♛ The Prince, ⚔ the Soldier, & the Gifted ☀ #2

[Ranger of the North]

XD

[~Teya~]

𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒜𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓃 𝒮𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒶:
Chapter fourteen

𝓗is foot landed on the solid ground beneath the swirling beat of the helicopter blades, and sluggishly let his second foot fall. It seemed as if the immensity of the whole world was staring at him through the eyes of the few viscets who stood to the side of the helipad. They watched silently as if waiting for something—waiting for him to make yet another mistake. He tried to tell himself they weren’t staring, they weren’t judging, they didn’t care; but he couldn’t help it.
The drumming persistence of the propellers above his head were in a way, comforting. Because without them, the whole ride home would have been even more excruciating than it already had been. The gut-punching silence would have been next to unbearable, even if it still had been. But at least the loud and formulaic drumming was one thing in his life that he could predict. And without it, his mind would be forcibly torn back to . . .
He flinched at the sound of feet hitting the ground from behind, knowing exactly who they were from, and realized he had been standing idle. His steps were heavy with weariness and heartache, feeling like there were iron shackles locked to his legs as he advanced closer to the palace entrance.
Sunora strode past him with Enojado by her side, both not giving him the slightest hint that they knew of his existence. If all the world really did stare at him in disdain at the same moment, Sunora’s lack of acknowledgment would still hurt one hundred times more.
Past the lawn, past the fountain he went. With every passing second, his will to continue splintered away until it was nothing but empty indifference.
Thinking only made it all worse. His mind wanted nothing more than to remind him of this days past events, to torture him by replaying them over and over again. Could he have said something different? Was his friend really gone? Reality would be slowly sucked away, until he broke down and was swallowed up by an endless pit of nothing but misery. He wouldn’t let that happen.
He couldn’t.
Finally Arathorn made it to the steps of the palace; he was almost there, all he needed was to find somewhere out of the way where no one would see him.
The palace door opened unexpectedly, causing him to shoot his eyes upwards towards the large double doors.
“Arathorn!”
He almost jumped, fully expecting more anger and fighting, instead of someone who’s face and voice was burdened with intense worry. His whole body threatened to crumble as his mother ran towards him with open arms, and quickly enveloped her son in a loving cocoon in the form of a close-to-suffocating hug.
His bones shook to the core. “Mom,” he managed to choke as one of her hands caressed the back of his head and the other wrapped around his waist. Her touch was familiar and safe, something he yearned for yet knew didn’t deserve.
“Yes, I’m here,” Belleza answered in a reassuring murmur, stroking the back of his mane gingerly. His legs wanted to give way as he tried to steady his rapid breathing.
“I’m sorry,” Arathorn gasped for air in close to a whisper, shutting his eyes tightly before opening them again.
“It’s not your fault.” she said with a hint of sternness that was overwhelmed with her motherly concern. Shaking his head, the tremors in his body that had been momentarily stifled by his mother’s comforting love now refused to quiet.
“Everything’s my fault.” he responded haltingly, but sure, the harsh sting of tears prodding at the corners of his eyes as they began to flow freely.
“Hush,” Belleza murmured insistently. Releasing with effort from the embrace, she gave him a gentle nudge to follow her up the palace steps. He complied with little resistance; only wishing that he could’ve savored that feeling of warmth and secureness in her arms for a moment longer.
Before long, and with great strain on his part, his mother had ushered him into the nearest closed off sitting room and shut the door behind them with a disquieting click. They both sat down, facing each other with a small coffee table between them.
“Explain to me what happened.” she said simply, leaning back into the pale yellow sofa with eyes attentive.

* * *

“After that, I climbed into the helicopter as well. No one spoke the whole ride home.” Arathorn finished, anxiously grinding his teeth together back and forth as he waited for his mother’s response. She had been mostly silent for the majority of his recount, only asking the occasional question here and there. Fidgeting a little, he met with his mother’s absorbed downwards gaze for a brief moment, before bowing his head slightly and staring at his knees. “I told you,” he muttered with a troubled half laugh, “It’s my fault. All of it,” Belleza remained quiet, with her eyes focused on the floor, which didn’t help matters in the least. He at least expected, from his mother no less, some sort of condolence. Something. Anything. Even scorn was better than this nauseating waiting game.
“You’re far too young to hold such horrendous grievances,” she said at last, propping one arm on the sofa arm rest and placing a hand on her chin. She still didn’t look at him.
Now it was Arathorn’s time to be silent; he sat still and rigid, rolling her words through his mind.
“I shouldn’t have placed so many impossible pressures on your young shoulders. Yet I couldn’t help myself—I was weak, and still am.” Belleza said, closing her eyes and shaking her head faintly. “I feel like I’ve been working in circles for the past six months. Around the media, and around other representatives—yet still accomplishing nothing,” she paused, shame written in her downcast features. “Look at me—still managing to make everything about me. What about you? You never had a proper childhood, and barely any friends. You should be in college, not going out to unfamiliar towns on the edge of FFA territory and having your life put in danger for information to help us with this damned war,”
“That—That simply isn’t true!” he found himself exclaim in a sudden childish burst that his mother made no reaction to. Leaning forward, his forehead and brows creased with confusion as he looked at her. She straightened, her eyes lifting slowly, as if dreading to look back at her son in such anguish.
“I should have protected you. What becomes of a mother that fails to keep her boy safe from so much needless pain and suffering?” she asked, her expression pained, yet somehow still able to keep that Queenly dignity she has always possessed in everything she did.
If only he could act the part as well.
“I’m not a little boy anymore, mother. I can make my own decisions, and I chose to help you with the royal duties. I chose it all,” Arathorn countered, head held slightly higher as he spoke. To his dismay, his mother only smiled.
“Oh Arath,” she sighed, holding out her pale pink hand to his own from across the table. “I know you may not care to admit it, but you’re only eighteen. And when your father was taken out of the picture six months ago—no, before that,” he hesitated, a pit forming in his stomach as he reached out and his mother clasped both hands over his. “When you went to FFA controlled territory, per your father’s request, to see what happened in places like that—the terrible and unspeakable things—even then, I wasn’t protecting you,”
His expression clouded almost immediately, and he couldn’t help but glance away. His mother appeared distant. “But mother, that . . . that is also when I met Murlé,”
“And look at you now, Arath. How much was lost because of him?” Belleza added with a dismissive scoff. Arathorn’s eyes darted to his mother’s, attempting to read them and unable to hide the look of disbelief plastered into his already emotionally worn features.
“Mother—”
“My husband, and your father; that’s what we lost.” she said, bitterness verging on the tip of her tongue, “Therefore putting us in the position we are in today. And with that, so much pain—so many difficult decisions you and I were forced to make alone,” she continued, the warm color in her face seemingly draining away as she stared musingly past her son and into a blank space. Arathorn swallowed dryly, for a moment paralyzed by the train of thoughts that hit him. His mother’s hand felt wrong now; all he wanted to do was to rip away. Not to hear. Not to think. “Perhaps it is better this way.”
“No,” he cried shakily, twisting his hand away and leaping to his feet. “Stop it, stop it! I can’t believe your coldness—to my friend—to your own friend too!” he added with a bewildered glare and rounded eyes. Belleza sat up quickly to protest, and opened her mouth to speak. In a flash of half-trips later, he was fumbling with the door and swung it open. She blinked, eyes widening with sudden realization at her own words.
“Wait!” she shouted out just in time to be cut off by a gut-wrenching slam.


----
I can't tell if I'm getting faster at writing or it's just that I'm posting shorter chapters xD Anyways, take my petty offering ~ and enjoy the spice ~

[Ranger of the North]

😭

[~Teya~]

😭

I agre e

[~Teya~]

𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒜𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓃 𝒮𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒶:
Chapter fifteen

𝓗is hand grew stiff as he raised it up to the door, on the verge of trembling. Refusing to allow himself to give into his “irrational” nervousness, he quickly closed his fingers into a loose fist and knocked on the door. After a short pause, the sound of his knuckles against wood rang cruelly in his ears when he tried again, a little more pronounced this time.

Knock, knock.

He held his breath, legs as good as jelly. He waited.
Ears pricked, he could’ve sworn there was movement coming from inside that made his heart soar with promise.
Standing by the door and listening intently for what seemed like hours, it appeared to be in vain after all.
Plan B was now his only option. With a sigh, Arathorn pressed his forehead against the cool door and shut his eyes.
“Sunora. I’m sorry.” he began slowly, not realizing how emotionally drained and altogether fatigued he sounded. “Look, I know you’re in there, and you don’t have to say anything,” pausing, his eyes lifted halfway open, “I’m just . . . I feel so confused right now—about everything. I need to talk to you—” his voice cut off, coming close to ending there, but continued in a tone more affectionate, “I need you.” he murmured. Clearing his throat and shoving his hands into his pockets, he stepped away from the door. “I’ll be out on the balcony a few halls over, the one that overlooks the ocean. I hope to see you there?” staying in place for a moment, he was greeted with silence once again. Gaze lowering, he shuffled his way down the hall.

* * *

Pacing back and forth with his eyes shifting from the balcony glass doors to his hands as he rubbed them hesitantly, Arathorn waited. And circling close to the rails, he stopped.
The untamed ocean below fought fiercely against the partially bare coral and volcanic rock, of which the balcony hung out and directly above the roaring waves. Water splashed and punched at anything in its path, dealing whatever dare lay in its wake chaotic blows that slowly eroded away its opponent. Spitting white ocean spray like an enraged dragon, it seemed unlikely that this battle between land and sea would ever end. The sharp and gagged black rocks that fought back against the seas deadly power reminded him of a monsters teeth, ready and waiting to swallow up anything near with its mighty jaws. As a child, he remembered running to his mother in a frenzy of panic, and explaining to her that the “monsters from the sea” were crawling out from its depths to take him away.
The Azul ocean was a strange thing. It was almost as if it changed depending on how you felt that day. One second it would be warm and inviting, the next it rumbled with displeasure at your approach, and readily waited for the moment you ventured too close. On the horizon, only a mile or so out, large storm clouds made their way across the opposite side of Amarilla and above the ocean towards the palace. A shiver stung his body as the wind nipped at his neck, and he reached to pull up his collar. Being a tropical storm, it wasn’t the reason—or at least not fully—for why he found himself unable to control the tremors plaguing his restless nerves.
“Hello, Arath,”
Whirling, he almost jumped clear over the rails with surprise at the sudden sight of his friend. He grinned, unable to hide just how relieved he was that she had come.
“Before you say anything, I want to apologize,” Sunora said, gazing at him with a soft smile. Despite the overcast sky, her fur seemed to glow faintly and shone in what little light peaked through. “I shouldn’t have said all of those awful things to you—and I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Arathorn cut in and simultaneously took a swift step closer. He paused, pondering over his next words carefully as Sunora looked at him, somewhat bewildered. “You were right. I have a lot to learn, and I absolutely do not want to do a repeat of what my father did,” he swallowed. Sunora walked closer, her expression understanding, and now they were only a few feet apart. “I just don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to stop this. All the suffering my people are going through on a daily basis, all the lives lost—” quickly turning his head away, he bit his lip at the unexpected flood of memories surrounding Murlé.
He had failed him.
“Don’t worry about a thing—everything is going to be fine,” she promised, her voice alive with such optimism and an air of sureness that he almost couldn’t help but agree. Glancing away timidly for a moment, Sunora smiled again when her eyes met with his. Arathorn tilted his head in slight confusion. “Do you mind if I tell you something?”
“Not at all,” he replied immediately, yet in the back of his mind wasn’t completely sure.
“I simply wanted to point out, that at least the both of us got out of yesterday’s whole ordeal without damage,” she continued, making no reaction to his musing expression.
Wind swirling around them, the waves crashed at full force below.
As Sunora reached out her hand, he flinched, and forced his thoughts back to the present.
“Murlé was my friend just as much as he was yours, and I loved him that way. But I must admit—” she paused, placing her outreached hand on his chest. Arathorn ceased to breathe—his mind buzzing with confusion to the point of feeling lightheaded. She leaned forward, close to his ear.
“I never loved him the way I do you.” Sunora admitted in close to a murmur, biting her lower lip.
He wanted this, wanted it so much that it sometimes scared him. The thought of her touch, so gentle. And her eyes, filled with such determination and a headstrong fire that he could never possibly hope to achieve. So why did this feel so wrong?
The wind whipping through his hair, he struggled to concentrate. Her touch seemed so . . . cold. For a moment he studied her, wondering with concern if she was going through some sort of mental breakdown. Slitting his eyes slightly, that’s when he realized something.
Her hair was utterly still.
Even on the calmest day that would seem strange, but today, it was impossible. He tried not to panic, but knew it was already beginning to show through. There was a reason why everything about this felt wrong.
It came to him in a flash, that feeling—that cool, steely feeling of a gun pressed against his flesh.
Before Arathorn could think, he grasped impulsively for her wrist and twisted it violently away from him.
There was a yelp of surprise followed by a metallic clang to the ground a moment later.
Arathorn blinked, almost falling back in shock at what his eyes saw.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Enojado chuckled through gritted teeth, and held to the wrist Arathorn had wrung. “No one has ever seen through my mind’s disguise,” he nodded his head musingly, “but then again, I’ve never savored a moment like that before. Guess I waited too long for my own good, eh?”
Arathorn said nothing as his heart thudded incessantly in his throat, only allowing his eyes to linger on the pistol laying on the ground mere yards away for a fraction of a second before returning his gaze unsteadily to Enojado.
Big mistake.
A smirk carved deep into his features as he let his wrist fall back to his side. Glancing towards the black pistol, it gleamed from where it lay as if to taunt them.
“Where’d you get the gun?” Arathorn questioned breathlessly, in a vain attempt to distract him. He dared not move, but he had to. His life depended on it.
It mattered little that Enojado possessed these “powers” unbeknownst to him—all that mattered was survival.
“We both know that’s certainly not the first question on your mind,” Enojado remarked dryly, his tone flat and to the point; he had had his fun and was now tired of the game.
Arathorn dragged his feet—little by little, in what he hoped was a barely noticeable fashion—yet that was in vain as well. Mimicking perfectly his methodically and painstakingly slow steps, Enojado’s obsessive hard blue eyes never left him.
“You’re right,” Arathorn swallowed, jaw tense. Enojado raised an eyebrow. “I don’t even know why an alien, “friends” with my alien friend, wants to murder me,” he almost wanted to laugh at the insanity of that statement, but he feared even the slightest wrong move could trigger something horrible.
Tension built, as it seemed Enojado had no interest in answering any of his questions. The gun, it was so close. Either of them could easily lunge for it. But the question was, who would first?
Arathorn gasped as he jumped back instinctively.
The ground beneath them was now completely covered in pistols, and just like that Enojado was springing for where the real one resided.
Gritting his teeth, his legs seemed to almost soar into the air as adrenaline shot through his veins.
Two bodies clashed against one another. Bones slamming onto the ground, Arathorn’s eyes darted frantically for the flash of black steel. It lay untouched a foot from his head.
His vision was unexpectedly enveloped with colorful dots before he realized that Enojado had punched him square in the gut. Blinking multiple times to clear his hazy sight and reaching for the gun, he felt smooth metal brush past his fingertips just in time for Enojado to grip onto its handle and yank it away.
The pistol’s bone freezing barrel swung by him and he grunted fearfully, twisting away in a sudden jerking motion fueled by his terror.
Raising the gun once more and muttering angrily under his breath, Enojado’s arm was chillingly steady as his calculating glare leveled on Arathorn.
Sucking in a breath, time stilled.
Move. Move. Move! His mind screamed at him, but his paralyzed limbs refused. He thought of Sunora, his mother, his people. He had to fight. For them.
Enojado cocked the pistol back.
Reeling to the left and collapsing onto his back, a single shot pierced the open air with a sickening blast no more than a millisecond later.
Warm liquid could be felt trickling down the side of his head as he lay there on the floor, gasping for sufficient air to ease the throbbing.
“I could’ve made this a lot easier for myself. But you know what? For a primitive, you weren’t bad.” Enojado confessed thoughtfully as he stood like a looming shadow over him.
His head felt heavy now. Even the motion of scarcely moving it sent sharp spikes of searing pain and intense pressure through his skull. And despite this, he attempted to push himself away from the figure towering above.
“The world will be better for your loss, and it’s necessary to proceed with my plan smoothly. I’m not in fact sorry, but maybe it’ll be of some solace to you.” he continued calmly, his voice carrying an air of such undeniable clarity he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly his plan was. “I’ll make it quick—for her sake.”
Shutting his eyes tightly and focusing on the bitter ache he already felt, he knew, with a certain sense of warped peace in the movement, that it would soon all be gone.
A sudden crash and an ear-splitting shout later, steps stumbled backwards aimlessly before falling away from him with a heavy thud.
Two familiar hands clamped onto his shoulders and shook.
His eyes flicked open, the anxious face of the blurred viscet hanging over him the first thing that came into view.
“M—Mother?” he breathed.
“Arath! My boy,” Belleza exclaimed with relief, and kissed his forehead lovingly.
He sucked in a trembling breath, his ability to form the overflow of words he felt failing him. Gently touching his cheek to move it to one side so she could better see his wound, her eyes flashed with dismay. Flinching, he made no other sign of being bothered by the aggressive pounding in his head that refused to subside, or the off putting sensation of blood sticking to the fur on one side of his head and neck.
“What . . . did you do to Enojado?” he questioned, unable to hide the fear as he strained his neck a little too hastily to peer at his limp body a few yards to the back of him. Smiling faintly, she picked up a brass antique lamp beside her.
“Don’t worry about him. He’ll be out cold for a long time coming—”
Grasping his mother’s arm and looking back at her somberly, his urgent voice wavered unsteadily. “You have to get his gun, before it’s too late,”
Glancing towards Enojado and then back at Arathorn, Belleza looked hesitant to leave him for even such a short time.
After nodding briskly and rising to her feet, her cautious steps proceeded.
Wincing, he struggled to keep his gaze on his mother from the ground. His breathing leveled when she came back into view with the weapon in hand and knelt.
“I must tell you something extremely important,” Belleza started and her lips pursed together for a moment in hesitancy, “But we must get out of here first. You need to walk,” she said, grimacing at the face he made. Latching onto her outreached hand, she gingerly brought him to a sitting position as he bit back the sharp sting of razor blades through his head. Belleza waited, her features tense with concern. Catching her gaze, he nodded and straightened resolutely.
Eyes blurring in an explosion of color, he felt his legs lift with the help of his mother’s guiding hands and soon came to an unsteady stand. He winced, half mindedly touching the side of his head in an attempt to ease the pain. Fresh blood dripped from his shaking fingers. Mind spiraling, Belleza quickly stabled him when he began to sway dizzily.
“Come, Arath! You need to walk, at least to the door,” Belleza insisted, trying to keep her voice light and free of the worry creeping in. Pausing, he turned to her with furrowed eyebrows.
“What was so important that you had to tell me?” he asked curiously, words slurring slightly from lightheadedness.
Eaten up by her silence, she faltered and glanced away. And sighing deeply, she relented.
“I feel so dreadful about everything I said. I wasn’t in my right mind and was just looking for someone to blame—” she stopped, lip quivering. Her eyes stayed locked to the floor, but then slowly traveled upwards to connect with his. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Extending his hand out to his mother, he paused a moment before placing it gently on her slumped shoulder.
“Of course I can forgive you. God only knows how many times I’ve messed up, and that never stopped you from loving me,” Arathorn admitted with a weak smile sneaking across his face. Belleza smiled back, and with it a burden lifted from her.
“Let’s get a move on, then,” she ordered with newfound determination. Wrapping one arm around his neck to support him, Arathorn found himself lumbering his feet forward. The open double doors were so close now, a little more and they’d almost be home free.
The sky above darkened and the bitey wind blew with revived strength. With each step, the dread in the back of his mind grew. They were almost home free.
Almost.
The doors slammed shut with a bloodcurdling bang capable of shattering all of the glass around them.
Eyes widening, his mouth gaped open in horror.
Belleza let out a startled gasp as the two of them simultaneously turned to look where Enojado used to be.
Nothing but bright blue blood remained.

----------
What are you talking about I like cliffhangers? No ship bate, sure, but-

[Ranger of the North]

I Feel Nothing But Concern Toward Enojado's Plans For Sunora

[~Teya~]

I Feel Nothing But Concern Toward Enojado's Plans For Sunora

he
hehe

[~Teya~]

ՏԱИѺГѦ:
Chapter sixteen

Щalking, walking, walking.

The road ahead was winding. And although the terrain was flat, it was difficult to see farther than a few feet in front of her. It wasn’t fog, no. Instead, the path appeared to materialize as she moved forward. Nothing but a somehow dim brightness surrounded her. It was like the sky, hollow and as vast as the eye could see. She never knew which way the road would turn, just had to be careful not to stray, lest she fall.
She felt something outside—something that put her stomach into a thousand knots of anxiety. It was faint, looming over her like a gray cloud on a sunny day. Yet at the same time, she was—impartial. Here, there was nothing but the trail to follow. Her feet kept lifting, the road never ceasing.
What was the last thing that had happened before she dozed off? She honestly couldn’t remember. After she had gotten back from La Gula, she had talked with Arathorn. No—that wasn’t right. She had wanted to talk to him. But that was after hours of sitting alone in her room.
Well . . . not completely alone.

~ ~ ~

The dark was cunning. Its long, greedy fingers slinked across her floor and walls the moment the sun gave way into the coming of night. Sinister shadows danced about the bedroom, eating up the remnants of the pinkish yellow sunset until nothing but it and the faint light of the rising moon remained. And yet, she welcomed it. The dark was comforting in a way, it hid her away from the world—and herself.
Sitting on her bed with legs crossed, she looked over her shoulder at the pillows left untouched and blankets still neatly tucked under them. In the stillness of time, when the minutes passed by like days, she stayed alert and musing through every painful second of it.
She had lost one friend today, and now it felt as if that count was doubled. Glancing down at her violet hands that shone in the pale glow streaming through her balcony doors, she took one hand in the other and squeezed a little. How could he have said such things? She didn’t care if it was spur of the moment, he still had said it. How foolish she had been to think he could bring upon change. The war was never going to end if either side saw the other as inferior beings. Murlé knew that. Perhaps she was overreacting, or maybe she was finally coming to her senses.
There came a subtle knock on the door.
“Belleza?” she called. The door opened, and she was pleasantly surprised by her own ability to sense the viscet correctly. Her braided mane hung loose to one shoulder, not as neat and without a stray strand as usual. Realizing she was staring, Sunora continued quickly, “Come in,”
“My, it’s quite dark in here,” Belleza remarked as she felt around for the light. Her heart leapt to her throat.
“Please!” she cried, watching with relief when Belleza paused and turned to look at her. “Do you mind—not—turning the light on?” barely managing the words out, she swallowed, and realized her throat was stone dry. Belleza wavered, waiting a moment to respond.
“It’s a shame I can’t see your beautiful face amidst the shadows,” the Queen began gently, “But I suppose I can live with it,”
“Sorry if I sounded snappy,” Sunora cleared her throat, rubbing her temple. “Long day.”
Belleza nodded. Walking over and standing next to Sunora’s bed frame, she laid a hand on a bedpost.
“May I sit with you?”
Nodding, she scooched a little to make room for her. For a while neither spoke, and they simply sat in silence. Her muscles relaxed a little, and she let out a tight breath to help relieve the increasing pressure in her throat. Pushing her legs up to her chest, she laid a heavy head on her knees and hugged them.
She felt so lonely. And at the same time, she felt guilty, somehow—for just sitting here.
“How have you been, Sunora?” Belleza inquired, her curious features illuminated by a soft, white glow.
Their gazes met. “Is that a trick question?” she deflected, shifting a little.
“No, it’s not,” her tone was steady, with a genuineness difficult to disregard for a second time. Muzzle digging into her propped up knees, her mouth opened, only to close once more.
“How am I supposed to be?”
“You tell me,”
Her lip quivered. “First, I found out that I wasn’t the only one left of my species, and that was incredible,” she paused, “And then—then so many other things happened. It’s all a blur, really,” Sunora's eyes dropped.
“Is that all?”
“I’m sure Arathorn told you all the juicy details. Why does it matter?” Sunora retorted, her eyes slitting as she glared off into space. Belleza stiffened.
“If I recall correctly, I didn’t ask for a history lesson. I asked how you have been,” Belleza countered, her tone still resigned, but on the edge. Sunora balled her hands into fists.
“I’ve been horrible! Being in that village, feeling the death and misery in it—a place mostly abandoned because there is nothing good left. Finding out it was all done by Arath’s own call!” she paused for breath, her nails coming close to cutting into her palms, “And what kind of mother are you, anyway? Giving him that kind of decision! And don’t get me started on Murlé—he’s dead, and what for?” every bone in her body trembled with anger, and Belleza made no visible reaction. “Nothing!” her voice caught, vision becoming unfocused. “I just wish—that everything was okay. That life was alright again,” words fading to a whisper, Sunora placed a hand over her face and shut her eyes with teeth clenched. Belleza didn't respond at first, be it shock, or fury at what she had just said.
“I’m not perfect, believe it or not. I make mistakes, like everyone else,” Belleza began slowly, “I don’t expect to be forgiven. All I ask is that you hear me out,” Sunora glanced up hesitantly, not expecting the sense of solemn melancholy given off by the Queen’s downcast gaze. “The truth is, the honest truth—is that everything is never going to be alright,” Belleza’s sincere eyes caught with hers, making her wince. “No matter what happens, there is always going to be something wrong in this world. Blood on the hands of those you love. There will never be a day that goes by without a nagging pit of dread for something that could go wrong or already has,” her voice rang with such blunt sureness that it both intrigued and sent a shiver down her spine in the same instant. “But that doesn’t stop every viscet in this world from searching for that bliss—the bliss that tricks you into thinking everything is alright,” pausing, her expression darkened. “Me and my husband, Escarlata, we lived in that bliss for a time. And that’s when the FFA festered and grew in strength,” her lips pursed in hesitancy, “And again, later still, I alone lived in bliss. I didn’t see the warning signs of my own partner falling down the road that was the polar opposite of mine—that of misery,” her expression was reflective—to a time long gone. Sunora shifted uncomfortably. “He thought there was nothing but evil in this world, and channeled that into an absolute hatred for the FFA. Which, in turn,” she stopped, making sure Sunora’s gaze that was beginning to roam locked on hers. “Drove him mad.”
Releasing Sunora from her eyes, Belleza retreated back to scanning the dimly lit bedroom in silence.
“And . . . what’s the moral of the story?”
“You see it, don’t you?”
“What?” Sunora asked after a pause.
“Arathorn and Escarlata,” she responded calmly. Growing rigid, Sunora’s next words spilled out in a slight daze of feelings.
“I’m not following—”
“You see how he seems so much like him, sometimes—like a spark from the past. It scares you, does it not?” Belleza cut in, “Did you ever stop to wonder if maybe Arath realizes this too, and it scares him, too?” Sunora played with her fingers half mindedly as she talked. “Tell me, honestly. Do you see him ever doing what his father did—continuing this seemingly never ending war with the one ignorant and selfish goal of eradicating the enemy?”
“No,” she blurted without so much as a second thought, “He would never stand for that,” she stopped, touching a cool hand to her warm cheek. Guilt suddenly gripped her.
Had she been angry at her friend partially for something he had no part in? Was that the real reason she felt so passionately angry at him—because she was, deep down, scared of history repeating itself?
“Alright then, you asked for a moral. Find a happy medium in the chaos,” Belleza began after a brief silence that had been undoubtedly purposeful, “And realize that, like it or not—nobody’s perfect,” she paused. “That’s how you envision the majority of FFA soldiers, is it not? Cogs in a bigger machine, there against their will, and at the same time, unbeknownst to them that they are being used?” Sunora nodded. “Maybe they’ve been caught as well—in the webs between bliss and misery,” Belleza let out a small sigh, “And perhaps the FFA aren’t the only ones in need of forgiveness for past mistakes,”
Sunora’s eyes fell. Saying nothing, she ran her silky covers through her pondering hands.
“Good night, Sunora,” Belleza said at last. The bed squeaked slightly as she got up, like a relieved breath at the break in tension. Before turning the knob, she glanced back one last time.
She didn’t look up.

~ ~ ~

Continuing down the path, Sunora sighed. Had she fallen asleep after talking with Belleza? Something told her that wasn’t right.
Something told her . . . that wasn’t right at all.
She remembered . . . morning. The warmth touching her tired face and breathing freshness into it. And when she was about to clean up, a rhythmic beat on the door had stopped her. It was a few quick taps with varying pauses between them, that gave off a tune that insisted on the listeners unbridled attention. Although she almost wanted for the beat to be repeated, she instead had opened the door.

~ ~ ~

“You could’ve just knocked,”
“There is no fun in that. Solanae have a much better way of going about it,”
She smiled wearily. “How’s that?”
“Invite me in, and maybe I can explain it to you,” Enojado replied with a playful smirk edging on his lips.
“I must look horrible,” she groaned, pulling the door open wider to let him through and closing it behind him.
“That’s impossible,” he countered with arms crossed. Turning away to head to the bathroom across the room, her cheeks flushed rosy in color.
“I don’t care for dishonesty. I mind as well wash my face before we go down for breakfast, though—just to look passable,” with that, she turned the sink on full blast. As she rubbed the bar of soap between her hands, her gaze gradually traveled upwards until she was studying her disheveled reflection. “Impossible, eh?” she muttered under her breath before splashing cool water onto her face.
She jumped, the soap slipping from her fingers as she stared back at her reflection once more.
“That’s right,” Enojado said, leaning his weight on the door frame.
Hair tied back in a series of intricate loops and what resembled braids that she could never dream of replicating, her mane shone like silk, and her fur beamed with extra vibrance. Adorned in clothing embedded with ornate designs of galaxies, the embroidery changed from one stunning color to the next as she moved. The thin sleeves were made of a delicate thread that ended halfway up her palms. The collar, although combined with the cloth, stood out with a metallic shine and seemed in between metal and cloth. A slender, chain-like piece draped over her bare neck and shoulders. From the waist down, it resembled a long flowing dress with a slit down the middle. Some sort of metal band curved around her waist, accompanied by curling strands of the same shiny material hanging down and decorated with planets and other shapes she didn’t recognize. And finally, there was a more simple circlet headpiece that draped over her forehead and behind her ears. It was made of golden thread, and upside down solid triangles hanging down. One large upside down triangle centered between her eyes, holding a stone. It was bright blue like the sky, with hints of green and yellow streaks.
“Our kind adored the stars, perhaps too much.”
“Is this . . . how the Solanae dressed?” Sunora barely managed from gasping the words out, unable to take her eyes away from the entrancing beauty of it all.
“Not just any Solanae,” he corrected, eyes alight with nostalgia. “Only the ones who could pull it off,” looking down, she couldn’t help the smile that appeared. “You’re special, Sunora. I hope you realize that.”
“Well, of course I am. It’s sort of hard not to be when you’re on a planet not native to you,” she laughed a little, somewhat proud of her creative way of saying she’s an alien. Smirking in response, his gaze dropped musingly.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Enojado remarked, and walked back out of view.
The sound of the sink rushing grew louder as she reached back for the bar of soap. There she was again—normal her. She could bet life wouldn’t be so complicated on her home planet . . . maybe even better. Her ears twitched as a faint knocking reached her.
After a few minutes past of rigorous cleaning, she reemerged in the doorway and spoke. “Ready?”
Flinching, he faced her from his place by the bedroom door.
“I heard you practicing a tune again,” she remarked teasingly.
“Yeah,” Enojado responded, expression distant. Eyes slitting a little in thought, his jaw tightened. “I have to go,” he added, her blood running cold as he stared directly at her.
Her body went rigid. “I’ll come with you, then,”
“You can’t come.”
She grimaced faintly, unable to shake the dread bubbling up in her stomach from the seriousness in his tone.
He paused, “You’re not going to like it, but—”
“What’s wrong?” she persisted, concern and unease leaking into her voice. Enojado was still.
“I promise you, you’ll understand someday.”

~ ~ ~

What had happened then?
She didn’t remember. Or was it that she didn’t want to?
The road cracked and splintered in front of her. She screamed, almost tilting over the edge into nothing. Her eyes widened.

~ ~ ~

“What—what are you talking about?” her voice rang with confusion. As Enojado took a step forward, she in turn backed away instinctively. “Tell me!”
“Don’t make this harder than it already is, Sunora,” he urged, stopping in his tracks and looking at her pleadingly. Trying desperately to keep the growing panic from her eyes, she shook her head firmly. He winced, and in that moment, she realized her distress pained him.
And yet, it didn’t stop him.
“Then simply tell me what you’re planning to do,” she negotiated. Her posture straightened, and she stood poised; determined for answers. Enojado stayed silent, his expression clouding with a look that said the decision had been made long ago.
“I’m sorry,”
A spray of chemicals stung her nostrils and eyes.
Hands flying up to cover her muzzle, she gasped and closed her eyes. The strong and pungent smell lingered on her fur, causing a sickening headache.
She stumbled, hitting her shoulder against a wall before her legs gave way completely.
“I must do what I must do,” came the distant voice of Enojado as the darkness overtook her spinning consciousness.
“No! Please—”
The door clicked shut like a punch to the stomach, leaving her alone in a pool of shock. Able to see nothing but the laughing faces of darkness stealing away her consciousness, she felt as her body sank deeper into the mess of unreality.

~ ~ ~

“It can’t be,” Sunora muttered, “This must be a part of the dream!”
What if it wasn’t. What if it was true.
Clawing at her head, she sucked in a breath. Emotion. Intense and wild despair shot through her. Fear. Rage. Coming from somewhere unknown, but close.
The dream around her was collapsing. Or was it a dream at all, what if this was the fight between consciousness and unconsciousness? She had to break free. She couldn’t let Enojado go through with whatever horrible thing he had planned—whatever it may be.
Falling to her knees as the road shook, she happened to look back. A black void engulfed everything in its path, crushing and throwing the world aside in a blind fury. Leaping up, she sprinted down the path. In the background, it advanced at an inconceivable rate.
But . . . then again. This was her mind. Couldn’t she put an end to it?
An idea began to form. Halting, she took a look around. What was stopping her from stepping off of the road? Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the seemingly never ending abyss of colorful light that awaited her. Gingerly lifting her foot out, she allowed the rest of her body to fall with it. But it didn’t.
Her heart sank.
Perhaps there was no escape, and she’d just have to wait it out until the drugs wore off. What would be the consequences of that?
Turning slowly, Sunora glanced back at the dark devouring the surrounding light. Maybe . . . she had to accept the darkness in order to escape it. She began walking. A black substance resembling oil flowed across the road towards her, gurgling and vile. Pushing on, the sticky liquid soaked her bare feet as she ventured closer to the heart. The harsh ripping and cracking of an intense wind echoed fiercely in her pinned back ears. When the last specks of light faded from sight, she closed her eyes and waited.

* * *

Fingers twitching, the cool sensation of marble beneath her felt like the little nudge she needed to awake fully. With every small movement she moaned, still fighting against the numb tiredness instilled by the unknown drug Enojado had given her. Setting her palms flat on the floor and gradually rising to her knees fairly easily, she began to waver as she tried to stand. She staggered forward. Grasping for the bedpost to steady herself, Sunora pressed her forehead to the wood and sighed. She could do this.
A tree branch whacked into her glass door with a loud bang and she jumped. The furious storm, it appeared, had not disappeared with the dream.
It was coming back.
The emotions—they were almost suffocating—and the viscets emoting them were close. Deep down, she knew who they were, yet the mere thought of it made her want to crumble in despair. And at the same time, it fueled her.
Standing taller, her eyebrows furrowed with determination. Taking an unstable step forward—then another that was more pronounced, and another, suddenly her hands held the golden knob to freedom. Turning it with some difficulty, she popped her head into the empty hall before exiting.
The halls were endless. She felt her way forward by leaning her hands on the walls while wondering if she was going the right way. Left, or right; straight, or forward. Although she probably hadn’t gone very far, it felt like an eternity.
Veering around a corner, Sunora froze. Mere yards away, two glass doors opened onto a balcony.

----

With Spring break, I got to work on this chapter a lot last week! It definitely went in a completely different direction than I intended it to, but I also think it is far better that way. Enjoy. :3

[Ranger of the North]

Hhhhhh

Life has been craaaazy busy lately, so I read it to read and enjoy it more than critique it (sorry! I should hopefully be able to do the next chapter tho) but I have to say, "golden knob to freedom" is the best way of describing a door-handle XD

[~Teya~]

Hhhhhh

Life has been craaaazy busy lately, so I read it to read and enjoy it more than critique it (sorry! I should hopefully be able to do the next chapter tho) but I have to say, "golden knob to freedom" is the best way of describing a door-handle XD

Bahaha, thank you, and that's ok <3