesn't question his appearance. Ranboo isn't sure if Wilbur has even recognized him, or looked long enough to try. He passes a blank stare over Ranboo and to where Theseus has disappeared.
"What have I done?" Ranboo hears him mutter.
"I don't think-" after wallowing in silence for so long, Ranboo's voice sounds raw and scratchy, "I don't think Theseus should be alone right now."
Wilbur's eyes clear out a bit.
"You need to go after him," he says.
Ranboo falters. "Me? But you are his brother."
"And I'm the person who has hurt him the most." Wilbur turns to him, near-pleading, "Ranboo. Please ."
Ranboo can say no. He owes Theseus nothing and even if Wilbur is asking for help it's still something that he has no business prying into.
And yet his tongue twists faster than his mind can stop it, "I'll do it. Just to make sure that he doesn't trip on some stairs or something," he adds, like trying to convince himself that turning around and marching after Theseus is the right choice to make.
"Ranboo?"
Ranboo pauses and casts a look over his shoulder, where Wilbur stands, pale like ghostly reflection in a shimmering lake.
"Yes?"
"Thank you," Wilbur says softly. "And I'm sorry."
Even though Ranboo isn't sure what Wilbur is apologizing for, he still nods. And then hurtles after Theseus before he can completely lose track of the crown prince.
"Theseus, wait!"
Theseus startles, shrinks on himself and speeds up.
Ranboo has never been much of a runner, and his cracked rib doesn't pass on a chance to remind of itself with persistent throb. By the time he catches up to Theseus out in the gardens, it feels like there's a dagger continuously digging in and out of his side. Ranboo bends over, shuddering as he tries to level out his breathing. He meets Theseus' eye for a moment before he takes a sharp turn into the hedge maze, probably hoping to lose Ranboo in the web of curves and corners.
No you won't, Ranboo thinks with a sudden surge of stubbornness and dives right after. He hasn't come all this way to lose Theseus now.
Ranboo runs past a dead end. Backtracks, realizing that he has seen something – or rather, someone – flash in the corner of his vision. Theseus seems so small, curled up in the shadow of the far hedge, that it's hard to remember that this is the same person whose presence alone used to strike cold fear in Ranboo. This Theseus looks like he ran in here, realized that it's a dead end and just. Gave up.
"How the mighty have fallen," Theseus mutters when Ranboo creeps closer. It's a bitter expression, a mockery of himself, a joke where the crown prince's own tear-stricken face is meant to serve as the punchline.
Ranboo does not find it amusing. If anything, his heart sinks with pity.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Theseus snaps when he gets no reaction. "Laugh, gloat, enjoy the show!" He hides his face in his lap, sniffing and somehow turning even smaller than he previously was. "I hope you're fucking happy to see me like this."
"I dislike you, Theseus," Ranboo says honestly. "But I don't hate you. Heck, I even wanted to be your friend in the beginning, before–" he tries to pinpoint the exact moment when he gave up on that idea completely, "–everything. Yeah."
Ranboo sighs, shoulders drooping. "I thought– I thought it's because of my origin, you know, but you're never like this with others. You're fair to servants, kind sometimes, even, and you're unbothered that Fundy is not a pure royal... The point is, you've despised me from the moment you met me, and I don't understand why ."
"Are you trying to make fun of me or are just this fucking stupid?" Theseus scowls, words slurring together, and it seems as though Ranboo has grown numb to his insults after all this time because he only blinks and shrugs.
"You tell me," he says, sitting down cross-legged.
Theseus raises his head properly now. Moon reflects in both his eyes, big and round like two pearls surrounded by a vast cloth of shimmering sea. It occurs to Ranboo that this is the first time both of them really see each other – peeking through the hatred and questions without ending marks, beyond the shapes and frames they've been put in – and realize that before them is a complete stranger. The person who Ranboo this far has only gotten a passing glimpse of doesn't run or hide again in his prison of boundless sorrow. He stays, and he looks at Ranboo back.
"It's a fairytale to you now, isn't it?" Theseus says. "You're the hero, and there is an evil petty prince with a bunch of mean nobles who want to hurt you just because . Everything works out in the end, since there is always family and friends backing you up," he snickers grimly, "typical, boring! "
"But the thing about fairytales, they never tell you what happens in the happily ever after. That love is conditional and eventually people will start wanting more. So you do more, and you give more, and it's never enough and you spin in that wheel until you break ."
Theseus' voice cracks around the last word. He folds his knees in, wiring his hands together underneath like he's trying to turn invisible in the face of an advancing danger. Perhaps from his memories, perhaps from what he's about to say.
"You know what happens with broken things, Ranboo?" Theseus utters, a confession so colossal that saying it anything louder than a whisper would tear him apart. "They get replaced ."
Ranboo falters.
The skies might have as well turned upside down with how this revelation twists everything in him.
It's like all this time Ranboo was trying to complete a puzzle only to be told that he's looking at a wrong picture. It might take him hours and days to see where he has forced pieces where they've never belonged, but now one thing is clear–
With his eyes fixed on the end of the board, Ranboo hasn't noticed that this game already has one pawn turned queen.
And when that realization strikes Ranboo, he does what he least expects from himself:
Open his arms and embraces Theseus.
The difference in height is awkward with the other boy shrunk on himself as he is, but that doesn't deter Ranboo. This close, he can hear Theseus' breath stuttering, feeling the warmth that is so fleetingly there when the prince's first instinct is to lean in. Even when comprehension overrides the initial shock and Theseus tries to shove him away, there is nothing more important to Ranboo at that moment than not letting go .
Soon Theseus' struggles cease into weak shudders. Hands grip back around Ranboo's arms, nails digging in so sharply that he can feel them through the sleeves. "Why do you have to be so fucking nice ?" Theseus hitches out between his sobs.
Tears and snot is getting all over Ranboo's suit, and they're freezing their legs off sitting on bare ground like this, but he finds that he doesn't mind it much because finally, finally , he understands.
Understand, not forgive , a voice whispers to Ranboo, and as he closes his eyes, he finds himself agreeing.
Later , he can think about it all later.
"I hate you so much," Theseus whispers, resting his forehead on Ranboo's shoulder, clinging to that loathing like it's the only thing still keeping him awake.
"Hating me is your choice, helping you is my decision," Ranboo murmurs. "Come on, let's get out of here, yeah?"
Theseus nods mutely, seemingly too tired to argue. Ranboo holds no delusions regarding his own strength, so he stands up first and holds his hand out to help the prince.
When Theseus' reluctantly reaches to take it, something weird happens. Emerald light sparks up where their skin has made brief contact; Ranboo yelps, staggers back and falls over.
He opens his eyes with his cheek pressed into soil Theseus curled up next to him and breathing heavily. The long jagged cut on his palm still glows, though, and when the green finally fades, there is not even a scar left behind.
Ranboo isn't sure how long he just sits there in stupor, but he snaps out of it when Theseus suddenly arches his back and throws up. Ranboo rushes to help, holding the prince as he heaves again and again, but there's so much and he doesn't know what to do .
"Quackity..." Theseus whimpers when the wave finally ends. Ranboo wants so much to squeeze his fingers and tell that somebody is here, but then he remembers the glow and yanks his hand back.
"I'm gonna go get someone to help," Ranboo promises, floundering upright and back. "Maybe not Quackity. But someone."
And so he runs, and thanks everything in existence when he pounces onto the gravel path and the first person he stumbles upon happens to be Prince Dream's dark-haired knight.
Sapnap frowns at him first, and it seems like he'd try to ignore Ranboo altogether if it wasn't for his next words.
"Something's wrong with the crown prince," he says. What Ranboo doesn't mention is that there is also something wrong with him .
It's on the break of the morning that Ranboo creeps into the stables. Stable workers all know him by now, a fidgety tall boy who likes to stick treats into the stalls and won't pass on a chance to help with brushing and grooming. But since the day before yesterday, when Techno had brought in Carl heavily injured from a hunt, it's like there has been a cloud hanging low over the roofs, billowing in the air, ready to shower or spew lightning at any moment. Nobody talks to one another, following a wordless rule to avoid anything that might aggravate Prince Technoblade.
Everyone but Ranboo.
Ranboo nearly gets spotted by one of the stablemen, ducking behind a pile of hay and straw at the last moment as they pass by with two clicking buckets. As soon as steps wallow into silence, Ranboo creeps out his cover. He shakes off the grass when he's sure that the coast is clear, and presses one finger to his lips when he notices a big-eyed pony, tied up to a beam nearby, chewing on a mouthful of hay.
"No snitching, got it?"
The pony chews on, and Ranboo takes that as a yes.
Carl barely acknowledges Ranboo when he walks in and closes the stall door behind himself, careful not to let the hinges creak, just blinks at him wearily and neighs an unusually high and plaintive note.
"I know, I know, big guy," Ranboo says, patting Carl on the neck and hushing him quietly. Even the smell of fresh hay and herbs couldn't fully mask the thick stench of rot and iron. Swallowing a rising lump in his throat, he lowers himself to his knees, hesitating for a moment with his hands hovering over four long ragged gashes – not bleeding anymore, but no less horrifying to look at. If this works, it could save Carl's life. If not... Well, it's certainly not going to become any worse either.
Ranboo breathes in deeply and puts his hands on Carl's side. He tries to imagine it, the same green light from yesterday, a rush of burning warmth just beneath his fingertips. Nothing happens at all, apart from Carl flicking his tail. Ranboo sits back on his heels, and wonders if everything that happened yesterday was just a fever dream.
A bee buzzes by. Ranboo tracks its path, and remembers the hive that Theseus had shown him – purple violets sprayed upon an emerald field. Life courses everywhere, in gentle petal rays and down to the roots burying into layers of damp soil, but most of it all, in the sky-blue of the crown prince's eyes.
And then comes the light.
It's not as sudden and bright as the last time, but it burns, and if Carl's jerk is any indicator, on both sides. Ranboo clenches his teeth and keeps going: edges of the wounds draw in together, simmering until they turn to red scars no thicker than his finger.
By the time that the light dims, Ranboo is on his side and gasping for air. Carl hovers over him, shoving his muzzle into the boy's face. Ranboo wraps his arm around the horse's neck instinctively, and when Carl pushes forward to stand he pulls the boy up too.
Ranboo's smiling before he realizes it. Shushing Carl and ruffling his mane one last time, he climbs out of the stall and rushes to the exit.
In his hurry, Ranboo fails to notice a white shadow standing in a corner, and the sharp glint of purple in Techno's eyes.