PROLOGUE : The Child Of The World
Well, well… Are you here too to read a romantic story like none that has come before ?
Let me share with you the story of the Child of the World.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“Haikas !” The swear word slips from your lips before you can even stop yourself, the sharp pain in your little toe making you swear a second time.
Even the chimeras give you dirty looks, their brains no bigger than a peanut, recognising your father’s infamous insult the moment the Deliverer dares to breathe the same air as him. Nanus, that cute little snitch who bears a striking resemblance to your tyrannical teacher, slaps your calf with his little tail before striding off with his head held high, taking particular care to step on (or rather, crush) Oatmeal’s paw, who jolts awake before pouncing on him.
“You’re worse than the real ones!” Choosing to ignore the two furiously angry chimeras, you turn away, only to come face to face with a scene that’s even worse.
“That’s not true! They don’t even do that in real life!” Right before your eyes. Right before your eyes! Vigethos is grooming Fig Stew; his tail is wagging so fast he looks as if he’s about to fly away. Sensing the disgust in your voice, the two chimeras fix their gaze on you.
They know far too much – far, far too much.
“No… No, no, no! I don’t want to know ANYTHING!” A shiver runs down your spine just thinking about it.
“So that’s it, then. You’re skipping your private lessons – lessons I’ve designed especially for you to feed your endless curiosity and help your intellect flourish – for chimeras ?! Do you find my lessons boring, Psychoùla ?”
“Professor?! No… Of course n-no. I’m not skipping your lessons, I’ve just taken a break for an indefinite period.”
“Are you taking me for a complete fool?”
“To the classroom. Right now.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Four hours… Four FUCKING hours studying the history and evolution of the Dromases, with a shotgun pointedly aimed at your temple the moment you’re unlucky enough to make a mistake. Not to mention the essay you have to write on: ‘Why are the Dromases superior to the Titans?’
As you walk through the Marmoreal Market, you find it’s as bustling as ever, the cold sensation of the shotgun barrel against your temple still very much present. You’d bet a kidney that the teachers in the worlds beyond the sky aren’t quite so cracked… extravagant. Arms laden with manuscripts and books (still all about the Dromases – you’re going to have nightmares about them), you nearly get knocked over by a group of children playing ‘Catch Zagreus’. Having narrowly managed to grab one of the ancient manuscripts – and thus avoided a future execution – you barely have time to move before you are nearly knocked out by a mace wielded by a Mountain Dweller, the one and only Chartonus.
“Whoa! Chartonus! Sorry!” Just managing to dodge the returning blow as Chartonus turns round at the sound of your voice, you swear you hear him cackle before his large, calloused hand comes down on the top of your head.
“The little cub finally emerges from their hiding place.” Stroking the top of your head one last time, his hand slowly withdraws, whilst his voice takes on a lower tone, softening as if he were afraid of frightening you. “Is the blaze still burning within the future King? Have you tried to talk to him?”
“No!” Your gaze immediately drops to the floor, ashamed of having raised your voice at Chartonus.
This gentle giant has been there since you took your first steps, witnessing the joy you have brought to your father. Never before had the Mountain Dweller seen the Son of Gorgo weep with pure happiness whilst holding a being as tiny and whingeing as you were as a baby.
“You know full well that your father harbours no anger towards you, don’t you?”
“I know. But… I can’t face him without remembering what I said to him. I was a terrible child.”
A sharp pain suddenly shoots through your forehead; Chartonus’s flick feels more like a blow. Stunned by the sudden blow, you blink like an owl whilst Chartonus sniggers beneath his heavy helmet.
“You just… Hang on… A flick?”
His thumb brushes against your forehead as he bends down so your faces are level; with his free hand, he takes your smaller hand in his. “There are many warriors whose hands are like yours—trembling, ravaged by the Black Tide and, above all, drenched in the blood of their comrades.” His hand grips yours more firmly, feeling it tremble and try to pull away. “But you are only a child. A child should never know Thanatos. And above all, being a child is no sin.”
“Go on, little cub. Find your father and tell him.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
The Grove of Epiphany – you absolutely must go back there. Like an idiot, you left your gift there – the gift for your father. After all the effort you put into it, there’s no way it’s going to get stolen, and certainly not by a cat with wandering hands. You didn’t spend five sleepless nights and lose a considerable amount of hair just to have it stolen! That's out of the question! It's by no means certain you'd ever recover from such a loss, especially after all the energy you've spent on it.
Racing through the various gardens, jumping over the thick roots ready to snap the ankle of the next sage buried in his papers, you run on and on. Caught up in a frantic dash, you fail to notice the glaring absence of the grove’s sages and your Professor, who usually spends his life in his laboratory. Only a few butterflies flit about, creating a delightful, colourful dance that brings the Grove to life. On your way, you come across two nymphs of creation, their antennae quivering and wings fluttering, clearly engrossed in a very lively debate. Although you usually enjoy listening to the nymphs of creation, the present for your father—which you managed to forget in class like a fool—is far more important.
So you keep going, resuming your run without noticing the butterflies vanishing and the nymphs fleeing.
Deciding to take a shortcut through the Luminary Throne, where the Titan’s Flame lies in a deep slumber, the vegetation is all the more luxuriant, the birds are singing and the butterflies are dancing, and the wind caresses your skin as a gentle breeze. This part of the Grove of Epiphany is usually (in fact, completely) off-limits to students, let alone for you to use, given your notorious tendency to be chased by a certain blasphemous teacher. The elders remember all too well the chase that took place on the school grounds, ending in Okhema on the back of a Dromas.
But that’s not the point! You’re not here to talk about your behaviour or your teacher (who, in fact, has already appeared as your sleep paralysis demon)! You’re here to retrieve THE gift! As you hurry through the Luminary Throne—it’s best to avoid being spotted by a sage—you’re about to use the large branches serving as steps when your body suddenly freezes against your will.
It all happened so quickly – far too quickly. One moment you were on the path, and the next, he appeared.
Tall. Far too tall. Clad in a long black cloak, his face concealed by a forged mask, its golden colour tarnished by the passage of time. A veritable black hole pierces his chest, leaving only a thick darkness that absorbs all light. Two different weapons rest in each of his gauntleted hands: a greatsword... At least, it looks like a greatsword. It's shaped like a twisted half-sun... And a dagger resembling a crescent moon.
“Ilie mou…” His voice is hoarse; the syllables struggle to come out, his mask almost completely muffling his speech. “Forgive me…”
Run. You absolutely must run. You’re in no way capable of facing a monster like this. Don’t look back, don’t let panic get the better of you, never stop running. You’ve barely had time to take a step when his hand clamps down hard on your wrist, the claws of his gauntlet cutting into your skin, a thin trickle of golden blood mixed with black oozing out.
A scream of sheer terror escapes your lips as your body is suspended in mid-air, held up only by your wrist, allowing blood to trickle down your forearm. Pain is already building in your arm, as your muscles and bones struggle to cope with the sudden strain.
“No…” You swear you can hear him take a sudden gasp at the sight of your blood, a hint of surprise discernible in his voice. “You must… If I don’t… He’ll—” He cuts himself off mid-sentence as your body is violently hurled forward, crashing head-on into the Sacred Tree whilst the black swordsman lets out an inhuman scream.
An intense pain shoots through your back; the agony is so sharp and powerful that no sound escapes your lips. Your breath catches in your throat; your lungs stop working the moment the pain strikes. Every muscle, every nerve is taut, a tension beyond recognition, ready to snap at the slightest movement. Your mouth is open in a silent scream; only a wheezing breath escapes.
Tears burn in your eyes, cascading down your cheeks; your own body cannot bear such pain, a suffering that no one can imagine until they have felt it themselves.
He crouches before your broken form, sword in hand; the tip is even beginning to slowly pierce your chest, but the pain in your back is so intense that you do not feel the sharp sting of your chest being torn open.
With a reserve of strength you scarcely knew you possessed, your hand suddenly reached out towards his mask; your trembling fingers clung to the metal before you gave a sharp tug just as his hand plunged into your chest, blood spurting onto him, drenching him in gold.
The last thing you see is Phainon’s disfigured, horrified face, bathed in your blood… Phainon !? How ? Is that even possible ?
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
I messed up—I wasn't able to finish it in a week... But I decided to take my time rather than rush or post something I wasn't happy with. If you want to be tagged, feel free to let me know!
Finally ! I've finished the prologue ! I hope you like it—I managed to do what I set out to do. If there are any parts you don't understand or if you just have questions, feel free to ask. I love answering them.
It was k3lbug's writing that made me want to give it a go. Go and read them – they’re really good.
