~Chapter 3~

ALEXXON:

 
Three days ago, the prince of Clion somehow messed up his calculations, skipped a couple of dimensions, walked eyes closed backwards through time, challenged the very will of Gate Edmirald itself, and BAM! Pinpoint! He ended up here in Syone.

 
Strange. Usually, Edmirald won’t let anyone, anything pass through—not a soul, alive or dead—until it is fully and completely open.

 
But he, one way or another, crossed through smack dab in the middle of the opening.

 
And I shall say it again—Strange.

 
But I seek no further interest in pursuing this…strange (I’m using this word way too much) occurrence.

 
Instead, I desire to know the prince’s reason for coming here. I had questions needing clarification. There were plenty of things I could have said or asked, really, like:

 
“What are you doing here?”

 
Or maybe more like:

 
“What are you doing here?”

 
How about:

 
“Are you running away from home? That’s not safe. You could have died!”

 
I also could have said:

 
“Goodness, you look terrible. What happened to you?”

 
Or:

 
“Why in the world are your eyes red? That’s rather st—unusual.”

 
And oh yes, definitely this one:

 
“You look like you wish to kill me. And we barely met. You’ve. Got. Problems, dear child.”

 
Mm hm.

 
But instead, this came loose:

 
“My prince, you do not look too well. Are you alright? Perhaps you should rest a little.”

 
Uh…

 
The sappiness of my speech must have gotten to him, for he was practically shooting flaming daggers from his eyes.

 
And for some odd reason right then, a mesh of guilt and regret and sorrow and whatnot hit me so hard that I immediately escaped the room with no further pause.

 
Reason? There was none.

 
But I feel as if I owe something to him, to the prince of Clion, to Clion itself.

 
That and nothing more.

 
***

Six times.

 
I knocked exactly six times.

 
Three on the first, another three on the second. Then I waited.

 
He didn’t answer

 
Of course he wouldn’t. The prince of Clion has made an extreme effort to ignore my very existence over the past few days.  

 
Psshh…not fair. Here I am bringing the poor child some breakfast and he doesn’t even make the least bit of effort to open the door. Rude, I’ll say.

 
No matter. I go in anyways.

 
To my surprise, the room was quite clean. Everything was the way it was to begin with. After all, I expected the prince to throw a tantrum due to the current condition he was being kept in.

 
A vicious child, he was. Crimson eyes scorching with flames of hatred, face pale and deadly, color drained from fury.

 
Today however, was different. He sat (more like slumped) in his bed, hands limp, no longer clenched together in fists with undying anger. His once burning red eyes lost its vibrant flare, now dull and lifeless.

 
The boy looked as if he lost his soul.

 
Slightly uncomfortable (and feeling rather like an intruder), I silently creped to his side while balancing the breakfast tray with one hand.       

 
With my free hand, I nudged him, wondering how he would react.

 
He didn’t.

 
He only continued to gaze mindlessly out the window, remaining frozen in position.

It didn’t even look as if he were breathing.

 
Oh god.

 
Not breathing?!

 
I panicked right then. We couldn’t be responsible for the death of Clion’s prince!  

 
I chose my next action without thinking. Brushing aside all the caution and warnings, I swiped the glass of water off the breakfast tray—and dumped the whole thing over the prince’s head.

 
The prince went ballistic.

 
He shot straight up and nearly fell off his bed. He then clawed at his head, wondering what in the world could have showered upon him.

 
Then, his eyes fell on me. And slowly, they began to regain their flames.

 
“What do you think you’re doing?!” He cried, eyes flickering wildly from me then to the dripping glass in my hand. “What reason do you have to pour water over my head?!”

 
I stood there, no quite sure of my response. At least now I knew he wasn't dead.

 
“My apologies,” I finally whispered. “But I thought that you were….” I stopped. I couldn’t find the right words to finish my sentence.

 
“I was…?” The prince hissed, glaring at me.

 
I gulped, then responded weakly, “…not really…alive…?” My voice rose with uncertainty at the end of my sentence.

 
“You thought I was dead?!” The prince spat in disgust. He looked as if he could kill right now.

 
I backed away two feet and nodded.

 
The prince continued to glare at me. Then his glare softened. And then his eyes lost life and went dull. He looked dead all over again.  

 
I continued to stand. His sudden change in mood surprised me. I glanced down at the breakfast tray in my hands. Perhaps offering him breakfast was not a good idea at the moment. He could throw the contents at my head. Sighing, I placed the tray on the table besides me.

 
I’ve made him unhappy again.

 
Then, out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the prince weakly raise his right arm.

 
I saw it then.             

 
Clasped tightly around his wrist was a string of swirling transparent beads. They traveled slowly around his wrist, beating to the rhythm of his heart.

 
A restraint bracelet.

 
Each bead was made up of bits and pieces one’s magical source. As more and more of that magical source is collected, the larger the beads will grow.

 
The beads will continue to drain magical source from a person until every last drop is gone, leaving the person without the slightest trace of their magic.

 
Only then will they stop.

 
So far, the beads connected to the prince were barely half way finished. They were still circling around his wrist, finding and sucking out every bit of magical essence.

 
I winced slightly.

 
No wonder he was so weak. Those beads were practically ripping the life out of him.

 
But these kinds of beads were rare, special. Only under desperate circumstances were they used. Of course, not everybody possessed magical abilities, so these beads only came in handy when they were dealing with great sorcerers who could possibly oppose deathly threats to a country. And besides these people, only those who inherit the royal blood can use magic.

 
People like myself.

 
People like Metaphormous.  

 
Those who belonged to the royal family by blood.

 
I drew in a sharp breath. This was the first time I’ve seen these beads at work. They were deadly to its possessor and deadly to the one who attaches it. It was a double-edged sword. Only the head captain of our Magical Defense was capable of performing such a process.

 
They saw Metaphormous as a threat.

 
Seeing the bewildered look come across my face, the prince laughed faintly. But it sounded more like a rasp since he was too weak.

 
“See this?” He murmured, tilting his head towards the beads revolving around his wrist. “This is the works of your people. Disgusting.”  

 
“It’s only to assure the safety of our country,” I replied simply, slightly irritated. “You can’t just trust anybody who crosses Gate Edmirald, especially someone who came from a completely different country.”

 
“So this is what you do to outsiders? You punish them for a crime they’ve never committed? Just because they came from a different country? Is this your way of judgment?!” The prince spat, scowling.

 
“That’s not true!” I fought back, now more than just a little irritated. “It’s only for the safety of the people!”

 
“So you believe that anyone outside of your country is dangerous?!” He retorted.

 
I was angry now.

 
“No! That’s not it! We only want to protect our citizens! Shouldn’t you know that? Don’t you know how important that is? Aren’t you a prince yourself? You are responsible for your people too!” I nearly yelled.

 
The prince fell silent.

 
“What are you doing here anyways? Why did you decide to cross the gate and leave your country behind? Why are you in Syone when your rightful place is in Clion?” I pressed on. “Right now, your people are worrying about you while you’re here feeling sorry for yourself!”

 
There was a long, deadly silence from the prince.

 
When he spoke again, it only a weak whisper.

 
“No, they’re not.”

 
“Excuse me?” I asked, barely able to make out what he just said.

 
“No, they’re not!” He choked. “They won’t worry! Not for me! Not after the previous prince died!”

 
I didn’t understand.

 
“Clion will only allow one person to rule them, and that person isn’t me!” He continued, his voice quavering. “Only Eion can lead them! The people all loved him. I’m only a replacement!”

 
Eion. The previous prince of Clion. I immediately fell ill in the stomach.

 
“But he’s not here anymore.” The prince clenched his teeth together and looked away.

 
I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Was he angry again?

 
But then I realized he was trying to hold himself back from something.

 
My eyes widened as I watched Metaphomous.

 
The prince bent over.

Covered his face with his hands.

 
And cried.