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Whispers Amongst Ruins


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Ruins of Luciano

 


Whispers Amongst Ruins



What reason was there to come to this place? A civilization had been torn apart here, yet there was still comfort amongst the crumbled stone. Perhaps it was a lie to describe this place as peaceful, for nothing was silent, even in the stillness of the city. 

 

A cruel wind blew here, whistling and howling as it crept over jagged rock or pushed itself through thin crevices. Despite the decade of rest, ash still rained from the sky—a thick layer of grayish sludge mixed with water, despite the heat of the desert. Sebastien trudged past the muck, pushing his boots through the dense weeds that had grown from the ash at the main entrance. He remained silent, simply glancing around to familiarize himself with where he was. 

 

It was still dark except for the small area his torch lit, the sun yet to poke its head out from where it hid behind the earth. Twinkling shown from the rubble, loose bits of metal or bent coins dazzling as the torchlight bounced off the reflective surfaces. 

 

Sebastien paused, his eyes lofting up to the Lorraine that still hung up on the wall. The building had long since collapsed, yet this front entrance to the church sat perfectly intact as if nothing had happened. However, such an illusion shattered as the door was opened, revealing an ample hollowed-out space before him. 

 

A crater sat in the middle of the opening, and water pooled in the center. While the ruins and ash were testaments to the destruction wrought, the sheer size of the gash left on the earth from bombs rained down on the city was quite another thing. It was here that Sebastien chose to spend his visits. Within the halls of the great basilica, now reduced to piles of pitiful scrap. Yet the back wall held firm, the pedestal on which teaching may be spoken stood firm. Yet it felt so far, for between then and where the young prince sat was the crater, filled with the dark waters unknown. 

 

What secrets lay here about my past? The child knelt, peering into the pool. Illuminated by the torchlight, he scanned the features of his face, his long black hair reminiscent of his mother’s—secrets to tell me where you have gone.

 

He was a good man - Is a good man,Amedea had said to Sebastien. Everyone he spoke to who had known his father told him he was a good man. He wished to believe it; perhaps he forced himself to believe it. However, he could not neglect the fact he was left abandoned by his father, mother, and siblings.

 

Where did they go? At that moment, it became apparent to him that he had never met his brother and sister, despite the cries echoing from Vidaus that night and maids frantically running up and down the halls. That was the last night- everything had come to a halt then. 

 

Sebastien twisted, eye contact breaking with the image he saw in the water. It was perhaps only then did they become apparent to him. They were soft- faint, like echoes of an echo. But they were noticeable, and they were there. He listened as the air grew foul, and the wind blew in that which resembled the screams of the perished. They had taken longer this time, but he knew they would come eventually. 

 

No… No… No… No… Stop

 

And so they did, daunting voices cease their cries of anguish. But soon another voice spoke, faint at first, yet rapidly gained volume. The words boomed in his ears. “… To let your lineage die… would be a waste… son of Prince Lucien of Savoy…

 

He is gone. I am here. The forgotten prince of the fallen Savoy stood. He took from his head a near golden circlet. It has been too large for his undeveloped head, hanging awkwardly down the left side. Wear, rust, and dents lined the brim, inscription on the inside faded. 

 

I am no prince,Sebastien said to himself, the words barely reaching his ears. With those words, he stood, hands gripping the circlet tightly. Yet he lingered there, despite his words. And yet he lingered, despite himself. And yet he lingered here, unable to throw away his father's circlet. 

 

Sebastien Olivier Ashford de Savoie remained there as the light finally peaked over the horizon.
 

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Karl, for all he was aware of the plight of being compared to a father, could not help but look for his friend within his son, Sebastien. He had done his best to lead him on his path, but he was certainly not the boys father. "Lucien, where are you to look after your boy?" 

 

At that then, he gave a soft sigh and realized his own failure with his children. "Perhaps I best go look after them."

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The cousin of Sebastien, The Princess Royal of Oren Maude Fredericka, had grown without the presence of her parents. Although there in circumstance, in name, her youth had been characterized by an expected solitude that was shared among those of the royal and noble class. The young adolescent often loomed in her sitting room, accompanied by one tutor, instructor, or another - perhaps even in the company of an instrument of her journal. It was all she had known, and for Her Highness, it was plenty. One evening, however, her kith had crossed her mind - the nephew of her mother, Queen Vivienne, a child of long-forgotten Savoy, much like Sebastien was, whose internal turmoil had driven her to inpenetrable melancholia. She remembered their sole interaction in the years bygone and how he had since faded into obscurity. A dynastic prince, whose legacy - once encumbered by gilded luxury and triumph had since dwindled. The burden of a Crown had plagued Maude for the entirety of her short life, she who was born in the midst of simultaneous loss and gain, and she who would not directly bear such a burden but would be obliged to observe its toll on those she had affection for. Here was Sebastien, another aethling who had lived the very same.

 

That evening, the Novellen wrote to him and asked how he fared. It was a telling enough gesture, a reminder of their fractured family, ever distant, and ever troubled. 

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