ClatterCake 262 Share Posted October 20, 2023 (edited) Spoiler Cold. Exhausted. Broken. Battered. It was hard to tell what he had felt, as his final breath had left his body. Was this where he would fall, in the very halls of the Lord Lion? Mikhail’s thoughts scattered, lost in the fog of his dying state, and held together only by the confusion that they wrought. He recalled only wrath, goaded on by Walter to prove his worth, and the crimson that painted the hall of the lion’s den belonged to him. He felt his body stretch on and on through light, like an ethereal spirit. He willed himself to form, finding nothing but his torso… unwounded. Clean, even. He was okay. He was okay. When at last his senses slowly returned to him, when he knew where he had been, and what had transpired, did he recollect his final moments. His green hues stared off into the distance, finding nothing but an endless sea of reflective water, darkened by the black sky. He stepped forward, the sensation of cold water having no effect on him; he knew it would have been torture for him, yet it did not. He hardly even seemed to register the biting at his soles, yet his body recognized its touch. On and on he journeyed, through a calm, black sea, and had seen nothing but his own body. Where was he headed? Why did he walk? He had no sense of direction or purpose, save for his singular goal: forward. The path he had chosen seemed endless, with no end in sight. And then… It happened. Subtle at first, a glare within the water caught his eye. A light slowly arose, cresting over a horizon, and gifting him with the sight that he was deprived of for what felt like an eternity. The young man paused, staring off into the light, and felt the warmth embrace him… “There vy are,” a voice rang out, breaking the silence. The boy spun, meeting a once forgotten face again; his father. He was lanky and tall, covered head to toe in dirt. His hair was long and oily, reaching down his back, and held a far darker tone than his son’s. Around his neck, the skin was purple, as if he had been left to hang for days. The two stared at one another for a moment, until Ratibor spoke once more. “Ea thought vy would have been here sooner.”“Papej?” “Da,” he replied, “if that is what vy want to call me.” Mikhail’s face contorted, a look of anger, despair, sorrow, and confusion flashing. “Why are vy here?” “Same as vy; vy’re dying,” Ratibor bluntly noted. “Figured vy’d run off ag join some gang, but… ea guess vy got vyrself a decent life. Too bad it ended so shortly.” “Ea’m niet dead. Ea canniet be,” the young man protested. He was alive but a moment ago, staring Walter down, and… then it hit him. “There it is,” Ratibor smirked, “it seems like vy did catch a dobry case of death. How did it taste? Like blood? Breathless?” Mikhail turned his gaze away from his elder, the pace of his breathing accelerating, and his hand reaching up to his torso. Only, strangely enough, there was no wound there, just as last time. How could he be dead? “Relax. Ea’m just messing with vy; vy’re niet dead. Niet yet, anyways, but vy should be.” Ratibor let out a huff, making his approach to the young man, and slapped his hand onto the boy’s shoulder. Mikhail snatched his arm away, a look of disgust plastered across his face. The older man looked upset, enraged even, until it all washed away with a sigh. “Vy hate me.” “Of course ea do. Vy’re a criminal. Vy murdered ag stole, vy pillaged ag raided, vy-” “Ag this ag that ag when are vy going to grow up? Vy act like a child still, even when vy’re laying down on ve wooden floor of a castle with a gash in vyr chest, from a duel vy could have never taken part in if vy wished. Please… vy think ea do niet know what ea did?” The boy went silent, his gaze flashing to the ground beneath him. “Vy can tell vyrself that justice was dispensed. Ea can see into vyr heart; ea know vy believe mea death was right. But that is not why vy hate me,” Ratibor stated, his gaze cold and unflinching. “So why do vy hate me?” Mikhail stared at the reflective war beneath him, met with the sight of both his own visage and that of his father. “Because vy abandoned me. Vy were right. Ea do believe vyr death was justified, but… vy left me to fend for meaself. Only now have ea realized how much it saved me in ve end. It was for ve best.” Ratibor was silent, his response delayed. There was a moment of peace between the two, as if some connection had finally been made in that moment, perhaps even an agreement. “Ea saw. Vy’ve grown up,” his father stated, placing a hand upon Mikhail’s head. The act caught the young Haeseni squire off-guard, and his eyes widened. His eyes turned up to meet the man, only to find him gone. The phantom touch had remained, however, as if the man he called father had never left his side. Wherever he was… it would not be the same destination for Mikhail. His eyes turned to meet the sun that had slowly begun to rise, that warmth growing ever more intense, until the very water began to boil. Slowly, but surely, he returned once more to the empty darkness in the horizon. It was there that his destiny lied, for it led him back to reality. With a hesitant step, he pressed forward, and the sensation of the hand on his head faded away. He was okay. He was okay. Further and further into the dark, lonely abyss did Mikhail walk. His mind had come to the conclusion of where he was; a thread, connecting the very fabric of life and death, where one passes from there to the next. Or perhaps it was merely the hallucinations of a dying young man. Regardless, he had made his choice to walk away from what he believed to be the afterlife. He had someone waiting for him… somewhere… but he could not find his way home. Try as he might, there existed only the distant sun, which had now grown increasingly dim the more he rejected it. It was only until the sight of a pedestal, lit by the faintest glow, did he pause. Where was he now? Approaching the pedestal, the boy cautiously looked around for the sight of any other being or object… and resting upon it was a crown. A simple, metallic object, inlaid not with jewels, but woven with flowers and vines. His approach was interrupted only by the roar of a lion and the hooves of a unicorn; their faces were covered in wounds, yet both stood strong and defiant in the face of their adversary. His hand arose, reaching out for the lion, only for the beast to reject him and swipe. He nearly fell into the cold water below him, but caught himself at the last minute with the thanks of the unicorn. The proud, fantastical beast had lowered its head for him to catch, and to hold himself up. The lion bowed its head, turning to the darkness, and disappeared from view. Before him now rested the crown, ripe for the taking, and yet… he was unsure if he could take such a prize. He turned his gaze to the unicorn as it pressed him forward, encouraging him to take the mantle, and place it upon his head. And as he did, a singular eye opened, casting its gaze upon the boy… ‘The outsider would become King.’ Cold. Exhausted. Broken. Battered. It was hard to tell what he had felt, as his breath returned to his body. Clutching Rosalind’s arm as she mended the wounds to his chest, the boy had been given a second chance at life, having passed the Lord Lion’s test. The vision offered to him at the end was not one of an illusion, but a message from the very blade that had been used to strike him down. And as he recovered thanks to the swiftly aid of his love, he shut his eyes once more, and repeated the words that the Lady Lion had begged throughout his dreams: I am okay. I am okay. Edited October 20, 2023 by ClatterCake How I keep forgetting music, I will never know. 14 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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