#original flash fiction

[transcendragon]

Parenting - Prompt Flash Fiction

Prompt: Your child is a werewolf. You’re struggling to both keep their condition a secret and give them a normal life. Full moons are always a challenge. One day child protective services visit you on a report of your child’s scars and monthly missed school days. – “Look, I can tell you try hard to provide a good home and your child has only good things to say about you,” Ms. Paureen said,…

[transcendragon]

The Emperor, King of a Hundred Lands, smiles down at me at the altar. I look down demurely, accepting the more feminine role he has clearly expected me to take even though we are both men. The Emperor is handsome in a rugged way, with calloused hands and a mane of blond hair.  Yet his smile doesn’t carry the warmth that I prefer from my lovers, regardless of gender. 

I know that I am simply one in a long line of brides and grooms for this man, though I will be expected to take no other spouse. He has been known to offer the option of marriage for the leaders of countries that give him too much trouble. It’s part of why I couldn’t refuse his offer. I know that my country will be subjected to the harsh, martial laws of his empire, but I could not stop that. That felt perfectly clear with his blade on my throat after the battle at our border. But this way he will not slaughter our nobles and enslave our common people. I have seen this play out in other countries before his empire got to me, and I knew my options. 

So I acquiesced. I accepted his offer and the long contract that came with it. We scheduled a day to perform the marriage rites common to his home country and mine. I was quiet and flattering, and I felt his eyes on me. I know I am short and slim for a man, handsome in a delicate way and a better scholar than a fighter despite my training. I know that a warrior Emperor is likely to have little respect for me, but it is clear that he does have desire. 

I’m counting on that desire. 

After the rites I let him lead me to the bedchamber. It’s the large, royal one that hasn’t been in use since my parents died. I could not feel comfortable in its echoing space, and have stuck to the Prince’s quarters even as I ruled like a King. But I am unsurprised that this man would prefer its grandness. 

“Let me wash up,” I murmur to him, and I feel his hot gaze on me as I walk to the power room of the suite. There I find a bottle of wine and an herb, just as I had ordered my trusted advisor to bring. 

I eat the herb whole, chewing and swallowing all of it down despite the sharp taste. Once I have the last of it down, I strip and change into a far more revealing outfit. Only then do I open the bottle, the strong scent of red wine chasing out the lingering taste of the herb on my mouth. 

The Emperor grins his approval as I come out in my sheer robe, carrying the bottle of wine for us to share. He makes me drink first, of course, ever careful. I gulp down generously before handing the bottle off to him, watching as his mouth stains red. The taste is rich and strong, and it covers any smell or taste of him that night. I make sure the bottle is drained by the end of the night. 

The Emperor falls ill the next day. He calls for his healers and they do their best, but his health worsens rapidly with fever, shakes, and vomiting. By the fourth day he is on his deathbed. 

I play the dutiful husband and stay beside him. At the end, his breath rattling in his chest, I sit alone with him. 

“You need to call a coalition to announce my eldest son as heir,” he tells me in a raspy voice. “I have not named him yet.” 

“No, you have not,” I agree in a neutral tone. “I have already sent word to your other spouses of your death.” The other leaders of fallen kingdoms. “We shall meet in the Imperial capital after your death, and divide up power as your heirs.” 

The confusion in his eyes lasts only a moment. He is not a stupid man. 

“You did this,” he gasps. “You-” his next words are taken by a fit of desperate, racking coughs, but I can see the anger in his eyes. I can imagine what his words could be. 

How could you, the small King of a small Kingdom, do this to me? How could you be the one to topple my empire? How did you do this to me, mighty warrior and tactician that I am? 

“I am kind and gentle with my people, but that does not mean I can’t be ruthless,” is all I say. I smile and watch as he dies, letting him wonder how I did this. He is careful about poison, but he did not know that I took the antidote just before sharing the bottle of poisoned wine with him that night. The only night we spent together, as I had intended. 

After he dies I let my face become solemn as I go out to announce his death. Natural causes, a sudden illness, nothing to frame me. Yet I am left with plenty of work by my husband of less than a week. 

I have a Kingdom to run and an Empire to break apart.

You were a beloved ruler of your country. When the evil king/ queen tried to conquer your country, you fought to the death to protect your country. Seeing how much your people loved you, the evil king/ queen proposes that you two marry to merge your countries. You accept for your country's sake.

[leaves-and-letters]

Frame in the Chute

So you know how condominiums have a common garbage chute in every floor?

I went to throw the trash yesterday, and I saw a huge picture frame, but its back was facing me. I couldn't see what was on there.

Then last night, I threw the trash again, and the frame was still there. At that time, it was facing the left-side wall. Stepping close, the person in the photo was wearing white shiny fabric; the rest of the image was covered by the pile of bubble wrap that the frame was leaning on. I didn't want to touch the frame because my hands were already dirty.

Then this morning, it's now facing the door, meaning anyone who enters the garbage chute can see the photograph. And I don't know how to feel about it—a wedding photo taken on the beach? What's that doing there?

As to why the frame kept changing positions, my neighbors probably did it. Gossipers.

Note: This story is fiction.

[whereserpentswalk]

Most interdimensional entities that humans consider horrifying demons and eldrich horrors actually consider humans pretty dangerous unless they're actively trained fighters. Your average extraplaner being isn't used to dealing with a species that evolved to hunt in groups, and developed to survive in violent scenarios.

Most final girl situations happen because young entities deeply underestimate that humans have such a strong will to live, and are willing to fight back agasint a stronger foe. Most older entities keep at bay for this very reason, which is why you just see them stranding around being creepy.

That pale long limbed cryptid you spotted in a subway station moved so quickly because it doesn't want to end up near you. That shadow person whose hovering over you in the woods is trying to observe you, but it will teleport away if anyone comes near it for a good reason.

And that doppelganger that's standing by your door at night just wants to observe you too. He was smart to try to copy your roommate's face, but he doesn't realize how good humans are at recognizing eachother's faces, and that his copy will be disturbing to any human who sees it. And he got way to reckless with his movements and bad attempts to imitate human speech. Trying to trick the human who he wants to study into coming to his dimensions is an even bigger mistake, especially since he didn't realize how quickly the human would catch on. He's soon going to learn things he should have read up on before hand: humans will try to attack things they're afraid of if they can't run away, humans can use almost any hard object as a weapon by holding it and swinging, and that those decorations on your wall are called 'swords' and were not originally designed as decorations...

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The City of the Dead

The city of the dead have no mouths to speak with. No minds to form reason. Memories and memories and memories that do not order themselves. In the ruins in the barrens on the edge of the world, skeletons began to walk. No one could answer why the dead rose in one small pocket of the world and forgot to sleep again. 

Holy men, alchemists, kings, and living martyrs all traveled to the great ruins of Makan and watched the walking. Bones that carried broken stones from one edge to the other. Kneeling figures that clapped their hands to an unknown rhythm. Spirits burst from wells and poltergeists flung rotted wood at strangers. Yet, the dead did not speak. They were asked of their names, their families, what led them back from the beyond. What necromancer would do this.

They did not wage war. Nor do they pick up swords. The dead were not peaceful perhaps but neither were they purposeful. Makan was an old city, ancient beyond memory, and deserted once the nearest river was dammed and diverted. They were ruins that hung off a cliffside and turned brilliant red against the rising sun. A place of scholarship and history–until it became something more. 

Bodies rattling, teeth clattering, voices of faded spirits like the wind through craigs and singing through tree branches. Some pilgrims swear the dead call their name when they aren’t looking. Others claim they are watching, judging, deciding who will be pure enough to deserve salvation. Still others say they are empty vessels simply caught on repeat–the same routine daily, weekly, yearly for eternity. A meaningless display turned sensational. 

They were famous after all. A skeleton which pushed a baby carrier down the center road from dawn to dusk named the Mother. The well witch who cackled and splashes anyone that passed. The tower Stranger with one arm and one leg who watched anyone who entered, skull swiveling in place. A ghost that rang the church bells–one that people rumor calls your name if you pass too close. Others say it is not your name, but the name of the person you should marry.

The theories were limitless. A place of unimaginable power and limitless looping. And no one to take credit, rally the armies, or put them to rest. Pilgrims came and went. Queens and princes and priests blessed and cursed the place, tried to burn or drown the inhabitants, claimed ordinance or forbade their citizens to make the trek to the ruins in the barrens on the edge of the world. 

In the second dawn of the God-Priest Amix III, a final pilgrimage was made. A Holy Child had been once more chosen from the masses of orphans found in the priestly empire. Dark-eyed and solemn, they were hand-picked for their docile nature. A toddler given a steady diet of jelly the color of stars and flavor of chilled mint. In other countries, they call it Prophecy Meats and treat it as a rare delicacy and dangerous altering substance. The Holy Child, chosen for endurance or perhaps very little at all, is given this steady diet of Stars until they can see the past and present all at once.

The Holy Child of this generation, a girl no more than eight, had survived her first years of seeing the wars and joys and horrors to come. She was dying, of course, and the attendant-nun had become attached. Sister Grehn was warned against such things. Told to keep her distance and remember their purpose, great and beautiful. Sister Grehn begged and pleaded and said, why not take her to the sea? The mountains? Any place that might help her lungs. Take her to healers of other lands.

She got the city of the dead. Sister Grehn carried the Holy Child, too small for her age and eyes as big as black holes, close. “Would you like to see the well, little one?” The nun whispered. “The funny skeleton pushing the baby carriage?”

The Holy Child, who privately kept her birth name, looked up. Nima, a peasant name, a rabbit name, felt the press against her eye sockets. She gave a long exhale. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. They are like me.”

Sister Grehn held her tightly to her chest, mouth turning into a battle line. No, not here, she thought. Please. 

The Holy Child closed her eyes and whispered, “They are tired.” 

Even eternity has an end and the Holy Child spoke the last words of the city of the dead to her first friend and one she privately called something else. “Mom, the river is not gone. The river is all.”

There are many types of spirits, life beyond life, and memories that do not forget how to rush down the land and twist across stone. The wizards that diverted the mighty river centuries before had used magic, darker stuff to do a simple job, cut corners to avoid the wrath of a king or priest or any other towering sovereign who are all the same. The water moved. The soul went elsewhere. The spirit of the river burst through the ruins of Manak. And tried with all its might to live again.

FIN

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[the-ellia-west]

Silver Blood and a Glass Crown

Alkain Short Story 2/3

(It’s got a lot of small time skips and setting changes)

This was Written very Quickly in 3 days because of procrastination, I'm sorry (ToT)

I hope you Enjoy it!

(This one is very long, Also sorry, Lovelies!)

Alkain smoothed the map across the table with all four arms, arranging the pieces over the miniature landscape. “So this is the situation, correct?”

The messenger nodded sagely. “Yessir.”

“Then I suggest you move battalions here, here, and here. They can stay hidden amongst the trees here.” He moved a few of the pieces. “You don’t want to strike first in case the negotiations go well, and we don’t have to fight.” 

“If I may, this seems a bit excessive sir.” The General stepped up beside him.

“Hm, you’re right.” Alkain pulled back, studying the map as his voice dropped to a contemplative mutter, “Better safe than sorry...”

“Mister Ciranes!” Another messenger slammed the doors open, panting. “The King Requests your presence in the throne room immediately!”

“Understood.” The elf fixed the cuffs of his uniform and bolted down the hallway. He didn’t want to make a mistake. Not here, not now, not after he’d gained so much in his mother’s memory and finally earned the king’s favor.

The Advisor brushed off his uniform, tried to smooth out his hair, and trotted into the room. “Your majesty,” He dropped to one knee, silently cursing his frazzled appearance.

“Ah! Alkain, rise. It has come to my attention that the Valerίan princess will arrive this evening instead of three days later because of tensions on the road and the rushed negotiations.”

The elf glanced up. “Yessir?”

“I called you here to tell you this because it now means you must be extra vigilant in your duties tonight. You are one of the most prevalent advisors she’ll be dealing with throughout the negotiations, so if possible I’d like you to greet her in my place.”

Alkain tensed, shocked at the question as he nervously ran his upper hands through his sandy golden waves, holding the other two to his chest for comfort. “It would be an honor, Your Majesty! Is there anything else?”

The king examined him with scrutiny and frowned. “Did you run here?”

“Um… Yessir.” Alkain shrank in on himself. “May I go, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, but may I ask where you’re so eager to leave me for?”

“My room sir. If I present the palace to the princess, I ought to look presentable myself. If I could… Your majesty.”

The King nodded thoughtfully, taking the crown from his head. “I understand, and I agree.” 

Alkain folded his lower arms behind his back and nodded once. “Thank you, sir.”

But he jumped as the king called toward one of the doors, “Kinnea!”

A young servant girl stepped into the room, bowing her head. “Yes, your majesty?”

“I intended to gift a stylist to each of my advisors, and since you need one, this is Kinnea. Kinnea, could you attend to Mister Ciranes here? If you would.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She nodded sagely and looked up, deep scarlet eyes sparking with worry.

Alkain rubbed his wrists nervously. “Thank you, your majesty.” 

“You’re very welcome. Now, I’m going to check on my son. You two have fun!” The King motioned for Alkain to go as he left the room.

The elf waved for Kinnea to follow him and stopped when he reached the door. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I respond to orders, sir. It’s my job. You haven’t given one.”

“Oh, uh… right. Follow me, please.” 

“Was that a request or an order?”

Alkain sighed. “I’ve never had a servant before. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Kinnea set her shoulders and put her hands behind her back, “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. I’m here to serve you, sir.” She wove around him and held the door, bowing her head. “My orders?”

***

Alkain adjusted his suit's neckline, tie, and tailcoat as he glanced back at Kinnea. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

The servant nodded and stepped back as the carriage pulled around the bend. Glittering glass strings hanging from the ornately carved frames jingled against one another as the horses slowed and one whinnied.

The King’s advisor held up a hand as a servant rushed forward, pulling the carriage door open himself. He bowed and gestured one arm toward the doors. “Your Royal Highness, Welcome to Seikaria, it is our honor to have you! Allow me.” He offered her a hand.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Miss.”

“The pleasure is all mine…” She trailed off, raising an eyebrow at him as she took his hand.

“Alkain. Alkain Ciranes, Your Highness.”

“It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Alkain. Might I ask, what your position is that you would be sent to greet me in place of the king?”

“I am an advisor, your Highness, and a negotiator. The King wishes you well, but he cannot greet you himself as he is busy finishing the preparation for your arrival. You did arrive quite a bit earlier than expected, would you like to see the palace?”

“It would be my pleasure.” The Princess smiled at him and allowed him to take her arm and lead her toward the palace doors.

Kinnea followed close behind as Alkain and the princess made polite conversation. “We’re so glad to have you, your highness.”

“Valeran and Seikaria have been at odds for far too long. We must agree upon a treaty as soon as possible.”

“Do you think there will be peace?”

“There has to be, and I have no doubts with you in the negotiations.”

“You flatter me, your Highness.” Alkain bowed his head. “This is the war room where we will discuss the treaty.”

He led her through the halls, showing her to the ballroom as the King sent for him.

“Your Royal Highness!” The king smiled at the princess. She clung to Alkain’s arm, and smiled, though her voice came pleasantly through gritted teeth.

“Your Majesty, it is good to see you!”

“I’m glad to see you too Nirscia.” The King bowed to her. “And you, Alkain! You look good, I’m glad Kinnea did her job well!”

“My presence has probably become bothersome to two minds so great as yours. I will be on my way. It was truly an honor to make your acquaintance, your Royal Highness.”

“It is truly a pity to see you go. Must you?” Her smile lifted a little as he let go of her arm.

“It seems I must, I hope I will meet you again.” He bowed.

“I’ll still be within the walls for a few more weeks, don’t say farewell too soon. I may miss you myself!” She raised a hand, and Alkain retreated, smiling.

“He's one of your advisors?”

“Correct.”

“He's very sweet. I think I'll enjoy his company.”

“I'll be sure to tell him that for you.” The King smiled. “I hope you have a good time here. But before we join in on any of the festivities, I would like to discuss things.”

Throughout the rest of the night, the princess was warmly welcomed by the palace officials and servants and retired to her room late after the sun had already gone to rest beyond the horizon. 

Alkain drew the blinds and laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. Everything seemed different now. What with the princess in the castle, there would have to be double the preparations and double the meetings to compensate for the negotiations. 

He sighed. Closing his eyes, when all of a sudden, a hand reached over him and he jumped, pulling the knife from his sleeve and holding it to her neck. Kinnea glanced down at the knife, unflinching. “Sir. I don't think the king would appreciate a death in the palace while the princess is here.”

“Oh… it's you.” Alkain lowered the knife. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off your suit, sir. It would be uncomfortable to sleep in, and it may rip.”

“Um… thank you, Kinnea.”

“Hm.” She nodded as he sat up and allowed her to take it from his shoulders, handing her the tie.

“You're dismissed Kinnea.”

She nodded to him and left.

***

Alkain startled awake at a sharp jab to his shoulder. “Ow!” Kinnea set the poker down and straightened. The Elf rubbed his shoulder and sat up. “What the hell was that?”

The servant didn’t reply.

“You can speak.”

“The king wished for me to wake you. So I did, Sir. My apologies.”

“Did you have to stab me with a poker?”

“No.” 

Kinnea fixed his hair and his coat before he left for the meeting. 

The Elf took a seat in the middle of the table. The Princess waved to him. He smiled back in her direction and bowed his head. “It is good to see you again, Your Highness.”

“It's good to see you again as well, Mister Ciranes.”

“Could I get you a drink?”

“Oh. But that’s a servant’s job, isn’t it?”

“But it is an honor to serve you, Your Highness. I am not a royal such as yourself, so I am content resting in my station below yours if it means I get to elevate yours.” He stood and went to a cart, pouring a cup of water for the princess as he knelt and reached for her hand. “May I?”

“I’m a little afraid, what are you asking?” She smiled, offering it to him.

Alkain took her delicate fingers, rubbing his calloused thumb over her soft, smooth skin. “I’m offended you would consider me a threat, Your Highness.” He smiled and raised her hand, brushing his lips gently over her knuckles.

She laughed, “Your hair looks nice.”

“Thank you. You’re more beautiful than I could even describe, your highness!” He retreated to his seat, eyes straying back to her as his words echoed back in his mind. Her thick brunette hair spilled over her shoulders in waves, an intricate web of braids tying together into a strange pattern behind her head, showing off the glittering beads and pearls weaved into the glossy strands.

“Good morning everyone.” The King strode into the room and sat on his throne, surveying the table before he leaned forward. “We have a lot to discuss before the whole palace wakes, and starts missing us.”

A few of the advisors chuckled at the statement as the king began. “Princess Nirscia has come to our kingdom to finalize the terms of the peace treaty, and we will make her journey worthwhile. Valeran and Seikaria will have peace once more, but for now, we will go over the terms of the previous treaties and discuss why they failed and what we can do to make this one last.”

The meeting proceeded quickly and efficiently, suggestions, ideas, and details whirling in Alkain's head as he was assigned his job and sent to do it. 

He glanced between the servants in front of him. “Alright. You, go fetch some parchment. The rest of you,  find the rest of our team. We need a plan before noon.”

“Yessir!” The servants saluted him and promptly scampered off to their separate jobs. Alkain took the pieces of parchment as they were offered to him and scratched off a list of tasks on each one. He handed all four of them off to separate servants as he raced to find the team's planner. 

He found her in the gardens, conversing with the princess over a bush of roses. He called over to her. She looked up. “Ah, Mister Ciranes! What brings you here?”

“You, Miss. We need you for preparations inside. If you could.”

“Your Highness?”

“Got are welcome to go if you wish, but I would like to borrow the king's advisor for a moment.”

“Oh of course your highness, if he agrees. But we may need him back. Make sure you handle our fragile package carefully in conversation, he's a little brittle.”

Alkain stared after the planner in shock. The Princess giggled, trailing a hand down the leaves of the rose bush.

“Um, what would you like, Your Highness?”

“Only a moment, I know you're busy. Please,” She waved him over. “You have been nothing but kind and welcoming to me, and I appreciate that. Mister, Ciranes, you are fascinating and amazingly respectful. I may enjoy your company.”

“I… thank you, Your Highness!” Alkain broke into a grin. “That means a lot coming from someone so great as yourself.” His face tinged pink and he avoided her eyes.

“Hm.” The Princess smiled as she plucked a rose from the bush and flinched as a thorn pricked her, drawing a bead of blood from the pad of her finger. But she ignored it, threading the rose into the breast of his overcoat. “You're a lot like this Rose, Ciranes. Complex and beautiful. But those virtues make many… forget your flaws, and shield their eyes from seeing your danger. It takes someone skilled and thorough to appreciate you fully.” She pulled away, the drop of blood staining into the dark fabric. “Open up a little! It might do you some good!” 

Alkain looked down at the Rose, “Alright, I will make it my mission, Your Highness.”

“Would you like to join me for tea this afternoon?”

“I… yes. I think I would like that very much, Your Highness

“I'll see you soon.”

“Um… yes! I'll see you soon… Your Highness.”

Alkain turned quickly, face flushing as he cursed himself in his mind. Stupid, no, that was awkward and weird. She is a princess, you are a low-ranking advisor who comes from a slave house. That is your worth. You are dirt compared to her.

He brushed off his uniform, face and ears still pink as he returned to the house and stepped up beside the planner. The elf cleared his throat, “How is it going so far?”

“Well. The lists you made were remarkably accurate- Are you okay? You're looking a little sick.”

“Uh, no, I… uh… I'm fine!”

“You sure? Your face is a bit red.”

“Yeah! It's just… a very hot coat. I'll go inside and… survey the progress!”

“Don't be gone too long, we just might miss you!”

After a few hours of planning and preparation, Alkain went to greet the princess. They discussed cultures and kingdoms before night fell and he returned to his room. The next day continued about the same, and the next. But after the days of preparation came to a close, a dinner invitation came to his hands from the king. 

“Welcome! All of you, I thought it would be best if we were all acquainted before the ball tomorrow so we mustn't make the hassle of introductions.”

“Nirscia, this is my wife, Jevari, and my son, our future king, Makan.”

“Lovely to meet you!” The princess curtsied and Makan stood.

“Your Highness.” The Little prince kissed her hand and bowed, smiling hopefully up at her.

“You'll make a good king one day, I know it.”

“Thank you!” The little boy nodded to her and scampered back to his parents. 

Alkain smiled as the princess greeted the king and queen. She chose the seat next to him. “Good evening.”

“Good Evening, Your Highness. Are you well?” 

“Indeed, I am.” The Princess smiled back and turned to her meal, making light conversation with the royal family as the dishes were brought out. 

Nirscia looked at the roasted meat, surprise flickering over her face. “You have birds large enough to eat here in Seikaria?”

“You don't?”

“No! I haven't seen meat like this in ages, this is amazing!” She grinned.

“It may look nice, Your Highness. But trust me, It tastes even better.” 

“We'll just have to see, won't we?” 

“We will indeed. But I bet you'll like it!” Alkain smirked.

“Perhaps I will, Perhaps I won't.” She winked at him. “What are these spices?”

“I think it's a type of pepper flakes? I don't know. You'd have to ask the chef.”

“Hm, do you like it?”

“I do, are you having a difficult time admitting I was right, your Highness?”

“I like it as well. I'm perfectly capable of admitting anything I need to, Mister Ciranes.”

The two laughed and talked for the rest of the meal until the king finished and dismissed them. The Advisor stood, offering the princess his hand. “Would you like me to escort you back to your room, Your Highness?”

Nirscia hesitated, shock sparking in her eyes before a smile softened her lips and she took it, allowing him to lead her into the hallway. “You look nice… Mister Ciranes.”

“As do you, Your Highness. But I have no doubt you’re more beautiful than I could ever hope to be.” Alkain smiled as he held her arm a bit tighter, turning a corner. “I’m glad I’ve been able to see you so much, Your Highness. I really appreciate your kindness.”

“And I, yours. But Mister Ciranes, My name is Nirscia, you may use it.”

“And Mine is Alkain.” He smiled as her hands slipped into his.

“Alright Alkain, I’ve loved your company, but there is something else you need to know.” She glanced around.

“What?” The Elf tilted his head, his other arms raising to hold her hands as well.

Nirscia spun him toward the wall and pinned his arms above his head. She took a breath and kissed him.

Alkain’s eyes widened, but instead of pulling back as he knew he should, he leaned into it and kissed her back, his body melting into the wall, electric sparks racing between her fingertips and his wrists. They stayed there for a while until they had to pull back, both gasping. 

“I… Your High- Princess Nirscia… What-”

“Don’t speak… please.”

“I… I’m flattered!” Alkain sputtered, his entire face turning beat red.

“And I- Oh shit.” The Princess’s face flushed a bright pink, but this time Alkain threw his arms around her and pulled her back into another kiss, finding one another over and over again, until both fell back, Alkain too flustered to speak as Nirscia gathered her composure, accepting what had just happened.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Alkain hugged all of his arms to his chest and looked down.

“I… I love you?” The Princess looked at him, her statement just as much of a question as an answer.

The two locked eyes and Alkain tripped over his words several times before he fumbled a response. “I don’t… this is… I love you too. I’m sorry… just- I- I’ll see you tomorrow!” He bolted down the hallway, the heat in his face burning hotter with every second as he slammed himself into his room and collapsed onto his bed, panting.

Kinnea didn’t comment as she pulled off his overcoat and tossed him a nightshirt, drawing the blinds and snuffing out the candles for him. But she did, as he wrestled on the nightshirt. “Is there anything you need, sir?”

“Uh, no. I… It’s a lot cleaner in here. Thank you Kinnea.”

She nodded to him and left.

***

“What happened to make you so panicked last night, sir?” Kinnea fixed the sleeves of his undershirt and fluffed the ruffles around his neck.

“Can I trust you with a secret?”

“Yes. I am your servant, it is my job to keep your secrets.”

“Even from the king?”

Kinnea looked up for a second, then said, “Yes. Even from the King.”

“Well, The Princess kissed me.”

“Huh.” Kinnea picked up an overcoat.

“I don’t know why she did it, but it was nice. I know I can’t be with her, but it’s a strange feeling. I’m not sure what I should do, it’s a little terrifying, to be completely honest.”

“Can you keep that a secret?”

“Yes?”

“Can she keep it a secret?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Then you have nothing to worry for, sir. Anything else?” Kinnea finished with his suit, moving onto his hair.

Alkain stopped, a little stunned. “I- Thank you.”

Kinnea ruffled up his hair, weaving some simple braids into a higher ponytail. She stepped back and nodded. “You should be ready there, sir.”

“Thank you Kinnea. I mean it.”

Kinnea stopped and glanced back at the other room.

“Go on, put on your dress. I’m not leaving without you.” Alkain took a flower from a vase, fixing it to the lapel of his suit, and waited by the door until Kinnea stepped out of the room, tense and straight-faced.

The long black dress covered her feet, intricate golden swirls matching the ones on Alkain’s suit. “It looks nice.” He took her by the arm and led her down the hallways into the main ballroom, breaking away from her to greet the princess, Kinnea trailing close behind him.

He knelt, kissing her hand. “Your Highness, It’s good to see you, Princess Nirscia.”

“As I am glad to see you, Alkain.”

“Glad to hear it!”

A long silence stretched between them. The Princess lowered her voice. “About last night, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you any harm or disrespect, I hope we can remain on good terms.”

“As do I.” Alkain offered her his arm. “May I have a dance?”

“Of course.” Nirscia followed him to the dance floor, both ready to escape the topic of the previous night for the time being.

The Dances took them to afternoon, some light conversation and greetings with other friends bringing the ball to a height as it grew dark. The King rose from his throne to speak, but just as he began, a shriek pierced the dim atmosphere and something hit him, sending him reeling back against the throne. He wavered for a second on his feet and fell back into his seat, crown clattering to the floor beside him as he cried out. He reached for something, voice too faint to hear even in the perfectly still silence, and then he fell limp, deep scarlet red pooling at the base of the throne. Panic erupted. Voices shouted, and Alkain screamed, the shock finally dropping as he pulled for the king. Makan started for his father, but the queen whisked him away. Crowds jostled and guards crowded around the room. Alkain couldn’t tell what was happening anymore as two people pulled on his wrists. Kinnea fought back grief and fear, fighting to protect her master, as Nirscia tugged Alkain away from her into the crowd.

Chaos turned His vision blurry and confused him to the point of madness until the Guards managed to calm the crowds and file them out of the room. The next few hours were spent in shock and fast-paced decisions until the Queen announced that the Assassin had been found to be a Valerίan. This meant war, and the Princess had to leave.

Alkain stopped, horrified and confused. Everything had changed so fast. What had happened? He slammed the doors open and ran to find Nirscia. They met in the entrance, and she wrapped him into a kiss the instant he drew close enough, not caring of the witnesses, as she grabbed his shoulders, voice stern and fiery. “Alkain, This means war. But no matter how long it takes or what I have to do, I will be back for you.”

-

If you see this, please comment your thoughts, or just put something in the comments so I know you read it

|Part 1 | Part 2 (Here) | Part 3|

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Thank you for reading, have a wonderful day! :] <33

[reaperlight]

Sadie: Hey, can I borrow Carnage for a minute?

Eddie: Why, what happened?

Carnage: Me?

Venom: Do you need our help?

Sadie: No, just Carnage. And maybe Sleeper if they're up for it. But really Lasher has that covered--

Cletus: What's this about?

Sadie: You see I thought we'd make a cool Christmas photo and--

Eddie: I'm closing the door now.

Carnage: ...Sometimes I truly miss the days they were afraid of us.

[happeth]

I've been waiting to show my, now 4, followers this flash fiction narrative poem! So here it is:

THE GUN

He reached for the gun;

She reached for the gun.

Their eyes locked in stalemate,

They fight with no return.

The bruises on her arms;

The cuts on her shoulders;

The welts on his knuckles;

The blood on his hands.

The fear in her eyes,

The anger in his.

The pain in her motion,

The animosity in his.

The gun upon the table,

Who will reach it first?

Reaching for their lives.

A hope worth preserving.

His hand here had more passion

Than ever it did in the bedroom.

Her scream here had more feeling

Than whenever he tried to love.

Her tear stricken face

Pushed to the brink.

His sweat covered brow

Lashing out at whatever near.

Tick,

Tick,

Tick,

Tick.

The clock strikes one,

As her memories came flooding.

A recent memory

Of her painful sorrow.

She wanted him to be happy,

Wanted him to love her.

She gave him all her heart,

And he crushed it in his hands.

Crushed it in his hands

Just as he did her wrist.

Her screams of pain drowned out

By his ever burning animosity.

Her tears did nothing

To overpower his shouts.

Her fears did nothing

To spur her to action.

Her beaten and bruised body

Did nothing to quell his rage.

Her pleading to stop

Just infuriated him more.

This memory, like many others,

A common occurrence.

For her, it was life changing;

For him, it was a Thursday.

Tick,

Tick,

Tick,

Tick.

The clock strikes two,

As his memories came flooding.

A distant memory

Of a happier time.

A moment he was happy;

A moment at peace.

A moment she was safe;

A long time ago.

Snowflakes scattered

As their jubilant laughter echoed.

A time of giving

A time of love.

His arms wrapped around her

Like a bow on a gift.

Her breath warming his ear,

As she whispered sweet nothings.

The roses he gave her,

Only painted red.

Black underneath,

But still filled with meaning.

Their passion illuminant

As they kiss under the moonlight.

His eyes locked with hers,

Trapped in a loving stalemate.

Tick,

Tick,

Tick,

Tick.

The clock strikes three,

As they both return to reality.

Their eyes still locked in stalemate

As they reach out to fate.

His animosity ever burning,

Her mind ever on the edge.

Given up on healing

They both long to end it.

The gun she grabbed;

The bullet she shot.

The deafening sound.

The horror in his eyes.

The bullet ripped

Through his chest.

A well of blood

Drilled through his bosom.

The bullet embedded itself

The one place he never touched her.

Lead lay in his heart

Forevermore.

Tick,

Tick,

Tick,

Tick.

The clock strikes four.

Four seconds;

all it took

For him to end up on the floor.

Thudding to the ground,

His lifeless body.

Her tears smear the blood

As she finally feels relief.

[aevallare]

circuit breaker.

The first thing about the time loop is that it isn’t about you. It’s about Vic because everything is. She’s one of those people who’s an axis on which the world turns. Things don’t happen to her. She makes things happen. 

You don’t know what makes this happen, but it must be her.

For you, it’s Tuesday. It’s a microwave dinner and a glass of box wine waiting at home. For Vic, it’s also Tuesday, but it’s been Tuesday a long time. She tells you as much when you find her on your porch.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. You can’t remember the last time you saw her. She went someplace they make movies about: London, New York, Tokyo. It didn’t seem relevant. It was away from you. That was all that mattered.

“I don’t know how to save you.” Her cheeks are windblown and her eyes and nose are puffy and her hands are free of jewelry.

“From a Boston Market Salisbury steak?” you snort. “Many have tried. You, too, shall fail.” Jokes are easier than the void in your gut, the thousand lines you rehearsed in case you ever saw her again dying on your tongue. But Vic shakes her head. She wants to do this hard. She always does. Some things never change.

“I’ve watched you die over and over and over again,” she says. “And I don’t know how to save you.”

You want to slam the door in her face. You ask, “Do you want to come inside?” instead, hitching your groceries on your hip and holding out a hand to her.

Vic’s lips part. Your heart stops. The reusable grocery bag spills down your front steps.

You only remember the time loop at the end. In the moments it takes for your body to go limp, you remember your death a dozen times. Your heart stops in each instance, and Vic is always there, but the circumstances are different. You live a little longer, sometimes, but when you pick up the phone on the bus even though it’s her calling and you breathe Vic’s name, your heart stops. She finds you in the freezer aisle, once, weighing your options even as your hand lingers on a Boston Market Salisbury steak, and when you hug her, your heart stops. The loop after that, she’s already on your doorstep when you get home, and when you help her to her feet, your heart stops.

And every time, Vic says, “I don’t know how to save you.”

And your heart stops.

And your heart stops.

And your heart stops.

But what does it matter? It stopped the moment she left town anyway because she was everywhere and simultaneously out of your reach. Vic’s depiction of her childhood dog, sloppy lines and worse colors, brought into this universe at a paint and sip party, hangs in your kitchen, and there’s a chip in your countertop from the time she made breakfast and didn’t bother putting a hot pad down under a pan sizzling with bacon. 

On your finger, there’s a plastic ring. The daffodil on it used to be yellow, but the paint’s long worn away. You’ve had it as long as you can remember, but Vic lost its sister long ago.

For you, it’s Tuesday. It’s a microwave dinner and a glass of box wine waiting at home.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. You can’t remember the last time you saw her. She went someplace they make movies about: London, New York, Tokyo. It didn’t seem relevant. It was away from you. That was all that mattered.

“I don’t know how to save you.” Her cheeks are windblown and her eyes and nose are puffy and her hands are free of jewelry.

The Boston Market Salisbury steak is thawing in your bag, and you’ve missed Vic for as long as you’ve been alive. You haven’t seen her since she left and the ring on your finger squeezes like a vise. You want to invite her in; you want to say her name; you want to wrap her in your arms and never let go.

When you fling the ring in Vic’s direction, it hits her squarely on the forehead.

The first thing about life after the time loop is that a ring is also a circle.

And it’s about Vic. Everything is. Even when it isn’t.

also available as a pdf on my patreon

[inkjackets-original]

I’ve always known I’d go far in my life.

For I was perfection incarnate. My parent’s pride and joy.

‘Oh, your Timmy won a prize? Well my child won five.’

‘Little Sarah plays piano? Mine plays violin besides.’

And I’d stand there and smile; jaws aching, eyes glazing. Grimacing through the praise they showered all over me.

And not once would I waver. Nor dare sow disorder.

Tears. Pain. Blood purple under skin.

‘After all I’ve done for you! You ungrateful thing.’

And so I rose to great heights. Did everything right. Perfected society’s scripts and said all the right lines. Just about keeping my head above water.

But the older I got, the faster I drowned.

Pressure. They say it turns coal into diamonds.

On minds, I discovered, it just makes them splinter.

Deeper and deeper, splitting apart. Unravelling and ripping from seams pulled apart.

I was to be a physicist, a doctor, a best-selling author. The best of the best — absolutely nothing less.

But these great expectations were weeds and vines, growing between the cracks in my mind, causing stones to tumble from the ruins of my life. Until I was nothing but dust. Ash. Burnt out and broken down. Trying to regrow dead seedlings in dry ground. Succumbing to nothing — the destination I was bound.

For I’ve always known I’d go far in my life.

But never once did I think the direction would be down.

~~~

written for @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt Great Expectations

[transcendragon]

Prompt Flash Fiction - Old Forest

Prompt: “Hello? Magic forest thing, please don’t kill me as I walk through you.” I took a cautious step toward the cursed forest. Its thick trees, sprouting abruptly from the tall grass, towered over me. I’d never been there before. I’d heard all the local tales.  It was haunted by fey, they said, and whoever went in only came out if they knew the specific rituals. Most didn’t. I’d never felt…

[transcendragon]

“But I don’t know anything about running an academy, much less a magical academy!” I protested, again, to the Board of Regents.

“Nonsense,” said the Chair with a wave of his hand. “You defeated the Archmage! And so young! You’re clearly a magical genius.”

“I told you, that was a risky application of a specific theory around reversing magical effects that doesn’t always work-“

“You found a whole new way to turn the Archmage’s, well ex-Archmage’s, power back on him! Brilliant!”

I sighed. I could try (again) to explain that I was only applying theories in a new way, that it was  a fluke that it happened to work, that I was usually terrible at any applied magic, but what was the point? 

I already told them that I couldn’t cast without complex rituals, and the only reason this casting worked was because the Archmage hadn’t taken my binding seriously enough to avoid it. He basically just stood in my chalk circle and laughed at me until it actually happened to work; all I had to do was keep going with the ritual and dodge the occasional spell thrown lazily at me. 

The Board of Regents was appointed by the governor and only had a few mages on it. They were administrators there to make sure the university continued to serve the economic and governmental needs by rolling out mages and magical research. The Chair himself was an important merchant who knew little about magic outside its trade applications.

“How will I even know what to do?” I asked, my voice coming out whinier than I had wanted.

The Chair grinned. “We’ve taken the liberty of appointing an assistant for you.”

He clapped, and a white-haired young man entered the room. Well, I say young, but the man had a strong magical aura and yellow eyes indicating demonic heritage. Who knew what his real age could be?

The Chairman and the man exchanged polite smiles, and I had a rare flash of political insight. The Chair didn’t really care about me or my stupid, prideful duel with the Archmage. They wanted a pawn controlled by their own agent, and they thought this was their agent. Yet, by the twisting magical aura and slight movement at the corners of his eyes, I somehow knew they were wrong. This man was his own agent.

“So it’s all settled!” The Chair announced, taking my silence for compliance. I suppose resignation was enough for him.

I stared into hungry yellow eyes and suppressed the urge to groan. I had gotten myself far in over my head, both politically and magically, and it was time to sink or swim. I had never been a strong swimmer.

And all because of a snide comment the Archmage had made on my thesis. I might be incredibly intelligent when it came to magical theory, but I made only the stupidest decisions.

Well. It was time to see how far those stupid decisions would get me.

You are a terrible mage, yet through pure, dumb luck you managed to defeat an archmage in a duel, thus taking their place according to ancient tradition. Many mages protest against giving such a prestigious position to a clearly unqualified candidate, including yourself.

[whereserpentswalk]

Humans sometimes wonder what separates them from other races like elves and dwarves and orcs, like what makes them unique. Some people say humans are generalists, some people say we're the most adaptable. But actually there is something that stands out about us that all the other races find super weird. Humans are the only sentient creature to reproduce sexually like animals do, and because of that we're the only species with romantic or sexual attraction, and ideas like sex and gender.

Elves and dwarves create new members of their races slowly and methodically, like works of art. Harpies, angels, demons and dragons are all individually and personally created by their gods. Orcs and goblins are spawned from spawning pits on mass. Merfolk come close with how they lay and fertilize eggs, but even then any individual merfolk can both lay eggs and fertilize, and they don't meet when they do it. Vampires and other undead are spawned from other races. Fae just sort of show up.

So the idea of having sexes, and genders constructed around them, and sexual and romantic relationships is all incredibly weird for other races. Most humans don't notice it because they just naturally assign members of other races genders when they meet them.

Diffrent races have diffrent ideas around these constructs. But most of them find it some level of confusing. A lot of them just ignore it. But it's really disturbing for some, romantic relationships seem like weird bonds that can't be explained, like some sort of unexplainable and volatile connection. Sexual attraction seems like some dark animalistic instinct. Gender is incomprehensible, and also seems wrong and immoral to most races. And sex itself seem like the darkest of any reproductive ritual or magic. Because of all of this humans who don't experience some or any of these things often have an easier time connecting with other races.

This has also lead scholars to belive that humans are the only sentient race to evolve naturally. Something often thought impossible before studies on humans occurred.

[infosphere]

The Silent Guardian - A Bat man story

Gotham City was eerily quiet, an unsettling hush that seemed to wrap around its darkened streets. In the heart of the city, atop Wayne Tower, Bruce Wayne stood, contemplating the latest threat to his beloved Gotham. It was not the typical villain causing mayhem but something far more elusive: an unknown entity referred to only as "The Whisperer."

Reports of criminals disappearing without a trace had started circulating. The city's underworld was abuzz with rumors about a silent guardian who moved like a shadow, leaving nothing but whispers in their wake. Determined to uncover the truth, Batman set out to investigate this new player in Gotham's dangerous game.

One night, as Batman patrolled the city's rooftops, he felt a presence trailing him. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but he knew he wasn't alone. Using his detective skills, he set a trap, luring the elusive figure into the open. To his surprise, it was a woman dressed in a sleek, all-black suit, her face obscured by a mask.

"You've been following me," Batman said, his voice calm yet commanding.

"I am The Whisperer," she replied, her voice barely audible. "I've come to help Gotham."

Skeptical but intrigued, Batman listened as she explained her mission. She had no grand vendetta or tragic backstory; she was simply someone who had lost too many loved ones to crime. The Whisperer had trained in silence and shadows, using her skills to incapacitate criminals and leave them for the authorities without a trace.

Intrigued by her methods and motivated by a shared goal, Batman proposed they work together. Their partnership was tenuous at first, but they quickly realized their combined strengths made them an unstoppable force against the city's criminals.

One night, they received word that the Scarecrow had returned, unleashing his fear toxin on unsuspecting citizens. Batman and The Whisperer split up to cover more ground, each tackling different parts of Scarecrow's operation. As Batman confronted the Scarecrow, he found himself ensnared in a hallucinogenic nightmare, the fear toxin warping his senses.

Struggling to maintain control, Batman fought through the visions of his darkest fears. Just as he began to falter, The Whisperer appeared, her presence a calming influence. She spoke softly, guiding him through the nightmare with her unwavering voice.

"Remember who you are, Bruce," she whispered. "You're stronger than your fears."

With her support, Batman overcame the toxin's effects and together, they apprehended the Scarecrow, dismantling his operation and saving countless lives. As they stood victorious, a mutual respect and trust had formed between them.

"The Whisperer," Batman said, "Gotham needs you. We need you."

She nodded, her eyes reflecting the determination they both shared. "I'll be there, in the shadows, watching over Gotham."

As dawn broke over the city, Batman knew he had found not just an ally but a kindred spirit. Together, they would continue to protect Gotham from the darkness that lurked in its streets, their partnership a testament to the silent guardians who watch over the city.

By InfoSphere

[the-ellia-west]

Raavas 1/3 - Feathered Sword

Enjoy! (Hopefully)

-------------------------------------------------

"With all due respect, you aren't getting any younger, sir."

"Ha!" Evellias touched a grey streak in his beard at the thought. "I suppose you're right. But I'm not dead yet!"

"If you're reckless, you could be by the end of the year."

"I'm reckless?"

"Not at the moment, but you could be if you start thinking you're invincible."

"I won't. Besides, I know my way around a sword Aery. Don't worry so much."

"It is my job to worry, sir." The guard put his hands behind his back. "You're the only protector we've got. This kingdom can't afford to lose you."

"Can't afford to lose my sword, you mean." Evellias raised an eyebrow, "You know just as well as I that the only reason they haven't taken it from me is because I'm the only one who can use it."

Aery started to speak, stopped, and continued. "You have protection nonetheless, sir."

"Well then, I may just have to use you for some other purpose, hm? How do you feel about errands, Aery?"

"No."

Evellias laughed, but a faint cry stopped both men in their tracks.

"Did you hear that, sir?"

"I did." The soldier reached for his sword. "What was that?"

"It sounded almost like a child." Aery knelt by the reeds. "It came from here."

"Almost bird-like." Evellias nodded. But just as he started to help, a strange feeling tugged in his chest. Almost like fuzzy strings wrapped around his heart, pulling him toward the water of the creek. The swordsman followed the pull but stopped as a faint glow caught his eye, pulsing faintly beneath the murky water. The warrior squinted at the cool light and slowly edged toward it. But as water soaked through the toe of his boot, the sigil carved into the center of the cross guards on his own sword burst into a light of its own.

A Protector's sword. But it couldn't be lit on its own.

The swordsman glanced around, steeled his resolve, and plunged into the water. He dropped under, reaching for the light. The tip of his finger brushed a hard object, and he fumbled with the metal for a moment before getting a grip on the hilt. Evellias pulled at the sword. It wouldn't budge.

The warrior pulled harder, bracing himself against a rock. And as he pushed himself to the last of his strength, the sword finally sprung free of the mud. Evellias flipped his hair back out of his face, brushing off the sword.

"Sir!" Aery stopped, catching sight of his boss standing in the middle of a creek. "What- Uh, never mind. Sir, you may want to come take a look at this."

"What?" The warrior hooked the sword to his belt beside his own and trotted over to Aery, the sword's light blazing brighter as he did so.

"It's a child, sir. A Harpy hatchling, to be precise."

"Why is it here?" Evellias frowned as the small bundle sniffled softly before continuing its tiny chirping cries.

"I'm not sure. But the nest looked like it had been abandoned." A pause stretched between the two. "We should kill it."

Evellias frowned and glanced at the sword. "No."

"What? Sir, we have to. If we let it loose in town, it could attack someone!"

"It's a baby. It doesn't know how to."

"Then we need to get rid of it before it learns."

"Aery," Evellias drew the sword. "It's a protector."

"What?" Aery stopped, staring at the glowing steel and back at the child. The guard pushed a lock of hair out of its face. "I... I suppose... Harpies are sentient..."

"Yes! It can learn!"

Another long pause stretched the air thin before Aery spoke again. "He. He can learn." The guard's eyes softened. "What will you do, sir?"

"I'll take him with us. I'll raise him, train him. This sword is meant for him. We'll make him a guard, the protector he's meant to be."

***

"What is rule number one?"

"Only eat what I'm supposed to."

"Rule number two?"

"Keep the sword safe, and make sure I always know where it is."

"Number three?"

"If something goes wrong, hide and wait for you."

Evellias ruffled the young Harpy's hair. "Good job!"

Raavas wrapped his wings around himself as a soft cooing chirp escaped his lips at the praise. "Thanks, Papa!"

"You're very welcome." The swordsman scooped the little boy into his arms.

"Can we go outside? Please?"

"Alright. Do you have your sword?"

The Harpy nodded, touching the little toy sword in its sheath resting beneath his wing. "Yes, Papa!"

"Okay, then we can go."

"Yay!" The little boy's fluffy white wings fluttered excitedly as Evellias took him to the front of the building.

Minutes passed of the little boy playing about in the grass before a familiar shape passed by the gate. Raavas gasped and leaped to his feet.

The man dismounted his horse and knelt. The little Harpy flung his arms around him. "Raavas! How are you doing?"

"Good!"

"Aery. Welcome back. Have you found anything?"

"Unfortunately, not. But we need to talk. Things have gotten complicated."

"What's the news?"

Aery glanced at the young Harpy. "It's a message from the king. Anyway, have you been behaving?"

"Yes! Did you bring presents?" The little boy grinned.

"Ha! Sorry to say, little one, not this time."

Raavas' smile faded a little. "Okay."

"I need to talk to Aery, okay? Can I leave you here for a little bit, Raav? Is that okay?"

"Papa?" Raavas squirmed, and Aery put him down.

"Yes?"

"Can I go get a snack?"

"Not right now, maybe soon, okay?"

"Okay."

The two adults retreated inside the building to converse, and Evellias called for a servant to watch the little Harpy.

They spoke and shared information on the new situations and the adaptations they'd have to make for a while. But just after they'd finished speaking, a servant burst into the room.

"Sir! Master Evellias! The young master has gone missing! We looked for him in the garden and all about the house, but he's gone. We can't find him!"

"What?" Evellias leaped to his feet. "Shit. Aery, find some sort of clues. You, follow him."

After a short moment to process, all three figures raced off to their respective orders. Evellias tossed the corner of his carpet away from the bed and pried up the loose floorboard, drawing out the magnificent silver sword.

It's light cast dimly upon the floor, he rushed back to the ground floor and nearly ran into Aery. "What did you find?"

"He's inside. We found trails of dirt in the hallways, and one of the servants heard him say something about food before he dissapeared."

"He did mention wanting something before we went to talk. We should go to the kitchen. See if he's somewhere in there."

"Agreed." Aery nodded, and the two warriors followed the hallways to the kitchen, but after searching it, found nothing.

Evellias drew the sword and held it out. The light glowed at the light levels of a candle. He backed toward the door, but as he did so, the light faded. "He's here."

"But that's impossible, sir. We checked everywhere."

"Apparently not." Evellias trailed around the room and stopped in front of a wall. "Here is brightest."

"But- wait. Unless..." Aery passed Evellias and pulled open the cellar door.

"No, that's not possible, how..." Evellias looked down at the sword. He stepped hesitantly onto the steps, the light growing stronger. But as the two swordsmen followed the stairs, a faint noise stopped them in their tracks.

A soft sniffling cry somewhere between a sob and a bird trill. Aery glanced at Evellias, and the swordsman dropped the weapon, rushing down the stairs. "Raavas? Raavas, is that you? Answer me. Are you okay?"

Instead of an answer, the sobbing continued. "Aery, grab a torch. Now."

"Yessir!"

Evellias stepped cautiously into the darkness, little hiccups interrupted the sobs as a small voice gasped from the darkness. "Papa... I... I'm sorry... I didn't... I didn't mean..."

"Raavas!" Evellias sighed in relief, but froze as the words finally sunk in and the child returned to sobbing just as Aery brought the torch.

But both of the swordsmen froze in their tracks as the light fell over the child. Blood. Panic surged through Evellias, but he stopped as he caught sight of the small shapes beside him. Crimson soaked the Harpy's hands and face and he flinched. "Papa... I'm sorry..."

"Raavas. What's there to be sorry about?" Evellias hid his fear as he sat beside the little boy and cradled him in his arms as Aery knelt to examine the shapes and the blood.

"I... I... I broke... I broke the rules! Don't... don't be mad... Papa. P-please."

"What do you mean?"

"Rats." Aery looked up. "Desecrated..."

"I was hungry, Papa." Raavas hugged Evellias. "I... they're quiet. I didn't want to hurt them... I..." He broke down sobbing again, and Evellias hugged him close again.

"It's okay, Raavas. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay. It'll be the same as it always is." But as he and Aery locked eyes, they both knew that would be a lie.

Nothing would ever be the same.

Thanks for reading! Please comment anything if you read it! Anything at all!

Part 1 (Here) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 3.5

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@lunaeuphternal @chaoticcandle @sunflowerrosy @n1ghtcrwler @ghostlyboysstories

@floweryprosegarden @thisisntrocket @bluektw @nkikio @i-hate-happy-endings

@confused-romantic @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @starslide @ramwritblr @homelessnerdwrites

@thecoolerlucky @bread-roses-and-chrome @thepeculiarbird @roleplay-fanatic @bbatcat

@thelazywitchphotographer @ryahisbored @pastellbg @agirlandherquill

@taleweaver-ramblings @bigwipscholar @fantastictrashpolice @cowboylikericky

@cosmolumine @caffeinated-and-annoying-bard @cherrychiplip @theliteraryarchitect @the-letterbox-archives

Thank you for reading! <333