We were up the steps in a flash, forgoing stealth in favor of speed. By this point, I figured we’d have been forgotten anyway. When we reached the deck, Conifer and Parsley stopped dead upon seeing the fire; by now, it seemed the whole island was engulfed in flames, a funeral pyre for both sides the likes of which no one expected, or at least I didn’t. Solemnly, I slapped their shoulders and reminded them we needed to be fast.

“But, the island—!” Conifer began, but I held a finger to my mouth and shook my head.

“We’ll mourn later. Our time is short, and Rose is somewhere out there.”

I moved toward the rail, those two trailing behind me with trepidation. The fire was bright; it was difficult to discern positive details in the sea of flame, and identifying the people I could see on the beach was impossible, all of them appearing as shades, dark figures of questionable intent and origin. Worry began to set in. Chrys wasn’t on the beach, and I didn’t see Sage, Bitter, even Sour—if I did, I couldn’t tell. My breathing sped up, and my head ballooned to weightlessness, nearly floating to the clouds before I felt a warm hand on both of my shoulders, firm yet concerned. I spun around in retaliation, accidently sending both Conifer and Parsley sprawling to the floor of the deck. They looked at me with wide eyes—a gaze I returned, suddenly afraid.

“Mint?” Conifer asked, slowly.

“Are you okay?” Parsley echoed, her feelings more palpable. She made mine more real.

I shook my head. “I don’t even know where to start. I don’t see Chrys, Rose, anyone. Just shadows.” My lip quivered, and I nearly broke right there in front of them, the only thing holding back my own self pity being the loathing I felt for it. Why wasn’t I strong enough to tackle this? Vastmire coursed through my veins, I thought. The very same stuff that made Sage so strong, Basil so strong, everyone so strong—it lived within me. Yet there I was, frightened, scared; trapped. I couldn’t back my words up. There was no way I could.

Parsley, full of wisdom, the kind that comes from being a mother who lives much closer to the ground than mine had, saw all of this in me. Maybe she didn’t know exactly how I felt. I never asked her. She just got up, walked over to me, and gave me a big hug, warm and full, and in my ear she said in a hushed tone, “Don’t worry, Mint. We’ll get through this.”

My breathing staggered, I shook tears from my eyes into her neck and shoulder. “What if we don’t?”

She held me tighter and said, “Failure can wait until after we’ve already tried.”

We stayed like that for a moment, breaking when we heard a loud boom of sonic force bursting forth from the flames. I jerked away, and to my surprise I saw that Sage was still alive. Even more surprisingly, he was doing well. Bitter had been sent skipping across the sand, each hit sending his body more and more into the form of a doll, limbs flopping lifelessly in the wind, with a crunching noise so loud even we could hear it from our vantage point. Sage was floating above him, the flames surrounding him but not touching him, appearing as something above life, someone more than mortal.

“Right,” I nodded to myself. “Thank you, Parsley. You two should stay here, it doesn’t look that safe down there.”

“Mint!” they both said in unison, but I was already in the air.

“Don’t worry!” I yelled up to them. The wind passing around me sent a rush of energy through me, and I suddenly felt an upswing in my mood and outlook that I knew I had to ride to succeed in this last leg of the fight.

Landing in the sand, I looked around to see if there was any sign of where Chrys may have gone. Luck was with me; near where I landed, I saw big, beastly pawprints in the sand running off away from where Bitter had landed, towards something that I hadn’t noticed in the distance, resting quietly below where the moon was descending beneath the sea. A small, but very real boat was off shore that way. I broke into a sprint and followed the trail, looking over my shoulder periodically to see that Sage was still alive.

Up until this point, I had never seen Sage fight with such intensity, such vicious precision and brutal strength. Not even in fairy tales was strength such as his described. The possibilities of Vastmire excited me; sent fear in me; would I be like that, if I took on the orb he wished to present to me? Could I be someone like him?

Maybe better?

At the time, it seemed so obvious. Of course I would be better than Sage. I was smarter, it was a no brainer. And if his explanation of that orb was correct, I would naturally be stronger, another link in the chain.

What would I do with that? Why, be a hero, naturally. I’d save Longan from the evils that held it down, correct the wrongs done to my kingdom, and keep my family safe. It was unquestionable that I would be great. But being a young boy of fourteen meant I simply didn’t care about the means, only the end. I had my whole life to take care of it, and the legend, of course, would write itself.

It’s hard to write that, honestly. Revisiting youthful idealism is probably difficult for everyone, but… well, you’ll see, won’t you? Maybe you already know. After all, as unfortunate as it is for me to admit, my life is ancient history, to some degree public knowledge.

I came upon the boat, unimpeded in my sprint by anyone but the sand itself, which made the trek difficult to do without falling. It wasn’t nearly as big as the other one. In fact it was more of a rowboat like the ones the soldiers had used to reach shore, thin, fast vessels that were long and gathered speed in the water much more quickly than larger boats would. There was nowhere for anyone to hide in that boat.

So when I saw that no one was there, my heart sank, and I had to do a lot to stay calm.

“Don’t worry, Mint,” I said to myself, feeling crazy as I twirled in a circle, searching for some form of a clue or a sign that someone had been there. “Don’t worry, Mint, just think, just think,” I repeated, walking along the side of the boat before finally hopping in, searching the floor, beneath the seats, in the dark shadow cast by the flames, trying my damnedest to find someone who just wasn’t there, the girl I swore I’d find. A girl, I reminded myself, I could never show affection for. For I was a prince, and she was a regular, unassuming commoner, with a mother who cared. “Don’t worry Mint, focus.” I ceased the search on the boat, turning my attention to the beach. I saw then something which I hadn’t noticed previously. The pawprints of Chrys had turned hard, away from the boat and into the flames.

They followed new footprints.

“See?” I said, cackling to myself. “Just focus, stay calm, and you’ll bear fruit!”

I made my way to the wall of fire, where I spent a moment trying to piece together a path through the flames that didn’t involve burning to ashes. When I couldn’t find one, I thought of a few things I could try. I could attempt to jump over the fire, using Vastmire, but that was still finicky at best. I had no clue how to harness Vastmire for fighting, let alone use it like that. So that was out. I could run through the fire, allowing myself to burn, but that was suicide. I could try covering myself in water beforehand, and I almost tried that, before shaking my head halfway to the water and saying, “That’s way too risky.” Eventually, I gave up thinking, and instead began calling out for Chrys and Rose.

“Chrys! Rose! Where are you?” I yelled. “Are you in there at all!? We have to go!” I kept this up for about a minute, maybe longer, before Chrys burst forth from the flames, which surprised me so badly that I fell to the ground.

“Geeze, don’t do that!” I shouted, brushing sand off of me. Then I saw he was still burning and I yelped, “Ah! Are you alright?”

Chrys shrugged, “For the most part.”

“But you’re on fire!”

“Hmph? Oh,” he said, dismissive. “It’s just my mane. The flowers are singed but otherwise they’re fine. They grow back. Anyway, I found Rose.”

I nearly jumped in triumph. “Where is she?”

Chrys jerked his head towards the flames. “Not too far in. She’s being held against her will, but she is physically fine.”

Nodding, I asked, “Alright. How many guards?”

Baring his fangs in an angry lion scowl, he said, “One. A man in a dark cloak has her in a deep sleep, and he waves his hands about as if he were weaving spells. Real magic, not Vastmiric enhancement.” He growled, turning it into a deep roar which shook my bones. “I don’t like it, Mint.”

“Neither do I,” I agreed. Magic was something I was aware of, and had read a decent amount about back at home, but never truly experienced. “If she’s asleep, and they’re doing magic on her, they could be changing her at her core, or worse. We need to stop that spell before it ruins her head.”

Chrys nodded and was about to jump back through the flames when I held up both hands and waved them around wildly. “Wait-wait-wait-wait!”

He stopped, still crouched. “What is it? We go now, right?”

“I can’t jump through the flames like that.”

Chrys seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding in assent. “That does pose a problem.”

“Right, so how do we—hey!” Chrys bit down on my cloak and tossed me onto his back, sending me into a tailspin that left me dizzy and confused.

“We haven't got time to think,” he growled. “Hold on tight, and don’t yank any flowers from my mane, that hurts like hell.”

And with that, before I could even try to object, we were flying through that blaze with immense speed, each flame we passed through licking us and making loud, almost satisfying, “bwoosh,” sounds.

Once we were free of the flames, I opened my eyes and checked us for fire. Miraculously, we were largely fine, the only flames on me being on the cape thing Conifer had given me, which I promptly tossed into the fire. It was too warm for the heat anyway. Instinctively, I checked my head to put my shirt back on but that was gone, lost somewhere along the way. Chrys checked that I was fine, and still riding atop him, we made our way towards the dark cloaked figure who held Rose captive. We passed by rubble, fallen trees, burning animals and flesh, all manner of destruction which I tried my best to keep my eyes from but couldn’t out of morbid curiosity. The fire had very nearly destroyed everything on Mango. By the end of it, there would be nothing left.

Soon, after weaving through paths marked out by breaks in the flames, we found a surprisingly large circle, at the center of which was Rose and the man Chrys spoke of. He was tall, thin and wiry, with overly long, bony fingers covered in rings, wrists filled with bracelets which clanged metallically together in a jangly mess. The cloak he wore was full body, blacker than night and revealed nothing; he could have been death itself were he carrying his signature woven basket filled with souls he harvested. I was thankful not to see it; Rose still lived, her chest rising and falling so calmly you would think she were under the covers in a nice, warm bed.

We stayed a moment on the outskirts, unsure of how to approach, when a voice emanated in our ears from all sides, as if it came from everywhere.

Come forth, one who seeks the truth, one who fights with fate. There is no need to hide, the light of the flame burns too bright for me not to see you.

If somehow I wasn’t already sweating, I was much more aware of it than I was before. Chrys walked forward slowly, an air of dubiousness to the situation.

“Who are you?” Chrys asked in a loud bark, so as to be heard above the crackle.

The cloaked figure stood up to his full height, ceasing the moving and jangling of his hands. He was even taller than I had thought; we were eye level despite me being on top of Chrys, which would make him taller than Bitter.

I am Sweet. What business have the two of you with I, the creator of the macabre, the illustrator of darkness, the ominous wind?

“Wait a minute,” I said, holding up a hand. “You’re Sweet?”

There was a silence, before the being nodded. Yes.

Stifling a snicker which would give way to laughter if I didn’t control it, I asked, “What the hell are the naming conventions for you guys?

Sighing a sound that I may have mistaken for a far off cyclone, he said, This is the typical reaction. Well, I’ll have you know we drew lots. Guess who drew the shortest?

“I’m confused,” Chrys said, as I began chuckling heartily, giving way to a cough from sucking up the ash in the air. “Why is his name funny?”

“I’ll explain later,” I said, patting him affectionately. “Anyway, anyway, let’s get on with this.”

Groaning, Sweet nodded. Yes, let’s. I presume you want this girl? That’s how these things seem to go.

“If you give her back to us without a fight, we’d appreciate it,” I said, still coughing.

Sweet held a hand to where his mouth might have been, his long fingers stroking rhythmically before he shook his head. I can’t do that. They’re still battling, and the line must remain in the water.

“Line?” I asked, looking at Chrys. He grunted, also confused. “Explain.”

I cannot say. How about we play a game?

“No, we haven’t got time for that,” I said, getting annoyed. “Just give us Rose and we’ll go in peace.”

Instead of replying, though, he began doing signs with his hands, weaving them around elegantly, entrancing us in this strange, ghastly movement. Then, in seconds, another Rose appeared, identical in every way to the first one. Then another, and another, and before long you couldn’t step without stepping on a Rose of one kind or another.

Choose. Choose correctly, and you will go in peace. But choose poorly, and you will find yourself locked away in a never ending dream, unable to achieve anything, but always feeling like your nearly there.

Scoffing, I said, “Well, that’s easy. It’s gotta be the one right in front of you.”

Sweet made an angry gurgling noise.

“You drew the small lot in brains too, I take it?” Looking back on it, this was probably the first time I ever engaged in this sort of banter. It’s not something I do because I think I’m funny, it’s more to help keep my nerves from exploding under pressure. It doesn’t always work.

Quiet, you! Fine, fine, it’s too easy, right? How about this.

And with a snap of his fingers, every Rose lifted in the air and spun wildly, a twister of them whooshing this way and that, before finally resting back on the ground.

“Shit,” I groaned.

“You should have kept your mouth shut,” Chrys growled.

“Shut up, it’s fine. I can do this.” I looked at them all, trying my best to find some difference in them, a wrong pair of lips, discolored hair, misshapen feet, anything at all that might tip me off. As you can imagine, though, nothing was different from any of the Roses before me, all seeming identical like the one I had found on the ship was.

Choose soon. I grow weary of this game.

I made a noise I can’t begin to spell, and Chrys growled at me. “We waste time, Mint! Just get her and get out of here.”

“That’s easier said than done,” I shouted, angry.

“Watch me,” Chrys whispered, before leaping through the air and pouncing on Sweet, sending him hurtling on top of a Rose or two behind him. In midair I had an idea, and was ready to have Chrys drag Sweet around the circle until we bumped into the real Rose. I checked, they were solid; I felt my stomach flip. My hopes they were intangible were dashed.

Fighting me will do nothing. Choose now or suffer.

It might not be much of a secret, as I’ve been told I make it pretty obvious, but perhaps it wasn’t easy to gather through subtext: I hate magic. That shit turns my jam to jelly. Oh sure, Vastmire is similar on paper to magic, I’m sure most of you think it’s the same. But in practice? They couldn’t be more different. Magic involves all sorts of promises, chanting, weird movements, odd dancing, and lots of demons. A serious amount of demons. More demons than you ever should associate with. Vastmire is just green power juice when you get down to it, a performance enhancer. No weird promises, no demons, and dancing is optional but typically useless. I understood it, or at least got the gist of it. Magic, though, is one of those things that even the practitioners who have written book after book on the proper herb to put in the dumb potion that makes succubi run rampant around virgin town—even they don’t seem to really know what sort of power they’re messing with. So the idea that some black robed maniac was threatening me with some power that even he didn’t understand, well… let’s just say I wasn’t thinking rationally. I wanted to get out of there.

“Chrys, you have full permission to kill Sweet while I try and think of something,” I said, hopping off of him.

“You sure? His spell probably won’t go away even if he’s dead.”

Sweet chuckled hoarsely. Your beast friend is correct, boy. My spell will last, and it will finish if you don’t choose soon.

“Either way, you’ll be dead,” I said, as coldly as I could hope to say it under the circumstances. “At least this way I can bide some time maybe, and even if I choose wrong you go down too. That’s good enough for me.”

Chrys, ever the partner, escorted Sweet through the flames and away from me so I could take a moment to think things through a little. Actually, it would be more accurate to say Chrys tossed his body through the fire, sending Sweet somersaulting wildly through the circle of flames, with Chrys leaping after him to do Altera know what.

I looked frantically from body to body, Rose to Rose, trying to figure something out. No matter how fast I searched, how deeply I looked, she was still the same, no visible difference whatsoever. Moments began to pile up, and soon enough I was floundering for an answer, speaking in tongues ancient and forgotten, burned up in that early morning air.

“I just need a sign,” I eventually sputtered. “Anything, just give me a hint, Rose—!”

The ground beneath us suddenly began quaking, sending me and every Rose vibrating wildly where we stood, or in her case lay. The cacophony of sound that ensued was tremendous, and it’s a wonder I heard anything above the destruction laying waste around us, or the cries of battle echoing across the island like wailing ghosts. Over all of it, I heard a simple sound, which tipped me off to an idea.

The groan of a sleepy Rose, stirring in her slumber. A groan, I might add, that was singular; the group didn’t do so in unison.

I turned to the source, and saw three suspects. There was no time to think, I had to get to work and figure it out. Kneeling down by the first, I slapped her face as hard as I could, shaking her vigorously—of course, I did so with the intent to apologize soon after—in hopes of waking her so I could see if it really was her and not some trick.

The first one didn’t make a noise after hefty abuse. Tossing her aside, I prayed desperately that she was not the right one and moved on to the next one, who I was rough with but not so much that I’d feel bad after. She, too, remained silent under the constant stress I put her through, stress that would wake anyone.

The third one had to be it. There was no other option, and I couldn’t be sure Chrys was really capable of defeating Sweet. Magic, after all, was an unknown force.

Though, if I’m honest, so was Chrys.

After a mighty slap that echoed in my ears, her mouth opened slightly, emitting the sweetest, most dulcet groan I think I’ve ever heard in my life. That was all I really needed, I thought. We’re going home. Were the stakes not so high, or the walls of fire so hot, I may have danced a jig.

But I had to be absolutely sure it was her.

“Rose,” I shouted, fast and sharp. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, said, “Yes, but where are we?” She looked around, and I had to hold her down so she wouldn’t groggily touch the flames.

“Hush, don’t worry. I know it looks dangerous but trust me we have a way out. I just need to ask you a question to be sure you’re the real Rose.”

“The real… Oh!” she was confused, until I moved and let her see the sea of bodies we lay around. “Well, of course I’m the real Rose! What proof do you need?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but a thought came to my mind and I went with it. “Do you remember the night where I fought that large man, Bitter? The one where I got hurt pretty badly and you had to nurse me back to health?”

She nodded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Yes, I do. You and Conifer nearly made my mom die from fright!”

That was the first test, and I smiled knowing she passed. I neglected mentioning Conifer to see if she’d bring him up on her own. That was good, but I needed to be absolutely sure. “Good, then do you remember the conversation we had that night?”

Rose pulled tight to her tunic, looking like she was feeling very hot. “Kind of, yes.”

“Say what you remember, please. We haven’t got time.”

She was about to protest, but I gave her a look and she thought better of it. Rubbing her head, she closed her eyes and started rattling off memories. “Uhm… Okay, I think we talked about Conifer, about how he thought of mother and I, yeah… After that, you and I talked about what we wished we were, about how I thought being a prince seemed so great… I think you told me to follow my dreams, or something to that effect. Then we had to go to sleep, I think?”

It was vague, but accurate.

“Sweet!” I shouted, hoping he might hear me. A response was immediately in my ear, albeit more quiet and raspy, more pained than before.

You’ve chosen?

“I have. This Rose here is the correct one, the rest are fake.”

This is your final choice?

I could tell he was attempting to rattle me, but I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “Yes, this is Rose.” And she shared a smile with me, wary yet hopeful, and ready to leave. I couldn’t blame her. I’m sure I looked the same.

You may leave then, young Mint. But be warned; those who fight further fight forever. It is not wise to do what isn’t right for you for long.

“Shut up, you spell-weaving bastard.” I whistled, leading Rose towards the path we had taken to get there. “Chrys, we’re out of here!”

Turning behind me, I saw Chrys fly out of the fire and I couldn’t help but smirk. “You don’t get tired of doing that, do you?” I asked him as Rose and I hopped on to him.

“Would you?” he asked, shaking the remains of the flowers in his mane free.

Behind us, the Roses on the ground withered away, decaying rapidly before bursting into ashes, indicating they may have been made of the ashes created from the fire storm. After that, I never looked back; that sight was eerie enough for me. Now all that mattered was getting free of the place, and hopefully finding Sage and Basil to come with us if we had the time. But Sweet still got one last word in before we made it free of that place.

I may weave spells, but I do not lie. The path you walk is a path of dread. You will lose everything you love, Prince Mint. And I fear you may never love again.