A heavy sigh escaped King Aiden's lips as he leaned against Prince Maccoy’s bedroom door, his mind filled with a myriad of emotions. “Your wedding is less than a week away. We need your measurements for your wedding attire.”
Prince Maccoy's voice carried a desolate plea. “Please, just go away! I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
Reluctantly, King Aiden slowly stepped back from the door, his frustration mingling with a sense of helplessness. With each step down the hall, his mind raced, filled with concerns about his son's well-being and the impending wedding. The weight of his responsibilities as a King and a father bore heavily on his shoulders, leaving him yearning for a resolution. As the echoes of his footsteps faded into the distance, the palace seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the arrival of Prince Tyson to aid the situation.
Inside Prince Maccoy’s bedroom, a heavy air of despair hung thickly, mirroring the chaos that surrounded him. The furniture, hastily piled against the door, served as a barrier to the outside world, as if protecting them from the turmoil within. Prince Maccoy paced frantically, his mind a battlefield, each thought and emotion a weapon wielded by the Demon that tormented him.
In a moment of respite, Maccoy caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His shirtless form revealed a sinister mark, a golden spot that had started as a small blip on his palm but had now spread, conquering most of his chest. It was a physical manifestation of the Demon's influence, a sign that Maccoy's willpower was waning.
“Look at what you are doing to me?” Maccoy's voice trembled with desperation as he confronted his reflection, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and fear.
The Demon's voice slithered into Maccoy's mind with a malevolent hiss, taunting and savoring every ounce of pain it inflicted. “Normally, the host gives in before the mark spreads beyond the forearm. But you, Prince Maccoy, you are strong. Once I have complete control over you, I will use your blood to create an entire kingdom under my dominion. I will do as I please, even making your beloved Hanina my queen, something you will never be able to achieve.”
The words struck Maccoy like a dagger to the heart, fueling his determination to resist. “I will never let that happen!” he exclaimed, his voice trembling with newfound resolve.
The Demon's voice dripped with sadistic amusement. “And what will you do, weakling?”
In that moment, Maccoy's eyes fell upon his desk, where parchment and quill awaited his touch. With a heavy heart, he started writing goodbye letters to those he held dear. Each stroke of the pen poured out his love and sorrow, his words desperate attempts to convey the depths of his emotions. As he poured his heart onto the page, the Demon laughed, reveling in Maccoy's torment.
But Maccoy's resolve was unyielding. He stood up, his gaze firm and unflinching, and approached his wardrobe. From within, he retrieved a small dagger, its blade glinting ominously under the dim light. The Demon's voice sneered, “You are too weak.”
Ignoring the taunts, Maccoy pressed the cold steel against his stomach, the sharp pain jolting through his body. With a gasp, he fell to the floor, his crimson blood slowly staining the carpet beneath him. As his lifeblood drained away, Maccoy's eyes flickered towards the fireplace, flames dancing hypnotically upon the logs. The warmth of the fire offered solace in his last moments.
The Demon's voice echoed one last time, a venomous hiss. ‘Fool.”
Prince Maccoy lay on the cold, hard floor, his body growing weaker with each passing moment. Blood stained his clothes and pooled beneath him, evidence of the fatal wound in his stomach. But despite the pain and the imminent approach of death, his eyes remained fixed on the dancing flames of the fire before him.
The crackling blaze seemed to mirror the turmoil within his own body. The vibrant orange and red hues licked at the logs, devouring them with a voracious hunger. As he watched, mesmerized by the flickering light, a strange sense of calm washed over him. In this moment, he found relief amidst the chaos of his final hours.
Memories flooded his mind like waves crashing against the shore. He recalled his childhood, the carefree days spent exploring the Fire Kingdom, the laughter shared with his family. He thought of his mother, her warm embrace, and tender words of love. A bittersweet smile crossed his lips as he remembered his lover Hanina, the way her eyes sparkled like the stars on a clear night. And his time spent with his brother Tyson, best friend Marudeva and father.
***
The doors to the throne room swung open, then Prince Tyson enters and quickly approaches King Aiden, “Your Majesty, I have returned with the cure. With your permission, I will do everything in my power to save my brother and restore peace to our kingdom.”
King Aiden stormed over to Prince Tyson, his face red with anger. “What cure for your brother? Where did you go?” King Aiden demanded, his voice resonating through the grand room.
“Father, everyone in this kingdom knows about Maccoy's issues,” Prince Tyson replied calmly, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, King Aiden's voice softened. “Clear the room now!” he commanded, his gaze sweeping across the room. With a collective murmur, the palace staff and soldiers swiftly exited the throne room, leaving King Aiden and Prince Tyson alone.
As the heavy doors closed, King Aiden moved closer to his son, his concern etched on his face. “Your brother's condition must not be known by the other kingdoms. Servants' whispers can travel across lands, spreading rumors and fear,” he explained, his voice laced with worry.
Prince Tyson reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn-out medical file belonging to Princess Calla, who suffered the same as Maccoy. He also revealed a piece of paper with instructions for a potential cure. “We have a way to help him,” he said, his voice filled with hope.
King Aiden's eyes shifted from his son to the file and paper in Prince Tyson's hand. He sighed deeply, torn between his anger and his desire to help his ailing son. “You went to the Earth Kingdom against my orders,” he said, his voice tinged with disappointment.
Prince Tyson's voice trembled with emotion. “But, Father, it was to help Maccoy,” he pleaded, his eyes begging for understanding.
Filled with frustration, King Aiden shoved Prince Tyson, a mixture of anger and fear coursing through his veins. “If you wanted to help your brother, you should've been here, not all the way across the Kingdoms of Elements. Maccoy refused to get measured for his wedding attire, and you abandoned your responsibilities,” he accused, his voice heavy with anxiety.
In that moment, Prince Tyson realized the depth of his mistake. He had disobeyed his father's orders and acted out of desperation to save his brother, only to be met with anger and reproach. Prince Tyson stormed out of the throne room, his anger fueling his every step. As he made his way down the Fire Kingdom Palace's luxuriant halls, his mind was consumed with thoughts of betrayal and resentment.
His destination was his brother Prince Maccoy's bedroom. He knocked on the door, his voice filled with desperation as he called out, “Maccoy, it's me, Tyson!”
Silence greeted him, but Tyson refused to be deterred. He turned the doorknob, expecting it to yield to his touch, but it remained stubbornly locked. Frustration surged through him, and in his rage, he unleashed his elemental power. His red and black hair transformed into a blazing flame, and with a fiery determination, he leaned against the door, setting it ablaze.
As the flames licked at the door, Tyson extended his hand, manipulating the fire to burn away anything obstructing his path. The door and the items blocking it were consumed by the intense heat, creating a path for him to enter Prince Maccoy's room. What awaited him inside shattered his heart. Maccoy lay on the floor, near the fireplace, blood seeping from a self-inflicted wound. In his hand, a dagger bore witness to his pain. Panic and sorrow gripped Tyson as he rushed to his brother's side.
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“We need a doctor!” he cried out, his voice raw with despair. But his pleas fell on deaf ears. The room echoed with silence, save for the sound of his own labored breaths.
In his final moments, Maccoy's whispered words cut through the anguish. “I love you brother, you must make sure Hanina, and my child are not harmed,” he implored, his voice barely a whisper.
Tyson clutched his brother tightly, his tears mixing with the blood staining the floor. “Brother, Maccoy,” he murmured, his voice choked with grief.
Maccoy's life slipped away, leaving behind an unbearable emptiness. The sound of hurried footsteps and urgent voices filled the room as King Aiden and the palace doctors rushed in, but their efforts were in vain. Maccoy was gone.
King Aiden's eyes filled with desperation and sorrow as he pleaded with the doctors. “Save my son,” he commanded, his voice a mixture of authority and devastation.
Tyson's mind was a whirlwind of emotions as he stepped back, his gaze falling upon the desk where Maccoy had left behind a series of letters. Addressed to him, their father, Hanina, and Maccoy's best friend Marudeva, they held secrets untold, words left unsaid. His eyes quickly scanned the letters, his hands trembling as he pocketed the one meant for Hanina.
As the doctors confirmed Maccoy's passing, Tyson's anger resurfaced, fueling his every action. He left his brother's room, his steps leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. The palace halls bore witness to his fury as he shattered objects, unable to contain the storm raging within him.
***
Hanina positioned herself in front of Lucy, blocking her path to the office. Startled by the sudden interruption, Lucy's hand slipped and brushed against Hanina's stomach. Hanina couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth emanating from her body, a sensation that was foreign yet strangely comforting.
“You are not allowed in Rowan's office while he is away,” Hanina stated firmly, her voice resolute. “I will personally take care of cleaning his office and private quarters.”
Lucy, still with her hand on Hanina's stomach, looked puzzled. “Why are you so warm?” she asked, her curiosity evident.
Pushing Lucy away, Hanina took a step back, her eyes filled with a mix of frustration and concern. “I am fine,” she replied, her voice tinged with a touch of exasperation. “Go and clean Rowan's game room on the third floor.”
Unfazed, Lucy leaned in once more, attempting to touch Hanina. But this time, Hanina instinctively backed away, her instincts warning her to maintain her distance. “I must admit, I know very little about Keeners,” Lucy remarked, her voice laced with confusion. “But I never expected you to radiate such warmth.”
Hanina's patience began to waver, her frustration inching towards its breaking point. “I am trying to have patience with you, Lucy,” she said, her voice strained. “But if you continue to act inappropriately, I will not hesitate to report your behavior to Rowan when he returns.”
A sly smile played on Lucy's lips as she responded, her words dripping with malice. “Go ahead and report me,” she taunted. “I will simply tell Rowan about the intimate moment I witnessed between you and Prince Maccoy when he visited a few months ago. Perhaps I shall even write to the Fire King, informing him of your indiscretions.”
Hanina felt a surge of anger rise within her, but she refused to let it consume her. She knew better than to lower herself to Lucy's level. “But you didn't,” Hanina countered, her voice steady and unwavering.
Lucy's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing in frustration. “Hanina,” she spat, her words dripping with venom. “Ever since Rowan took you in as an orphaned child, everyone has praised you for your Keener abilities. But the truth is, your own family rejected you because you lacked so many of these unique abilities. To me, you are nothing more than a wasted opportunity.”
Feeling a surge of indignation, Hanina's hand shot out, pushing Lucy away from Rowan's office door. Her voice resonated with strength as she spoke, refusing to let Lucy's words penetrate her spirit. “Go ahead, speak your harsh words,” she challenged. “But to me, it sounds like nothing more than jealousy.”
Lucy recoiled, her face contorting in anger and disbelief. “How dare you touch me!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of fury and indignation.
Hanina stood her ground, her eyes unwavering. “Go back to work, Lucy,” she commanded, her tone devoid of any room for negotiation. “Now.”
Lucy's gaze intensified, her eyes narrowing. “Rufus’s companion on his trip, told me you wrote Rufus, Stay away from him, he is mine,” she spat, her voice filled with possessiveness. “And when he returns, I will agree to his marriage proposal.”
Hanina couldn't help but challenge Lucy's claim. “But he didn't ask you,” she countered. “And deep down, you don't truly care for him. You only use him to satisfy your own selfish desires.”
A flicker of anger passed across Lucy's face, her voice dripping with venom. “Knowing that I could convince Rufus to never speak with you again would be reason enough,” she seethed. “My hope for you is to rot down here like the trapped souls, tormented for sins they commit against others.”
Confusion and hurt filled Hanina's eyes as she struggled to understand the depth of Lucy's animosity. “Lucy, why?” she pleaded. “Do you hate me so much?”
Lucy's voice turned cold and cutting. “Because you don't belong here, Keener,” she declared. “I hope that one day, everyone in the Underworld wakes up and realizes it.”
Hanina felt a wave of injustice crash over her. The weight of Lucy's words sank deep into her soul, leaving her feeling isolated and misunderstood. She had never asked for this life in the Underworld, but it was where she found herself. As Hanina stood her ground, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to Lucy's hostility than met the eye.
***
In the office of Marudeva, he sat behind his desk, diligently signing various papers, and attending to countless requests. His focused gaze was interrupted by the entrance of Aurgelmir, his trusted general, carrying a tan cloth in his hands.
Marudeva glanced up, his eyes meeting Aurgelmir's, and inquired, “What is it?”
Aurgelmir cleared his throat, his voice resolute yet hesitant. “It's the Water King, my lord.”
Marudeva's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “Write back and inform King Arroyo that I have no time to visit him,” he replied curtly, his tone laced with frustration.
Aurgelmir hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Well, my lord, he is already here, waiting for an audience with you. He requests that you meet him up on the desert.”
Marudeva's face contorted with anger, his jaw clenching tightly. “That man has some nerve to come here, after all the calamity he caused among us Dwellers,” he muttered, his voice filled with bitterness and resentment.
Aurgelmir carefully considered his next words. “Perhaps, my lord, it would be wise to go and meet him on the desert. You can express your grievances and address the issues directly.”
Marudeva leaned back in his chair, a contemplative expression crossing his face. After a moment of silence, he conceded, “Fine. Send word to King Arroyo that I will be joining him shortly.”
As Marudeva returned to his paperwork, Aurgelmir couldn't help but notice a mischievous glint in his eyes. Sensing an opportunity, he remarked, “I thought you were planning to go up to the desert immediately, my lord.”
Marudeva smirked, a hint of vindictiveness in his voice. “Oh, it's far too hot now. Let King Arroyo wait a little longer. Perhaps he will have a taste of the discomfort he caused our fellow Dwellers. It's only fair.”
Hours had passed since the scorching sun had reached its zenith, casting long shadows over the vast expanse of the Dweller Desert. Marudeva, rode with unmatched speed across the shifting sandhills, accompanied by his loyal companion, Aurgelmir, and a small contingent of Dweller warriors. As they approached the weary figure of King Arroyo and his soldiers, it was evident that the relentless heat had taken its toll on them.
Marudeva, with an air of composure and a hint of amusement, called out to King Arroyo, “I hope the sun hasn't been too harsh on you, King Arroyo.”
The exhausted monarch, his voice laced with frustration, replied, “I have been waiting for hours.”
A sense of curiosity filled Marudeva's eyes as he questioned, “Why, pray tell, have you journeyed all this way to bring a gift to my wife?”
With a flick of his hand, King Arroyo signaled his men to open a chest filled with exquisite jewelry adorned with strings of pearls.
“I thank you for your kind gesture, King Arroyo,” Marudeva calmly responded. “Rest assured, I will ensure that my wife receives these gifts.”
But King Arroyo, unyielding in his determination, interjected, “No, I insist on presenting them to her personally.”
Marudeva's expression turned somber, his voice carrying a hint of sorrow. “I'm afraid I cannot allow that, King Arroyo. See our lands have been under attack, so we locked down our land to limit assaults on the Dwellers.”
Infuriated by this response, King Arroyo raised his voice. “You dare refuse a king who is a part of the Kingdoms of Elements?”
A flicker of defiance sparkled in Marudeva's eyes as he pointed his sword, crafted from the finest Dweller glass, towards King Arroyo. “Do not forget, King Arroyo, that this is the land of the Dwellers. The realms beneath and above this desert are under our control, and the Kingdoms of Elements hold no rights here. Our only agreement with your kingdom is to allow passage through our land. Nothing more.”
King Arroyo's face contorted with anger as he uttered through gritted teeth, “I have never seen this side of you, Marudeva.”
Marudeva turned to Aurgelmir, his most trusted ally. “Aurgelmir, ensure that King Arroyo and his soldiers return to the Water Kingdom immediately.”
Defiant till the end, King Arroyo bellowed, “I am a king, and you cannot dismiss me!”
Without a word, Marudeva spurred his horse and began to ride away, the fading sun casting a golden glow on his determined face. “Know this, King Arroyo, if I find any Water Kingdom soldiers trespassing on my desert without prior notice, I will send them back to you without their heads. I bid you a good evening.”
King Arroyo's furious shouts echoed through the desert as he and his soldiers retreated, leaving Marudeva and his Dweller warriors to the fading light of the setting sun.