{Chapter 1}

In a honey wood room adorned by the grace of sunlight and soft silken curtains, a middle-aged man stood with an equally brilliant robe in his arm. He was refined and held himself with a humble head, although the colors and medals along his robe boasted his presence. There was no one quite like him, especially to the other beside him. 

"Your Royal Highness, why do you look so troubled?" he, the celebrated duke and Minister of Magic in Soliere, asked with a complicated expression. His lips pressed together unevenly. Eye wrinkles diminished none of his superior looks. 

"Hm?" Sandalwood eyes like amber reflected the mirror in front of him. "I simply wonder…" he looked around to survey each corner of the room and the furniture inside, like someone was hiding behind them. His lips pursed, a sigh escaping soon after. "Where is Orion?"

"Ah…" The duke's gaze volleyed between Luminur and the mirror. "Shall I contact him, Luminur?"

He shook his head. "Leave it." 

His gaze drifted to the window. Just as blue skies and the balcony outside remained, the wind likened to the curtains like bright jewels that were aglow.

"My prince, you've been staring quite a bit at the window." 

Luminur flinched.

"Is there something that…"

"No, not at all. I…" He shook his head and turned back to the mirror. "He must be at the New Harvest Festival because of the Trial."

Elias couldn't find words to say. Word barely audible to his old ears, he knew it was not meant for him to hear but Orion. Usually, this room would not be so empty, a certain spot beside his prince taken by that hot-headed youthful knight. 

"Yet—"

"Let us be on our way, Duke Elias." 

With the flip of his golden coat and a white mask over his face, he took off to the door of his room, leaving a wide-eyed Elias who fumbled the clothes in his arms. 

"Your Royal Highness, your white clothes will—!"

Obvious in the way he was left behind, he groaned and ran after the prince who gave no second glance as he strided the long hallways of the Crystal Palace, where sunlight encapsulated by the honey-colored wooden walls and red carpets. 

"Duke Elias," Luminur muttered. "What do you think today's Trial is about? I was not informed of the details."

Elias, who had just caught up, took a second to breathe and straightened his hair. As much as he made his appearance right, prim and proper, he was a stiff board at that question. A side glance and a tight swallow: "His Majesty Ferdinand had instructed not to inform His Royal Highness until the Trial."

"And what good does that bring?" He shot a glance at Elias. "Go on and tell me."

"It is of Count Boulier's daughter…and," he hesitated for a second, "ten men."

"I see." 

He stopped between the intersection of two halls and turned to Elias. "What would the appropriate punishment be? If you were the Judge of Aredese?" 

Cold air pulled into Elias's lungs at those few words. What else would he say in response to that? He didn't have to mention what those specific crimes were to the prince; he already knew too well, better than anyone else who had the crude pleasure to be made aware of the nature of such evil. That question was nothing more than a way to affirm the prince's thoughts, Elias believed.

Elias took a second too long to answer before Luminur lifted his hand in a stop motion. 

"Don't trouble yourself with the questions any longer. There is little point to it. It is as foolish as inquiring about Magie Societate East."

"Luminur…"

He found himself numbed to hearing his name—the same before every Trial. It was better to be a corpse or a husk of a human. As he carried his light feet forward till tower-like doors loomed over them, like the flesh of his heart had already calcified into stone.

The guards beside him pushed the doors inwards to a wide white hall of marble and crystals embedded into the murals Great Hall of the palace. Sitting as proud as one may be, the lavishly dressed people had become as eager as a dog for bones; they already waited too long for the Sun Prince, more than they would have delighted themselves.

Luminur ambled with a straight back and cold eyes, and somehow, the room where the light of the sun burst through the grand window at the edge, was a winter storm. His gaze stabbed into the guts of people as they looked away. 

I must have lost my mind for a second there; am I scared right now? Those words didn't have to be spoken for everyone to be saying the same things. Not once have they feared him—the Sun Prince. 

They never once feared him. 

His heel clicked into place at the center of the congregation for all to see. Donned golden and most beautiful under the sunlight, no one found the heart to look away from his timber brown hair, lavish eyelashes, and stunning sandalwood eyes. He was mesmerizing, but he truly gutted their hearts as that gaze had hardened into steel. 

The aging archbishop wise beyond years bowed to the king who sat at the center of the crescent-shaped crowd, at the crevice of the shape. He regarded the old archbishop and announced, "Where blood is paid by blood, Bane Aredese of Equity and Love demands nothing but parity and sanctification of the Nation of the Sun, Soliere. May the Judge of Aredese commence the Trial. The crimes are as is: torture, sexual assault, mutilation, and blasphemy"

The people leaned forward with a shiver in their bones, far too excited and eager so much so that Luminur felt his throat squeeze into itself.

The kneeling men casted a dirty glare at him. One of them scowled so deeply that it would be engraved into his face. They had no idea what they had to expect, but the man in front of them was barely twenty, neither built like a beast in body, and had been dressed so ostentatiously that they would make a debutante jealous of his beauty. 

A sharp sound of a splat echoed through the silent room. 

With a downturned gaze, Luminur saw a foamy liquid by the base of his feet; he looked up to an animalistic defiance, a longing to be a dominant and superior being over him. He gazed at the prince's face and licked his lip. 

Barely reacting, Luminur closed his eyes to the obvious taunt. With an outstretched hand, a radian golden light gathered at the palm of his gloved hand, swirling in thousands of threads, to condense into a bead the size of an eye. In his other hand, the rattling iron turned sharp at the simple summon in his mind. Like a snake it twirled and tumbled around the air as a rolling cloud would.

A golden light pulsed from the prince's eyes, glowing in a beautiful color of the sun. So lovely, he would have been—yet the people felt a sudden weight around their throat. One noble man began to cough, scratching his neck. He didn't understand; it was like a snake had wrapped around him. 

Without a second, Luminur stepped forward and pressed the glowing bead deep into the forehead of the first man to the left, pushing into the flesh of the skin. A sudden red light emerged. 

The man's eyes bulged and a scream ripped into the ears of the audience. 

He screamed and begged, fat rolls of tears slipping to his throat, cheeks, mouth. He gargled for mercy and wriggled, but it was as if his knees had been nailed to the ground. 

Luminur pressed deeper into his skin.

"Please! Your Royal Highness! Mercy, mercy!"

His wrist bled against the ropes, screams turning hoarse. 

The audience had gone quiet, bodies as straight as a needle. 

"Mercy! Argh!" 

The archbishop swallowed at the sight, touching his throat and sliding his hand over his eyes for a second. He glanced at the King whose face had gone pale. 

"Ha…haha…" the man heaved and coughed a fit of blood.

Luminur pulled his hand away and stared at the dark spot on the forehead, where everyone had also looked. It was as black as tar, the skin around it crimson and blistered. 

The people for once didn't dare to look at the Sun Prince, their hands crumpled on their laps. The women who entertained themselves to see the most beautiful prince had already gone silent, some with a handkerchief over their mouths. 

The man shot a weary glare at Luminur, but he froze—tears began to gather in his eyes. He saw the chains gathered in Luminur's hand, eyes as callous and as deranged as a killer, but they were not deranged; empty like the void of hell.

He trembled at the sight. "M…mercy. I have a child—"

Chains wrapped under the neck, swinging around in a loop. The more that they overlapped in his throat, his squelching saliva and bulging eyes bled red. His tongue hung out his mouth.

One of the men and women immediately began to vomit, some whose eyes were shut tightly. 

Another tug at the chains broke bones, cutting through flesh and skin. The body fell to the side, blood spurting from the hole and a pool of crimson trailing behind the head. 

Luminur pulled his chains back and whipped them in the air, cracking them against the white marble. "Bane Aredese judged the first guilty." His gaze swept over the other men, whose faces had long lost vigor. "I announce again the crimes for all and for Bane Aredese to judge: torture, sexual assault, mutilation, and blasphemy. Judgment of the second begins."

The Great Hall of Crystal Palace was bright and livid. White walls were rotten by fear, and the voices of people were slaughtered by the mere screams of the punished men that they heard. It was filled with different people: ones who trembled on their legs like a fawn, and ones who watched with wide eyes and clenched hands. Even the man donned by a crown swallowed down at the sight—a sight too cold and unforgiving. A raging red marred the marble grounds, creeping to the onlookers' laced shoes.

On the floor, ten men kneeled, nine whose bodies were rid of their heads. They came from afar and heard nothing of the notable Judge of Aredese, simply that he was to turn twenty. Who in their right mind was afraid of a young man barely twenty? But as the heads of fellow men fell one by one, their pride melted into a puddle of wax and saw themselves as crawling bugs before him whose strident eyes were much the symbol of their death.

He gazed under his brown eyelashes, slightly furrowed in pure disgust, but even this spoke true to his elegance. The seal of the Tri-Seal Bearer marked his right arm below his golden robes for the Trial. It was an enviable and covetous title to be held. With it comes incomparable power and infatuating charm. Most who knew of the nature of Tri-Seal said he was blessed. Tri-Seal Bearers are the only mortals given the right to possess golden Soul Energy: the purest and most powerful form of it found only in the Banes of Ridonia.

He was the Judge of Aredese, the patron Bane of Incardia.

With the silver, snake-like Chains of Judgment in one hand and a golden bead in the left, Luminur sought to bring judgment in the name of the Bane of Equity and Love, and his presence swooped over all inside the hall like a tempest.

Even with the mask over the lower half of his face, his expression was spiteful, like a person who's seen the vilest entities.

He took a deep breath. All the people turned away, only a few unfazed. The man on the floor had no chance to do the same, and he watched like his eyes had been pried open; with a bloodied face and clattering teeth, a nail struck him to his knees.

"Bane Aredese judged the ninth guilty. I announce again the crimes for all and for Bane Aredese to judge: torture, sexual assault, mutilation, and blasphemy." Luminur's gaze grated the ashen face of the kneeling man. "Judgment of the tenth begins."

The man turned into a sheet of ice. Tears began to drop down, to the chin and some strayed down to his throat. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Soul Energy gathered in Luminur's hands, swiveling into the chains and the golden bead. With a frigid frown and stifling stare, he pressed the bead into the forehead of the man. Screams, shouts, tears, terror; those were all meaningless. Not the pallid nobles, not the sweating king, and not even the howls of hags could stop the unhesitant prince. None were allowed, and Luminur himself gave not a second glance to it.

As the bead burned into the forehead of the shackled man on the floor, Luminur scrunched his nose. His eyes focused on the black spot made upon the skin.

With a swing of his hand, the silver Chain of Judgment wrung the neck of the man; whose eyes bulged and whose mouth began to froth. Luminur pulled one more time. The chains obeyed and threw a head to the back, a trail of blood behind.

The audience tried to sit upright, but in that small moment, their backs pressed tightly to their chairs. Some wished that they rather watched the New Harvest Festival Offering. Removing dust from white clothes proved no difficulty; cleansing blood from the unsullied mind had no cure.

Blood dripped from the blade at the end of the silver chains, and with a flick of his wrist upwards, Luminur splattered it off. From the rows of trembling feet and marbled floor, even if it were to be washed away, it would not disappear. He wiped his cheek of the blood. A streak of red that cannot be washed away.

The archbishop quickly regained his grasp on reality. Though his hands shuddered whenever a Trial was in place for the past two years, such barbaric killing was a first. He couldn't help but inch closer to the palace guards who had seen it as many times as he did, but remained stoic.

The archbishop cleared his voice. "Bane Aredese has judged ten men guilty. The Trial has ended."

As people left through the main doors in the front, maids hurried into the Great Hall. Buckets and towels sprawled the floors, and one manservant with a hose connected to the sink in the kitchen followed suit.

Luminur looked to the three guards that stood behind him. "Take the bodies to the outer wall guards and tell them to throw it out to the fields for beasts. Do not give these corpses the privilege to be burned."

"Yes, Your Royal Highness," they responded.

He swung his hand as blue Soulfire doused his body with ease, burning away the blood into crumpled ashes that dissipated into the air.

Luminur started his way back to his room. He dragged his feet with every step he took, and he wanted to close his eyes. 

He looked another way, but when his eyes met those of King Ferdinand, he froze. The king possessed a complicated expression of disapproval and sorrow, both of which he could see. Luminur looked to the other side and headed to the right-wing of the palace..

Fulfilling his duties as Crown Prince and Tri-Seal Bearer tipped the scale till it almost fell to its side, against the scorn of the highest nobles in Crimson Union. He walked through the hallways with gloves soaked in a thick scarlet.

A heavy breath escaped his lips. From behind him, Elias had hurried over to him. There was nothing exchanged between the two of them, not after the Trial. 

By the time they were in front of the golden twin doors, Luminur stopped for a moment. "Duke Elias, is this the will of Bane Aredese?"

Elias stopped for a moment, his folded hands unclasping. "I don't know, Your Royal Highness."

Luminur closed his eyes. He felt the pool of red liquid in his hands drowning his face when he stared at the pure white gloves. A sudden flash of orange hair and dead fish eyes caused him to flinch. 

He shook his head. "Magie Societate…Zhongguog. What a hilarious situation. Even this Trial—death seems to be always around me, don't you think?"

There was no response, much to Luminur's sigh. 

"I simply wanted to vent. With the number of lives that I've taken at this point, you would think that I would be calm and collected—perhaps I am. But whenever I think about it…" his hands slid under his hair. "Could I really change the future and…save them?"

"I don't know, Your Highness."

"I know."

{Chapter 2}

In the land where rolling grass-fields and gilded deserts bloomed, eventful and prosperous were the few words that described the sundry continent of Incardia. It was one of the few landmasses in the world of Ridonia that was so diverse in both nations and traditions; both in sanguis and countless genocide. The Inaugural Nations, the four major nations, were the start and end of the bloody history of Incardia. 

Soliere was the kingdom of mage-craft and the most beloved nation of Patron Bane Aredese. In the northern side, the horizon never truly set; the moon was shadowed by the glory of the sun, and there, a kingdom laid in rich fields. Sun City (they called it) held the love of the Bane Aredese within its white marble walls, and it called forth the aspiring, young magicians and the finest craftsmen: Avignon of Soliere Kingdom.

Within the city of Avignon, the burning sun was the fierce passion that the valiant knights held as they pushed and struggled for dominance. Outside of the arena: streets alight, banners of the sun and bundle of wheat, common folks in spirit-lifting joy —the New Harvest Festival final event then ensued; the festival of offering to Bane Aredese.

 "Wooh! Get em good!" one of the onlookers cheered, like many others. 

Screams magnified as loudly as a roar of stormy waves. Knights threw each other to the ground and the air, resilience unmatched in all ways. Onlookers also jumped up and down, some pulling their shirts off, shouting, eyes sparkling. It was a rhapsody that reached the booming chorus in an ode to vehemence.

Praises of onlookers echoed with clashing steels. Dust kicked up to hinder the sight of warriors who charged with zealous spirits. Thunders of fear echoed through the arena.

A young man barely into his adulthood watched from afar on a balcony, and most would not notice him if he were a common man. With white hair and starlight silver eyes, he was anything but human. He was a half-Druid, one of the two last remaining native races in Incardia; known for the males' white hair, skin so pale like a translucent fish. But that was not what caught the onlookers' eyes; rather, he was someone who held the sword for the Sun prince.

Many cast glances more than twice, studying his attire from top to bottom: a white shirt and black pants with a jacket of the same color. On his jacket, a tiny blue crystal was clipped. A dashing young man, people noted but paled in his presence. He looked at multiple common folks; they immediately withdrew their gazes. He sighed under his breath and shook his head. Perhaps it was too unusual to see him off-duty, especially someone like him who was knee-deep in duties. He didn't mind; it was not often for him to take a free day. He looked at the wall around the stadium, as if he saw a crystal palace afar.

The noise lingered around the arena. Orion watched with wide eyes; his breath was also held back as the climax of the tournament approached —but in the reflection of his eyes, there was growing envy for those who could brandish their blade on New Harvest Festival. His hand tightened around his arm, the bandages beneath his clothes slowly coming undone. His disciplined expression showed no such thing.

He felt a buzz against his chest and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket to pull out a finger-sized rectangular crystal. His skin glowed against the pulses of blue it released, highlighting the blue veins visible beneath his icy appearance.

His eyes became strict, his thumb pressing onto the surface.

"Orion, are you there?"

"Duke Basarab, I had not expected you. What do you need?"

Elias Basarab chuckled in the back, his rough and grumpy voice unlike his words. "Haha, it is nothing. I noticed you were gone. It's the first time you left Luminur to himself during a Trial. He asked about you as he was changing into his garments."

Orion felt a pinch in his chest, opening his mouth and closing it in repeat. He grunted and shook his head. "I…you already know."

Elias kept silent for a second. "Does it"— he hesitated— "does it have anything to do with bloodshed?"

"No, not exactly." Orion looked down to the arena where small patches of red followed footsteps. "I can handle the sight of blood, but not the stench. And in most cases, I am not to attend the Trials, as I am not of age yet, and Luminur only started at the age of eighteen. My unnatural position as his knight and the captain of the Royal Magic Knights forces me to be there. I grew accustomed to blood from hunting and accidents during training. But the Trials are different. They are too brutal, and seeing Luminur, a man who dislikes brutality, do such acts unnerve me further."

The cheering crowd interrupted the silence between Elias and Orion, throwing more dust like wind as it blinded the knights below and glowed red against the sun.

Elias coughed after the noise flattened. "Orion, if this is too abrupt and out of place, please forgive me, but do you resent him?"

"That…" Orion bit his bottom lip. "I, I can't understand what you mean. I can't hate him." He crossed his arms, face alight with downturned lips and redness. "You have to stop teasing me like this."

"N-no, I wasn't teasing you. I asked because in the past…and even now you speak so roughly about him to me."

"I have no clue of what you're telling me. More so, what are you—"

"Leave this conversation be, now! Let us forget!" shouted Elias through the crystal, causing Orion to wince. "Ah! That reminds me, Luminur told me to remind you: make no trouble. Your presence in the Great Hall is no longer needed, but avoid any form of conflict—more so the nobles."

He sneered and bit down on the flesh of his lip. "He treats me like a child."

"You understand him. He is just worried, but putting this out of the window, the people show great excitement for the New Harvest Festival. We received plenty of positive responses. I know your arm is injured, but, without doubt, you feel the same, no? Their high spirits are infectious."

His fingers curled into his palms, his throat tightening like a collar choking a dog. Joyous was only for those who were spared.

"I—" he cut his words, like an arrow struck his back "—I shall be going."

Before Elias spoke, Orion released his thumb from the crystal, and the glow disappeared with it.

He swallowed down, and the sound of echoing footsteps became closer, until a hand dropped to his shoulder. He flinched, and the hand tightened.

"A horde of fools, I would say they are, Orion," said a man with an insulting tone. He laughed and patted Orion's back, who peered at him from the corner of his eyes. He was Duke Eleanor, Fredrick Eleanor.

Orion's fingers twitched, and he held himself back from releasing those guarded words, waiting to be unchained like savage animals. Fredrick noticed his lack of interest, so he whistled to Orion to come closer. Orion pursed lips ever so slightly as eyes clouded. What other choice did he have than to ground himself with chains; he was nothing more than a dog at beck and call. There was no footing for him in this kingdom where humans sought the carcasses of others, waiting to feast on their remains.

He clenched his jaws.

"I must say it is quite a surprise to see that you have rejected an invitation to this tournament, being more than a noble and given your lineage," said Fredrick, but then he feigned a look of shock. "Oh, wait. What a shame that I had forgotten that you had hurt your arm."

Orion sealed his lips. Fredrick peered at his unchanging face and huffed.

"A quiet dog, aren't you?" He cleared his throat. "I heard that the Crown Prince is in quite the adventurous spree this gël. The sun had barely risen, but blood had already been spilled." He yawned before his eyes twinkled. "The prince is truly the most benevolent yet brutal royalty that I've met."

Fingertips burned when he heard the title 'prince.' He breathed in, and reeled himself away from anger just as was the prince who pulled the leash of the collar of loyalty around Orion to shy away from rage.

Just as he sighed in relief, a glint at the corner of his eyes made all his nerves stand on point. Orion's finger flinched as the duke pulled a bottle of wine from his robes. With a smile coated with deceit, he handed the wine, the clear bottle mirroring the torn emotions in his eyes. The more he watched, the tighter his fist became.

"Drink it from the bottle, Orion. No one here lives long enough to refuse the riches life offers. You won't refuse this 'offer,' now, would you?"

Orion let out a shaky breath and took the bottle. His cold hand wrapped the neck, bringing the mouth of it to his lips. An engulfing bitterness, perfumed by alcohol, rushed out, and he coughed, red liquid dribbling down his chin. His other hand fisted into a ball as he hid it under his jacket. Orion took the bottle of wine again, pouring it down his throat. A single tear streaked down his cheek.

"Ahaha! It is enough. Willing to fall to such disgrace, Orion!" The duke bellowed into a roar of laughter, much too happy to conceal it. "I thought you'd be used to drinking by now, given how many times you so happily took the wine I've given."

A numbing clap landed on Orion's back, and his eyes watched the red-tinted corners of the duke's eyes leak with joy.

"This world must love to bow down at the feet of your druid father."

Orion froze. He swallowed down the last drop of wine on his tongue before he shot bullets with his eyes.

"Certainly, your grace, your reputation lives up to your name. Slandering the name of Magic Knights is one thing I cannot tolerate; but I believe that the Magic Knights of Battlemore will not spare you a glance, as your words hold no meaning in their eyes." His face felt hot, while the unbridled words unchained themselves.

The duke turned around, his face red in rage. "Impudent child! How dare you speak to me in that way? You are only a filthy dog licking the feet of His Majesty! The rumors must be true: you are His Royal Highness's whore! Ha!" He grabbed Orion's collar, shaking him violently, and Orion winced at the sharp aches; a ricocheting pain stung him when thrown to the ground and when kicked in the abdomen.

Teeth gnashed to fight the pain as hands shook. Orion picked himself up and dusted the dirt from his clothes. It hurt —in more than one way. His chest banged, like a bird rattling against its cage, and the sounds soon died in his ears. The reins he had grappled for so long began to slip past his fingers; Orion stood up. Fredrick's eyes became bloodshot. Before his hand grasped Orion's pale cheek, Orion took hold of the duke's arm and twisted it backward, pushing him away from himself. Fingers gripped the duke's face, and an unspoken fear shadowed him like that of Orion.

Like a wild dog, the chains around Orion's neck loosened, his whisper like a winter gale: "Did you just slander the prince?"

Orion shoved him onto a wall, fingers tightening over the duke's cheeks. "Whatever you wish to say, you may say about me: a mutt, a bastard child, a plaything, any obscenities —But..." his hand tightened, and the duke began to squirm. "Say one word about the crown prince and I'll make sure that you do not move on peacefully from this. You understand?"

Orion bared his teeth, but a sudden pain bulleted through his heart. He fell to his knees. A choked gasp and shivering aches ripped through Orion's body relentlessly. "Eurk!" He almost lurched out a handful of blood.

A dog had to be chained back to the principles of Bane Aredese. All the Royal Magic Knights such as he possessed no freedom of expression. He cursed under his breath, regretful and angered that he took the oath and became a hound of Aredese. He fell to his side; the pounding pulsed louder, the place around turning to twos and scattered images. Blood seeped through gloved fingers.

Fredrick scrambled upright and struck his foot to Orion's abdomen and spat on his face who simply laid on the floor.

"You. Filthy dog! His Royal Highness will hear of this!"

His breath hitched for a moment, and it released when he tried to shrug it off. Needles pricked him while he watched the red-faced duke run away with his tail between his legs.

He was a pathetic coward, and giving attention to the likes return nothing but trouble. Orion knew that too well, but it was irrefutable that he was unable to bite in the end. His feet, legs, and the world turned upside-down in black.

Like a parrot, hatred hardened his heart into stone, wrapped in steel by the laughter and mockery. Before he knew it, the bottle shattered into a million pieces against the gray walls. The liquid flowed down to the stone stairs, further into the cracks, red and bitter. He bit the flesh of his bottom lip, stomping away as glass crackled under his boots. Resentment tied him to karmic binds, but in truth, his anger was reserved for him and him alone.

Orion narrowed his eyes and shook his head, swallowing down his grievances. With eyes closed, he took several deep breaths, and the tightness of his ribcage abated. Orion wiped the blood from the corner of his lips, despite the pain still coursing through his body.

He creased his brows and shook it off just as fast. "Forget it. Luminur treats me like a small child. He would find reason to scold as if he was…Aestas."

A burst of screams scattered through the air. At the arena, the knights captured their foes, and prize money was to be given to the victors of the tournament, whose faces brightened like the sun above them. Without saying another word, a price was offered and another round of applause ran down the spectators.

Orion glanced at the sun-soaked battleground below him: the retreating knights whose smiles and tears brought an end to the tournament, and his heart fell in realization. "I must go to Luminur, but perhaps I can postpone…and I might linger in the city."

A flash of red splat to the floor, and the rigid air of iron seared his nose like it always had in the Great Hall. He never questioned the prince. It was better this way. A quiet tongue spoke gold at every word.

His face turned solemn, before a pale flash engulfed him. Orion threw his legs to the other side. People rushed out the way, quick to step aside for him. "Banes forbid! Sir Alain will flay me for forgetting to check on his squire! But why did he ask me!" Orion huffed and puffed while he ran.

A white building like the others of the city sat atop a hill. Brown oval shields laid on the ground, a few wooden swords with them. Orion scowled as he approached the barracks of the squires. He stopped and his eyebrow curled up. Laughter and cheers reached his ears.

He opened the doors and squires sprinted past Orion, splashing water and ice. His pokerface threatened to flinch.

Shirts and pants laid on the wooden floor, unwashed and forgotten. Rodents raced across the dusty corners, and the damp stone walls and ceilings dripped water onto beds and rotting wood.

He heard that they were a rowdy bunch of new squires who were around his age of sixteen, most being around fourteen. They were as rambunctious as children on the streets, screams heard from the foot of the hill.

At the corner, a fresh lump of brown sat like a drop of chocolate—both were abominations to Orion. He grimaced sharply, turning his nose away in disgust, and Orion wondered to himself if the lump was an excretion or mud (and earnestly hoped that it was the latter).

"Listen to me, all of you." He cleared his throat and said, "This place is far too filthy."

His eyes became dead like a goat when waves of noise ravaged the barracks. Orion shook his head, but from behind him, a boy threw a bucket of water at another, but the boy dodged, rolling down the floor. The bucket flew across the room, squires cheering at the airborne bucket. Orion's eyes were closed to the ordeal, and the squires turned pale and shouted for him.

"Sir Orion!"

Just when he opened his eyes, a splash of cold water casted itself onto his face; clothes became heavier and darker. The whole room fell into harrowing silence—the sound of dripping water and tapping feet were heard.

Pulling out a lace handkerchief from his dampened jacket, Orion wiped his face. Squires huddled together and kept close. Most looked like a ghoul and avoided the knight's scowl. Orion could not imagine that the boys were around his age.

He said with a flat voice and unamused eyes, "At the rising of the sun I want every one of you to run until the peak of the day. I shall be sure to apprise your knights."

Before he left the barrack, he stopped and turned to them again. His eyes sparkled, searching the room, and one boy stiffened like a board when his gaze struck him. That was the boy whom he had to find! Sir Alain had told him that his squire had a mission which went horribly —something about a fowl chasing him.

Orion took a silent breath. "You, what do you go by?"

The squire straightened his back and bowed, exclaiming. "Yes, Captain Etoile! This squire's name is Pierre!"

Orion winced at the amplified sound and felt slightly irked by it. "Has the chicken been returned?"

Within silence and a couple of dripping water, the boy held a complicated expression, which became more twisted. "Ch—chicken, Sir Orion? What...chicken?"

Orion realized that Pierre had most forgotten or so he believed. He waved his hand in dismissal and smiled as softly as he could, but the boys appeared more frightened. Orion was long used to these reactions and had given up trying to understand this. Something regarding his smile to be murderous.

The boy held a twitching grin. Orion raised his eyebrow at the green expression of the boy and thought that he was ill, so he approached him. The other squires scattered away in confusion, puzzled by Orion's action.

He stood right in front of Pierre, looking down at the younger one, and said with a hand held out, "Pierre, did the chicken peck your bottom too hard? Allow me to inspect. It would be unwise to leave a wound unattended."

The boy turned a bright red and pushed Orion away from himself. Orion's eyes widened a few millimeters, legs stumbling backward. He shot a deadly gaze at Pierre who flinched in terror. "What is the meaning of this?"

Pierre flinched. Orion tilted his head to the side, perplexed by the actions and reactions of the young boys around his age and younger. Each tremor and step backward, Orion saw them but understood none of it

Pierre shakily stepped away and shouted, "Sir Orion, I understand that you are the same age as me, but you have to learn restraint! I am not interested in men! I am not a bent!"