An Evil's Redemption

Chapter 1: Evil’s End

In days of yore, before light and peace, a Chaotic evil existed that terrified even the gods who vowed to protect the world they created. The first true void in the world. That essence of evil was a powerful Draconic being, nearly as old as the land itself; Shamhuth Lefu. This being of darkness, as large as the most frightening mountain, had horns blacker than the voidous beings of hell, sharp enough to pierce the heavens above just by touching them. It had two sets of wings, both sets lined with sapphire-like crystals which coat its body like a second layer of armor; the first layer of armor being the black scales tougher than diamonds. The claws of this terrifying beast digging into the ground just as tree roots would when seeping life-energy from the earth below. Its tail, a curved blade shaped like a sickle, reaps those who dare even breathe too close to this monster. The dragon’s lower jaw splits in two, devouring the innocent, weak, strong, and lucky with two gulps. However, the most dangerous and terrifying aspect about this creature is not its maw, wings, or even tail-- It’s the eyes. The creature’s eyes glow with a devious royal blue, all six of them. Two reside on the front of its face as if to mock humans and mammals alike, whilst the other four lay on the right and left sides of its large head. Those who survived claimed that anyone that looks into the eyes of this beast is bound to be driven into a painful anguish.

Originating from the African Peninsula, it was a gift from a now dead god, a god who was killed for his selfishness and pride: the god, jealous of how life was treated on earth compared to his duties to serve them however they pleased, spread a great disease. It was said that famine spread in white spores which grew over the bodies of the weak and dead like parasites, only to grow into beautiful white flowers which bloom in spring. Being caught and questioned by the other, more righteous gods, he petitioned the act of devoting themselves to mortals altogether: 

“Why should thyself be concurred to serve such ill-mannered beasts, when thy might surpasses Great Golems?”

The Great Golems were the leaders of the gods, ones who earned their place by devoting most of their power to goodness and the world below them. Due to their selflessness, the world around them prospered: the blooming of people and the populous of flowers. And so did other gods which looked up to them. In turn, hearing such selfishness and pride, he was eradicated By the Great Golems: erased by Holy magic. In one final breath, he cursed the world they protected, and the world they cared for so dearly with his creation of doom.

Blue and black flames that are said to still hold the souls of those who’ve stared into its gaze circled the world, even in humanity’s blessings the monster still held strong. However, that is until The Great Golems themselves stepped in; as the world called, eight of the land’s strongest priests and eight of the land’s strongest mages, blessed by The Great Golem’s themselves, all came together and sealed this monster away in an ancient tomb in the Center of the African continent. The world truly was free. The world truly was saved. 

“Is that truly the case, mother?!” A boy asks, his black eyes wide with unease and hesitance. His feet, hanging off the bed as an orange light coming from the flame in the core of a nearby lantern highlights his fragile and sickly fingers.

“Of course my dear.” The mother reassures, her kind, silver eyes and smooth skin leaning the boy’s head back into the blue, clean sheets of his bed. “We all will be just fine. After all, it is just a measly story.”

“What if it isn’t mother!?” Asks the boy, “And that monster is still out there, waiting to devour us al--?” The boy coughs, his stricken body being caught and tenderly laid back on the blue cold pillows of his bed.

“That will not happen my dear.” The mother responds, “Now go to sleep, your fever is awfully horrid.”

The mother stands upright, the soft tap of her footsteps sounding as she turns back towards her son at the frame of the door.

“Goodnight, Calviac.” She says.

“Goodnight mother….” Calviac responds, his mother closing the door afterwards, a calm silence bringing the sick boy to temporary peace as he heads to sleep.

Chapter 2: A Resurfacing Dread

The sun glares all-knowingly and brightly at the luxurious city and castle down below. Life is a blessing in this ancient metropolis. Every house is built with a beautiful white marble, roofs coated with red paint, and golden elegant outlines. The castle even more wondrous; spires that scrape the sky, infrastructure of an exquisite white granite and marble, a flag of an elegant dove flying out a lion’s mouth, the finishing touch, a holy butterfly with its wings designed with glass panes of different colorations in the center of the landmark. The Kingdom of Areydonias of the year 1698 shining in full effect.

The city is bustling with joy, merchants selling delightful artifacts such as handmade ruby rings and necklaces and golden pots that sing when water is poured inside, or bakers with fresh bread such as pretzels or bagels or focaccia. Handsome men and gorgeous women walk alongside each other down the streets, absent of grime, glistening in the sunlight above, in the marble town. Children run around playing with makeshift wooden daggers if as to imitate the heroes that protect the world around their tiny minds.

“What’s that smell?” Asks the king, walking outside. His nostrils flare as the scent of cooking meat in the air hits his nose. His cape is of a bright red, his golden pouldrons and butterfly insignia on his royal outfit he wears cover his torso while his golden robe holds just an inch off the ground.

“Venison and pork sire.” A servant states, a golden livery suit accompanied by brown, tight pants around his legs. The noir stove cooks the flavorful meat to almost perfection. The stove is connected via pipe to the ceiling of the mini-open shed the royalty has outside. Smoke erupts out of the top, further spreading the aroma. 

The Queen walks out, her daughter behind her, both in dresses. The queen is a vibrant white with golden roses flowing from the top, down to the skirt. The Princess, slightly smaller than her mother’s, has a red dress, golden roses flowing from the top to the bottom of the skirt as well.

“Stewart, is that venison I smell?” The Queen asks, her gaze on the metallic stove inside the outdoor shed plated in gracious quartz.

“Indeed.” The servant, Stewart, states, bowing at the three royal figures standing in front of him. “I’m delighted you all are awake, please, have a seat in this fine weather.”

A long white table, plates, utensils, napkins, and chairs appear out of thin air, a bright flash of cyan light summoning them before the royal family. The royal family walks towards and sits down in the chairs, the seats screeching against the marble of the floor. 

“Your magic is as impressive as ever.” The Queen compliments, a smile as bright as the sun that shines on them.

“Why thank you, your majesty.” Stewart replies, bowing as multiple other servants come to serve the food both in the oven as well as fruit, vegetables, and bread. “Your meals are on the way. Let me know if there's anything else you need assistance with.”

“Speaking of, go get Calviac.” The King orders, his voice polite yet firm. “Enough training for that boy. He should come and settle down for some time.”

“Of course.” Stewart answers, bowing once more as he begins to make his way to the training grounds.

Stewart walks back inside the main entrance of the castle, walking down a massive hallway which leads to a multitude of different rooms: a bathroom with a sink lined with emeralds, the kitchen with massive amounts of utensils and culinary equipment, along with multiple bedrooms each fitted with their own king-sized bed with specific decorations catering to the owner’s own taste: the King’s seems to be glass statues and figurines as his room his approached and moved past. He exits the hallway at the very end, opening the door to the training grounds.

The training grounds are patches of grass which lead into concrete. There's a massive iron black gate that surrounds the entire area of the grounds. Wooden weapons sit on a large rack on Stewart’s very left, bows, swords, spears, staffs, any weapon that can be aligned with combat. Ten dummies are lined up at the very end, and a powerful figure is training against the fifth one in the very middle with a wooden great-sword. The figure jabs the tip of the handle into the wooden dummy, following his attack up with a strike in the chest with his own shoulder as he charges towards it. Afterwards, he turns his greatsword to be flat, attacking the dummy as if walloping it with a paddle.

“Prince Calviac, your dinner is ready. The King has called for you.” Stewart explains, the old man with his hands behind his back as he bows respectfully.

“I’ve already told you, you can remove the ‘prince’, Stewart.” Calviac says, a small smile on his face as he swings the wooden greatsword for one final time, splitting the dummy in half. He looks back towards Stewart, a smile on his face, “Alright. It is about time I take a small pause in my training, yes?”

“Indeed sire.”

“No need for the ‘sire’ either, Stewart.”

“I apologize, Calviac, it is quite reflexive for me.”

“No need to apologize. Let’s be on our way now.”

“Of course.”

The Calviac takes off his training gear, putting the wooden greatsword back on the rack while Stewart prepares a cold cloth and water for him. The dummy which was cut in half slowly puts itself back together.

“Ever since you overcame your illness, you’ve become quite strong.” Stewart says, smiling as he lays the towel softly over Calviac’s shoulder. The same towel that Stewart used back then, back then when Calviac coughed blood all over his suit, and Stewart could do nothing but pray as white roots seeped through his veins. By fate, the gods answered.

“Yes!” Calviac states, his smile growing wider. “I wonder what delicacy is served for us today.”

“Steak and venison, your favorite.” Stewart states.

The two get up and continue to walk down the massive hallway inside the castle, making their way to the courtyard. Once they arrive, Stewart pulls out a chair for Calviac to sit down in.

“Ah, look how nice this is.” The King says, “All the family, here, eating peacefully.”

“I presume your training went well?” The Queen asks, her smile contagious as Calviac can’t help but smile back.

“Yes! My strikes are more powerful than ever. I can tear through planks with one strike with mere wood!” Calviac claims. “Imagine what I can do with a real weapon!”

The Princess is silent, chewing on venison and some grapes. She glances at Calvic between certain intervals without him noticing. Her eyebrows furrow somewhat, annoyance written over her face if you look close enough. She says nothing for the time being, only shaking her head while muttering something under her breath.

“Impressive.” The King states. “If you continue your training, at this rate, you’ll become a fine prince and soldier all at once.”

“A powerful leader in both ways indeed.” The Queen adds.

Calviac grins, almost overwhelmed by the compliments given by his father and mother. He chuckles somewhat.

But then, a sudden explosion of massive amounts of dark energy appears inside the nearby forest. The explosion swirls around in the form of a tornado, the clouds above the explosion soon darkening as they clump together in the form of a massive storm cloud. The ground shakes from the immense impact, wind blowing throughout the pure city and even towards the courtyard. 

Citizens gasp and shout in surprise and fear, the royal family surprised as well, gazing over at the black cloud surrounded by white lightning as they sit at the table. The royal family stands, the King raising his hand.

“Stewart, take my wife and daughter inside.”

“Yes sir.” Stewart immediately assists both the Queen and Princess in standing upright, guiding them inside the castle.

“Calviac, my son.” The King says. “I trust you enough to lead a legion to identify what that explosion was.”

“Really?!” Calviac asks, shocked that his father would allow him to do such a thing after only two months of training. Calviac’s curing of his disease, as well as his recovery only being a few three years ago, then his sudden excellence of his skills has remedied his father of his wariness of his son.

“Yes. Your training has proved you are more capable than most soldiers. Now go, now! I’ll send you knights on the way there. If anything, they will be heading now.”

Calviac nods, beginning to run out of the capital and into the city. He runs past fleeing townspeople who are seeking shelter, and eventually meets up with a group of ten guards who are running towards the commotion as well.

“The prince?” The first guard asks, his armor clashing against itself as they all run as one group. His young face raises an eyebrow.

“My father has sent me to aid you all.” Calviac explains, continuing to run.

“What?! You are only but a Prince!” The first guard shouts, his voice cracking as he does so. “You might be injured--”

“Silence!” The second guard, his feet, despite his withered and darkened beard, slams against the ground as he sprints. “If the King has sent him, his training must be coming along swell.” The first guard flinches, going silent as he continues to run.

“Be calm.” The Prince reassures, “No danger will come among us if we aid each other through this future turmoil.”

Eventually, the group arrives at the edge of the Kingdom, continuing to run towards the  northern wilderness. As they get into the forest, their surroundings begin to darken, as if there's an otherworldly presence, or multiple.

“We should go into two groups of five.” The fifth guard recommends, “A group of the strong soldiers and another of the weakest. To make up for the weakness of the second group, they can have the Prince as their leader.” His red cape makes it clear he’s a squadron leader.

“That is quite foolish.” The Prince states. “Why do such a thing?” 

“The strongest soldiers can charge forwards towards the source, while all of you stay behind and watch for any corrupted entities that might come your way.” The squadron leader advises, his voice all the more commanding despite the hesitation of the prince. “The same strategy we used the previous time any corruption was near our kingdom.”

“Yet that was different!” The first guard interjects, “We had armies on both positions available to surround the threat! Now, for all we know, it could already know we’re coming!”

“The beast, or, what that blast possibly could have been, most likely just arrived.” The squadron leader educates, his hand near his rapier as he bolts forwards. “This environment might be new for the creature. We should take advantage of that.”

The Prince, unable to come up with a proper objection, merely nods as he plants his feet inside the ground.

“Go then. Shoot a fire flare into the air if you need assistance.”

The strongest group then begins to run forwards, weapons in hand. The forest continues to get deeper, trees beginning to swallow the light above, and eventually, begin to swallow themselves. Ultimately, past multiple trees and bushes, they arrive at an open field. The squadron leader raises a hand, halting their movement.

“Raise your weapons high.” The squadron leader’s orders echo quietly as he whispers towards his squad, which follows suit.

Silence curses the air, and tension begins to rise like a flame supplied with oxygen. The soldiers brace, some with shaking hands, others with calm readiness, and the squadron leader with discipline. A sword clatters to the ground.

“I thought I ordered you to raise your weapon high.” The squadron leader says, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as his tone becomes somewhat gruff. Once his order rings out, another sword clatters to the ground.

“Embarrassing, I expected better of this squad.” The leader says, his form beginning to turn around for a moment. “Where is your spiri--?” But once he turns around fully, two, no, now three guards seem to be missing. The third guard’s sword clattering to the ground as darkness dashes from the trees and takes him into the darkness that surrounds him. The squadron leader, witnessing such, immediately goes on guard once more. However, beads of sweat start to roll down his face as now he’s alone, the fourth guard taken as well.

Just before the fourth sword clatters to the ground, the leader shoots a fire flare, the magical blast lighting the already blue sky. However, before he can react, a beast that resembles a wild wonder wolf, a creature which is normally a blue in hue and has the ability to camouflage, comes out of the tall grass. Its teeth are unnaturally elongated and jagged, the opposite of normally how elegant these creatures are. Its eyes are bloodshot, yellow liquid in the form of pus coming from them as well. The blue hue of the creature ruined by the now paleness of its fur, as if the life was forcibly removed from its husk of a corpse. Its claws slice open the man’s chest before he can even scream. The nails of the creature puncturing his lungs as now all that can come out is a weak, breathless whistle.

“The fire flare!” The first guard shouts, “If the leader summoned it so quickly they must have been in real danger!” The Prince nods.

“We need to go, now!” The Prince orders. However, before the squad can begin running, a massive claw swipes through the trees and towards them.

“Lower your heads!” The Prince yells, putting his head down immediately. Two follow his orders swiftly, but the other three aren’t fast enough: their bodies are mangled, the sound of cracking bones ringing through the air.

The creature that swung its claws shows itself to be a massive, yet corrupted, Jamoan Bear. Its previous dark yellow and brown coat now a stark greenish yellow, its zombified corpse emits a rotting smell into the air. Its eyes are leaking that same yellow pus that was leaking from the wonder wolf as well. It roars, jagged and deformed teeth being shown to the warriors below it.

Calviac’s breath hitches.

“RUN, NOW!” Calviac shouts, turning back towards the other two alive soldiers. He pulls out a greatsword, created by holy light energy. 

The other two soldiers begin to run, their armor clattering as they attempt to flee from the giant threat that is now the corrupted Jamoan Bear. However, before they can fully flee, the same decaying wonder wolf appears and cuts them down like a saw would a tree.

The Prince’s eyes widened in terror, a horrible fear of the fate his comrades suffered, and what he’ll suffer soon enough if this continues. 

The Jamoan Bear charges first, a burst of brute-like speed accompanied by a heavy swipe at Calviac’s head. Calviac swiftly dodges, ducking under the heavy paw as if his life depends on it. It does. He swings his sword at the paw, recognizing its strength yet slow nature, cutting it clean in half. 

He dashes forwards, not getting far as the Wonder Wolf appears in front of him, a quick burst of speed comes from the medium-sized creature. It charges in the next second, opening its maw in an effort to decapitate the young man. However, Calviac counters, hitting the ferocious beast with the handle of his holy greatsword and cutting the fiend in half.

Despite such, before he can regain his bearings, the other claw of the giant bear swings at him. He tries to block with his greatsword…-- 

CRACK!

Yet it still flung away, the bone in his arm being ravaged. He slams against a tree, another --

CRACK wringing throughout the air, three of his ribs taking an intense blow as his body bends around the tree.

He falls to the ground. But he’s alive. Calviac stands, greatsword in hand as he points it at the large bear. He falls once again, to his knees from not only the pain, but the sheer shock of the impact on his young yet strong body. One more blow like that and it is over for him. His breathing becomes heavier, more tiring just to stand. He looks up, the bear already charging for him once more.

“Forgive me father.” Calviac pleads, closing his eyes right before the inevitability of death.

… GGSHHH! CRACK! SPLATTER!

Or so he thinks, because it doesn’t come. Blood splatters over his face, yet it isn’t his own. Seconds begin to pass as nothing happens. Nothing at all.

He finally opens his eyes, not knowing what to expect. His eyes widened, pupils shrinking, as what he sees is nothing Calviac could have expected.

A small boy, no older than fourteen, stands in front of the mutilated carcass of the corrupted Jamoan Bear, his hands covered in blood and the tissue of the beast. The beast’s ribs are ripped open and pointing upwards like the spires of a castle, its own intestines spilled all over the grass and dirt they stand on. A rotting stench beginning to hit the air, that same stench drawing over multiple woodland creatures such as butterflies, and flies themselves.

The boy has a royal-blue coat hanging off of his neck, silver insignia of a mantis on the back of his coat as well as silver linings on middle to end of the sleeves and cuffs. He has black pants on, the blood of the creature before him now staining them. His shoes, wooden sandals, black laces tied around the brown skin on his feet. He begins to turn around, his large afro waving in the silent wind.

He fully turns around. He has a black undershirt on, his lean figure fully showing itself. On the collar of his undershirt, there are three sapphire crystals which line it. The one in the middle shining the brightest, the biggest.

His most defining feature is his beautiful, yet intimidating eyes. The whites of his eyes are his reptilian-like deep blue eyes. They pierce through Calviac as the boy turns to look at him, staring directly into his soul. The boy reaches his hand out in Calviac’s direction, beginning to charge up a reddish-orange flaming ball of dark energy. 

“Thank you for your assistance!” Calviac closes his eyes, grinning in the boy’s direction. “I assumed I wouldn’t survive!”

Calviac says, the boy’s eyebrow’s rising in confusion.

Are you an idiot? The boy thought. He plays along however, the blast dissipating into thin air as the dark energy disappears. The boy extends a hand out towards Calviac, and Calviac grabs on, rising to his feet.

“Who are you? Your strength is magnificent for such a young fighter!” Calviac asks, a compliment also given by the young adult.

“Hirolda Diale.” The boy answers, or rather now Hirolda. The boy’s voice is soft, softer than the silk Arachne rolled when she was still a human. There seems to be a sense of darkness emanating from the boy, Hirolda, despite his voice that feels like a soft streak of a mother’s touch.

Claviac’s eyes slightly widen at Hirolda’s voice.

“What a feminine name you have.” Calviac states, seemingly surprised by Hirolda’s name as well. “I expected a way more intimidating and knightly name. I suppose it doesn’t suit you however.

“Right.”

The boy’s expression is cold. Colder than the sea a serpent resides in. He does not outwardly react to Calviac’s sentence, only changing the subject:

“You’re dressed in minor but delicate jewelry.” He observes, “Are you supposed to be a noble?”

“Indeed!” Calviac responds. “I am in fact Prince Calviac of Areydonias.”

“Are you?” Hirolda’s eyebrow raises in interest. “And where is this… Areydonias?”

“There.” Calviac points in the direction of the kingdom, his good, unharmed arm raising in the South. “My father is awaiting my return. Unfortunately, he will be receiving bad news.” 

“What bad news?” Hirolda asks.

“... The deaths of my comrades.” Calviac adds, his expression darkening as he sheds a singular tear. “Their families will be saddened by the deaths of their loved ones.”

Hirolda’s face has yet to change, his gaze moving off to the side as Calviac looks down.

So weak minded humans are. Hirolda thinks, the slit of his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. However, before he can speak up once more…--

“Would you like to come back to the Kingdom?” Calviac asks, wiping the one tear from his face, “after all, you did save me. You should be rewarded!” 

“I don’t see why not.” Hirolda responds, “I don’t need your praise. I merely want to see the kingdom you speak of.”

“How selfless of you …!” Calviac compliments, attempting to be bright despite the bodies of his comrades laid about, “Let us be on our way then.” The Prince turns around, beginning to walk forward. Hirolda follows, his expression solidified as if it was a statue; which would have been the case if he couldn’t help but smile behind the Prince’s back. An evil, vile, wide grin.

This fool is going to lead me right to their nest. Hirolda schemes, my awakening has turned out perfect~. I cannot wait to start my feeding once more… Being sealed away in such a slumber for such a long while has deepened my appetite.

But no… I have to savor this. After all, no one should know about me yet, and nobody will be able to stop me. Those remnants of corruption should all be exterminated. That large creature I just killed should have been the final one. So I’ll have this all to myself!

Well then, I wonder what warriors I’ll feast on this century.

…

The silence is deafening as the Prince looks off to the side, Hirolda fiddling with one of his curls as both stay quiet.

“Well, Hirolda, where do you co-.. come from exactly?” Calviac asks, his breath pausing as he deals with the pain of his broken arm, breaking the silence.

“The African Hemisphere.” The boy answers, “I don’t specifically live in a country or state, as I am quite the nomad.”

“How interesting!” Calviac compliments once more, his eyes widen somewhat, “What places have you been to?”

“I don’t know the specific names of said places, however, I’ve journeyed across hilltops, volcanic areas, wetlands, open fields, seas, snowy mountains, and a plethora of more regions.”

“I see. I bet you’ve come across some challenging foes along the way if you’re this powerful.”

“Mhmm.” The boy merely mumbles, gazing in the distance.

“... Well, tell me, who are some of the foes yo--”

“Is that your kingdom up ahead?”

“Hmm?”

Calviac turns his attention from Hirolda back towards the trees ahead, realizing they’re nearing the kingdom. 

“Oh! Yes!” Calviac responds. “Come on, we should report what happened immediately to my father, the King!”

The two slowly make their way back towards the kingdom, eventually reaching the inside. As citizens turn to gaze upon the two, some rush towards the Prince to check his injuries:

“Oh dear!” A woman in a blue simplistic mantua shouts, “The King’s son! The King’s son is injured!”

More people begin to run over, men, women, children, even some street dogs tilting their heads due to the ruckus. They speak over each other, their arms beginning to flail as they panic. 

“Where are the rest of the soldiers that left with the Prince?!” A middle-aged man in brown pants and doublets asks, or rather demands to know.

“Where is my boy!?” A fat elderly woman asks, her weak voice stuttering as she speaks. Her Sacque drags along the ground as she clasps her hands together.

Citizens begin to get more rowdy, their concern apparent as they scream for answers. More people begin to run over, at least over fifty people surrounding the young prince. However, footsteps begin to sound as about three sets approach. The crowd splits in half, and the King, Queen, and Princess are revealed amongst people. The Queen and King run over in a panic, the King kneeling and the Queen bending over to check on their son.

“By the gods!” The Queen exclaims, “What occurred for such an injury?!” Her dress drapes onto the ground as she inspects her son’s arm.

“Where are your comrades?” The King asks, his eyes widened at the condition his son is suffering in.

The Princess stands back, her calm yet slightly annoyed expression still on her face from before. Yet, it is soon to change as the Prince speaks:

“D-... De-...” The Prince struggles to respond as he’s reminded of the fate his squadron suffered, “They’re all gone. None of them survived. I am the only survivor.”

…

Silence, a quiet panic as all citizens freeze at the news. The elderly woman drops to her knees, her face being covered by her hands as she weeps for her lost offspring. The King and Queen’s pupils shrink, their hearts missing a breath. Even the Princess gazes at Calviac, her breath being offset for a moment.

“What?” The King asks.

“There were monsters.” Calviac states, “They bled yellow. They radiated dark magic. I-... They must have been corrupted with what was in that discharge of darkness.” 

“This is worse than we had anticipated,” the King worries, beads of sweat beginning to roll down his forehead as he grabs his chin with his pointer and thumb, “There could be more out there. There can be more being produced right now…--”

“No there cannot.” Hirolda says, his slits for eyes boring into the King.

The King and Queen gaze towards the source of the soft voice, then stand up quickly, moving away from the boy, almost tripping over themselves in the process.

“Who are you?!” The King shouts, multiple guards surrounding the boy, pushing through the crowd. The boy, whose eyes don’t falter, merely crosses his arms.

“Wait no, no!” The Prince shouts as well, “Lower your weapons! This man saved me!”

“What?” The King asks, his eyes only widening further.

“Yes! I would have passed on if not for this kind child!” The Prince claims, “He destroyed both creatures, he saved my life.”

“... Is that so?” The King questions, raising then lowering his hand to signal for his guards to lower their weapons, which they do. The guards move back towards the King.

“Well, I must thank you for doing such a thing for my son.” The King says, bowing his head just a tiny bit, “May I ask who you are?”

“Hirolda Diale.” The boy answers, his head turning from left to right as he inspects the kingdom, “Your son was attacked by a creature harboring dark energy. You should get a priest to purify his wounds.”

The King gasps, then nods, “Indeed we shall!” He says as he turns towards the guards, “Escort my son to the Priests, get him a doctor as well.”

“Yes Sire!” The guards say collectively, raising their Prince onto a litter and begin to jog towards their destination.

The King turns to the crowd, raising his hands high.

“We have suffered casualties, and I know my word cannot quell the sorrow you have for your loved ones.” The King lowers his gaze, bowing to his citizens, “Despite such, I plead for you all to forgive my lack of attentiveness to the situation. You shall worry no more, as nevertheless we are once again safe as we were generations before this.”

“Now, return to your homes, celebrate, and mourn, as today is both a day of returning peace, as well as detrimental sorrow.” The King finishes.

The citizens, weeping but thankful, begin to filter out of the crowd, slowly returning to their homes or businesses in the streets. One stand, titled ‘Mandarins’, begins to sell their orange fruit once more. A mother, blonde hair and blue eyes, holds hands with her son as they walk back to their jobs at a nearby textile producer, a young boy with the same coloration of hair and eyes, both wearing tattered clothing.

“I will be on my way now.” Hirolda declares, turning around, his royal blue coat being blown in the gentle breeze.

“Stop right there.” The King orders, walking towards Hirolda. The King puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder, his touch gentle yet rough, “You saved my son. You must be compensated properly.”

“I don’t need to be rewarded. Just as I told your son; I merely wanted to see your kingdom.” Hirolda further declines, continuing to walk. Even so, the King grabs the boy’s hand with both arms.

“I refuse!” The King states, shaking the boy’s hand with both of his, “How selfless you are,”

How selfless I am...~ Hirolda smiles internally

“But I must reward you for your heroicness and courage!”

Yes! Yes! You must! Hirolda’s internal smile transforms into a grin.

“So please, come, have a feast with us inside the kingdom!” The King pleads, “I beg of you to accept my gratitude for you saving my son!”

…

“Fine.” The boy relents, turning around.

“If you want my company so dearly, who am I to decline?” The boy shakes his hand.

          who am I to decline?   Shamhuth Lefu beams within.

“Thank you.” The King gives his appreciation, “You will not regret this.

“I know I won’t.” Hirolda smiles, the one on his face well-defined and steady, yet, the one in his head sadistic.

Caleb Galloway ‘28

I created this after laying in my bed and having a dream about being free, truly free. For context, the full story revolves around my main character, Hirolda, being reborn into a new world and going on an unanticipated (at least for him) journey of redemption. And although these two chapters only revolve around the introduction of my main character, at the end of the story, he is truly freed from the chains of evil that once bounded him, and is able to do good without feeling the need for blood or thirst for vengeance. This is by far my favorite written piece I have ever done, and I await to finish it.