A month had passed since the tragedy at Bereticum. The news of Bereticum’s destruction travelled far and wide, spreading into the many corners of Cael and beyond.

Like the news, Astraeus was also travelling far and wide, running away from the terrible memories, hiding from any humans as whenever he saw one, the guilt reached him, gnawing at his fragile sanity.

Once, as he was passing through a beautiful ravine which was covered on both sides by waterfalls, he encountered a little girl in this secluded place. Her appearance mirrored the girl which he murdered at Bereticum. He’d gone so far as to convince himself of his direct complicity.

Firmly believing himself to be a cold-blooded murder, he ran away from the ravine, jumping into the darkness from which he had so direly tried to escape.

The problem with truth and deceit was that the barrier between these polar things was fluid. One could easily become the other with a single thought, a single word from your loved ones, a single action which you regret eternally and yet, it influences the self-perception, blaming yourself as the perpetrator.

Always trying to justify his actions, Astraeus descended into a spiral of grief and sorrow, from which he sought to escape in his next adventure. A new beginning was his deepest desire. To forget his deeds and discard the guilt which threatened to devour him.

After running for hours, evading settlements and life alike, Astraeus arrived at a frozen lake, panting and gasping for air. Something was always suffocating him from the inside. And nothing could stop that except for himself.

Yet he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

As long as he felt guilty, as long as he hated himself, as long as his mind was filled with unrest, he wouldn’t find peace.

Kneeling at the ice lake, Astraeus looked at himself. It didn’t resemble him. At least not the way he saw himself.

No hero, no protector, no peacebringer, not the person he expected himself to be when he started his journey.

Each and every dream he had was shattered, a painful realisation for a boy just 13 years of age.

Involuntarily releasing a pinch of magic, the smooth, mirror-like surface of ice shattered.

Looking at his wicked work, Astraeus’ face was distorted to inhuman dimensions, as the reflection from the ice twisted into a devious grimace.

Slowly raising his bleak figure onto his feet, Astraeus looked across the frozen lake at his next destination. At the place where he’d start his life anew, devoid of guilt, blame and responsibilities.

Foditas ad Culpa was the name of the town where he’d hopefully revive his dreams and desires.

Not daring to look at the fractured ice, he walked across the broken surface towards his new hope.

One last time, Astraeus remembered the faces of the deceased, the pillar of corpses slowly dissipating into dust again.

I won’t forget you. But I have a dream, a destiny. I can’t be hindered. Or else the world will perish.

Forgive me.

Whether that dream of his was really his own did not occur once in the childhoodless boy’s mind.

Passing the large gates of stone, Astraeus entered the bustling city of Foditas, revelling at the variety of people, goods and colours.

As he promised himself, Bereticum was forgotten. A child’s brain is capable of many miraculous things like hiding thoughts, burying a trauma beneath dozens of different memories, or simply erasing the memory completely, only igniting it if a special scenario occurred.

One of those layers was the self-persuasion of a falsely existing goal. His goal from the very start of the journey was simply fighting. For that, he planned on travelling eastwards until he reached the last ocean of Regnium, the continent on which all the heavenly kingdoms reigned supreme in the Angels’ name.

On this journey east lay a giant metropol called Mediolanum.

This city of prosperity and chaos was Astraeus’ goal.

During his journey to Foditas, Astraeus had trained each day to improve and refine his untrained magical prowess as well as the fight with his enchanted weapons. Especially the fight with Eversor pleased him and thus he repeated not the basics but the most special improbable moves he could think of just because they looked cool or because he’d need them in a one in a million scenario.

Taking a detour through the mountains gave him both a chance to think about his deeds and future as well as the chance to further improve his skills based on real combat experience and not sterile monotonous training.

The battle against the many beasts and monsters of the mountainous region between the Patriarchy of Cael and the Kingdom of Dystop in which he was located and whose capital was his ultimate short-term goal, were great lectures for him, even better than some training sessions with his adored master, the Resilience of Cael as she was commonly called amongst the nobility.

Foditas, the city of … nothing really.

Nothing was remarkable or special about it except maybe its fur trade to the rest of Dystop but that was neglectable. It was just a plain boring city but the bustling streets and cries of trade and commerce amazed Astraeus who was acquainted with giant cities from his childhood in Fides, but nonetheless a new city always harboured new secrets and challenges.

And challenges were and ultimately are what the young Domitor sought. Something to prove himself was essential to prove to the old traditional hardliners in his family and in the church that he was worthy.

Talking of which, it seemed that the church had local problems with the common populace.

As Astraeus approached the forum of the city, his war-specialised eyes remarking the lack of guards, he witnessed loud shouts of anger and the assembly of a small mob.

When in hearing range of the presumed leader, a small man with a bald head and a long beard, potentially a tall dwarf, Astraeus immediately realised what had caused the unrest.

Foditas, like a popular town in our world, lies next to a mountain, the sacred Culpa. The earth shaking rumbles and tremors had been felt by both Astraeus and the populace, the latter interpreting it as a divine sign to revolt and write the wrongs of the church right.

Slowly passing the mob since he himself was a bit curious to hear their words, Astraeus glanced towards the man on the podium.

“They hide this from us. They do! Who of you has seen the bishop these past few days? The one who usually roams the city daily and passes by the whorehouse twice a day?”

A wave of laughter, encouragement and anger emerged from the mob.

“He has abandoned us. Have you seen any of the mages? NO! All of the important people have left us, fled towards places where they think we won’t get them. But they’re wrong! If the Angels demand repentance, we’ll give them repentance. We’ll force the lazy aristocrats to repent, to find the Angels’ path again. The rumbling was a divine sign. A sign for us to take up arms.”

Glancing across the forum to its other side, Astraeus was dismayed as he saw that the remaining guards didn’t move a finger to quell this open rebellion. In Cael, one would have been burnt alive or hung for questioning the church in such a crude way.

“I tell you my brothers and sisters, today! Blood will be spilled!” Were the last words Astraeus heard before the distance between him and the insane man was too great.

Their efforts are doomed from the start. No one can rebel against the power of the kingdom and especially not against the church. They have too many powerful mages at their disposal to lose against a petty farmer rebellion.

With a concerned look back, the image of the preposterous speaker obscured by a small beige building, Astraeus cynically thought.

Besides, with him as their leader, they won’t survive the first week of existence. But it would be fun to see what they can achieve until they fall. However a miracle would be needed to allow the people to rule over themselves. Decisions like a war cannot be taken by weak-minded men like him. That’s why the people may never rule the world. Or else, I will be doomed for the stuff I say and do.

Returning back to reality, Astraeus saw his destination before him: An inn.

It was called ‘The Clattering Cheers’ and seemed to be frequently visited by the amount of people who gathered before it, most of them obviously drunk or hungover.

Entering the relatively clean looking establishment, the stench of alcohol and sweat filled the boy’s nostrils, immediately disgusting him.

Nonetheless the young Domitor walked up to the counter and sat down next to two whispering men. Despite the cheery atmosphere the fear of the church or the authorities was still plaguing the guests.

A broad-shouldered man approached Astraeus, as most innkeepers, his expression a solid rock, emotionless and grim.

“Ye boy, ain’t ya too young to visit m’pub?”

Without answering Astraeus pulled out a heavy bag of coins, or rather of pure gold which he had left outside of Bereticum and grabbed it after his destructive battle. Cocking an eyebrow, the innkeeper followed his customer’s example and turned around without uttering a word, a mutual harmony established itself between the two men who didn’t want to be bothered at all.

“Have you heard about the tragedy at Bereticum?” Asked the previously whispering man who adapted to the increasing volume of the inn.

Now interested in his neighbours’ conversation, Astraeus eavesdropped brazenly.

“Of course. Everyone has. Caliguala uses it as fuel for his rants against his archenemy. Chap says that the destruction of the town was a divine sign just like the rumbling mountain.”

“And have you heard the rumour?”

“Which rumour?”

Taking an audible gulp from his beer, the man continued.

“No one survived the catastrophe. Every single man, woman and child died that day.”

Eyes widening, a nauseous feeling settled in Astraeus’ stomach, rotating it harshly as the buried memories surface again.

Despite just arriving, Astraeus pushed himself off the counter, running swiftly through the reeking room, fleeing to the fresh outside.

Once there, Astraeus gasped for air, desperately calming himself, desperately trying to prevent himself from barfing. He hated it wholeheartedly.

Feeling a bit of shame, the sick boy dashed into the alley opposing the ‘Clattering Cheers.’ And the first thing he did was stretch and enter a rudimentary state of meditation.

Why should I feel responsible? I-I tried to save them. I really did. They would have died even if I hadn’t been there. Yes. Yes they would. Why- Why am I thinking about this? This is a new chapter in my life. I’ve terminated the last one. It’s gone.

But it wasn’t gone.

It simply hid. Hid beneath layers of pain and lies.

The pillar of death wouldn’t vanish this easily.

Why should I protect humans at all? Just because mother and Irus told me to? No Astraeus that is a bad mindset. Think differently. Right.

Slightly insane. But who can judge him for that?

Well, I should but he was just a child. A broken one at that.

The reason why he was broken so young was mainly his power. It was tremendous, even outclassing some experienced adult mages who refined their magic for decades.

This power however attracted people, or rather vultures who descended upon the boy, stuffing him with expectations, praise, jealousy and responsibilities.

But like everything, this power had its advantages.

For example, noticing the man who was observing him, an accomplishment which could prevent his death if his opponent was a foe.

Slowly turning around, the boy witnessed a tall muscular man standing between him and the alley, blocking Astraeus’ escape path.

As he looked the strange man into the eyes, his consciousness stared into the abyss. A dark, lifeless nothingness.

Suddenly Astraeus floated in the air, a force was pulling him towards the man, into the darkness.

Screaming for help, the images and pictures of Bereticum flashed before the boy’s mind. His hands became bloody again, his skin tearing itself apart, forming mouths.

Mouths which blamed and accused him for everything.

“You should have saved us.”

“You should have been strong enough.”

“You disappoint me.”

“Your mother doesn’t love you.”

Astraeus’ calm shattered and he burst: “ENOUGH!” The most powerful release of magic in his life dispersed the illusion and he was left with only the grey-haired man in the dark.

He knew the place.

The void?

Why was he in his mind’s dimension? Who was the intruder who managed to break into Astraeus’ consciousness?

Extracting his arms from his body into the position of a cross, the strange man spoke in a deep rumbling voice: “Remember Astraeus Domitor: No aristocrat becomes kind unless lethal hate actually kills.”

Confused as to the words’ meaning, Astraeus stared open-mouthed at the man who managed to do the thing which no one was able to do.

His arms dissipating into dust, the man began his last chant. A rhythmic and loud spell: “Iudex est venturus!”

And thus he vanished, just like the Kashmar did in the mortal realm.

Yet he wasn’t like the beast.

For Astraeus, it seemed as if the man had been clad in an aura of wisdom, even radiating it beyond his body’s boundaries.

Blinking once returned the flabbergasted boy back to the mortal realm, out of his consciousness.

Finally completely mind blown, Astraeus buckled over and puked onto the ground for a whole minute.

What the hell? Who was he? What does his message mean? Is it a code? A prophecy?

His thoughts were unfortunately interrupted by yet more barfing.

When Astraeus wiped off his vomit, he activated ‘Spatial Knowledge’, an ability which allowed him to track even the faintest of magical auras in his domain.

Someone was watching him.

Certain that this someone was above him, Astraeus ripped his head upwards to look at a cloudy sky, obscured only by loosely hanging clothes.

Maybe it’s the mysterious man I’m feeling. He left quite an impact on my senses.

Rotating his wrist to relax himself and occupy his racing thoughts, Astraeus thought: Of course now the feeling is gone. Just know that I’m watching you.

“Just know that I know of your existence,” yelled Astraeus into the air.

Obviously no response echoed back but he hoped that it would intimidate or at least prevent further espionage because he was certainly not in the mood for that.

“Hopefully someone heard that or else I might go insane,” he added quietly, only audible to himself. At least he hoped that no one else was in hearing range. In these strange times he couldn’t even trust his own senses.

Just like a cat licked its fur clean, Astraeus wiped his dusty cloak and rubbed his newly grown stubbles of hair. Once he entered the open road again, he looked to both sides, remarking that the strange man had really vanished into thin air.

Checking whether his weapon cache was still on his back, Astraeus crossed the street, evading fancy carriages and limping beggars alike until he reached his old place in the inn where he dreadfully realised that he had forgotten his pouch of gold.

Blankly staring at the place where it had previously been, Astraeus ignored his surroundings, not noticing the words which were aimed in his direction.

Only the weak impact of something static on his occiput, made him turn around.

Looking at a boy similar in age and appearance, Astraeus’ eyes darted to the bag the boy was proudly holding by his side.

“This yours?” Asked the confident boy without breaking his stare on Astraeus, both of them seemingly analysed the other to assess their opponent.

“It is,” replied Astraeus coldly, hoping to appear grim and intimidating but the voice crack slightly destroyed his plan.

Fuck.

“If I may ask, what does a young boy such as yourself do with so much gold?” The little thief asked.

“Firstly, we’re about the same age and secondly, no you may not.” An intense staredown ensued which lasted up to the moment when Astraeus’ hand shot forward and grabbed the pouch.

“Wow, not cool.”

“It wasn’t yours to begin with,” replied Astraeus coldly.

Not waiting for another response, the prince turned around and walked back to his seat on the counter, the two men from earlier were gone. Or rather they relocated themselves into the lovely hug of two women on the other end of the inn.

Jumping into the seat next to Astraeus, the presumably homeless boy cheerfully announced: “My name is Facinerosus. Nice to meet you. Let’s be friends. You seem to be interesting,” glancing over the cloaked boy’s shoulder, Facinerosus added: “As well as rich.”

“So you only want my money?”

“Really? Do I? Because if I had wanted it, I could’ve escaped while you were gone. I did multiple times already but that doesn’t matter now. I am alone. No siblings, parents or friends. Probably because I look like this,” Astraeus noticed the ragged clothing and tainted parts of his tunic.

“Do you work in the sewers?” No pejorative undertone from the posh Astraeus.

“How did you know? Oh,” he quickly added as the homeless boy looked down at his wet tunic, covered with old stains of many sizes.

Suddenly the boy began to laugh at something.

Astraeus, completely unprepared for such long conversations with people his age, looked around nervously, praying that no one noticed or watched them. No one did.

“You haven’t answered my question yet,” asked Facinerosus eagerly as his laughing promptly stopped.

Finally looking his peer into his eyes, Astraeus gulped once, quickly thinking which question he meant and when he realised, his eyes widened.

“Um, yes, I guess.”

Energetically clasping his new friend’s hands, Facinerosus shook Astraeus joyfully, smiling broadly, his deformed and holed teeth proudly looking at the prince whose expression suddenly became worried as he exhaled deeply.

“By the way, my name is Astraeus.” Releasing the hands of his friend, Facinerosus remarked: “Cool. Once again, nice to meet you Astraeus. Let’s get out of here. It stinks of shit and vomit.”

Happily agreeing to the proposal, the two boys left the ‘Clattering Cheers’ and ran through the old streets of Foditas towards the outskirts of the city, passing by many merchants, townsfolk and self-proclaimed healers, who Astraeus absolutely despised, calling them impostors of the magic craft.

Upon reaching their destination, Facinerosus spinned around, widening his arms and yelled: “This is the Holy Garden, one of the cleaner and less vandalised parts of Foditas.”

“Hush!” An old woman shushed the rowdy teenager.

“Hush,” repeated Facinerosus cynically, in a much quieter tone, mocking the old grumpy lady.

“Where was I? Right. This is the Holy Garden, a thrice sanctified grove, dedicated to Michael, our great protector.” A chuckle revealed that the stray boy didn’t really believe his own words.

“Most of these trees are pretty old, maybe older than Foditas but I don’t really know since no one taught me about the place. Yet! I am quite knowledgeable. How does a trip through the city sound? Hm, tomorrow?”

Not thinking for a second, Astraeus happily agreed. But this careless behaviour was only partly caused by Facinerosus.

The major distraction was the statue in the middle of the Holy Garden. A silver statue of Michael, the Angel of the Sun and leader of the great Angels loomed across the beautiful garden which Astraeus completely ignored.

All of his attention was drawn towards the mysterious statue.

“Facinerosus, what can you tell me about his statue?”

Happy at the remembrance of his, even for the multicultural Dystop, strange name, the boy replied: “This is as you can see and read, the Archangel Michael,” right they call them Archangels, “who, as the legend claims, descended from the heavens and fought against the demons to protect the earth. On this exact spot, he shed tears of golden life elixir which allowed this beauty to sprout. Of course it’s only a myth but maybe there’s a bit of truth in there. But you didn’t hear that from me, right? Before you ask, in Foditas things get solved,” wiggling his hands through the air, Facinerosus searched for the right words, “harder,” he eventually concluded.

“Meaning that supporters of the church get blinded for publicly speaking against the, again I didn’t say that, Madman Caliguala.”

Wow, even that far away from the capital, conspiracies, deceit and intrigue dictate daily life.

“Caliguala doesn’t really interest me but this statue does,” Astraeus tried to reinforce his initial question.

Something about the statue was off. It emitted the same aura as the man who dragged Astraeus into the void, his consciousness. “Right.”

A long silence followed until Astraeus turned his head and stared his friend in the eye.

He stared back. A lot. And long.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Asked a slightly annoyed and confused Astraeus.

“I don’t know,” replied an equally clueless Facinerosus.

With a last look at the statue which seemed to stare right back at him, right into the soul, Astraeus scrutinised the rest of the grove, which was quickly terminated since he realised that the sun was already setting.

Astraeus’ expression darkened as he dreaded which time would come next. “Unfortunately I can’t stay any longer. Will you pick me up tomorrow morning at the inn?” Before answering, Facinerosus made a sad grimace: “Sure!”

As Astraeus was leaving the sacred place, the funny boy shouted after him: “Don’t be careless, watch after your money!”

When his new friend was out of hearing range, Facinerosus added: “Why do I have this feeling that he’s going to lose it?” Before he, as well, departed home, wherever it may be.

Back at the ‘Clattering Cheers’ Astraeus immediately headed up into his room, undressed, the finely refined abs and biceps flexing as he observed them happily, a first sign that his body was beginning to catch up with his mind.

A last control whether his room’s door was really locked and magically reinforced to prevent any intruder. The same procedure at his window.

And that’s how fast he was ready to go to sleep.

There, his most excellent and direly needed skill would bloom to its full glory.

“Well, doesn’t that look homely?” He grasped a portion, a minimal portion of human’s definition of home, a place worth protecting, worth dying for.

He had regained a minimal portion of his hope, of his life.

But as he looked at the dusty small room of his, he conceded.

Maybe I don’t understand them after all. Potentially because I never had something like a home. Sad, isn’t it? Nah, you’re imagining things Astraeus. Besides, duty calls. So let’s not think about home, whatever that means to the average human. But hey, it distinguishes me from them.

Woohoo, he added in his cynical manner.

As he lay in bed, Astraeus remembered Caliguala and his goaded mob of troublemakers.

This inferior being dares to oppose the church, ha, how futile when not even ‘she’ could fight them head on. Hopefully he won’t be tortured too much and released quite swiftly. Yet, he kind of deserves it. I mean Facinerosus fears to say certain things. It’s like -

like -

fuck.

A regulation. An opinion restriction. Censorship! Now the words are flooding my mind. Great.

But alongside the demanded words, unwanted pictures streamed into his mind.

The little girl.

Her twisted face in the void, her young forfeit life.

Her lifeless body lying in the filth.

Why? WHY? Why do I have to suffer so much?

The poor boy began to cry.

Why couldn’t I protect her? I’m destined to be great. I have to be. I am.

But the sobbing prevailed this fake self-persuasion and only increased.

Maybe I shouldn’t attach myself to Facinerosus since I could hurt him. I’d just lose him too. But I had fun. For the first time in months, I had real fun. Mother …

Help me

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Friends can be a grace and a burden simultaneously. On the one hand they give you emotional support, stability and a sense of significance which every human longs for. On the other hand you will one day feel as if you’re neglecting them, as if you’re disappointing them by not fulfilling the promises you once made.