Chapter 2: Pursuit

“No! I get to be the Guardian!”

“Ahhh! No fair! I already called it. You have to be the troll.”

Two children argued in the cold snow while a third watched. Their feet were wrapped in a cheap cloth to dull the freeze. Their clothes were covered in dirt and holes, as fated for children of the slums. Tents and piled sticks lined the entire street as far as they could see. The world these children knew was far different from those in the main part of the capital- poor and frail, their bodies were the embodiment of poverty. Alas, their eyes were not lifeless. They had a sparkle unbefitting of the clothes that they wore.

“Too late. I’m the Guardian, you’re the troll, and she’s the princess.”

“Wahhh! But I want to go to the Guardian Barracks and train to be a hero of the capital!”

The children went round and round, back and forth, unable to reach a conclusion. The adults near them sighed as this was a typical development at this time of day. However, they knew that these kids would be especially excited this particular day due to the Royal Wedding.

“They sure care about the Royal Family a lot despite the fact we aren’t allowed to attend the wedding.”

“Don’t say that. What if a plant were to hear you?”

“…”

The poor adults in the capital held no love for the Family- after all, children could be deceived with sweet words and fairy tales, but adults understood the reality. However, these people could not even teach their children about their beliefs without putting themselves in danger. The Royal Family had long ago decided to plant spies among areas of possible rebellion. The penalty for talking negatively about the Royal Family was officially not much more than a slap on the wrist. However, unofficially, it was not common for entire families to go missing. In addition to this, the King had a longstanding order for 1 gold piece for turning in insurgents and rebels. With the promise of being renowned a hero and the taste of wealth, friends would often turn in each other for money. The children in major cities, with schooling systems, would be taught to turn in their parents at the whisper of negative thoughts about the Family. All of these factors resulted in the citizens of Stormfell showing no outward negativity to the Royal family.

A black cat scurried through the alley, crossing between the tents and sticks. The child watching his two friends argue had his eyes widen at such a sight.

“Was that a… cat? It must of escaped from one of the wealthy estates. I wonder if I’ll get a reward for catching it?”

A hooded man suddenly crashed through one of the tents that was at the corner of an alley coming from the main street. The commotion caused a scene in the surrounding small area, but the alley was loud enough to avoid too much attention. The children, who were the closest people to the man, looked at each other in surprise.

“Excuse me. I’m not from around here, can you direct me to the West side of the city?”

The incredibly suspicious man told an incredibly simple lie to an incredibly gullible group of boys. His voice was shaking from exhaustion.

“Just keep heading this-”

“Why do you have blood on your cloak?”

An older hoodlum from the edge of the alley came over. He cut off the children before they could show the way.

“You are clearly suspicious. Kids, you mustn’t help aid a criminal!”

“YoU sHittY oLD mAn!”

The man’s voice quivered as he attempted to yell. He grabbed the shirt of the man that came over and looked into his eye. He closed both of his eyes. He thrust his left eye open wide to reveal a lavender iris with a golden pupil. The old man’s eyes turned lifeless and his body went limp in the man’s hand. The hooded man spoke.

“Which… way is the fastest… route to exit… the city?”

The old man held a finger to point down the alleyway.

“Follow this route for 400 feet. Take a right into the small alleyway. Then a left. Then right. Right. Left… Another left after 400 feet…”

“Fuck!”

The hooded man held his hand over his left eye. Blood began seeping through his fingers as he growled in frustration. The children, who were frozen in fear until now, ran away. The child that had seen the black cat had fallen onto his back in fear. The man turned to the child that remained as the people around him scattered and released his pent up bloodlust. The aura in the air turned dark, with his bleeding left eye shaking as it stared at him. The hood of his cloak fell down to reveal wavy black hair with the edges being a deep purple. Currently too pressed for time to worry about his profile being exposed and too frustrated to care, he didn’t put it back up. He pulled out a silver sword as he approached the awestruck child. He pointed the blade at his neck. The cold blade against the child’s neck snapped him back to reality. The child’s tears dripped off of his face to the ground in between his legs. The tear met with the banana-colored snow. The child was just realizing that he had soiled himself at some point. The man seemed to have caught his breath at this point.

“Get up. You’re going to escort me through this maze. I can’t remember what that geezer said.”

“Ahh… but…. but…”

“I’ll show you the way.”

A cold breeze rolled through the alley. The hooded man turned at the voice that echoed behind him. A girl that appeared to be no older than twelve stood with her head held high and determined eyes. One of the adults that was hiding behind a tent called out in protest.

“Stella, no! You know that they’ll kill you if they find out you helped him!”

“Don’t worry, Father. We’ve already decided that there are no rats in this section. Besides, if I don’t help him, then someone else will have to.”

“But..!”

“Child. Lead the way.” The man with black and lavender hair barked.

“Jeez, you’re not much older than me…” She pouted and walked past him.

The man touched his face to feel his hood. Or, the lack thereof. The bloodied eyes of the man showed a slight embarrassment as his cheeks turned an extremely faint color of red. He quickly threw the hood back over his head and coughed twice.

“Quickly!” He growled as he pushed the girl forward.

The two darted through the alley and dipped off into one of the side alleys. The adults and children came out of their hiding places as they watched the two disappear. The old man’s eyes had long since returned to normal, but he still sat on the cold ground. He spoke to the others.

“Stella… That child has always been different. However, she went too far this time. This is just…”

One of the other adults punched his shoulder in an attempt to make him stop speaking. The man that Stella had addressed as Father was still near the tent, on his hands and knees while sobbing.

“Stella… Why would you… Why would I not stop you? Curse my cowardice… Your father’s… nothing…” The man continued muttering curses in between his sobs.

The old man looked on with depressed eyes. His father, who knew as well as anyone the risk that came with such an act, would feel more pained than anyone. He, who had raised his daughter in the harsh condition of the slums, understood his daughter’s feelings. He had raised her to be a kind, caring, and forgiving girl- just like her mother.

Her mother, who was a blonde woman with freckles, had died giving birth to Stella. Crushed and with only one reason to continue living, the man had braved the harsh conditions of poverty and raised his child. He had taught her as he believed her mother would have. ‘Caring for others is the key to the lock known as depression in this dishonest world.’ Her words had been recycled by his own mouth hundreds of times since her passing. As Stella grew taller, she began to show the physical traits of her mother. Blonde haired with freckles, the child danced in the streets lined with trash. She was a flower in a graveyard- a tinge of color in a dark world. This warmed the man’s heart- he knew that her mother would be proud to call her their child. As he looked at his child grow into adolescence, he often imagined his wife holding her hand as they played together.

“Damn it… Damn it…”

The man, sobbing into the snow, begged the Gods to protect Stella.

“Please… Please… Forgive my cowardice… Help me just this once… Protect Stella! I beg of you!”

The sight was pitiful. A grown man groveling in the snow and dirt while begging for forgiveness for something he had done just moments before. However, the people of the slums understood this man’s feelings. They could all relate to a feeling of helpessness. The old man walked over to the man and put his hand on his shoulder. He began to pray to the Gods, asking for them to protect Stella. The other adults and children gathered around the crying man and put their hands on each other’s shoulders. They bowed their heads and prayed for a single act of mercy. The clanking sound of armor could be heard approaching from the alleyway that the hooded man had entered.

On the other side of the city, a scarred man laid down on an extravagant bed. His clothes were burnt as multiple healer’s and alchemists operated on his charred body. He was drinking potions as if they were water in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The man’s eyes and had no emotion or flare that they had previously boasted. The man stared into the ceiling as he thought on how he had ended up in such a state. His lower face and jaw, as the head healer had just stated, would never recover the lost tissue from the burns. His lips were melted away, exposing his teeth and gums. The healer spoke again.

“We seemed to have stopped the bleeding. Your life is no longer in danger, but as stated before, not all things can be healed. The burns were too severe.”

Prince Noel’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the ceiling. His hands turned to fists and quaked with anger.

“The Dreamer… The Dreamer… The Dreamer…”

“I’ll kill you…”

“I’ll kIlL YoUR fAmily…”

“I’ll kIlL yOuR fRiEnDs…”

“I’LL KILL YOUR PETS! I’LL KILL WHOMVER YOU’VE TALKED TO! I’LL KILL WHOMEVER YOU’VE BREATHED NEXT TO! I’LL KILL ANYONE WHO MUTTERS YOUR DISGUSTING, FILTHY, DIRTY, UGLY, NASTY, SHITTY, TERRIBLE NAME! YOU HORRID, HORRID, HORRID, HORRID, HORRID, PIG BRAINED, DOG FUCKING MONGREL PIECE OF SHIT!”

The medical team had long ago left the room in fear. As they say, there is nothing more frightening than a prince gone mad.