The Wreckage

"ALICE!" HARTLEY CRIED out.

The carriage that they were in swerved dangerously before eventually giving out. With the weight of three passengers and the horses, the vehicle eventually crashed over the cliff, the rain acting as a catalyst, turning the mud soft and speeding up the process of the fall.

As soon as the carriage lost its stability, Hartley lunged forward. Using his own body, he carefully cradled Alice safely in his arms, protecting her and eventually using his own body to cushion the impact. They rolled down the side of the cliff, tumbling around like a ball allowed to go free. Gravity proved to be their worst enemy, sending them down the depths of hell. When they eventually crashed and landed, the carriage had long smashed into smithereens, leaving wood chips and glass all over the forest floor. Blood painted the dirt scarlet, an ugly smear against the cooler colors of nature, a stain that even the rain couldn't wash away immediately.

"Alice…" Hartley murmured her name, his voice turned throaty and hoarse.

He groaned in pain, hissing as he tried to move. All throughout, he had tried his best to keep her safe and it seemed like his efforts weren't in vain. Other than a few scratches, Alice seemed relatively fine. Most importantly, her chest was still steadily rising and falling. Even though she was unconscious, at least she was still alive.

On the other hand, Hartley wasn't doing so well. Pain bloomed from his sides, quickly spreading to the rest of his body. By using his own flesh and bones to block the impact for Alice, he had taken most of the injuries for himself. Blood had soaked his pristine suit, and on top of that, it was also covered in a layer of mud. He didn't need to examine his own condition. Hartley already knew that he had no doubt broken a few bones just from that fall alone.

As the crown prince, he had lived his entire life pampered and sheltered. Even though he was trained in the art of war, Hartley had never been in an actual battle before. It was the first time he had sustained such serious injuries. And to think it was all because he wanted to protect someone— a girl, at that.

Gritting his teeth through the pain, he raised his arms to check on the girl tucked safely in his embrace. As gently as he could, he moved her hair away from her face with trembling hands, making sure she was alright before reaching for the wood on top of them. Mustering all the strength he had left in him, Hartley heaved the broken parts of the carriage off of them before dragging their bodies out of the wreckage.

By the time he was out of the debris, all the energy in him had been spent. The pain had long disappeared from his body. At this point, all Hartley could feel was the numbness in his limbs and the cold rain against his face. The rainwater had drenched his hair and soaked his clothes, doing little to wash the bloodstains from the fabric. However, it worked wondrously in chilling him down to the bone. If he survived this, if they were found by people with goodwill before the animals that prowled the forest, perhaps the worst that could happen after that would be to die from a high fever.

Strangely, Hartley saw himself in a place he had never seen before. Everyone there was dressed in light colors, some of their faces covered with a mask that hid their lips. Despite knowing fully well he was sitting on the forest floor, cold, shivering, and dirty, he could still smell the cleanliness of that mysterious room instead of the salty rain and forest florals.

Sound no longer made its way to his ears. Hartley could barely even hear anything. When he blinked, his vision shifted in between the mysterious room and his current reality. Sometimes, he saw the wreckage and the coachman's dead body sprawled at an odd angle, his bones broken and flesh torn beyond belief. Other times, he saw what he thought was heaven, a place he would soon arrive at.

Thus, when he caught sight of a familiar face, black-haired and worried, for once, Hartley immediately assumed himself to be dreaming. His brother would never be caught dead with that expression. Especially when they were competitors first, brothers second.

"Brother!" Spade looked to be screaming. However, Hartley's vision, which was already hazy, started to turn even blurrier than before. Everything in front of him was now tinged pink, most likely the work of the blood that had trailed down his forehead and into his eyes. "Brother, can you hear me?"

Hartley wanted to reply. He wanted to say 'no', that he couldn't. In fact, he couldn't hear anything much other than the incessant ringing that wouldn't stop. It was piercing, practically a screeching, distasteful annoyance that couldn't be blocked out. The only way he was able to tell what Spade was saying was from reading his lips and matching it with what he could hear. With how loud his brother was speaking, Hartley could make out bits and pieces of it if he concentrated.

Hold on! I'll— out—" Spade was trying to say.

Unfortunately, there was no more strength inside Hartley to fully concentrate any longer. His eyelids had grown heavy and they were starting to droop. Little by little, they edged close. He took the chance to glance down once more, watching the girl that was carefully snuggled in his arms. For a second, Hartley thought he felt heat. She was the only bit of warmth that could be found in the midst of this cold rain.

"Stay— Don't cl—"

The adrenaline that had coursed through Hartley's veins previously, triggering his fight-or-flight and eventually getting them out of that mess had run its course. It was down to the last drop. When it faded, so did Hartley's consciousness. When he closed his eyes, he didn't see a dream, a nightmare, nor the mysterious white room. Only darkness greeted him like an old friend.