The Lost

"So you want me to believe that you are the one before my brother who is also technically the same person you are?" October puzzled, taking a big gulp of tea. "I'm sorry, but I'm not dumb. If you want to impersonate him, find a better excuse."

"What are you talking about? I'm telling the truth! It's just you who isn't listening!"

"You certainly have his personality."

October shrugged casually when the young man glared at him. The two of them were having tea, or rather, this mysterious visitor had forcefully convinced the crown prince to sit down and listen to him.

"Look," October sighed, rolling his eyes. "I can just call Cecil here. Then we can compare and find out who's the real one."

"No!" the young man screamed, grabbing the crown prince by his overly-complicated collar frills. "That would cause a paradox, and that would cause this entire reality to collapse! If that were to happen, then everyone in this world would cease to exist."

October's eyes opened wide. "Now I'm interested. Tell me more."

"I can't tell you much now, but you should give this to your brother when he has a problem. And then you should tell him to have Theo cast this spell and then throw it as high as possible."

The young man handed the crown prince a slip of paper. On it was a hastily scrawled jumble of runes and strange markings.

"And how would I know when to give this to him?" October folded the sheet of paper, stuffing it in his suit pocket.

"You'll know when the time comes. Let's just say that it will be a problem that he has never encountered before, but it will be one that you are very familiar with. It's essential that you give this to him, or else a branch in the timeline might happen, possibly causing more damage than I already have."

Then the young man stood up and left. October watched him go warily. Perhaps he would believe this stranger's outlandish claims.

***

The mysterious young man wandered around the city. With his mission complete, all he had to do now was wait. Wait until he could go back to the real world. Wait until he could replace his predecessor. He walked through the streets, reminiscing about all the memories he had of this place. He kept his hood on, in case anyone he knew recognized him.

He walked out of the huge metropolis, gazing back at this place that had been his only home for so long. Slowly, he made his way into the depths of the forest. He knew how to make it back to the real world, but now was not the time for that. He had to locate the witch's cottage. There was an item that he had to take off her hands.

After hours of searching through the forest, going down many wrong paths and finding every single dead end he could, the mysterious young man finally managed to find the small cottage. The roof was made of straw, simple, yet foreboding. The walls were of a bleak gray stone, and the windows were all shrouded by curtains, no light capable of escaping. Then again, it did not seem like any light was turned on within the house. Cautiously, the young man creaked open the door on its rusty, squeaky hinges. He stepped into the pitch black room. Just then, the door slammed shut behind him, as if closed forcefully by an invisible hand. Candles lit up all around the room. A table appeared in the center of the small room. Black smoke swirled around and around until eventually forming into the body of a woman, seated at the table.

This was the witch.

But unlike all the rumors, this woman did not seem like a witch. Her long, luscious black hair swirled with the remnants of the black fog. Her dark indigo eyes gleamed with a light that seemed inhuman. She brushed a long-nailed finger over her black lips. Suddenly, she slammed her clawed hands down onto the table, black nails digging deep into the wood.

"You..." her voice came out like a low growl. "You aren't supposed to be here."

The witch hissed, baring her sharp, fanged teeth. Her eyes locked onto the young man's face, taking in every detail.

"No..." she mumbled, thinking to herself. "You are different. You...you aren't supposed to exist."

"What do you mean, I'm not supposed to exist?" the young man asked the witch, taking a step towards the table.

The woman's eyes flashed, glazing over for a moment before returning to normal. "But you do exist...so I must know..."

The witch raised her hand, her nails no longer stuck in the table. She pointed towards the center of the table, and a strange liquid, purple, blue, and black, like an endless galaxy, poured out.

"Take a seat."

The young man hesitated, and the woman growled, dissolving into black smoke once more, reappearing behind the young man.

"Sit."

She pushed the boy into a chair opposite her at the table. Seating herself back at her spot, she cut her finger with her nails, allowing a drop of blood to fall into the pool of stars. The galaxy pool rippled, eventually turning into different colors. A series of moments flashed through the magical liquid. The witch watched intently, sometimes nodding, sometimes looking up to examine the young man across from her.

"I see," she finally said, once the pool of stars returned to normal. "You're here to take it away from me."

The young man nodded.

The witch stood up, her veins turning black beneath her porcelain-white skin. She flexed her talons, as her black hair swirled around her, covering her in a darkness so dense that even the greatest mage on the continent could not see through it.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that."