"Everything had settled and was well,
until the new general of the army
was also murdered."
・ ・ ・
There was thunder, resounding like a cry of war. A booming clap, resonating, rattling. Permeating through the thick walls surrounding him like water soaking through a thin mesh.
Slayen shifted where he sat in his cell, shoulders slumped, fingers toying with a dagger. He held it before him, dangling it by the blade, staring as the faint dungeon light reflected off the Ultra Titanium surface. He tilted it, so that the blade gave off a sheen of orange that reminded him of fire.
Then he dug into his pocket, took out the whetstone that had been given to him, and started sharpening his weapon.
Running his blade over the whetstone again and again, he listened to the metallic, ear-piercing sounds made, echoing in the silence of the dungeons. There was a clanking of armour further ahead, and Slayen smirked.
The guard was uneasy.
"Remember, Slayen, my boy."
Another roar from outside.
He continued sharpening his dagger for a while longer, checking it in the dim light every few minutes to see if the edges were sharp and even enough.
"You seem quite comfortable in there," came a voice he knew all too well, and Slayen lifted his crimson gaze to meet brilliant green.
Xenor.
"Why, of course, Your Highness," he said, sliding his blade over the whetstone slowly, deliberately. The noise stretched out in the silence of darkness— a piercing, hollow ring in a void of convoluted black. "I've been treated quite well in this disgusting dump."
There was a flutter of eyelids as the royal outside his cell rolled his eyes. "Intriguing." Xenor crossed his arms over his chest. "Do humour me more."
Crimson flashed, narrowing. "What the fuck do you want now, prince?" Slayen snarled, stopping his sharpening process. "The last time we met, you shoved me back into this fucking shit-hole. I did what you wanted, but you— that wasn't the fucking deal."
"Are 'fuck' and 'shit' the only vulgarities you know?" Xenor yawned with a maddening nonchalance, tilting his head elegantly to the side. "I'm quite certain that your vocabulary is much more expansive than that."
"Are you fucking listening to me, asshole?" Slayen flung the whetstone at the prince. It bounced uselessly off the cell bars separating them with a loud clang, landing on the floor with a clatter.
The prince stopped.
The next thing Slayen knew, there was a dagger embedded in the wall, directly beside his face, cutting a few stray strands of his hair away. He faltered, feeling a sting on his cheek, and reached up to touch the ache. Something wet was oozing out from a cut on his skin, and his fingers came away stained with blood.
"Slayen." Xenor's voice was low. Deep. Almost like a growl. Unlike the sarcasm and calm the prince usually used when speaking.
The prince sounded dangerous.
Even more dangerous than anything he'd ever heard before.
"What did you call me?"
"... An asshole," Slayen answered defiantly, narrowing his eyes. In a single blink, there was another dagger above him dangerously close to his head, hilt trembling from where it was stuck in the wall. He froze, glancing from the dagger to Xenor, and back again.
Had the prince thrown the weapon? He hadn't seen him move at all.
"What did you call me?" Xenor repeated quietly, the bangs over his face casting dark shadows, which made it rather difficult to read his expression. Slayen remained quiet, and the silence wrapped itself around them suffocatingly. A thick blanket of absolute nothingness.
"We are sinners."
The prince was waiting for something, he realised. Expectation dwelled in the depths of green— a dark anticipation in the gloom of the dungeons.
"... My apologies," Slayen mumbled, reaching up and pulling out the daggers in the wall.
The royal was still silent. Waiting. Slayen pursed his lips, and with a louder voice, breathed out, "My apologies, sir."
"I hold the keys to your freedom," Xenor spoke then, voice crisp. He was still using that dangerous voice; the voice which held a promise to kill. "You would do well to remember that."
Slayen gave a nod.
"It is simply because I have another... job for you that I put you back in here," the prince went on, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "If you were to disappear after the incident, you would have become the prime suspect." His green eyes glowed dully, and Slayen had the sudden sense that something was off, but could not pinpoint what it was.
"No matter how much we grovel, no matter how much we beg, this kingdom will not forgive us."
Xenor was still speaking. "After you have completed this job, I assure you that I will uphold my end of the deal," he said. There was the ghost of a smirk on his face. "It is a simple job. Quite identical to the one you did before."
Slayen furrowed his brows, realisation dawning on him. He allowed a small smile, toying with the two daggers Xenor had thrown at him.
The prince truly was an unemotional machine.
"But do not hate them, my son." The saddest smile he had ever seen. "Vengeance will lead to nothing, only more suffering and death."
"Is that all, sir?" he said, leaning back against the wall.
Xenor raised a black brow at him. "Stay alert. You never know what might happen tonight." A pause. "And I would like my daggers back."
Slayen lifted the two weapons, whirling them between his fingers. The hilts rubbed against his skin— a familiar feeling of hard leather and steel. He held them before him, then flung them blade-first at the royal.
They flew neatly through the bars of his cell, straight towards Xenor's face.
"I want you to live a happy, fulfilling life."
The royal caught the blades between his fingers in a swift motion, stopping the daggers just before they ripped through his skin.
"Impressive aim," Xenor said, lowering his arm and tucking his blades into the sleeves of his night robe (so that was where he'd kept them). "As expected of an Eltros."
"You're allowed to carry around weapons?" Slayen smirked, lifting up his own dagger and running a finger over the blunt side of the blade.
The prince cocked his head. "I asked." He turned on his heel, preparing to leave.
"Remember," Xenor said, turning his head back to glance at him. Slayen caught his green gaze, and nearly flinched at how much coldness it held, at how callous it was. Like frigid ice, unfeeling and empty.
Stone.
"Tonight. You will strike tonight. The guard will release you, and you know what to do from there."
Slayen bobbed his head, tucking his dagger back into its sheath. "Of course, sir."
"What our ancestors did in the past does not define who we are in the present."
The prince gave him a final stare, before striding away, his head held high. Slayen watched him go, and blinked when he saw a tremor in his steps. He shook his head.
It was probably just his imagination.
"We are still Eltros. Proud Eltros. But even so, what matters is here and now." That sad smile stayed. A tight grip on his shoulders. "Cherish your life. Don't live like our ancestors did."
Slayen furrowed his brows together, closing his eyes. Tried to shut out the voice in his head.
"Leave the darkness, my son."
He managed to block it out, smothering it in a fit of impatience and anger. No, he would not. He would not listen to the voice. He would not leave the darkness.
It was where he belonged.
The words held no meaning to him anymore, not like before, when he used to dream of useless fantasies and futile reveries. When he used to romanticise the world around him.
Such hopeless delusions.
All relics of the past.
Thunder snarled once more, reverberating through the very core of his soul. The storm outside revealed no signs of subsiding, instead seeming to grow bigger and angrier by the minute.
A smirk.
They were going to feel his wrath. They were going to feel his hatred and pain. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, a tinge of bitter insanity within.
He himself was the darkness.
They were all going to pay.
Storm had been trying to catch his brother off guard.
Which was apparently impossible, considering how it'd already been a year since he started.
Xenor was like a ghost.
One moment, he would be there, walking slowly down the hallway, and the next moment, after turning a corner, he would be gone. Storm didn't understand how his brother could accomplish such a feat. Nor the logic behind it.
It had been going on as such, with him continuously trying to find the right time to pounce, and Xenor mysteriously vanishing without a trace and thus evading him.
Storm wanted to scream.
How did Xenor do it?
It was frustrating, and made him want to tear out his own hair and pity himself in a corner.
Was Xenor still upset with him?
"I would rather trust a complete stranger than you!"
Storm slammed his forehead against the top of his table, releasing a groan. He shifted in his seat, feeling a headache rising, and immediately regretted what he did. Seated at his table in his room, he was trying to come up with more solutions to catch his brother, but try as he might, he couldn't think of anything.
Trying to catch him after he finished bathing didn't work.
Trying to catch him after training didn't work.
Trying to catch him after meals didn't work either.
Nothing worked.
It was infuriating.
Storm sighed, lifting his head, then rubbed his forehead. He could feel a bump, and slumped in his seat.
All he wanted to do was to apologise to Xenor.
Yet his brother was making it ridiculously difficult for him to do so.
With a grunt, Storm got up from his seat, heading out of his room.
Just in time to see Xenor leaving his.
His brother faltered, as did Storm himself, and he could only stare at the older prince. Green eyes stared back, blank.
"Brother—" Storm managed to sputter out after finding his voice, but Xenor was already striding away. "Brother, wait! Please—" He ran after his brother, reaching out.
Xenor showed no signs of stopping. In fact, he walked even faster, as though conscious of Storm's attempts to confront him but not wanting to acknowledge him and be caught up in any of it. Storm gritted his teeth, pushing forward to grab his brother before any more disappear-into-thin-air tricks happened again.
His fingers brushed against his brother's shirt, and he staggered, nearly tripping over his own feet. With a frustrated growl, he moved forward once more, thrusting out his hand, and managed to snag Xenor's black locks.
Then he suddenly stumbled, crying out in alarm as he slipped immediately after, and dragged his brother down with him as he was still holding on to a fistful of black hair. There came a bewildered sputter from Xenor as the both of them crashed to the ground.
The floor battered him in the face, and Storm let go of his brother, groaning.
"Ow..." He pushed himself up, rubbing his forehead. Xenor was already back on his feet, expression darkening rapidly as he massaged the back of his head in a tentative manner.
A fist came, and smashed into Storm's face.
With a startled and pained yelp, Storm recoiled, then buried his aching face in his hand in an attempt to soothe it, not quite able to comprehend what had just occurred.
Xenor had just punched him.
"B-Brother! What was that for?" he protested, clutching at his nose.
"I should be the one asking you that question, you insufferable monkey!" his brother snapped back, green glowering down at him in withering annoyance. "Why in the seven hells did you grab my hair?"
"It was the only thing I could grab!" Storm tried to defend himself. "You were walking so quickly, it was difficult to properly... catch you." Then he realised that his brother was talking to him. "But it doesn't matter. I've finally caught you."
Xenor's frown deepened into a scowl. "You make it sound like I'm some wild animal you've been wanting to capture for years," he stated drily.
Storm pouted at him. "That is exactly the case, Brother!" he exclaimed. "You've been avoiding me for a whole year."
His brother scrutinised him, saying nothing. "... Is that so?" he muttered, after a moment of heavy, awkward silence.
"Yes!" Storm puffed out his cheeks.
Xenor rolled his eyes, turning away. Gasping in realisation, Storm grabbed hold of his brother's arm, clinging onto him as tightly as he could. "You will not leave, Brother!" he snapped, glaring. "Not until I say what I want to say; what I have been wanting to tell you for an entire year."
Xenor swatted at his face, as though he was a bug. "Unhand me, you insolent idiot!" he hissed. Storm adamantly clung on, wrapping his legs around his brother's.
A few guards passed by, and they watched in befuddled amusement as Xenor struggled to pry Storm off him, staggering around in an attempt to shake him off. Storm refused to let go, even though he knew very well that his brother was most definitely beyond mad at him, and could easily knock him unconscious if he wanted to.
Xenor rammed the top of his head repeatedly with his fist, eyes smouldering with wrathful fury. "I said, unhand me!" he barked, shoulders rigid.
Storm shook his head. "No."
His brother gave him a withering death glare, and punched him once more. "Let go!"
"Then don't walk off once I do," Storm answered vehemently, glowering up at him, his cheek aching, head throbbing.
Xenor scowled, shoulders dropping. "Fine," he growled, "now get off me."
Storm dropped to the ground, satisfied. His brother flexed his fingers, shaking his arm as though to loosen his muscles, and muttered, "Moronic, incorrigible dolt..." or something along those lines.
A cheeky grin appeared on Storm's face as he was unable to suppress the overwhelming joy that was thumping in his chest.
Xenor was talking to him.
After a long, gruelling year filled with a multitude of failed attempts to catch him, his brother was finally talking to him.
Xenor eyed him, a frown appearing on his face. "Why in fucking tarnation are you giving me that retarded look?" he snapped. Storm blinked, and his brother paused, before clearing his throat and muttering, "... Ignore the vulgarity, little brother..." with a look that seemed to be a cross between sheepishness and annoyance.
"A-Anyway, Brother..." Storm gave a crooked smile. "I... I wanted to apologise."
Xenor cocked his head to the side. "For what?"
"For... accusing you of murdering Father... last year... and arguing with you..." Storm found his voice growing smaller and smaller as he spoke, and he shrunk into himself, unwilling to meet his brother's piercing green gaze.
"I would rather trust a complete stranger than you!"
There was an unsettling silence after the words left his lips, and he fidgeted, wondering what Xenor was thinking.
"Is that all?" Xenor said, after a few more minutes of uncomfortable quiet.
"W-well," Storm stuttered, "I-I want to apologise for all the other times I argued with you, too. Like back then, about Tesarah..."
The head tilt returned. "We argued?" Xenor said. His expression had become unreadable; there was a mask covering his feelings, hiding his thoughts. Storm nodded, and his brother pondered for a moment, eyebrows furrowing together. "I don't recall arguing with you about that, little brother," he finally replied, tone flat.
Storm coughed. "Oh."
Did Xenor really not remember that incident?
He rubbed his head, recalling the aching pain that had thudded through his skull when Xenor had battered him down while he had been trying to defend Tesarah. "N-never mind then," he said, offering another smile.
His brother crossed his arms over his chest, opening his mouth, but was cut off by the sound of heels clacking on the floor. He stared further ahead, an eyebrow quirking upwards, and Storm turned to see Liss approaching them.
Liss, who was constantly holed up in the King's Office doing paperwork with Silix, as usual, but, starting from the year before, was also making more of an effort to leave the office and spend time with Storm, like Bayne used to do (Xenor was never around during those moments).
It was pleasant, and eased the pain of Bayne's death; filled in his absence. Slowly rinsed away the strangeness of life without his constant encouragements and humorous conversations.
Storm pushed the thoughts away, focusing back on reality. "Mother," he greeted, and their mother smiled. Xenor's gaze darted away, standing stiffly where he was, shoulders high.
"I see you've finally caught your dear, loner brother, haven't you, Storm?" Liss said, bending and giving Storm a peck on the forehead. He bobbed his head, grinning. His brother grumbled, casting his gaze to the ground.
"How have you been, my dear Xenor? It's been so long since we talked face-to-face like this." Their mother cupped Xenor's cheeks, lifting his head up.
"I'm fine, so stop it," Xenor growled, brushing off Liss' hands and stepping away, refusing to make eye contact. Storm frowned, wondering why his brother was acting like he was.
Avoidant. Cold.
Distant.
Our family is gone, a small voice whispered in his head, and he quickly smothered it out, furious to hear such words of doubt and pain lingering at the back of his mind.
Everything had already settled; they were slowly healing.
Things were becoming better again.
And they will continue to get better, Storm thought firmly, watching as his mother continued her attempts to hold a decent conversation with his relatively moody brother.
No more horrific picture books.
Xenor was still refusing to make eye contact with Liss, and their mother frowned, eyebrows furrowed together. "Is there something wrong, Xenor?" she asked, trying to move into his brother's view. Xenor merely tilted his head away, glaring at the ground as though it had offended him.
Liss glanced at Storm, who shrugged his shoulders, then pulled back with a sigh. "I'm... sorry if I've done something wrong to make you mad at me like this, Xenor," she said. "I'm sorry for not being a proper mother to the both of you, too."
"Mother, we've already—" Storm began, but stopped short when their mother shook her head, strands of gold falling over her face. She took a step towards Xenor, then slowly wrapped her arms around him, pulling him towards her.
Xenor flinched, his eyes widening by a fraction.
"I'm so, so, sorry," Liss whispered, just loud enough for Storm to hear. "I have been a terrible mother to you two. But I'm trying to spend more time with you now." Her grip tightened, and Xenor's shoulders tensed further, his fingers twitching. "So please, give me one more chance. I promise to be a better mother from now on."
Watching, Storm noted how rigid his brother had become in his mother's arms. His bangs fell over his face, and his arms were still by his side.
Then they jerked, and slowly, shakily, rose. Hovered in the air. Finally, he sagged, then leaned against Liss and buried his face against her shoulder, pinching the sides of her shirt loosely. His arms shuddered as he clung on to the fabric with the tips of his fingers.
Storm found himself smiling at the sight.
Liss released a huff, stroking Xenor's head as she pulled him in closer. "You've always been the difficult one," she murmured, planting a light kiss on the top of his head. "I swear, you'll be the death of me someday."
Xenor said nothing. He merely dropped his arms and pulled away quickly, taking a few steps back from their mother and crossing his arms over his chest, resuming his glaring contest with the ground. Storm peered at his brother, and thought he saw a flush on his cheeks.
"Do the both of you want to take a walk with me in the gardens? The gardeners have just planted some new saplings, and a patch of Embrytes," Liss said then, glancing at the both of them.
"Okay!" Storm beamed, looking at his brother to see if he agreed as well.
Xenor pursed his lips. He stared past them, staying silent, before pointing at something behind them and saying, "What are Ash and Silix doing over there?"
Storm turned, as did Liss, and they gazed around, looking for the advisor and general. However, they were nowhere to be found. "What are you talking about, Brother?" Storm frowned, turning back. "They're not—" He stopped abruptly when he noticed something.
Xenor was no longer there.
There was a stunned silence, before Liss burst out laughing. "Oh dear," she sighed, "looks like your brother has run off again." She shook her head, an amused smile gracing her lips. "That little troublemaker."
Storm ran a hand through his hair, wondering how gullible he was to fall for such a classic trick. He should have expected such a thing, considering it was his brother they were dealing with.
Xenor truly was a difficult person to manage.
Evening was descending to night, and Storm found himself in the gardens with Liss. They had just finished their stroll around the gardens, watching the gardeners go about with their work, chatting idly about the day's activities. Resting on one of the benches nearby, they watched the sun set into the horizon—or what little they could see of the orange skyline— over the walls of the Palace.
"One day," Liss said at that moment, breaking the peaceful silence between them, "we should take down the walls around the gardens, and replace them with some fences, perhaps."
Storm cocked his head at his mother, wondering why she would suggest such a thing. Liss caught his gaze, and smiled.
It was a small, sad smile, with a hint of grieving wistfulness.
"This was your father's favourite place," she said in a soft voice. "We used to go on strolls around here. He could name every single plant there was in these gardens back then, be it flowers, shrubs, or trees. He wanted to replace the walls here with fences instead, so that we would be able to view the kingdom's activities, to be able to see a full sunrise and sunset, while resting in the midst of nature." A shake of her head. That smile still stayed. "He was a dork. A goofball. Even after he was crowned king, he continued to act like a child."
"But wasn't he a nice goofball?" Storm laughed.
Liss' smile grew wider, less melancholic. "Yes, he was." She laughed with him. "It was only after we learned that I was pregnant with Xenor, back then, did he become more... serious about his work, both as a father and a king." They watched as the sun continued to set, the fiery sky beginning to fade into twilight.
"How did the two of you meet, Mother?" Storm asked then.
"Why do you ask?" his mother said.
"I'm curious."
Liss sighed, looking amused. "Oh, it's nothing special. We met on Matchmaking Day, when he was fifteen. I was fourteen at that time."
"Matchmaking Day? You mean that one, special day when the heir of the throne chooses a fiancée, or a fiancé, from a selection of people close to their own age within the kingdom?" Storm gaped at his mother.
A nod. "Like I said, nothing special. It's an event which occurs frequently, after all." Liss shrugged, shifting in her seat, eyes gazing far off into the distance. "... Back then, I never imagined that I would be chosen to be his future wife. But it happened. There were more than a hundred other girls on that day, all wanting to be picked, all much prettier than I was, and yet he chose me."
The smile had returned, Storm realised. Nostalgic, bittersweet, sorrowful.
There was another sigh. "I asked him why, once, a few months after that day. He never answered me. Now, he never will."
Liss was quiet after that, eyes glassy as she stared up at the sky. The sun had set completely, and stars were slowly filling up the the dark space above them. Ravens flew by, screaming with their cacophonous voices as dark feathers descended, slowly drifting down.
Storm grimaced. "I-I'm sorry, Mother... I probably shouldn't have asked that question..." he muttered, shrinking into himself.
Liss released a chuckle, her shoulders sagging. "It's alright, sweetheart." She leaned towards him and pecked him on the forehead, before standing up. "You ought to go and bathe now. It's getting late."
"Okay." Storm followed her, and they left the gardens. "By the way, Mother," he said, a sudden thought coming to him. "What does 'fuck' mean?"
Liss stopped in her tracks abruptly, and Storm bumped into her. "Where did you learn that word from?" his mother demanded, whirling around and staring at him. "Who taught you that word?
"Uh," Storm stammered, stunned by his mother's sudden burst of ferocity, "B-Brother...?"
"Xenor?" Liss screeched, her green eyes flaring. Storm took a shaky step back.
I shouldn't have asked that too...
"My dear, do not ever use that word again. Erase it from your mind." Liss clenched her fists as her face slowly turned a dangerous shade of red. "Why would your brother teach you such a word?" she seethed.
"W-well, actually, B-Brother didn't t-teach me that word... H-he just said it while we were s-studying together f-four years ago— I think— and I just... wondered... what it meant..." Storm explained as best as he could, taking another step back, painfully aware of the infuriated aura his mother was emitting.
Liss glowered at the stairs they stood in front of. "Go and bathe, Storm," she ordered, storming up the stairs. "Your brother and I have... something to talk about."
Great Guardian Spirit, Storm thought, nodding meekly as his mother continued to ascend the stairs rapidly.
I think I've just unleashed a demon on Brother.
Storm turned on his lamp, and the warm light filled the room. He heaved a sigh, plopping on his bed, then stared at the clock. Midnight. He prepared to pull his covers over himself, until he heard a knock on his door. Opening his mouth, he was about to call for whoever was outside his room, when the door was shoved open and a scowling Xenor entered.
"Brother?" Storm sputtered, sitting up.
Xenor marched up to him, a bitter glower on his face. His left ear was throbbing red, strangely enough, and before Storm could ask him what had happened, he felt a forceful smack jar the back of his head.
"Ow!" he yelped, and rubbed his head tenderly. "What was that for, Brother? And it's already midnight— why are you here now, of all times?" His voice dropped down to a grumble.
"I am this close to smacking you again," Xenor growled out through gritted teeth, completely ignoring him, and held up his hand, the tips of his fingers touching.
Storm paled. His brother noticed, and a wry smirk appeared on his face.
"Exactly."
Another brutal smack to his head, and a minute later, Storm found himself buried under his covers in a trembling bundle, his head aching. Xenor was still standing imperiously at his bedside, and Storm could feel his glare burning into him through the sheets covering his body.
"Why did you tell Mother that I taught you how to speak vulgarities? When I most definitely did not?" Xenor seethed.
"I-I didn't!" Storm protested, his voice muffled by his covers. "I only asked her what 'fuck' meant, and—"
"Why in the seven hells would you ask her such a question?" his brother bellowed, ripping his covers off him and smacking him again.
"I was only wondering!" Storm yelped, trying to shield himself from Xenor's accusing hits. "Ever since you said it that first time—"
"Then stop wondering, you blundering fool!" Xenor shrieked, green eyes ablaze. He grabbed a pillow, and started to bash it over Storm's head repeatedly. "You have the same level of intelligence as the Spirit-forsaken Carniflower of the Juungle Maze and its nonexistent asshole."
"Are you calling me a—?" Storm sputtered, only to be smothered by the pillow Xenor was using to whack him yet again.
"I thought I told you not to use that word ever again!" his brother was screeching. "Mother almost murdered me, you intolerable dimwit!"
"You are trying to kill me right now!" Storm screamed back, trying to fight against the pillow of wrath that was battering him down. "With a pillow!"
"I got into trouble for absolutely no reason, little brother," Xenor snarled, pausing his ruthless pillow-smashing. "You deserve to be punished for false accusation."
"Like I said, I didn't—" Storm argued, only to be cut off by as Xenor smashed the pillow over his head one last time.
The pillow ripped, and cotton spilled out, sticking to Storm's hair.
"Now look what you did, Brother," Storm groaned, rubbing his head in a tender manner as he meticulously picked out the fluff from his hair. Xenor was breathing hard, still glowering at him, nostrils flaring. At least he had finally stopped his attacks.
"I hope you've learned your lesson, little brother," his brother growled out, crossing his arms over his chest. "Lying will not be tolerated."
"I didn't mean to... 'accuse' you, Brother. I was only curious, and thought Mother would be able to answer my question..." Storm muttered, dropping his gaze. His brother grumbled something unintelligible.
A rather awkward silence filled the room after that, with Xenor still standing at his bedside, and Storm looking everywhere but his brother, slowly attempting to stuff the cotton back into his pillow and cover up the rip.
"So," he began, if only to lessen the uncomfortable atmosphere, "where did you learn that word, Brother?"
Xenor wrinkled his nose, rolling his eyes. "The guards speak at obnoxiously loud volumes, especially at night," he muttered, shifting his weight. "I just happened to... overhear it one day."
"How did you know it was a bad word?"
"I asked."
"Oh." Storm fidgeted. "So... it's a really bad word?"
Xenor gave a simple nod. "It's a really bad word." He sighed. "Do not ever use that word again, Brother. It sounds wrong coming from your mouth."
Storm nodded.
And that was when they heard a scream.
Both of them froze, and turned to the door.
The scream had been enraged. Frightened. Pleading.
Pained.
Liss.
"Mother...?" Storm gasped, and stumbled off his bed. He ran out of his room and dashed down the corridor in the direction of his mother's chambers, ignoring Xenor's call behind him.
He ran past a quartet of confused guards, and stunned servants and maids who were in the midst of retiring to their quarters.
What happened, Mother?
Storm skidded around the corner, nearly tripping over his own feet. Suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed his collar, yanking him back.
"You idiot!" Xenor hissed, green eyes smouldering. "Stop creating such a ruckus."
"B-but Brother..." Storm stammered. He glanced frantically ahead of him, where Liss' room was some distance away. "Didn't you hear that scream? That was Mother!"
"It could have been a false alarm," his brother sighed, rolling his eyes. "There is absolutely no reason for you to start flailing around like a demented baboon."
"I'm still going to check," Storm huffed, shrugging off Xenor's hand. "Mother wouldn't scream like that without a reason." His brother narrowed his eyes, his lips twisting into a scowl, as though he was offended.
Ignoring the older prince, Storm reined in his anxiety, and slowly crept towards his mother's room. His hand hovered above the doorknob, and it quivered there. He shook his head, taking in a deep breath, before turning the knob and pushing the door open.
"Mother—" Storm began, but was interrupted by the sound of thrashing and hisses. He stood at the doorway, unable to comprehend what he was seeing before him.
The lights were on, and there was Liss lying on her bed, dressed in her nightgown, struggling against a cloth held tightly over her face. She jerked, twisting, and released muffled, garbled noises which stung Storm's ears.
He gasped, and that was when he noticed the fire holding her down.
Someone was standing over her.
Someone with vibrant fiery red hair, rags hanging from his shoulders, a dagger in hand, which was held high above his head, ready to plunge the blade into his mother's flesh.
That someone flinched, and whirled around. Their eyes met.
Storm saw red.
"Why," Slayen laughed, a maniacal grin spreading across his face, "if it isn't His Highness Storm. What brings you here?"
Storm's mind went blank as he stared from the redhead to his writhing mother, then back again. He couldn't understand what was happening at all. "H-how?" he sputtered, eyes rounding. "Why?"
What is Slayen doing here?
Liss' movements were growing weaker, and Slayen's grip on the cloth over her face grew considerably tighter. "Oh, it's really simple, Your Highness," the redhead cackled, red eyes glinting. There came a howl from outside— the winds were blowing strong.
"I had inside help."
The howl came again, and the curtains fluttered, the glass of the windows rattling.
Liss choked, and Storm lunged forward, finally snapping out of his confused daze.
"Get away from my mother!"
He rammed into Slayen, who gave a grunt, but did not loosen his grip. Liss' body had stilled, her twitching fingers the only indication of life still flowing within her. "I said," Storm roared, "get away from my mother!"
A shove, and Slayen's eyes widened in surprise as he staggered back. He let go, the cloth fell, and Liss gasped, scrabbling at the bed sheets, as she breathed in as much air as she could. Her back was facing them, and she coughed harshly.
Storm rushed over to her side, but stopped when he saw red staining the sheets below his mother's body.
Blood.
"What did you do to her?" he demanded, turning to Slayen, who leaned against the wall coolly, twirling the dagger in his hand.
"See for yourself." The redhead smirked, a terrifying wickedness coming over his features, as he jutted his chin out in the direction of Liss' trembling figure.
Storm turned back to his mother. "Mother, are you alright?" he whispered, reaching out for her. Liss calmed, then slowly turned her head.
Storm's breath hitched in his throat at the sight of his mother's face.
Her skin was returning back to its usual tanned colour from its previous air-deprived shade of blue. Sweat trickled from her forehead, and her hair was tousled, stray strands falling over her face. But there was blood, dribbling down her right cheek from a gaping hole where her eye was supposed to be.
Storm took a shaky step back, then another. "No," he croaked out.
Liss' eye was gone.
Gone.
Just like Father— An image of Bayne's mutilated body flashed through his mind, cutting off his thoughts, and filled him with nausea and grief and mental torture.
There was blood, there was blood, there was blood— devouring the world whole and dyeing everything in its sick, sick red.
The horrific picture book had returned with a new victim.
"You," Storm choked out, unable to register the sight of his mother, the sudden tsunami of trauma bashing him in the head. "You—"
Slayen chuckled, and his voice resonated in Storm's ears like an alarm. "I think I know what you're trying to say." He grinned, and stood up straight, tucking a hand into his pocket. Another dagger was produced.
Its blade was stained with blood.
"Yes, Your Highness," Slayen said, spinning the two daggers in his hands. "I was the one who killed the mighty king, Bayne Avalon."
A sadistic grin, and the noises of the world quietened to muffled sounds.
"I was the one who killed your father."
Storm was vaguely aware of Liss speaking to him— something about calming down— in desperate tones. He was vaguely aware of the clanking of armour in the distance, and Xenor's surprised voice.
But nothing mattered.
Storm only saw red.
There was a furious scream, and he found himself charging forward, pulling back a fist, charging at Slayen. He collided with the redhead, slamming him into the wall. Slayen retaliated, stabbing a dagger into his shoulder, and there was a shower of red.
The pain was dull.
But it didn't matter.
He killed my father.
"How dare you!" Storm found himself screaming. "How dare you!"
Slayen only laughed, roughly shoving him back, lashing out a foot at his face. It connected, and Storm stumbled back, but quickly recovered, lunging at the redhead once more.
He swung a fist, and Slayen grabbed it, yanking him forward, before heaving him up and tossing him over his shoulder. Storm landed on his back with a thud, and the world blurred around him.
His head was pounding, pounding, pounding.
Bayne's body, torn and broken.
Another scream of fury, and Storm scrabbled at Slayen, grabbing his leg and pulling it. The boy cried, his face contorted into an expression of irritated anger, as he was dragged down to his knees.
Hands grabbed at him, but Storm shook them off. He tackled Slayen, and they rolled on the ground for a moment, before he finally managed to pin the redhead down and sit on him. Grasping his daggers and throwing them to the side, Storm proceeded to smash Slayen's face, over and over and over again.
His blood was boiling, his chest was clenching, and the world was a simple daze, screams and shouts echoing somewhere nearby, yet seemed so far, far away.
"How dare you!" Storm screeched, and the red swallowed his vision, blinding him, mocking him. "How dare you kill him! How dare you kill my father!"
The hands returned, tugging at his shirt desperately, trying to pull him off Slayen. He resisted, even as pleading shouts resounded in his ears, even as the redhead beneath him tried to block his punches.
All he could see was red.
"He was my father!"
Another punch.
"Why did you kill him?"
Another punch.
"How dare you kill him!"
Storm drew back his fist again, prepared to smash it against Slayen's face once more. The boy lay motionless under him, red coating his face, red on his head, red in his eyes, red everywhere. His fist was throbbing dully, and the world spun round and round in nauseating motions.
Just as he was about to bring down his fist, a hand caught it.
And the red slowly crept away.
"Brother," came Xenor's voice, penetrating the haze muffling his ears, breaking through the fog clouding his vision, "stop."
Storm stopped, turning his head and looking up to see green.
Vibrant, wide, clear green.
"Stop," Xenor murmured. "That's enough. You've done enough."
The pain rushed in all at once.
Storm's shoulder was burning with excruciating pain, his fist aching from the consecutive blows he'd dealt to Slayen.
His chest tightened around a ripped heart.
Trembling, Storm looked down, and saw Slayen. The boy was limp, seemingly unconscious, his face bloodied and bruised, his fiery hair shading his eyes. There were marks on his skin. Lacerations.
All done by Storm himself.
His breathing quickened, and he shakily stood, staring down at his hands. They were bleeding; the skin on his knuckles were torn, fingers battered with bruises of their own. At the sight, the memory of Bayne's corpse flashed through his mind.
The tears pooled in his eyes and flowed down.
Storm began to sob.
He knelt on the ground, hunching forward, burying his face in his shaking hands. The tears continued to descend, dripping onto his sore fingers, his clothes, the ground which was splattered with red.
Strong arms wrapped around him, and comforting whispers echoed in his ears.
Liss.
"It's okay, sweetheart," his mother soothed. "It's okay. Everything's okay now."
Storm crumpled into her embrace, clinging onto her tightly, burying his face in her chest. He heard a quiet, uncomfortable cough from his brother, and slowly became more aware of the people around him.
Silix and Ash were there, along with a few soldiers, servants and maids.
There came the stamping of feet. Zana— medical box in hand— and Rosemary burst in.
"Oh Argon," Zana said breathlessly. "Your Majesty, your eye—"
"Never mind my eye," Liss said, pulling Storm closer to her. "Storm is in a rougher shape than I am."
"Right, o-of course Your Majesty." Zana quickly moved to Storm's side, and Liss pulled away, allowing the cleric to examine his wounds.
Storm sat quietly, still trying to process the events that had transpired. He had attacked Slayen. He had screamed out in murderous fury and punched the boy repeatedly, brutally.
He had channelled all of the hatred and blame roiling in the pits of his chest to try and give Slayen a taste of the pain everyone had suffered from, especially Bayne, before he died.
He heaved a breath, blinking away the remnants of the tears in his eyes.
Zana was in the midst of bandaging his fingers when Slayen, unmoving on the ground, started to laugh.
Two soldiers lifted him up by the arms, holding him tightly. He still continued to laugh.
"Well done, Your Highness." Slayen spat out some blood, before giving a crooked grin. "Those were some pretty strong punches."
"Silence, criminal," Liss snapped, glowering at him. Her eye smouldered with a thirst for vengeance, relief, and a hint of bloodlust. "Your plans have been foiled. You will kill no one tonight."
Slayen's laughter became frenzied. Mad. Storm eyed the boy warily, pushing down the repulse he felt towards the boy.
"Or so you think, Your Majesty," Slayen said, raising his chin. "Do you know what my motto is? Once I start something, I won't stop till I finish it." His arms twitched. "That means, someone will die tonight."
Everything happened in a flash.
"And it will be you."
The soldiers cried out in alarm as Slayen wrenched away from them. He kicked up one of his daggers which was lying on the ground nearby, and darted towards Liss.
The world seemed to slow. Storm froze, watching as Slayen thrust the dagger out, and plunged it through Liss' chest.
Directly through her heart.
Something wet splattered onto his face, and Storm's head began to pound once again.
Liss choked, looking down at the dagger embedded into her chest. Slayen yanked it out, grinning, even as the soldiers hurried over and grabbed him once more, pinning him against the wall, even as Ash roared out and slammed his head roughly against the concrete, effectively knocking him unconscious.
The queen gasped, blood dribbling down her chin as she coughed, grasping for something in the air.
She collapsed at Storm's feet. Blood gushed out from under her, staining the ground scarlet red for the second time.
Storm looked down, eyes wide, mind blanking out as his mother reached out a trembling hand towards his face. "I—" Liss gurgled out, her green eye wide and glazing over. "I... love..."
Her fingers brushed his skin, caressing his cheek and smearing red over his face. Her lips were forming words, but there was no sound. She tried again.
"I... love..."
Her hand grew limp, her body slack, and she breathed out a final word before the fire in her eye died, "... you..."
The world collapsed into hell.
"... Mother...?" Storm choked out, finally finding his voice. He grasped her arm feebly, shaking it. "Mother?"
Zana sat there, staring at his mother's body as though her mind had completely shut down. "Zana," Storm pleaded. "Zana, do something." The Head Cleric blinked, her eyes widening, and she began tossing out tools from her medical box, desperately searching.
"Oh no, no, no, no." She emptied her box and grabbed some bandages. "Your Majesty— Your Majesty, stay with me, please."
Silix and Ash had rushed over, as did Rosemary. "Zana," Storm sobbed. "Zana, do something. Save her, please."
"I'm trying— Your Highness, please, I need—" the cleric sputtered out, tearing at her hair as she fumbled with the bandages, trying to wrap them around Liss' wound. "Your Majesty, stay with me."
"Why isn't it working, Zana?" Storm clenched his fists. Liss' body was still motionless. "Why isn't it working?"
"No, no, if I could just compress— stem the blood— I need to— her heart—" Zana stammered, releasing a scream of frustration. "Your Majesty, please, stay with me, I beg you."
"You're the cleric, Zana," Storm sobbed out. "You're the healer. Heal her. Heal Mother, please, just do something."
Zana's eyes were wide, her hair falling over her face. "Proper equipment— She needs to be brought to the medical centre—" She tried to lift up Liss' body. Storm followed her, grabbing at his mother's arm and pulling.
"Brother," he gasped out. "Brother, help. Please." He turned and saw Xenor standing a distance away, his green eyes blank as he gazed at Liss' figure. "Brother."
Xenor blinked. His gaze met Storm's.
He shook his head, and took a step back, lowering his chin and eyes to the ground.
"Your Highness Storm, Zana," Silix whispered. He was kneeling at Liss' side, pressing two fingers to the side of her neck. "Stop, please."
"Why, Silix?" Storm choked out. He clung to his mother's arm. "Why? We can still save her— maybe her—"
"She's gone."
Storm froze. Silix was staring at him, his normally calm expression broken by helpless grief. "She's gone," the advisor said again, in a softer voice.
"Queen Liss Valentine has passed away."
Storm collapsed back to his knees, and the tears welled up again, streaming down. Something started to build up in his throat, as his stomach twisted and made him feel like throwing up.
There was the metallic odour of blood again.
The world was red once more.
He was covered in red.
His mother's red.
Ash and Silix both hung their heads, and Rosemary weeped, burying her face in her hands. Zana broke down into hysterics, howling, throwing a few medical tools at the wall, breaking them.
Liss was gone.
Liss was dead.
The feeling continued to build up, higher, higher, further, further, and finally he let it all out.
Storm began to wail, the tears falling down, down, down as his heart dropped and shattered once again.
I love you.