Chapter 037:

Prince Clive Dune’s Point of View:

A melody unlike anything Clive had ever heard wormed itself into his ears despite trying his very best to tune it out. The song, equal parts sorrow, and beauty, spread solemnly throughout the hall. Everyone immediately stopped speaking and moving, save for the select few who readied a hand over their pummels.

The young prince wanted to do the same and protect his father, the king, but his body would not listen; it took all his might to not take a step back and lose whatever sick game this was.

Tensions rose to an all-time high as everyone kept their eyes glued onto the youth kneeling in the center. By the point Zackery began shivering violently while cupping his ears, all the other boys had been evacuated to their parents’ sides.

‘Shit, shit shit!’ Clive cursed to himself after hearing Zackery’s measured breaths turn to pants.

He understood then that what he felt was terror. Terror for the thing that was about to emerge from Moore of course, but also for his father who was so eager to see it.

‘How does he know that song?’ The young prince couldn't help but think and doubts began coloring his heart.

‘This should be fine, even if Zackery awakens again, it’s not that big of a deal. Earlier today, that pink-haired teacher alone was able to suppress him and we have countless stronger than her here in this hall,’ Clive reassured himself, trying to slow his rapidly beating heart.

‘Yes, of course, father knows what he’s doing. Surely he wouldn’t endanger us al-’

“AAAGHHGHHHH” a guttural scream suddenly resounded, snapping the young prince from his thoughts.

In front of everyone watching, Moore’s twitching figure convulsed harder as the scream clawed its way out of his throat. The hands cupping the sides of his head turned even more violent and they seemed to be clawing away at his ears, wanting to rid himself of his sense of hearing.

Before he could stop himself, Clive inadvertently took a step back, a step toward his father, seeking safety. Realizing the gravity of his mistake, his eyes met his father’s.

Even amidst the chaos erupting around them, Clive knew that his father had been watching him, and he was right.

His heart clenched after noticing the slightly disapproving undertone in his father’s gaze.

‘I-I did not mean,’ He wanted to defend himself but his thoughts did not dare escape his mouth and he was thankful for that. After an agonizingly long moment, King Henry looked away from his son and refocused his gaze on Zackery, all while playing his horrifically beautiful melody.

Understanding his father’s intentions, Clive also looked toward Moore. In the short moment, he looked away, the boy had already begun changing. He was taller, his muscles firmer, and whatever wounds visible began closing at a rapid pace as a black sludge pinched at his skin.

‘Amazing,’ Clive thought inadvertently before gasping in surprise.

For the second time that night, Moore looked upward. Not toward the knights who had already unsheathed their swords. Not toward the Captain Commander who had her sword pressed against his throat and not toward Minerva who stood silently on his other side, oozing menace.

Instead, his gaze rested upon the king’s.

Clive shivered at the feeling of wills clashing. He did not stand between a king and a boy, rather, he stood between two beasts each seeking to devour the other.

It was when Zackery raised his hands that Clive finally drew his sword. His verdant Wisker shone into existence above his head and he felt his body fill with newfound power, but still his will was weak.

Moore on the other hand did not waver, his gaze never leaving the king’s. Surprisingly, his eyes were less maddened than Clive had thought. Even as his hands reached his head, he did not blink; even as his index fingers invaded his ears, he did not withdraw his gaze, he did not waver.

Blood spurted from both sides of his head as he desperately stuffed his fingers into his ears. His teeth shattered under the force of him biting down from either pain or desperation, yet still he persevered.

Finally, only when the entirety of his elongated fingers penetrated his ears and burst both his eardrums, did Zackery falter.

His misformed body shuddered before collapsing from exhaustion.

A brief silence befell the room as the king stopped playing the flute.

“Minerva, Gunther, we move to meet the Acadamy’s council,” His calm but imposing voice commanded.

When the king stood, everyone else kneeled.

…………………………………………………………………

After his father and his people left for the academy, Clive wandered the halls of Iron-Wall’s Palace. His feelings were complex and thoughts scattered but above all that plagued his mind were Zackery’s eyes.

‘He’s crazy,’ The young prince thought, recalling the lack of hesitation as Moore dug his fingers into his ears.

The scent of freshly cut grass brought him back to reality and he finally found who he was looking for.

Amid blooming flowers and sitting on a stone bench, Erika sat peacefully watching the moon.

He approached and eventually sat beside her, taking her hand into his own. The two sat in silence for a moment which Clive wished was longer before Erika asked.

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“Everything ok?” Her voice was melodic and sweet.

Clive nodded and gave her hand a squeeze. He snuck a glance at her face, lingering on her lips, “Yes, it seems that a protected one was responsible for awakening Moore. Father isn’t too concerned about that as much as he is with the man who held the teachers back. Apparently, he is some bigshot,”

“Protected one…So he is part of that cult you told me about?”

“Yes, the ones we saw protesting the last time you visited,” Clive licked his lips, “The ones who consider the thing within Moore to be some kind of god,”

“A god, huh?” Erika asked, intrigued. For the first time that night, she turned to look at Clive urging him to go on.

The young prince felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of Erika’s face illuminated with moonlight.

“You are beautiful,” He said casually, tucking a hair behind her ear, showing more of her face.

Erika blushed slightly and averted her gaze momentarily, “Have you ever wondered whether it is actually a god?”

Clive wanted to scoff but instead, he answered patiently, “Erika, did that thing look like a god?”

Erika’s eyes unfocused, perhaps recalling memories from earlier that day; moments later she shivered. “No, it didn’t,”

“That’s cause he’s not. From the moment a male Moore is born their life becomes, in itself, a bad omen and harbinger of tragedy. The first time Zackery transformed, he ended the lives of many,”

“Yes, like today. Will he still be attending the academy?” She asked.

“Probably, if Father has his way, which he often does,”

Clive paused, feeling that the conversation was inappropriate. The night was beautiful and the moon was full.

“The flowers of your kingdom are remarkably colorful,”

Erika smiled brightly with a proud expression on her face, “When spring comes around I’ll take you to see even more colorful ones. See that?” She pointed toward a nearby cluster, signaling out a flower. It was distinctive in that it was a dot of violet amid a sea of blue. “That violet one is pretty useful, you can crush it up and make paste of it which is good for the skin,”

“And here I was wondering why you’re so pretty,” Clive replied running a hand across her chin. “Tell me, Miss Schuyler, do you know of any plants with calming effects?”

Erika’s blush grew more pronounced and she answered with a shy smile, “Yes I do, but why would the steadfast Prince need something like that?”

“Lately it seems like my thoughts have been consumed by a wicked woman,”

“Wicked?” She asked with a lifted eyebrow and slanted smile.

“Yes, Wicked,” He repeated bringing his face closer to hers. “You see, my heart flutters whenever I look at her. Knowing this she likes to tease me,”

“Your heart is beating pretty fast,” Erika whispered after placing a hand on his chest.

“Indeed,”

“Luckily for you, I know of many drugs that can slow someone’s heart,”

“Barbaric. I was thinking of a more elegant solution,” He was close enough to her to smell her scent so sweet and intoxicating. He brought his face closer to hers and slowly closed his eyes. “Exposure therapy,”

Unfortunately for the prince, his closed eyes prevented him from seeing the torn look in Erika’s eyes and hesitation on her face. She opened and closed her mouth multiple times as if struggling to find what to say.

Just as his lips were about to meet hers, she panicked and turned her head allowing him her cheek.

The prince was clearly startled by this as he immediately opened his eyes.

“W-well, it’s getting pretty late!” Erika stammered a little too loudly before immediately standing up. “I will turn in for the night, Clive. You should sleep early too as we have a big day in store for us tomorrow!” She said quickly before striking a pose that accentuated her non-existent bicep.

She pretended not to see the disappointment in the young Prince’s eyes as she hurriedly scampered off into the palace.

“...”

Clive found her frazzled state cute but still, he couldn’t help but taste a bitter note in his mouth. Letting loose a sigh that rid him of any heat he had left, he turned to look at the moon. It was so large today. Large enough to appear close. He wondered if he could grab it with how close it seemed but he knew that such an action was without meaning. His hand, now free of Erika’s hold balled into a fist.

‘No matter how close something you want seems, it is useless if not within reach,’ He thought.

For some reason, the face of Timothy came to him then, mad eyes and all. The bastard's face overlapped with that of Moore, such that both their eyes became one, staring into his soul.

“Crazy bastard. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,”

…………………………………………………………………

Zackery Moore’s Point of View:

‘It hurts,’ was all the young boy could think of as the women surrounding him massaged his aching muscles with ointment that would supposedly help him recover. Though the process sounded pleasant, in reality, these women were so aggressive in their treatment that some wounds reopened. They did not seem to care though as they had already been informed of his “unique” constitution.

Zackery watched them pinch and prod at his body with passive eyes. He had already grown accustomed to people studying his body, so he could no longer bring himself to care.

So long as he could breathe, everything was fine.

‘Breathe, Moore,’ A soothing voice, that of his mother’s whispered into his ears.

Inhale

He breathed in, greedily gobbling in the rancid air around him. Feeling his lungs fill with air, a shiver ran up his spine,

‘Good. Do you smell that? That’s life filling your lungs,’ It was one of his first memories. One he held close, afraid it would fade like the rest.

It was a beautiful day. As always, the blasted sun was breathing hellfire down on him but it was bearable as he stood in his mother’s shade. She was hanging clothes out to dry while humming a little tune. The Zackery of then was too busy kicking up a fuss to listen. Strangely, he could not remember why he had been giving his mother lip, but he did remember what she did next.

Hanging the last of her husband’s gowns, Randa nodded lightly before turning to her son.

Zackery flinched after seeing his reflection in his mother’s golden eyes. Suddenly feeling embarrassed over his little tantrum, especially so after seeing the crow’s feet around her eyes, the little boy lowered his head.

Randa finished her little tune before crouching down. ‘Moore,’ She cooed, trying to get him to lift his head.

Noticing he would not listen, she smiled lightly and took his hands into hers. ‘Are you angry?’

Feeling his mother’s warmth around his hands, Zackery shook his head. His mother’s fingers dug into his balled-up fists and pried them open, dispelling whatever baby rage Zackery had.

‘Alright, then let’s do that again! Breathe~’ She whispered before taking in a deep breath.

Zackery followed along, feeling the dusty arid air filling his tiny lungs.

Randa nodded before exhaling, making sure to blow into her son’s face.

Exhale

Moore released the breath he had held in.

He was alone now, the gaggle of nurses surrounding him had left, granting him a brief reprieve.

Feeling up to the task, he turned to his side, casting his gaze out the high window, where the moon shone modestly.

‘Tomorrow,’ He thought.

Tomorrow he’ll prove why he was not Moore.

Tomorrow he’ll prove that he was Zackery, Randa’s son.