Chapter 1

As quickly as my vision fades to black, it returns accompanied by sweltering heat and a light bright enough I have to shade my eyes.

After blinking several times, I inspect my surroundings—golden sands at my feet, a stone wall extending so high into the sky it nearly obscures the suns. Masses of people running this way and that.

Wait. I turn my attention back to the sky.

My jaw drops.

There are two suns. Two of them, one yellow and one a cobalt blue. They're too bright to do more than glance at, however.

"Highness!" A hand grabs my shoulder.

Highness? "What the—"

I turn to her and freeze all over again.

"Samira."

The words slip from me, barely a whisper.

In my defense, seeing a face that I designed, though my renderings have never been half so exact as the woman in front of me, is more than shocking. It's downright terrifying. From the crimson of her hair to the gold of her eyes and even the way she holds the ivory spear in her hands.

It's as if someone plucked her from my imagination.

A hot liquid begins to seep down my face. Swiping a finger through it, I bring it into sight. Blood.

Samira must've seen it as well as she grabs on to me and turns to shout into the rushing throng of people.

"Medic! His Highness—"

I stop listening.

My being here only confirms one thing. I must have knocked myself straight into a coma. It makes me wonder how worth it that dance move really was.

I knock away Samira's hands. The scene around me can only make sense if I'm in a coma. Though I suppose I might be dead.

Men and women wearing violet vests and white ballooning pants run back and forth as chunks of stone fall from the wall above. The ringing of bells and trumpeting of what can only be two elephants resounding in unison fills the air. But it isn't.

There's only one. I know it. I wrote it. So, either I'm in a coma, or that knock scrambled my brain, and I'm bound for a locked room with padded walls. Either way, I can live with that.

Better than being dead.

Anyway, this is my story. My world. What author worthy of the name would skip the chance to live in a world of their making?

Maybe horror novelists like a personal hero of mine, Stephen King. I can see him wanting to skip out on being in his stories.

A chunk of stone, twice the size of my head, drops from above, crushing a young woman to the ground.

"Highness, you may have a concussion."

Samira moves in front of me and presses a bit of cloth to the wound on my head. But I'm not paying attention to her. Instead, gazing toward the stairs, I wait.

I don't have to wait long either. A young woman in red rushes up the stairs and stumbles and falls. She lands convulsing in the sands below. Sparks fly from the stabilizer on her ear, right on cue.

There's no remorse in me. I created her for the specific purpose of dying there. A glimpse of what Tolwren is trying to save his people from.

Stabbing pain fills my head. Leaping back, I turn to Samira.

"That hurts!"

She recoils as if I slapped her. But, then again, Samira's ward Prince Vandal the fourth son of the King, never raised his voice. In fact, he doesn't do a whole lot. His most significant accomplishment was that he convinced the King to allow him to guard the wall. Otherwise, the guy was a pushover.

It's not the case anymore.

I shove her aside and run to the girl who just took the chunk of rock to her dome; well, not exactly her. She's already dead; it's what she's carrying that I'm after. Two pouches, each about the size of my two fists put together, hang from her side.

Concussect abdomens. Imagine a giant reddish ant with a butt that explodes based on the Malaysian exploding ant. When their stomachs are correctly removed, they can be used as explosives and each contains the power of the average grenade. I dubbed them blast pouches.

You are decidedly not, My Lord.

The words echo through my head, and they feel like gravel.

Shit. I had hoped that Endurance, bastard that he is, would be as absent as Vandal so much for that.

You got it. You've got two options here. Serve me as you did with Vandal or shut up. Don't, and I'll nuke you.

What's this nuke you speak of?

I nearly fall over, but Endurance doesn't know what a nuke is. How cand he? This world has never seen one, and it's not like he can see my memories or hear my surface thoughts. All he gets are my emotions. Well, that and he share's my senses.

I hold up the pouch.

Imagine one of these just a hundred thousand times more powerful.

Endurance doesn't respond, but that's fine. I'll deal with him when I have more time.

I run for the stairs that lead to the top of the wall. A violet-pink haze coalesces ahead of me, barring my path. My heart begins to slam in my chest. Love. Samira's split personality, her version of Endurance.

Love just so happens to be one of the most dangerous characters in my novel. Anything is acceptable as long as it's done out of love. In other words, Love is the crazy stalkerish girlfriend every guy wishes he could've avoided. If she thinks my death would bring her or Samira closer to her own happily ever after, she'll slit my throat with a smile. And I don't have the skill to be able to do a thing to stop her.

I draw the sword from my back. There's only one chance. I've got to get her just as she finishes forming. Before she can take hold of her spear.

You need to move faster!

Endurance's voice scrapes across my brain, but I'm glad he's on my side. Or at least he is for now. So I lean forward and push all the harder.

Three meters, her arms, and chest are already solidifying as her face forms.

Two meters, her head's done, blonde tresses frame her heart-shaped face, and all that remains is her legs and her weapon.

One meter, her legs are nearly done. I'm going to make it! Raising the ivory blade, I cleave downward.

Her eyes widen, but it's too late. She bursts apart, falling into nothing.

Are you proud of cleaving through a being that made no move to attack you? Pathetic.

I wince. It doesn't matter. I have something I need to do. Of all the drafts I wrote of the Desert Son, Vandal dies in most of them. All before the first event is over.

This event. And I'm not about to die again when I've just got here.

Bite me!

I think not. I doubt you're hygienic. Though I believe you should know your swordsmanship is lacking.

Another trumpet blast. Crack!

The wall bows inwards, rubble flies free, and stone dust fills the air.

Shit.

I take the stairs two at a time and skid to a stop next to the young woman dressed in a red uniform. I barely pay her any attention. The elephant creature, the Kirusk, has it all, and it's more magnificent than I could ever have imagined. The four ivory tusks, the copper skin, its kite-like ears, all of it.

Glorious.

I'm going to kill it.

"Highness, you must run!" She grabs my arm.

I shove her off. It's getting old and fast. My attention never leaves the Kirusk as it begins to charge.

"Shut up, or I'm pushing you off."

I'm really getting tired of these people.

Taking a half step back, I sprint the distance to the edge and jump. Once airborne, I prime the blast pouches, and they're away a moment later.

They detonate on contact, sending a light green liquid cascading across its ear and face.

They wouldn't be enough to stop the thing, at least not in the killing it sense. But momentarily halting its progress? That they manage. It's a good thing, too, else I might've landed on its back. Or, more likely, missed entirely and ended up a bloody smear in the sand.

Instead, I plunge my sword through its ear, and just to make sure I don't slip off, I take hold of the wiry hair coating the appendage's interior. It bellows in pain.

"If you just hold still long enough for me to stab this through your eye, I'd appreciate it."

Among the three drafts I made for the novel, it just so happens that these creatures are just as intelligent as humans in one of them. Yet, if it understands me, it gives no recognition of it beyond reaching for me with its trunk.

Not a sign I'm willing to accept.

I kick the incoming appendage, which does nothing whatsoever, not that I expect it to, not really. It's not like I connected a knife to my slipper.

Its trunk comes again and wraps around my middle, pulling me away from its ear. As it does, I tighten my grip on my sword and begin jerking it around, tearing at its flesh and widening the hole. A moment later, it raises me up, likely going to throw me into the sands below, and I jam the sword into its trunk.

Bastard! Don't you know who created you?

Its trunk loosens, and I move. Using the sword to pull myself up, I stand on the appendage.

Finally! Bellowing, I rush forward, plowing my sword through its eye and into its brain.

Blood spurts freely from the wound as the body goes slack.

The Kirusk drops to the ground, the impact throwing me from my sword. I tumble down the trunk and into the sun heated sands

My back aches.

I think I've landed on a rock

Well, it seems you're not totally worthless. Still, it seems your only skill is not hesitating. We've much to work on.

Screw you!

Was it a battle that people would turn into legend? I doubt it, but you know what? My style of fighting doesn't work well against berserkers!

So says the twit who didn't bother doing a thing! So when I get a new manifestation, I am so frying you.

The worst part is I know he could've helped! At the very least, it would have given the Kirusk another target. At most, he could have manifested and killed the thing himself. But nothing but radio silence? To hell with him.

I now remember why I killed Vandal, and it has everything to do with Endurance. There was something about killing off a character designed to take whatever comes his way and keep going.

"Vandal" A voice shouts down from the top of the wall. "Don't move! I've sent a team to collect you!"

Yes, because I'm planning on getting up and running away.

Picking out the speaker on the wall isn't a challenging prospect at all. Garbed in a white cloak trimmed in gold which marks him as royalty, removes one of the King's children. The twin braids on the right side of his head tell me the rest. Tolwren, the crown prince, my oldest brother, and the intended main character of my story.

He's also supposed to be the one to kill the kirusk after he finds Vandal's dead body.

Too bad for him.

Sitting up, I groan as pain ripples from my back.

I can see the team Tolwren dispatched coming my way, with Samira in the lead from my left. But out of the group of twenty or so, only two of them, not including Samira, were sent for me. As for the rest, there's no doubt that they're here to begin the harvest of the kirusk. Well, some may be assessing the damage to the wall.

"Highness!" Samira slides to a stop in front of me and begins looking me over for wounds starting with the one on my head.

Gritting my teeth, I accept her prodding. Right up to the moment, she began prodding at the wound on my head a second time.

She's a royal guard! The best of her generation! She has to know that it hurts!

"Enough, Samira! I don't need a nursemaid!"

She swells up, readying to go off; instead, she exhales sharply and speaks in a stiff but even tone.

"I am not your nursemaid, Highness. I am your personal guard! I am supposed to keep you from all harm."

Read nursemaid.

Of course, she's also Vandal's sword and spear master and often left him black and blue and occasionally bloody. No harm, my ass. Then again, it takes a specific type of person to create a monster like Love.

"Then stop poking at me and let the medics do their job!"

I point at the two women dressed in green which stand on either side of her. She looks at them, and they look back. Then, slowly Samira gets to her feet and moves to stand behind me.

Compared to Samira, the medics' touches are about as soft as a feather as they move across me. When it is going to hurt, they tell me as much beforehand. Finally, after about ten minutes of poking and prodding, they pull me to my feet, and I feel my blood run cold.

There, sitting in the sand near the wall is Cola. It couldn't be anything else. The orange of her furs is a stark contrast to everything around. On top of that, there are no house cats anywhere on the planet, save the few that live in the only "human" settlement.

Either my bell got rang harder than I thought before I got here, or the damned orange furball must've come with me after I crushed it. I'm betting on the latter. It'd figure.

Glancing over at Samira and the medics, I find none of them seem to notice Cola sitting there. If they had, they no doubt would have drawn their weapons. At the very least, Cola will have lost a limb before they capture her.

Do you see that?

I ask the final remnant of Vandal.

Not my favorite move but better to deal with Endurance than have anyone think I've lost my mind. The Kingdom isn't kind to those with disabilities of any sort.

I see plenty. To what do you refer?

"Plenty" obviously doesn't refer to Cola.

Don't worry about it.

I look away as the cat stretches and yawns, then I allow them to lead me back into the city.

For the first time in my life, either of them, really, I wish I have a concussion.

***

Apparently, they are unconcerned about my possible concussion as they don't lead me to the healer. Instead, Samira and the medics guide me to Tolwren, who in turn leads me to the King's.

Which just so happens to be the last place I want to be.

How helpful they are.

The room is the very definition of opulent.

Tablets of gold lay in narrow nooks around the room, depictions of myth and legends etched into their surface. A wide red carpet extends down the center of the room, and water bubbles freely through fountains of spun glass on either side of the throne.

The King's garbed in plain white robes and pants, emphasizing his height and fitness. His ruby eyes are only a few shades off his hair though the whitening strands make the difference look greater.

He stares down at me beneath a furrowed brow.

"Do you now understand why you cannot guard the wall?" He asks in a soft voice.

He wants me to agree and bend to his whims. It has about as much chance of happening as one of the two suns winking out of existence in the next two seconds.

How do you plan on handling this situation?

I want to roll my eyes, but the King's presence makes that impossible.

Like this.

"If I hadn't been there, more people could have, likely would have died."

Straight to the point and rational. Not that that matters. Haze wavers and coalesces beside the throne, forming a golden armored being with eyes of cobalt flames that almost seem to glow.

Piety. The Kings Manifestation. While Love is far more frightening on the whole, primarily due to her capacity to go off the rails at any given moment. Piety is a different sort of beast altogether. He can cleave through every person in the room without trouble. The thing is cold, logical, and just as empty as the armor that makes up its body.

"You know as well as I that they do their duty as you are expected to do yours."

I quirk an eyebrow. What is my duty exactly? Not that it matters; the whole conversation is pointless. Any moment now, Tolwren's stabilizer, the little gizmo that looks like an interconnected three clasp style earrings that lead down the outside of the right ear, will fail.

It isn't really a stabilizer; if anything, it functioned as an emitter or projector. Originally, meant for children with higher than average alpha waves. So that they might survive until they could adjust their eyes to emit the lights needed to create the split personalities body.

The manifestations are the real stabilizers.

But people got lazy. They stopped taking the more painful course, and not removing the "stabilizer" became commonplace.

I know I wrote it, but their stupidity does give me a small amount of shame.

"Vandal you'd do well not to ignore me."

The King snaps, but I'm not paying attention.

Tolwren hasn't fallen. So I do the only thing I can think of to buy myself time. I reach up to clutch at the bandage they'd wrapped about my head and press on it just hard enough for the stymied blood to flow again.

Injuring yourself will only put off the inevitable.

I don't answer him, but the truth is all I need is a little time.

Once I'm sure it will leak through the bandages, I turn my attention back to the King. Taking a breath, I steel myself. I just have to act like his son.

"Your Majesty," I incline my head as if I'm going to bow or perhaps drop to a knee until I see the anger flash across his face.

Perfect.

"Father," he seems to accept my correction, so I continue. "Tolwren is your heir; Evander strives to be ready should anything happen to our oldest brother and be his will if nothing does. My place is with our people."

Piety steps forward, his hand closing around the hilt of the colossal sword at his side. "Your place is wherever his Highness says it is." Comes his grating metallic voice.

I glare, silently daring him to do something. Anything. I may not like my odds, but I do know his weakness.

He's obedient to a fault, and the King won't let him touch me.

"Highness," the voice belongs to a hunched white-haired old woman, one I had no trouble recognizing. After all, at sixty-two, she happens to be the oldest person in the city. All the others made their way into the desert to die.

Rue. I have to fight to keep the smile off my face at the sight of the grandmotherly character.

The King waves her forward, and she moves, not to him but to me. She lifts my chin and looks at me with narrowed eyes.

Dammit! She must realize what I've done! Please, please don't tell!

I silently beg.

After a moment's scrutiny, she speaks. "Highness, I believe this conversation would be best suited for a different day."

Seems she favors you. I wonder how long that will last.

He sounded positively giddy at the prospect of my failure. Bastard.

And here I was enjoying the hope that somehow you'd been rendered mute. Well, you can't win them all.

"Samira, I was under the impression my brother was to be taken to the healers if he wasn't stable," Tolwren says, rounding on my guard, attempting to look menacing and failing.

Samira drops to a knee and inclines her head. "I believed so as well, My Prince."

"Prince Vandal was likely attempting to conceal his symptoms. I will have a word with the medics sent to him. They should have spotted them anyway." Rue interjects

The King nods. "See that you do, as long as it is after you've seen to my son."

"It will be done." She takes me by the arm and leads me off.

***

Why didn't Tolwren fall down clutching his head while screaming like a nutjob as I wrote? It makes no sense! Did I do this? Did making sure that Vandal, that I survived the Kirusk do this? I've heard about that butterfly and the hurricanes its wings make, but come on!

How could my survival change anything about Tolwren? All I did was slay the kirusk so that it wouldn't kill me.

Only the fact that I really might have a concussion keeps me from smacking myself in the head.

By killing that damned elephant, I left Tolwren to stand impotently on the wall instead of being knocked around like I was. Of course, his emitter didn't fail.

What do I do about it, though? Knock him in the head? Or more likely see too it that something hits him in the head?

Pain ripples through my side, and I can't contain the groan of pain that slips out. Looking down, I find Rue's elbow.

"My Prince. I cannot say I'm pleased by your ignoring me. Perhaps you do have a concussion?"

Has she been talking?

Damn.

"How would I know? I'm no medic."

"Indeed." She stops outside a wide set of double doors and looks at me. "You've either spent too long guarding the wall or were hit in the head harder than I thought."

"What?"

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Your way of speech is hardly befitting a Prince."

Damn. It's not a surprise that I missed something. I'm no actor.

I shrug. "It suits me, I think."

How long do you believe you'll be able to fool them?

It's not like they're really going to be suspecting me of being someone else. That's crazy, even for a place mired in the dark ages like this one.

Endurance doesn't respond.

Her smile fades, and she opens the door.

I barely step into the room before a girl slams into me like the human equivalent of a ballistic missile. We tumble to the floor.

"You're an idiot." She says with a strong sweet voice.

Looking up, I have to admit I feel like an idiot. She's obviously one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen. Her red hair is cut in a pixie cut, she's a svelte frame, and while everyone outside the royal line has golden eyes, hers seemed brighter. An amber even.

I have no idea who she is. But, in my defense, none of Vandal's prospective partners mattered after he died except the one time she ended up the consort of Tolwren.

It seems like it could be her, though it's hard to really tell, considering neither of us is standing. What was her name? It has to start with an A. My leading ladies almost always begin with an A. Alise? Akita? No, I think that one's a dog. Arabelle? Amethyst? Not likely. Aster?

"Aster, his Highness is injured," Rue says, looking ready to strangle the girl.

Aster rushes to remove herself from me, her eyes roving over me until they reach my head. Her eyes narrowed.

"Idiot." Turning, she walked deeper into the room.

At least I know her name.

"You are just like your uncle," Rue notes absently as I get to my feet.

"Am I? That's nice, I guess. Can we just get this over with?" I tap my head. "I can really use some sleep."

She purses her lips and ushers me forward. Together we move through a room that's equal parts workshop and laboratory. On one side, they carved ships of different designs. On the other, Rue had several aides heating various vials and mixing in powders.

It was the exact reason she was kept alive by the King. Also, why I kept her alive. Rue just so happens to be the brightest mind in the Kingdom. I include myself to some extent in that list. With 26 different plants, numerous animals with toxins in a wide array of strengths, and the excessive amount of minerals in the desert alone, her mind was too valuable to waste.

Finally, she pushes me into a side room that looks a lot like a closet but must double as an exam room.

I've hardly sat myself down when she pulls the bandages on my head free.

"You are quick-witted if nothing else," she mutters, "though there are better ways to remove yourself from his Royal Highnesses presence than reinjuring yourself—"

She trails off, and her face pinches as she gently prods the wound. "Especially a wound that should have killed you."

I watch as Rue ducks her head as she murmurs to herself. Reciting a prayer, no doubt. Not surprising, considering how she and everyone else is dedicated to the desert mother. But considering I wrote out every prayer, and I don't know the one she's using, I've no idea what she's saying.

When she looks up at me, it's different than before. "You will need bed rest for several days, no training for at least two weeks."

Two weeks with no training is fine, but any amount of bed rest is, as far as I'm concerned, too much bed rest. But, of course, I've no intention of telling her that. As long as I can get away from her before Samira shows up, I doubt I'll have any issues spending my days as I please.

I nod.

"Whatever you say, Rue."

I say that, but my mind is going a million miles per hour. Tolwren's stabilizer didn't fail.

But the girl from earlier did. So what's the difference? Would Tolwren be marshaled into saving the people without being forced to offer someone else's life in place of his own?

Or is it up to me?

The thought plagues me for a long time before sleep finally comes.