As the golden sun slowly crested the horizon, casting a warm glow across the land, the sword of the Arson gleamed ominously in its light. He dismounted his horse with practiced grace, each movement deliberate and silent.
His eyes, sharp and focused, fixed intently on two figures nestled in slumber nearby. Their heads lay tilted to one side, their serene faces bathed in the soft light of dawn, the gentle rhythm of their breathing punctuated by soft snores that filled the air with an aura of tranquility.
Arson's sword is raised in the air and slams against the tree. The sudden noise startled the figures awake, their eyes widening in shock as they scrambled to their feet. Realizing the danger, they instinctively reached for their weapons, but Arson's imposing presence left them momentarily frozen.
"I give you one chance to speak." Arson spoke, digging the sword into the soil. "Who sent you here?" Arson asked with clenched jaws. His hand, shivering with the force, gripped the sword.
The assassins gulped. "We are not assassins. This is the first time we tried—"
"One more word without my answer. You shall see who I am."
We are aware of you.
The assassins thought to themselves and glanced at each other.
"We were forced to do so." One among them whispered, getting a glare from the other person.
Arson noticed the glare. "Who?"
They peeked at one another with nervous eyes. "Our family,"
Arson steps forward. "I shall protect them."
The leader threw him a glare. "How will you protect my family when your family is attacking--" the first person could not finish his words as his friend cut his throat.
The other person cries, placing the dagger to his throat. "Please pardon us, your highness. We respect you more than our lives. Please become our king and protect us before it's too late." He pressed it. "I cannot tell you anything." With that, the sharp metal sliced through the throat.
The two bodies lay motionless on the cold, unforgiving ground, a stark testament to the tragedy that had unfolded.
Arson's heart was racing, too shocked to find the words that swirled in his mind. He had intended to intimidate them, to compel them to reveal the truth, but instead, they had chosen to take their final breaths rather than speak a single word.
In their desperation for absolution, they had turned to self-destruction, seeking his forgiveness instead of pleading for a chance at life.
What twisted architecture of fate had compelled them to abandon their true selves? These were not the faces of conspirators capable of plotting murder; they seemed more like innocent souls caught in a web of deceit.
Their expressions, now forever frozen, reflected a deep-seated anguish, leaving behind the haunting question of who or what had driven them to forsake their identities and resort to such a tragic end.
"Your Highness." The commander's voice brought Arson back.
"The words they spoke," Suvain looks at Arson. "They know you, and the person imprisoned said, they did not attack Prince Elric."
Arson's ears twitched as he looked at the commander, explains. "That arrow was for you, your highness. They were here to kill you."
Arson closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. "We are here for the flower. Please help me find it."
Arson walked in the opposite direction and stopped to glance at the dead bodies. "Please bury them. If required, take help." He stops and turns around. "Let us do it ourselves."
Suvain was quick to say, "No, your highness. I shall take care of them. They must be citizens of Amorite."
Arson nods, "How could I not recognize--"
"That is absurd, your highness. You remember our names, from soldiers to guards. That itself is so much. How shall you remember every individual of our kingdom?"
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
The air around the place seemed denser. The crowd did not hold the hustle as it used to. Kids playing and laughing with a few murmurs were the only sounds in the kingdom. Everything was quiet, as was the young prince's breath.
The prince's breath came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle as his skin gradually lost its color, turning a ghostly pale. The healer worked frantically, unable to extract all of the venom that coursed through the young man's veins, leaving them with no choice but to carry him back to the palace in a silk-lined palanquin.
Cradled in the strong yet trembling arms of his father, Elric felt the warmth of his father's embrace, a stark contrast to the chill that gripped his body. The king's voice broke the heavy silence, soft and fervent, as he whispered desperate prayers, pleading for the return of his son's strength.
Tears brimmed in the corners of his eyes, but the king fought valiantly to hold them back, his lips quivering with the weight of his fear—the harrowing thought of losing his beloved prince loomed large in his heart.
Aaron guided his horse toward the mystical embrace of Elderwood Forest, where towering trees loomed like ancient sentinels, their gnarled branches whispering secrets to one another. As he dismounted, the earthy scent of damp leaves filled the air, invigorating his senses.
He began his search for the elusive enchanted tree, carefully navigating through the thick underbrush, where vibrant shrubs and thorny bushes intertwined, concealing the tiny, precious plant he sought.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, adding to the enchanting atmosphere of his quest.
The flower is said to have saffron-colored petals, red-colored stamens, and a yellow sepal.
"What is the meaning of this!" Aaron exclaimed, looking around for the enchanted flower. However, the peculiarity is that he cannot see any blooming flowers here.
"The healer said the flower could be found here. Perhaps it has not grown yet?" He pulls his sword, cutting through the bushes to see any sign of the saffron flower with five petals. He sighed to himself, his eyes scanning through the land. Now, if he sees properly, there are flowers; however, not a single saffron-colored one.
His eyes narrowed when he caught sight of a small girl running through the forest. He swiftly climbs the horse and reaches the girl, hugging something to her chest.
Aaron pulls the reins of the horse, stopping it in front of the girl. "What are you doing here?"
The girl, around 12, smiled. "Your Majesty, I am here to pluck flowers for our prince."
Aaron narrowed his eyes. "How do you know about this?"
The girl carefully showed the flowers. "The noble man, who held our prince close and helped him." The girl's eyes shone. "He requested us to search and get all the flowers we find." She smiled, "Our prince will get better. We are all searching for the flowers." With a bow, she marched towards the town.
"That Aaron! Now, he has taken control of my citizen. He took advantage of the weakness and used it against them." Aaron grits his teeth and forces the horse to run faster, cut through the wind, and reach the palace.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
The healer let out a deep, weary sigh as he observed the young prince lying motionless on the intricately woven tapestry that covered the floor of the chamber. He could feel the weight of worry pressing down on his shoulders like a heavy cloak.
Beside him, the king sat hunched over, his regal demeanor stripped away, replaced by an expression of anguish and despair.
The atmosphere was thick with tension and grief, every breath a reminder of the uncertain fate that loomed over the young royal.
"Healer!" He heard a loud call, followed by many voices. The king and the healer exchanged glances. Swiftly marching towards the noise. The king looks out the balcony.
The subjects stand together, each holding a vibrant collection of flowers, their hands overflowing with a colorful assortment. Petals in every imaginable shade bloom brightly, ranging from deep reds and sunny yellows to soft pastels and bold purples.
The king's gaze was captivated by the young merchant as he deftly gathered the vibrant array of flowers. Each blossom seemed to dance to life in his hands, and he moved with an elegance that drew everyone's attention. Around him, the whole community was involved in this flourishing endeavor—old men with weathered hands carefully placing blooms into baskets, while children giggled and hurried about, their faces alight with joy as they keep the brightest flowers in the basket.
The healer knelt in the soft grass, his fingers brushing gently over the vibrant petals of the flowers scattered before him. He scrutinized each bloom with a critical eye, searching for the perfect specimen that would meet his needs.
Meanwhile, Arson continued to gather flowers from every individual, piling them up in front of him with growing enthusiasm. Each flower he laid down had its unique shape and color, a testament to the beauty of nature, but only one would possess the healing properties she sought.
"What's with all types of flowers? This will slow down the process." The healer throws other colored flowers.
"You did not tell me what you are looking for; you said you need the flower immediately." Arson explained, "I did what I could do in a short interval of time."
The healer snaps his gaze. "Find saffron-colored flowers at least. I will do the rest."
Arson nodded, turning his attention to the kids playing and watching the playground with amusement.
"Kids, let's play a game." Arson called them with a smile.
Aaron reined in his horse, the animal's hooves softly crunching on the gravel as he brought it to a halt. He squinted into the gathering throng, his gaze sweeping over the sea of faces, searching for any sign of familiarity or urgency.
The air was thick with the scent of flowers, and his eyes were drawn to the healer, who was frantically rummaging through a disorganized pile of colorful blooms.
Petals of various hues fluttered to the ground, creating a chaotic, vibrant mosaic around her. Everything around him felt oddly out of sync, as if the natural order of the day had been disrupted.
Fawther peeking behind the pillar, smiled, running back to the young prince. "Your Highness, your friend is incredible. He has done such a tremendous job." His voice wavered, "Do you not wish to see your friend doing so many things for you?" With shaky fingers, he wiped his tears. "Your Highness, please wake up."
Elric remains static with no movement in his eyes, too. His body lay comfortably on the mattress. Yet, there is no comfort in the place. His hand and fingers were pierced with the needles.
The doors closed off the palace. People standing on the ground felt the heat of the sun burning their skin. Mothers shielding their kids with their shadow. The gentlemen were reluctant.
Yet, they left the palace to continue their work. Some went to their farmland, some opened their shops, and some worked on fixing woodcutters, stepping inside the forest.
Leisurely, the crowd dissipated from the ground, wishing prayers for the soul. They did what they could; the rest lies in the hands of the healer and the creator.
Arson paced back and forth, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with uncertainty.
Meanwhile, Aaron stood rigidly by the closed door, his gaze fixed with an intensity that could pierce through steel. The weight of his frustration was evident, his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists at his sides.
As the heavy wooden door creaked open, the king emerged, his expression a mixture of reluctance and duty. The royal robes draped over his form, but even they could not mask the exhaustion evident on his face.
He offered a fleeting glance back at Aaron before sighing heavily and stepping into the corridor, knowing that he must attend to the pressing matters of the kingdom that awaited him beyond these walls.
Far above the sky, almost invisible, the falcon flies with grace. It is searching for the sight of the recipient of the message. It has traveled across all the kingdoms around Amorite, perched on trees and watching every individual search for the master. Finally, its keen eyes spotted the horse tied in the stable of the palace.
The piercing cry of the falcon echoed through the clear blue sky as it swooped down gracefully, its wings spread wide and catching the sunlight. With precision, it landed on the back of a sturdy horse, a magnificent creature with a chestnut coat glistening in the afternoon sun.
This was no ordinary horse; it was the noble steed Arson relied on for his adventures. The horse, startled by the unexpected weight on its back, let out a sharp neigh, a mixture of surprise and curiosity, as it shifted its stance, trying to get accustomed to the foreign visitor perched above.
The falcon, with its keen eyes, surveyed the world around it, undeterred by the horse's startled demeanor.
Arson's brow furrowed with worry as he bit down on his lower lip. The distant sound of his horse whinnying broke through the tension in the air, urging him to hurry. With a furtive glance at the towering, closed door behind him, he dashed across the expansive palace grounds, the cool breeze ruffling his hair.
As he approached the stable, he slowed his pace, the scent of hay and leather filling his nostrils. Just outside the entrance, he paused, his heart racing as his eyes fell upon the magnificent Falcon perched silently on his horse.
The bird's sharp gaze seemed to pierce through him, its feathers shimmering in the sunlight.
"Father sent a message for me?" He swiftly unlocks the tiny scroll from its leg. The bird sits on his shoulder. Arson cautiously opens the scroll.
Return to the kingdom. People need you here.
The message was unmistakable. He had lingered on his journey far longer than anticipated, losing track of time as he wandered through distant landscapes and engaged with captivating experiences. Now, the weight of his responsibilities loomed large, and it was clear that he needed to turn back.
The unfinished tasks and obligations awaiting him called out, demanding his attention and commitment. It was time to return home and face the duties that had been patiently waiting for his presence.
The falcon gently pressed its beak against Arson's cheek, its feathers ruffled in the soft breeze. The delicate contact sent a flutter of warmth through him, a moment of connection between the wild creature and the man.
Arson could feel the subtle strength of the bird, its sharp eyes glinting with curiosity as it nuzzled closer, sensing his calm presence.
Arson chuckled, the feathers tickling his face. "My father asked you to do so?" The Falcon continued to do his task.
The silence was broken by the sweet, melodic chirp of a nearby bird. Startled, the creature turned its head sharply toward the balcony of the young prince's quarters, its keen senses tingling with excitement.
As it prepared to hunt, it spread its majestic wings wide, feathers glistening in the sunlight, ready to swoop down and seize its unsuspecting prey.
Arson held its wing in a tight grip. "He is not your food." Arson pressed each word. "If anything happens to that chirpy bird, I swear on my kingdom, I will roast you for lunch."
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
Arson let out a deep, weary sigh, his fingers gently massaging his forehead as if to chase away the weariness that hung over him like a thick fog. His eyelids felt weighed down, heavy with fatigue, and he struggled to keep them from drifting shut. As a long yawn escaped his lips, its sound like a soft echo in the quiet room, it drew the gaze of the crown prince.
"If you are here to yawn, then you shall leave this place." Aaron snaps with gritted teeth.
Arson frowns, "Why do you dislike me, your highness? As far as I remember, I have never talked to you, let alone done anything to you."
Aaron averted his gaze, deliberately turning his head to avoid the sight of his counterpart. With arms crossed tightly over his chest, he leaned against the cool wall, his impatience palpable as he awaited the healer's return.
Every passing second felt like an eternity as he hoped for good news about his brother, whose health and well-being were his utmost concern.
That was all that truly mattered at this moment—his brother's recovery. The presence of this other Aaron, who bore the same name yet felt like nothing more than a troublesome distraction, gnawed at him.
Arson narrowed his eyebrows. "Did I offend you, your highness?"
Aaron inhales deeply. "I do not like your unwanted presence here. There is something about you that irritates me. Do not speak with me now!" Aaron snaps with a rising temper.
Arson shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that spoke volumes about his indifference. The young prince was a stark contrast to the crown prince, whose demeanor was usually marked by regality and poise.
Elric radiated an impulsive spirit, his eyes gleaming with a blend of mischief and curiosity, hinting at a world far removed from the oppressive expectations of royalty. Even princesses must be different too.
Speaking of the princess, where is she? Perhaps she is not aware of the situation? Maybe nobody gave her the news about her brother? But the problem is, Arson doesn't know where she stays in this palace. Most likely, he never tried to learn about her. It is letters, and most of his time is spent with the prince.
The young prince radiates a charm that captivates everyone around him, drawing attention away from the world and its myriad concerns.
In his presence, the worries and troubles that usually occupy his mind fade into oblivion, rendered trivial and unimportant. Time seems to stand still, allowing even the urgent summons from his father, who longs for his return to the kingdom, to slip into the background. Everything else can wait when he is near, as if the very air is infused with the magic of his youthful spirit.
Now, where is the commander? Wasn't he supposed to be with Arson right now?
In the courtroom, the assassin stood with hunched shoulders, his posture a defeated testament to his circumstances. Metal chains bound his hands and feet, the cold, unyielding links glinting ominously in the sparse light.
Shadows danced across his face, revealing eyes that reddened with fatigue, deep bags beneath them hinting at a night spent in a haze of despair and anxiety.
"Who sent you to kill the young prince?" The king asked calmly while his palm gripped the handrest tightly.
The assassin shook his head. "It was not that prince; we did not mean to harm him."
The king frowns, "Why did you attack, and whom?"
The assassin bows his head. "I cannot tell you. You can take my life. I was forced to kill someone who is our prince." The assassin kneels on the floor. "Your majesty, please take my life before our crown prince sees me." The assassin sheds tears. "My family is at stake, your majesty." Sobs, "How could I not choose to protect my family?"
The king leans forward. "Who asked you to do this?" he frowns. "Who is this crown prince?"
The assassin shook his head. "He has almost the same power as my crown prince, and there could be spies around. They will behead my family if I mutter his name. Please kill me; this is the karma of hurting our prince."
One of the ministers stood up. "What if you are weaving this lie to gain sympathy from our kind ruler?"
The assassin looks at the minister. "Kindness? Your majesty may hold kindness. However, my crown prince is the kindest. If he were here, he would forgive me and ask me to live my life peacefully with my family, with a promise that he will protect my family." He looks down. "But I know this too, that our prince will blame himself for this."
The king tilts his head to the side. "Who is this prince you keep mentioning?"
The assassin stood upright with difficulty. "He is someone who stands before the whirlwind, protecting his soldiers. He is the one who thinks of his kingdom before himself. He worries about us before his health; his single gaze and presence fill us with pride and strength to face any hurdles. He is the crown prince of Amorite. Our Arson Ritz!"
The king looked down at his forearm, a ripple of goosebumps rising to the surface of his skin. The mere thought of the prince's description sent a shiver down his spine, stirring a mixture of apprehension and curiosity within him. He couldn't help but wonder how he would react upon meeting the prince face-to-face. Would he be so overwhelmed that words eluded him, or would he find himself bowing deeply in reverence before the young heir?
"Do you know the remedy for the poison?" The king asked, not realizing that his voice wasn't stern or commanding but rather sounded like a plea from a father.
"Please forgive me, your majesty. We did not get the poison. We were given instructions along with the poison. I have no idea about the antidote. What I do know is there is an herb in Amorite that can neutralize any poison."
The commander standing among the crowd frowned. "This man knows so many things."
"If you bring the young prince to Amorite, I can assure you that the prince will recover." The man further added, hoping this could save the young prince.
The king leaned back in his ornate throne, his brow deeply furrowed as he pondered the weighty matters at hand. A shadow of concern settled across his face, deepening the lines of his expression. His eyes narrowed as he mulled over the complex issues that troubled his realm, each thought intertwining with the next, creating a tapestry of uncertainty and responsibility.
A guard rushed into the courtroom. "Your Majesty, the young prince is safe."
A wave of relief washed over the courtroom, palpable in the air as sighs echoed off the stone walls. The tension that had held everyone captive for so long began to dissipate. With an expression that reflected both urgency and determination, the king abruptly rose from his throne, the heavy fabric of his regalia trailing behind him. He moved swiftly, his footsteps firm and decisive, as he descended the steps with a sense of purpose that caught the attention of all present.
"The court is adjourned for the day. Send the assassin back to the prison. I shall make the judgment tomorrow."
The king quickens his pace, his heart pounding with urgency as he approaches his son's room, which stands a short distance away.
Every instinct within him urges him to envelop the boy in his arms, to hold him tightly, and to shield him from any harm that might come their way. He envisions the safety and security of his embrace, where the world outside could do no damage.
In that moment, all that matters is the bond between them, and he longs to protect his son from any danger, real or imagined.
His elder son possesses a robust physique, exuding strength and confidence with every move he makes.
In contrast, his younger son is delicate and more fragile, lacking the same physical prowess and often appearing shy and reserved in demeanor.
As the king enters the dimly lit chamber, a warm, earthy aroma of herbs and medicinal concoctions envelops him, lingering like a gentle embrace.
His gaze swiftly settles on his younger son, who lies motionless on the bed. The boy's face is pale, and a thick bandage wraps around his shoulder, snaking across his torso like a fragile vine, a stark reminder of the pain he endures.
"We have to constantly redress the wound. This way, his highness shall heal faster." The healer instructs Fawther, who nods his head with a quick bow.
Fawther continued caressing Elric's head, trying to soothe the pain. If possible, he would happily transfer the pain to himself.
How his highness shines brighter than the sun. Now, he looks paler than the moon. Why does it have to happen to him? Why can't his highness stay happy? Cannot the universe conspire and make his highness the hippest, at least with one person?
As the tear glides silently down his cheek, it breaks the stillness of the time and lands softly on the plush pillow cradling His Highness's head. Moments before, his eyes had been clouded and distant, lost in a fog of thought and emotion. But as the warm droplet touches the fabric, a spark of clarity flickers within him, illuminating his gaze and unveiling the depths of his sorrow.
"Your Highness, please wake up. I-I shall hold the fruit basket all day. I shall never complain about not drawing me."
The king let out a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting to the servant, who promptly straightened his posture and quietly retreated to the far end of the room. His attention shifted back to his son, who lay sprawled across the bed, his chest gently rising and falling with each tranquil breath.
The boy's disheveled hair fanned out across the pillow, framing his peaceful face. His eyes remained closed, fluttering occasionally as if caught in the depths of a profound, uninterrupted slumber.
"Your majesty," the healer calls, stepping forward. "His highness is out of danger. However, we must wake up before midnight." He turns around, taking the concoction. "His Highness must drink this from time to time. This will help his body to detox and neutralize any poison left in his body."
The king nodded. "Then do so."
The healer bowed. "Your Majesty, this is not possible because His Highness is unconscious."
"His Highness must regain his consciousness to drink the concoction." The healer further explained.
"When will he wake up?" The king asked, holding Elric's hand.
The healer bowed his head. "We cannot answer, your majesty. His highness may wake up any moment or can sleep for a long time."
The king looks at the royal healer in disbelief. "Are there no herbs to wake my son? There must be something out there to help me, son."
The healer gulps, taking a step back. "I have done whatever I could, your majesty. I have used all my knowledge gained in my life to cure his highness. However, not everything can be done by mere humans."
The king heaves a deep breath. His eyes scanned through the room. "Where is his friend?"
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
The commander watches his crown prince deep in thought. He pushed himself away from the wall. "Your Highness, perhaps we should take the king's wish as a command and return."
Arson contemplates. "You do know I cannot leave with unfinished business."
The commander nods, looking away. "Your Highness, please pardon me for saying this. Perhaps, while staying here, you have become Prince Elric's friend and forgotten about your original plan."
The commander sits in front of Arson. "Our kingdom is waiting for its crown prince. You do remember the last words of the assassins."
Arson gulps, remembering their eyes pleading with him to understand without saying anything. "But, Elric--"
"Was not your concern supposed to be the princess?" Suvain asked with curious eyes. "It has been a long time since I heard from you. Perhaps you did not notice; all you think about is Prince Elric."
The words cut through Arson with a chilling precision, piercing his heart like a cold sword plunging into flesh.
"When was the last time you asked about meeting the princess?"
There would never be a satisfactory answer from Arson. How could he possibly justify his actions, even in his mind? The weight of his choices loomed over him, leaving him grappling with an unshakable sense of regret and confusion. The words evaded him, slipping through his fingers like sand, leaving him with a profound silence that spoke volumes.
"Did you feel sending a letter would flutter the princess's heart? What about the gift, your highness? Did you give it"?
Arson tore his gaze from his fingers to the commander. "With Elric's health at stake, do you expect me to send gifts?"
Suvain clicks his tongue against his cheek. "Your medium to reach the princess is Prince Elric. Have you heard him or anybody talking about the princess? There was such a big feast, and the royal family stood incomplete without the princess?"
Arson averted his gaze, rising slowly from the edge of the bed. The fabric of the sheets rustled beneath him as he collected his thoughts, his posture tense.
"Your Highness is very intelligent. Then, how did these questions not arise?" The commander further added, following Arson.
Arson swiftly turns around. "What made you believe that I do not know?"
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