Chapter Text
The sun stains the sky a foreboding shade of red as it slowly hides itself behind a distant mountain range. It casts the battlefield in sickly orange hues, pale dust clouds settling as yet another soldier falls, too spent to fight back any longer.
It’s deathly quiet. Few remain standing. Bodies litter what was once a large open and fertile plain. All that remains is a barren, scorched stretch of land and the pride of two kings.
King Ashnard is a beast of a man, tall and broad, pale skin caked with dirt and blood yet still sporting a wild grin.It’s almost as though he still believes his entire army is still standing behind him banging their shields and raising a ferocious cry to victory.
But there is no one left.
He walks across his fallen men like they’re a fine carpet, relishing the sounds of bones and flesh cracking beneath his feet.
He stops in the middle of the field where the first waves of soldiers met their end and raises his blade towards his opponent in challenge.
“Come at me, Dheginsea!” He roars, gnashing his teeth and grinning, “Let us settle this.”
Dheginsea stands still across the field from him. He makes no movement. His army is tired and weary, but Ashnard will not surrender, and Dheginsea cannot afford to let him live. The man is more than a king or a soldier. By his own might he could slay the few men who remain standing under Dheginsea’s flag should he fail to strike the Mad King down himself.
And then what? Would Ashnard invade his kingdom? Slaughter his people by the thousands like he had done along their borders?
No.
He can’t afford to let that happen. Not again.
Dheginsea’s grip on his spear tightens.
There are no battle cries when Dheginsea sprints towards Ashnard, just a small collective intake of breath from his soldiers.
Ashnard parries and strikes, misses then spins and strikes again. They’re equally matched and although Dheginsea is quicker, Ashnard’s attacks are heavy and force him back far too much to permit a quick retaliation.
Ashnard’s sinister laughter rings loud and clear amidst the duel. Strike after strike, parry after parry, his laughter descends quickly into a crazed shriek of enjoyment when he finally draws blood.
The few who remain on the battlefield do not cheer, or move at all. They stand transfixed, hearts skipping to the sound of clanging metal. Any blow could be the final one. Any blow could spell victory for one side, and the death of a King for the other.
And then it happens. Ashnard’s counterstance is too open, too wide, and Dheginsea hurls his spear through the Mad King’s chest.
Everything grows still.
Eyes wide and a toothy grin on his face, Ashnard looks into the eyes of his killer, and laughs once more.
His sword falls to the dirt as the sun finally fades from the sky. A battle lost. A King slain.
The mad king dies standing.
-----
“We have to go. Quickly!” Almedha says, voice straining to be heard above the din of the castle. She tugs her young son along behind her, a single suitcase for the two of them in her other hand. Hardly fitting for a Queen.
But her castle is in a state of frenzied panic. Servants and soldiers rush to grab what little they can pack, knocking over chairs, tables, and shelves. Dishes are broken, vashes accidentally knocked and smashed. The fastest ones race for the door without looking back. The rest scramble and claw at each other arguing ownership over simple foodstuffs.
“Mother, what’s going on? Why is everyone leaving?” Her son asks. He’s too young to truly understand the gravity of the situation, but too old to be denied even a simple explanation.
“There’s no time, Pelleas. We have to leave before-” She barely gets the words out of her mouth as they reach the main staircase when a voice from the upper floor cries out.
“They’re here!”
The castle falls silent instantly.
Almedha shields Pelleas with the skirts of her dress, fear washing over her like an arctic tidal wave.
She’s too late. There’s nowhere to run.
The ornate double doors in the Main Hall, previously opened only slightly, swing completely open, blinding them all with the light of the setting sun.
No one dares to move.
Only the sound of footsteps can be heard echoing throughout the hall as Dheginsea slowly enters into view followed by march of a hundred foot soldiers.
This is their new King. The one who slayed their ruler and thereby conquered their nation. This is the man who will decide their fate.
The entire castle falls to its knees, head touching the ground, arms outstretched - a sign of total surrender. Perhaps he would be merciful and at least spare their lives.
Dheginsea pays them no heed. His eyes scan the room carefully until they spot Almedha, the only person left standing.
He walks towards her slowly, stopping only once they stand a mere foot or so apart. He looks down upon her, staring at her the same way a starving lion would stare at a cornered antelope. She doesn’t cower or tremble, holding his gaze without so much as blinking.
It feels like an age before he moves and then…
He pulls her into his arms.
“My child,” He whispers, “My dear, sweet daughter… My Almedha.”
“F-father…” She barely manages to say the word, like she had forgotten what it meant.
He pulls back with a fond smile, hands griping her shoulders.
“I have been looking for you for so, so long. Fifteen years, I’ve been searching,” He draws in a deep, prideful breath, “After all this time. Finally, finally , you can come home.”
Almedha opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She tries a few more times, but before she can say anything at all, Dheginsea’s face twists into an outraged sneer.
He shoves her aside and glares down at the cowering child he hadn’t seen before.
The same deep black hair. Those red eyes. That chin…
“Almedha… you…” His voice vibrates with thinly veiled rage. Almedha doesn’t speak, and neither does Pelleas, pinned by the ferocious gaze of his grandfather.
Without warning, Dheginsea slaps Almedha across the face. She lets out a scream as she tumbles down the stairs and hits the cold stone floor.
“Mom!” Pelleas tries to run to her, but Dheginsea grabs him by the hair and drags him along behind him instead ignoring his cries of pain. Almedha slowly gets to her knees only to come face to face with her father’s wrath.
“You bore his child?! ” He hisses with a deadly venom. Pelleas starts to shake.
“Let him go, father!” She says, weak but still defiant.
“You bore that monster a son!?” Dheginsea continues.
“Father, please…” She pleads from her place on the floor, but he doesn’t heed her.
“Do you have any idea what that man has done to us? To our country? Our family?” He says with a small incredulous laugh.
“He was a good man-” She snaps back.
“A good man,” Dheginsea’s voice grows low as he kneels beside her, “Would never have enslaved his own people! A good man would not have slaughtered them by the dozen!” He laughs just a little, “He started a war with us… for fun.” He touches her face with only his fingertips, “He stole you from me.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but Dheginsea covers it with a tight grip before she can say a single word. He leans in close and hisses.
“If you were not my daughter I would have had you executed for treason.”
He releases her bruised cheeks and turns his attention to the quietly crying child clutched beneath his other hand.
“But,” He stands and releases Pelleas who quickly stumbles to his mother’s side, “Perhaps I was too lenient with you growing up. And perhaps,” He stares down at the petrified child clinging to his mother, “This is a good opportunity to learn a little lesson.”
Dheginsea flicks his wrist and Almedha’s eyes grow wide with fright.
“Father, wait!” But her plea falls on deaf ears.
There’s a burst of light that rips Pelleas from Almedha’s side, lifting him above the ground and sending shockwaves through the air.
The cowering servants in the castle look up only for a moment, too afraid to move lest they be targeted next.
“This is no child,” Dheginsea roars as lightning crackles through the room, “This… is a monster! ”
Pelleas clutches at his throat, gasping for air, his mother’s screams unable to reach him within the light.
“Pathetic! Heartless! Just like your cursed father,” He cries, “His death was too swift… but you… yes… you shall suffer in his place. You and every person in his godforsaken kingdom who supported him!”
“Father stop! Please! He’s just a child!” Almedha cries, but it’s too late.
The castle shakes, the stones beneath them tremble, and suddenly a golden vine bursts through the floor. It coils around Pelleas and sends its vines curling and clinging to the walls of the castle.
“No…!” Almedha brokenly whispers through her tears.
“Heartless child… You will seek out the hearts of this kingdom to fill the void where yours should have been, stealing the things they love and losing what makes you human…” The light, once pure and golden in color, bleeds with red. Wind howls throughout the room, carrying Dheginsea’s voice beyond the castle walls and deep into the hearts of his witnesses.
“And then,” Dheginsea continues with a victorious roar, “When you’re finally the monster I know you to be, you’ll die detested and alone with no one left to lay a single flower on your grave.”
“No!” Almedha cries once more.
There’s another brilliant flash of light… It snaps sending shockwaves through the air with the force of a small hurricane.
The light finally fades.
Pelleas falls several feet to the floor. He coughs and coughs trying to regain his breath but the pain in his chest is unbearable.
Dheginsea gestures for his soldiers to fetch Almedha. “We’re leaving.”
“No! No, we can’t leave him here!” She screams as several soldiers hoist her up by her arms, “Pelleas!”
“Mom!” He croaks before doubling over in a coughing fit.
“Pelleas!” She screams again.
Suddenly the entire room is filled with the sounds of coughing. Almedha’s eyes dart from servant to servant, confused and concerned. She sees the first flower petal on the lips of her former chambermaid, and before she has time to contemplate her actions, she breaks free from her captors.
She raises her arms, pale green light dancing to the tips of her rusty fingers as she recites a spell she had long since forgotten, and aims at her father.
“Stupid child,” Dheginsea curses under his breath. His own fingers glow with practiced speed, releasing his spell just as Almedha finishes the final verse of her own.
The spells meet mid-air, mixing and melding and blasting everyone in the room in a sickly light that permeates their skin.
She feels, rather than hears their screams and the horror sinks in before the light even begins to fade.
“No…” She whispers looking around the now empty room, “No!”
Where there were once people, there was now only furniture. Chairs, clocks, candlesticks… enough to furnish the castle twice over. Her spell had backfired.
She lets out a shriek as her father grabs her by the hair.
“You’d turn your magic against your own father?” He tsks, “I see we really have our work cut out for us.”
He looks around the room with vague interest then releases her and turns to leave. The soldiers take hold of her once again and drag her screaming for her son from the palace entry way.
Pelleas watches the doors close before him, leaving him alone in the dark.
“Mother…?” He cries weakly, cold stone against his cheek.
A single red petal drops to the floor.