Perhaps not quite as awe-inspiring were those that stood guard seemingly every few paces: guards clad in their pretty, sparkling armor, as if sculpted of pure gems.

“See that? There’s no point in attempting anything. So, if you like being alive, I’d suggest you both restrain any less-than-wise plans,” the silver-haired man advised the two captives, leading the way up the marble steps.

Despite the radiance of the hall, it couldn’t be a gloomier march; it felt as though the ascent was one leading only to a regretful fate. Atop the second floor, the hallway directly before them was clearly the destination of the master of the estate, going by the luxurious items on display and the golden-embroidered doors at the end.

Glancing to the side at Gaston, they both shared a look that didn’t need words to figure out what they both were thinking: “This is it.”

Stopping just in front of the gilded doors, fixated with rubies and sapphires if only to needlessly exclaim wealth, Bastian watched as they were opened by the guards. What awaited past those doors was not what the two friends expected:

A vast, open space, like that of a ball room, housing walls painted gold and a floor that seemed carved out of amber itself. It was simply enormous; the walls curved, with many chandeliers hanging, shining their glow over a menagerie of fantastical treasures.

In the center of the room, he awaited; the man with hair as gold as the chamber itself, stood there with a glass of wine in his hand and a smile bathed in his own reverence. There was a single pathway of a velvet carpet leading to the middle, neighbored by the grandiose sculptures of solid gold.

“Come,” Frederick beckoned, “Oh, and do not step off of the carpet.”

The two captives hesitated a moment before each getting a shove forward into the room, stumbling forth as the doors were closed behind them.

Gaston looked back, breathing out, “Can’t catch a break, can we?”

“Not yet,” Bastian responded quietly.

They stood side-by-side on the velvet, with their hands bound in cuffs. Slowly, Bastian led the way forward with careful steps, keeping his eyes set on what was in front of him the entire time: the nobleman responsible for it all.

Beside the head of the Ul Samson estate was one other person, not somebody that Bastian recognized. A man with fluffy, curly hair of a reddish-silver shade, standing out in its own; he was noticeably tall, but built lean. It was impossible to pinpoint; something was off about the stranger who stood beside Frederick, likely a bodyguard, yet standing there with a lackadaisical pose, playing with one of his own curls.

‘Who is that? When I look at him, I feel my blood pump…’ Bastian thought.

Gaston stumbled a bit, nearly stepping onto the bright-yellow flooring, though caught himself, “Close.”

“Careful. We’re dealing with a nutjob here,” Bastian whispered.

“Yeah, I’m well aware,” Gaston responded.

Passing by a giant model of a golden bull, among what appeared to be a life-sized statue of a dragon, he stopped as he arrived just a few steps short of Frederick, who ordered his halt.

“That’s close enough,” Frederick called out, finally turning to face the prisoners.

Bastian held a glare towards the Ul Samson head, feeling his blood boil just at the mere presence of the noble driven by avarice.

As if feeling that intentful stare, Frederick smiled, taking a sip from his glass before sifting his fingers through his golden tufts, “Quite the hateful look you have there, Dungeon Master.”

“I wonder why,” Bastian said with scathing sarcasm layering his words.

Frederick held a short chuckle, sipping his wine, “Well, I can’t blame you. However, you should rejoice: I did not bring you here just to squash out your tenacious little life–neither of you.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Gaston said, sticking out his tongue.

This time, a look of distaste laid in the eyes of the noble as he emitted a single word, “Altair.”

It seemed to be the name of the stranger who stood beside Frederick, as he vanished without a trace, moving with unseen swiftness before–

“Pyuh–!” Gaston spit out, keeling over as his forehead pressed against the velvet.

Bastian immediately stepped towards Frederick, “Hey–!”

Before he could do anything, he found himself pushed down onto his knees, finding the curly-haired stranger in front of him. It felt as though his knees had simply given out from beneath him, as if swiftly kicked.

‘What’s going on? Is it this guy–? Is he moving that fast?’ He questioned.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Oh, that’s enough, Altair,” Frederick smirked, raising his hand softly.

“Sure, Boss,” the man with reddish-silver hair smiled as well, returning to the nobleman’s side.

The young adventurer found himself still trying to figure out what had just happened, looking over at his friend, who was still heaving and holding his own stomach.

“Gaston…” Bastian quietly said, wanting to reach out to comfort his friend in pain, though unable to.

Frederick seemed pleased with himself, speaking in his arrogant tone, “You see, after I heard Claxous failed in killing you off, I was disappointed. However, I remembered something important: he was but a tool, and a tool that fails to do its job is a broken tool. A broken tool is meant to be replaced. So, I acquired somebody better–that’s Altair here.”

“That’s me,” the curly-haired man with sharp, silver eyes waved his hand.

The bitterness of the two captives was tangible, though that only seemed to amplify the smug look on the nobleman’s face as he looked down at them.

“Ah, but I’m getting off topic here,” Frederick scoffed at himself playfully, “Where was I? Oh, yes, what I brought you here for.”

From behind himself, the nobleman revealed a golden podium that housed an unmistakable bright, shining jewel.

“The Chrono Crystal,” Bastian recognized, familiar with the remarkable gem.

Frederick carefully lifted the shining treasure, his eyes filled with a gluttonous passion as he stared into its beauty, “Yes, I must thank you for bringing it to me.”

The way the golden-haired man looked upon the crystal was not unlike the way one would look upon their own spouse, caressing it gently in his fingers.

“Many nights I wept, unable to have what was rightfully mine. Everything beautiful in this world belongs to me; that’s my birthright. So, it was only a matter of time before it came into my hands,” he fervently spoke, shedding a single time that he wiped away with his finger.

Witnessing the unbridled absurdity of the man he hated most in the world, Bastian couldn’t help but laugh to himself. It was almost too much to believe–this was the man that had caused him such woe.

“What’s so funny?” Frederick asked as his tone dropped, looking down at the bound figure.

Bastian looked up at the man, “I just didn’t realize it until just now. You’re just a spoiled kid who never grew up–crying when you can’t have your toys.”

The moment he finished speaking, an impact slammed against his cheek, causing him to spit out blood, accompanied by a tooth knocked from his gums.

“Bast!” Gaston coughed out his friend’s name.

Altair stood in front of him, “You’re not that smart are you, bud? I would keep your mouth shut if you enjoy walkin’ and breathin’.”

A sigh left the lips of the perturbed nobleman before it was soon replaced with a smile once more as he walked to the podium beside the one that held the crystal, retrieving another item: a golden-forged crown with an empty socket in its center.

“You have deceived yourself if you believe I desired the Chrono Crystal for its appearance alone,” Frederick explained, setting the enigmatic crown atop his head, “It is but one piece to a greater item–its beauty lies in what it can grant.”

“What…?” Bastian watched.

Frederick held a grin so sharp it trembled, his hand quivering as he held the precious jewel in his hand, “I withheld from doing this until you could witness it yourself, Bastian–the power you have brought to my feet. The crown upon my head is the “Emperor’s Right”--with it, I can bend the will of anyone with mere words. However, it is useless alone…It requires the Chrono Crystal to be used.”

“You’re kidding me–somethin’ like that exists?!” Gaston asked in disbelief.

Bastian was just as shaken by this revelation, “That’s what you were after? Something like that…”

“--Is all powerful. With it, I can simply claim the throne of this kingdom as mine with a single sentence. I can bend the wills of armies, dragons, and even the Invictus’. I kept you both alive so that you may be the first to become subservient to this world’s next ruler. Be grateful,” Frederick said.

As the greedy noble raised the shining crystal, beginning to near it towards the empty socket in the crown, he was halted by the words of one of the prisoners.

Bastian spoke up, “You’re really short-sighted, aren’t you?”

“What?” Frederick raised an eyebrow.

“Levin!”

Bastian shouted, forcing the spell to activate at maximum capacity. It wasn’t used on his own body, but instead imbued the metal cuffs that bound his wrists. He jumped to his feet at the very moment he used the invocation, finding that he was already being rushed by the swift guard.

‘C’mon–shatter!’ He urged.

As hoped, the overcharge of power caused the bindings to shatter, crumbling away as his hands became freed.

In that split-second, he called upon the spell once more: “Levin!”

It imbued itself through his eyes, causing his blood vessels to strain as he witnessed the impossibly quick man throwing a kick in his direction. With only a hair of wiggle room, he ducked beneath the kick, at the same time flicking his wrist forward.

A chain manifested from embers, launching forward like a masterful whip. It didn’t strike down the nobleman, who flinched in the face of the burning steel.

“Ngh–?!” Frederick opened his eyes, realizing the true purpose of the chains.

The precious crystal was gone from the nobleman’s hand, instead held by the chain as it withdrew itself to Bastian’s hand.

“Gotcha,” the young adventurer smirked.

“Give it back–!” Frederick screamed, reaching his hand out.

Altair extended his hand as well, though it was all a moment too late. There was no hesitation from the young man as he raised his crystal-holding hand above his hand, once more yelling out that treasured magic:

‘This one’s for you, Uncle,’ he claimed with his heart.

“Levin!”

Imbued through his hand and into the gem, he tugged his arm down, slamming the priceless treasure against the ground.

SHATTER

Like a storm of ice, thousands of shards sparkled through the room, dazzling beneath the warm light of the chandeliers.

Gaston laughed from his stomach, as Bastian smiled; Altair was frozen in disbelief at the unorthodox action. Most of all, the color faded from Frederick’s face as if he had seen a ghost, dropping to his knees.

“No—!” Frederick screamed, as if tearing his throat from the inside out.

Bastian caught his breath, wiping the blood that trailed down his nose, “First time losing something precious? Doesn’t feel too good, does it?”