Username:
ShimmerSolarPets
Viscet Name:
Azariel
Gender (for breeding purposes):
Male
Life Goal:
"Okay, Father. I'll do my best."
Those words came out of Azariel's mouth without much thought, almost as naturally as breathing. Like it was a natural part of his everyday routine. Because by now, it really was. Azariel's shocking blue eyes looked straight into his father's stern eyes. The king's mouth was set in a firm line, and his gaze was cold and calculating. As if he was examining his son like nothing more than a tool, a weapon. Azariel was used to that gaze. Every day he spent with his father, he always met that gaze. The young prince was bowing low before his father who was sitting on the throne.
"Your best is never enough, Azariel," the king said, coldly. "Even your disgraceful little sister could always do better jobs than you."
"I'm sorry. I'll do better this time."
Yet another excuse that naturally rolled off his tongue. His father was never satisfied. Nothing Azariel did could ever please him. His sister had outshone him ever since he was little. She was the little prodigy. She was the shining star. Azariel's father knew that, and had there not been the tradition of choosing the firstborn male as the rightful heir, she would've been the crown princess. And now, she's gone, but Azariel was still there, ready to serve his father with his plans of conquest yet again. A loud scoff came from his father, and Azariel lowered his head further. "How many times have you said that? And still, your work hasn't improved. What a shameful excuse for a crown prince."
Azariel fell quiet. He'd heard this before, over and over. Again and again. Being called a shame, a disgrace to the royal family. He tried to make himself numb to the insults. Despite that, it still hurt deep inside. It was his own father saying that, after all. And the only member of his family left. But those words always spurred him. Like a whip, the sting of the lashes only drove him to do better, to aim higher. Whatever it took, he would make sure to earn his father's love and appreciation. Azariel had gotten his sister cast out of the kingdom because of her own disgraceful behavior. Yet his father never acknowledged that. No, to him, his shameful little sister was still the best child he had. Azariel was just garbage compared to the ex-princess. "Well, don't just stand there," the king snapped, jolting Azariel out of his thoughts. "Get out there and do your job, and do it properly."
"Yes, sir!" Azariel quickly scrambled back to a standing position. He ran out of the throne room, ready to do his mission.
Azariel went to his room. He quickly packed some of his belongings, and put on his traveling jacket. His mission was to check on the troops stationed around some conquered kingdoms and eliminate rebel groups before they grow into a full-blown rebellion. Nothing too hard, but the king was never pleased. He would always find something about Azariel's methods to criticize. His sister, he knew, would sadistically eradicate anybody siding with the rebels with no hesitation. His father loved her ruthlessness. Azariel stared at his reflection on the mirror. His familiar scowling face stared back at him. That frown on his face... He could see the resemblance of that frown with his father's daily expression. His bright blue eyes stared at the markings on his right paw. The crest of the royal family. His father, his sister... They also had the markings; the telltale sign of a Viscet with the blood of the royal family of Xeiryu. Azariel used to carry it with pride. Not every Viscet in the world had markings that could glow at wish. Her father told him it was a mark to wear with confidence. But, now, he only saw it a burden. Due to the power-hungry actions of the king, Viscets were after the royal family's heads. Azariel lost count of just how many times rogue Viscets went after him, and just how many times he had to take their lives to preserve his own. He hated all of this. He hated having to cut away the lives of people who just wanted their freedom with his sword. It's worth it, Azariel told himself silently, reaching out to grab his sword. One of these days, I'm going to see his proud smile again.
The prince could vividly remember his first time wielding a real sword as a Viscling. It was heavy for a creature his size, like a miniature version of his current preferred sword. Yet the weight was not a burden for the young Viscling. His blue eyes had shone with excitement as he faced the wooden dummies before him. His mentor, father, mother, and sister sat on the sidelines, watching him. Young Azariel's heart beat loudly and quickly. It was the day of his exam. All that training with fake swords had led up to this point. Once he advanced from this point, he would be granted his own sword. Azariel shifted his grip on the sword. It was a training sword, designed specifically by the royal blacksmith for the young prince to grip with his teeth. He tossed his head a little, letting his blonde bangs swish out of his eyes, clearing his vision. He shot a small, nervous glance at his family sitting nearby. Sweat ran down the side of his head and streaked his fur. He hadn't realized how nervous he'd been. Nervous... But excited, too. He saw the anticipating eyes of his little sister. Her eyes gleamed with excitement; eagerness to see her big brother succeed. She waved a tiny paw from the seats. "You go, Azzy! Knock 'em dead!" her voice chirped. A surge of energy and affection coursed through his body. A wide smile formed on Azariel's face as he turned his attention to his little sister. He raised his sword. The gesture filled Azariel with courage and determination. Seeing the excitement on his beloved little sister's face was enough to boost his confidence. He was ready. He will succeed. He glanced towards his mother and father. His mother clenched her paws and nodded excitedly at Azariel. His father gave an encouraging nod, a gentle smile on his face. A smile that seemed so surreal when Azariel imagined it on the angry, twisted face of his father right now. He couldn't make himself believe that it once belonged on the face of the now-megalomanic emperor.
"Are you ready, Prince Azariel of Xeiryu?" his mentor asked.
"I'm ready!" Azariel called out.
"Then, let the examination begin!"
Azariel tore through the air, his blade moving like a whirlwind. His sister whooped with glee. "Go, Azzy! Go!" her adorable voice shouted, putting a spring into Azariel's every step. His muscles worked like a well-coordinated machine, and each of his movements were exact; precise. He swept through the dummies, hitting them at the exact angles with great agility. Suddenly, the sword didn't feel so heavy anymore. It felt just right in his grip. Before he knew it, the exam was over. With a proud look in his eyes, his mentor announced his success. Azariel's little sister ran over to him with a loud whoop and tackled him in a warm, furry hug. "You did it, Azzy!!" she screamed, bouncing up and down. "You did it, you did it, you did it!"
Azariel laughed as his mother joined the hug, wrapping him in warm fur and the lovely scent of flowers. A heavy paw landed on his shoulder. Azariel looked up. The tall figure of his father looked down on him. His eyes twinkled with a kind spark, and his smile radiated pride. That face was burnt into Azariel's memory. Every single night it comforted him, yet also tormented him. The memory of his smile tore his spirits down, yet also fueled his spirits. Azariel held on to the hope that one day he might see that smile again upon the twisted king's face.
It was what drove him, what got him up every morning, what kept him fighting for his life.
As soon as he finished packing, he and the little group his father selected to accompany him on the mission departed. His father saw him off. Looking back at the comfortable castle one last time before departure, Azariel saw the familiar figure of the king at the gates. A frown was on his face. A frown that clearly said: "Succeed, or else." No different from any other day. There wasn't a reason for Azariel to hope that this one day might be different. Casting away his disappointment, he gave a nod to his father before turning his back to the castle. Then, he set off on his journey towards the conquered areas. His journey was mostly uneventful, with only a few run-in's with bandits at night. Not much of a surprise, seeing that he was a wealthy prince with a glowing paw mark to prove it. In a few days, he arrived in the conquered area.
Azariel managed to break apart the rebellion after quite a while. He then made his way back with the rest of his team. However... on the way, an accident happened. They were ambushed. Azariel's paw glowed to distract the ambush team away from his comrades. It was him they were after. It would be senseless for others to get hurt unnecessarily for this. As expected, the ambush team came after him. Taking down the prince, after all, would be an achievement. Azariel drew his sword to defend himself, but even then... he was outnumbered. Wounded and tired, he managed to untangle himself from the chaos and escape. His comrades had went on ahead without him. For one whole day, Azariel limped around aimlessly. He had no food, no water, and only his sword. Everything was painful for him. Until... he saw it. A cottage, sitting in the middle of nowhere. Azariel rushed towards the cottage, trying to ignore the pain of his injuries. He had to get help. As soon as he got to the doorstep, his paws gave way. Collapsed on the doorstep, Azariel mustered his energy to knock on the door. Pawsteps could be heard rushing towards the door. The door swung open. A female Viscet with two long reddish braids stood at the doorway. When she saw Azariel collapsed on the ground, her expression turned to worry. "Oh, you poor child!" she said, crouching next to Azariel. She placed a gentle, warm paw on him to lift him up to his paws. "What in the world happened to you?"
Azariel opened his mouth to answer, but the world swirled around him and turned to black.
The next thing he knew, he was lying on a bed with his injuries all wrapped up in bandages. The female Viscet that had found him suddenly entered the room. The smell of delicious, newly-baked pie filled the room. Suddenly, Azariel felt his stomach rumble. The Viscet looked surprised. "Oh, you're awake!" she said. Setting down the pie in front of Azariel, she sat down on the edge of the bed and asked, "How are you feeling, my child?"
"Your... child?" Azariel asked, bewildered. "Wh-who are you?"
"Ah! Pardon me... My name is Callista," the female Viscet said. Her voice was gentle and motherly, and it stirred some faded memories in the back of Azariel's mind. "What is your name, my child?"
Azariel was still perplexed as to why this Callista kept calling him her child, but... That question caught Azariel off-guard. Should he say his true name? But that would mean revealing his identity as the prince of Xeiryu. Still, Callista had took him in and tended to his wounds... Azariel took a deep breath. If Callista was going to kick him out upon learning his identity as the despicable wretched prince he was, then so be it. He deserved that sort of hate. "My name is Azariel," he said, trying to put his nervousness aside. He braced himself for a loathing glare, or for the female Viscet to shout at him to get out. Instead, Callista gave a gentle smile. "What a nice name for such a handsome child!" she said.
"Excuse me..." Azariel said. "Why do you keep calling me your child?" Why do you even want to consider someone like me your child?
At that, Callista gave a giggle. "Because you're not the first child that has ever been in this place, my dear!" she replied. "I have taken in many, many children; all unique and special in their own way." Her eyes turned wistful as she stared up at the roof. Azariel found this strange, but also intriguing. Did this female Viscet consider every random stranger that came to her house as her children? Azariel's nose caught another strong whiff of the scent of pie. His stomach rumbled. Callista gave a small, high-pitched giggle. "Eat up! Growing kids need their energy," she said, shoving the pie a bit too forcefully in front of Azariel. Azariel took the pie and ate it, perplexed at being treated like a kid. He'd been treated like many things by the commoners, from trash to royalty, but never like a child. For one thing, he was too old for that. Still, as the sweetness of the warm pie filled his mouth and spread across his body, memories of long ago stirred in his mind.
A vision of his mother sitting next to a fireplace and knitting swam into his mind. Viscling Azariel stomped into the room in a huff, causing the queen to set down her knitting equipment, puzzled. The young prince had flung his sword away in anger, and the blade was lodged onto a table. "What's wrong, honey?" the queen asked. "Did something happen in sword-fighting class?"
"DID SOMETHING HAPPEN INDEED!" Azariel yelled, stomping his tiny paws on the ground. His bright blue eyes glared at his mother. "How can Dad do this to me?!"
"Calm down, my dear," the queen said, getting up from her chair and sitting next to Azariel. "Tell me what happened."
"It's sis," the young prince grumbled. "She took my spotlight again!! How could Dad let her come to sword-fighting class and one-up me like that again?!"
"Your sister has a right to learn how to defend herself, Azariel," the queen pointed out, her voice gentle and patient.
"No, she doesn't! Aren't princesses supposed to sit there and look pretty and wait to be rescued?" Azariel huffed.
"That's not a nice thing to say," the queen scolded, still ever so gently. "Do you want your sister to be helpless like that?"
"Better helpless than the way she is right now. She's a stuck-up... No, not only that. She's psycho!"
An expression of shock was written across the queen's face. For a few moments, there was no sound other than the crackling of the fireplace. Then, the queen broke the silence.
"...Azariel, control yourself. Don't you speak about your sister like that."
"Sorry, Mom..." Azariel said. For a moment, the two were silent. The young Viscling was afraid he'd offended his mother. He hadn't meant to say such a harsh thing about his sister. Suddenly, his mother got up and took a plate of pie from the table. She sat down next to Azariel and offered him the pie. The queen smiled gently at him, wrapping him in a warm hug. "Know this," she said. "You and Lexa are the most important people in my life. I will always love you both equally."
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For the next few days, Azariel lived under the care of Callista. Over time, Azariel had slowly gotten used to her presence. Her tender touch, her gentle words, her caring ways... She reminded him of his own mother. Except for the fact that Callista was... well, a little crazy. Azariel found bits and pieces of her craziness here and there. She enjoyed talking to empty chairs, made way too much pie for two Viscets to eat, often giggled so unnaturally for no apparent reason... The cottage was all messy, except for one room which Azariel happened to stumble upon one day. It was a simple bedroom with a bed, neatly made. Unlike the rest of the cottage, no garbage whatsoever was to be found. There was a wardrobe nearby, which contained clothing articles for male Viscets. On the bedside table, Azariel found a photograph. As soon as he saw it, he felt guilty. Guilty for snooping around.
It was a family photograph. Azariel's blue eyes observed the smiling faces of the Viscets depicted in the photograph. There was Callista hugging a young male Viscet, with an older male standing next to Callista with a proud smile. Seeing the happy faces of this family sent a jolt of pain through Azariel's heart. It reminded him of something... Of his own family, before everything became so messed up. Yet, Azariel couldn't help but wonder... Whatever happened to this family? Why did Callista live all alone out here in the middle of nowhere?
"Aren't they lovely?"
Azariel jumped and turned around. Callista stood in front of him, a wistful look on her face. "Ah, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't be here..." Azariel said.
"It's quite alright, dear," she said. "Do feel at home here."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Azariel spoke.
"W-where are they now?"
"My son is in a better place now, so I'm glad," Callista said. "But, I'm still waiting for my mate. He's gone off to negotiate with the kingdom and hasn't been back for quite some time." Callista then explained the entire story of her family, leaving Azariel shocked. He'd thought his family was messed up, but this... He couldn't help but feel great sympathy for Callista. Yet, instead of being a destroyer like Azariel, she became a caring, nurturing individual that helps people in need. Perhaps... even people that were oppressed under his kingdom's reign. All of a sudden, his view of the nutty, caring lady standing before him changed drastically. This must be why she became so... strange, Azariel thought. She literally had nobody with her. And... None of her "children" can ever stay permanently with her. Not even me...
"You know," Callista suddenly said after a long silence. "I really, really want you to stay. All the children that's come here has left me... And nobody except myself, my matee, and my son can ever find their way back once they leave. That's the curse of this hut, you see."
Azariel opened his mouth to speak, but Callista held up a paw. "But, talking about this made me realize... I can't force you to stay. You have a father, your first mother, and an adorable little sister waiting for you."
"Adorable little sister?" Azariel asked, noticing the strangeness of those words. "How'd you know I have a sister?" With a giggle, Callista opened the drawer of the bedside table with the family picture on it... and pulled out a very familiar picture. Azariel had forgotten it had been in his jacket pocket all along, but as soon as he saw it, he realized. Callista must've found it while she was tending to his wounds. Pain throbbed within him as he observed the smiling faces of his family. The kind smile of his mother, the joyful smile of his sister, and the proud smile of his father... And his own smile. A smile that was filled with love for his family. "My mother's passed away, and my sister is... kicked out of the family," Azariel admitted. "Only my dad is still around and he's not a very good father."
"That's terrible!" Callista said. Suddenly, she grabbed Azariel's paw and dragged him out of the room. She quickly found his bag, packed it with tons of food, shoved his sword into his paws and stuffed the picture into his jacket. Azariel was too stunned by this sudden course of action to even protest. When he finally found his voice, all he could say was, "Wh-wha...?"
"You need to go out there! Promise me you'll find your sister and give her a nice, big hug. Then, have a fun family reunion together so your father will be happy again!" Callista said. Her face was filled with determination. "That will make your first mother happy!"
"I-uh, what?"
"Listen..." Callista said. The burst of determination faded slightly and was replaced by wistfulness. "You're still so young, my child. You can make things right again. All I can do is just wait here for my mate, I can't even go out and find him in case he'll come back any time. But, you can."
"But, if I leave now, you said I can't come back to you. I can't just leave you alone!" Azariel protested. Callista suddenly threw her paws around him and wrapped him in a warm hug, leaving Azariel utterly speechless. That was Callista. Her actions were so unexpected and crazy. "It's okay," she said. "Just promise me you'll remember me as your second mother, even if only for a while."
"I- I... okay..."
Callista finally let go. She opened the door and gently led him outside. Then, as Azariel walked away, she smiled and waved, despite the tears Azariel could see streaking her face.
And to this day, Azariel was determined to keep his promise to Callista. He will reunite his family for the sake of his second mother, no matter what. And someday, maybe he can find his way back to her, and help her, too...
He counts for July's adopt limit, not August :3