CHAPTER 28 : Once and For All

Persian lay broken on the floor, his body racked with sobs, his once fiery determination now reduced to smoldering embers.

The flames that had danced in his hands had flickered out, leaving him in darkness. He pressed his back against the wall, drawing his knees close to his chest, hugging them tightly as if trying to hold himself together.

The shadow, its form now a mere wisp of darkness, approached Persian, its voice gentle yet laden with a heavy truth.

"Making the right decision can be incredibly challenging," it said, attempting to offer some semblance of comfort. "But I don't want you to end up the way I did. It is the only way to protect them all."

Persian looked up through tear-filled eyes, his voice choked with despair. "It cannot be," he protested weakly. "There must be another way."

The shadow's response was cold and pragmatic, devoid of any sentiment. "What other way?" it asked, its words hanging in the air like a haunting echo. "The people who could have helped you, the ones you thought would always be there for you, now fear you."

In that moment, Persian's mind flashed back to the terrified expressions on his parents' faces and the royal doctor's eyes filled with dread. The image seared into his memory, a painful reminder of how his abilities had driven a wedge between him and the people he loved most.

The weight of his isolation bore down on him, the sense of being utterly alone in his struggle, and the harsh reality of the choices he faced pressed upon his heart like an anvil. The room felt suffocating, and the silence was deafening, broken only by Persian's muffled sobs.

The shadow watched him, its presence a mixture of empathy and desperation. "You don't have much time," it urged, its voice softening. "The darkness is near, and your kingdom teeters on the edge of destruction. You are the only one who can save them, Persian....all of 'em"

Persian sat huddled on the floor, his mind overwhelmed by doubt and fear. The burden he carried seemed impossibly heavy for a seventeen-year-old boy, and the weight of the kingdom's fate pressed down upon him like an unyielding mountain.

His arms wrapped tightly around his knees, he stared into the abyss of uncertainty, wondering if he could ever find the strength to make the right choice.

In the midst of his despair, an eerie silence descended upon the room. The hissing of the shadows ceased, and a peculiar stillness settled in the air.

Dust particles hung suspended, trapped in mid-air, and the darkness that had once been in motion now stood frozen. It was a phenomenon Persian had never witnessed before, a bizarre suspension of time itself.

The shadow, which had been hovering near him, was caught in mid-air, motionless and devoid of its usual fluidity.

It seemed as if time had come to a halt, leaving everything in a surreal state of pause. Persian's eyes widened in disbelief as he observed the strange occurrence.

He glanced at the large clock in his room, its hands unmoving, and realized that time had indeed stopped. The world outside his window was frozen, as if trapped in a momentary void.

Persian's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest.

As he moved closer to inspect the frozen clock, he caught sight of his reflection in the glass. His eyes, usually a deep shade of brown, were now glowing with a dark blue intensity. The same eerie glow that had manifested during moments of heightened emotion and power. He reached out to touch the glass, and his fingertips tingled with an otherworldly energy.

Persian, still reeling from the surreal suspension of time, heard unusual commotion outside his chambers.

"I never want to see this statue again....take it away" commanded a voice...Persian was a bit taken aback...if time was really frozen then how could someone talk.

Curiosity piqued, he cautiously opened the doors, only to witness a perplexing sight. Three guards were laboriously carrying a statue, the weight of which seemed to burden them significantly.

However, what struck Persian as even more peculiar was the presence of his father.

what stood in front of him was his father but a younger version of him, seemingly giving orders.

Attempting to engage with his father, Persian wore a forced smile and waved, but there was no response. His attempts to talk were met with indifference, as if he were invisible to those passing by. A strange unease settled within him as he grappled with the inexplicable events unfolding.

Persian still couldn't grasp the understanding of what was happening....he tried talking to the maids but all to no avail...they passed by him like he didn't even exist.

His attention was drawn to the guards carrying the heavy statue, their conversation revealing a chilling connection to the past.

"It's so heavy, but if we drop it... we will die faster than Sir Modrius of Lancelot did," one of the guards remarked. The mention of Sir Modrius sent a shiver down Persian's spine; he recalled the infamous name associated with the tragic fate of Queen Laniya.

A question popped in his mind "wait....if he killed the queen...why was there a statue of him in the palace"

Determined to unravel the mystery, Persian discreetly followed the guards, tracking them until they reached the dungeons. The guards, seemingly relieved to be free of the statue's weight, dropped it with a resounding thud. As they left, the door closed, plunging the dungeon into darkness.

Summoning a bright light in his palm, Persian cautiously surveyed the dimly lit surroundings. The dungeon held an air of ancient secrets, and the statue of Sir Modrius loomed ominously in the flickering light. Persian's mind raced with questions, and the significance of the statue being hidden away in the depths of the castle raised troubling implications.

As he moved closer to the statue, Persian's eyes fixated on the frozen expression of Sir Modrius, a man whose deeds had left scars on his kingdom's history. The statue seemed to hold secrets, and Persian couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this frozen moment than met the eye.

Persian, driven by an insatiable curiosity, took a closer look at the statue of Sir Modrius. His eyes scrutinized every detail, searching for any clue that could help unravel the secrets hidden within its stony facade. It was then that he noticed a peculiar smudge on the statue's forehead.

With a careful swipe, Persian wiped away the imperfection, revealing a birthmark etched into the stone—a birthmark resembling the explosion of the sun. As his fingers made contact with the birthmark, his eyes, already glowing with an otherworldly intensity, darkened even further.

A piercing sound settled in Persian's ears, and a searing pain shot through his head. He instinctively raised his hands to clutch his temples, the pain intensifying with each passing moment. It felt as if his head might burst from the pressure building within.

As Persian grappled with the agony, a flood of images and memories assaulted his mind—visions that seemed foreign, yet strangely familiar. He witnessed Sir Modrius of Hancelot being honored with a noble award, the preparations for a war against the Grimson unfolding before him. Then, a tap on Sir Modrius's shoulders by Queen Laniya, a gesture filled with camaraderie and trust.

However, the visions took a dark turn. Persian witnessed Sir Modrius being executed, labeled a traitor for killing the queen and possessing forbidden magic. The echoes of an era where magic was not banned in the kingdom reverberated through his mind.

Persian's eyes widened in realization. The banning of magic was a consequence of Sir Modrius's actions. The kingdom, scarred by his betrayal, had opted to shun magic entirely, fearing that others could follow in his treacherous footsteps.

As the visions subsided, Persian found himself sprawled on the floor, weakened by the mental onslaught. He forced himself to rise, feeling a trickle of warmth on his face. Touching his nose, he realized he was bleeding. The revelation had taken a toll on him, physically and mentally.

Persian, grappling with the weight of newfound revelations, found himself caught in a maelstrom of instability. The walls of the palace seemed to close in, and the dark blue glow in his eyes flickered like a faulty light. Reality itself appeared to glitch, as if the fabric of the palace was being torn apart.

As Persian attempted to escape the disorienting chaos, an unseen force yanked him back into his chambers and, inexplicably, into his own body. Gasping for breath, he found everything had returned to normal, the glitching and distortion abruptly halted.

The shadow, once an enigmatic presence, hissed concern, "are you.....alright"

Noting the blood on Persian's nose. Wiping away the blood with his forearm, Persian's eyes widened in realization.

The image of Sir Modrius of Hancelot flashed in his mind, and a sudden understanding dawned upon him.

Everything made sense....the sob story...his death....

It was the shadow—the very essence of Sir Modrius.

Anger and rage surged through Persian as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. The shadow witnessed the rage and fury in persian's eyes..

"Persian..you don't have to do this"the shadow said trying to calm him down, pleading for understanding. But Persian, blinded by fury, was deaf to reason.

"It was you," Persian muttered, his voice dripping with resentment. "You killed my grandmother, you are the sole reason for everything happening in this kingdom. You deserved to die,

They killed your body..... I'm going to destroy your soul."

With an unbridled fury, Persian began manipulating objects in his surroundings, launching them towards the shadow. Tables, chairs, and orbs of light became weapons in his hands. The shadow tried to dodge the onslaught, but the barrage was relentless.

The shadow phased through the table that fell on it.

Blinded by his anger, Persian didn't hear the shadow's attempts to explain. The room became a battleground, with each strike aimed at obliterating the shadow that embodied the pain and suffering of the past.

Conjuring orbs of explosive light, Persian sent them hurtling toward the shadow. The blasts tore through its form, causing it to lose a part of itself. Yet, the shadow persisted, regenerating in the aftermath of the onslaught.

The room echoed with the clash of forces—a relentless assault fueled by vengeance and the desire for retribution. The air crackled with energy as Persian unleashed the full extent of his powers, determined to vanquish the specter that haunted his family's history.

The cosmic clash between Persian and the shadow raged on, but the shadow, now fully revealed as Sir Modrius, tried desperately to avoid causing harm to the young prince. However, Persian's relentless assault pushed the shadow to a breaking point.

Realizing that Persian wouldn't cease until it was obliterated, the shadow, a tumultuous mix of anger and sadness, bellowed, "Enough!" The proclamation unleashed a cosmic blast that reverberated through the castle, shaking it to its very core. The aftermath left Persian's chambers in disarray, furniture disintegrating into dust.

As the dust settled, Persian, weakened and teary-eyed, lay on the floor. He gazed at the shadow, questioning "why did you kill the queen, someone who had placed trust in you."

The shadow, now speaking with a mix of anger and remorse, denied responsibility for the queen's demise. "I didn't kill the queen. It was her decision. I begged her to reconsider, but she had already made up her mind. I just followed her commands. I would never harm someone who meant everything to me."

Despite the shadow's plea, doubt lingered in Persian's heart. He questioned whether Sir Modrius truly hadn't killed the queen, even as the shadow swore its innocence.

The shadow asked "you don't believe me...do you?

I don't blame you... They didn't either"

Persian noticed how broken the shadow was...he still had his doubts but something in him was telling him the shadow was telling the truth.

"Did you really not kill the queen?"

The shadow's voice carried a tone of profound sadness. "It doesn't matter anymore. No matter how many times I say it, nobody will ever believe me, not even you."

Persian supported himself up, he was tired of going round and round and back to square one...

It was time he got to know the truth, once and for all

Determined to uncover the truth that had eluded him for so long, Persian walked towards the Book of Yore. As he approached, the ancient tome responded, lifting itself from the ground and floating toward him.

The shadow, filled with fear and concern, questioned Persian's actions. "Persian, what are you doing?"

In response, Persian asserted, "Knowing the truth, once and for all."

The shadow, recognizing the resolute determination in Persian's eyes, tried to intervene. "I get that. I wanted you to use the Book of Yore, but not without precautions. We have to perform certain rituals to protect your spirit on its journey to secure the truth."

However, Persian, driven by urgency and a sense of responsibility, hesitated little. "No, just like you said, we do not have time. It's now or never."

The shadow, consumed by worry, attempted to dissuade Persian. "But, Persian, going in without the rituals...you will die. Persian..."

Persian, however, had made up his mind. "If death is the price I need to pay to know the truth and save my people, then that is the very least I can do."