The Forsaken Isle stood amidst the Lonely Sea, its castle a husk of desolation. A dense, mournful mist clung to its stones, heavy with old, unspoken sorrows. It was here that Astel, a creature trapped in a monstrous shell, bore a cursed existence, his true humanity emerging only under the full moon's cold, forgiving light.
The castle’s ruins reached for the sky like dying fingers, holding within their cracked embrace the guarded secret of Astel's life. Those midwives, sworn to silence, were its captive custodians, forever lamenting the unnatural fate they had delivered.
King Johann's enemies were sent not to their death by the clean swing of an executioner’s blade, but to the merciless maw of the beast that was his son—except on nights when the moon's gentle touch revealed Astel’s forgotten human self. Then, the castle's dark halls echoed a symphony of sorrowful sea winds and the cries of the damned.
On moonlit nights, Astel transformed into a vision of sorrowful grace: his face, pure and mournful; his eyes, starlit; his golden hair, a sad reminder of the curse that befell him. Nature's cruel trick, a twisted blend of magic and malice, made him unrecognizable from his cursed self.
Godrick, once the Queen's protector, now guarded this isle of despair. His duty at the castle's threshold, a silent atonement, was a constant struggle between punishment and salvation.
In the moon's rare kindness, Godrick treated Astel not as a beast, but as a son, showing him fleeting moments of compassion and tutelage, seeing in him not the monster but the robbed innocence.
With each moon's passing, Godrick bore the burden of the aftermath, laying the dead to rest in unmarked graves, shielding Astel from the brutal truth of his existence. His every act of interment was a silent supplication for the departed and the boy's veiled innocence.
Under the moonlight, Godrick's love stood as a testament, a bond unbroken by blood or horror, on an isle lined with the unnamed tombs of King Johann's foes.
Surrounded by the relentless sea and shrouded in eternal mist, the island was all Astel knew—a prison girded by waves, echoing with the silent judgement of royal portraits that watched him from cold, lifeless canvases.
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As the full moon reigned, its silver glow seemed to sanctify the isle. The night air vibrated with the fading pulse of dark enchantments, and the cursed figure of Astel withdrew, revealing once more the innocent boy whose existence had become a woven pattern of concealed dread and ephemeral purity.
Godrick, whose soul bore the weight of unspeakable secrets, moved through the darkness toward Astel. The boy sat upon the floor where rough stone met his skin, his legs folded beneath him as he gazed at the moon through a narrow window, its light casting him in alabaster innocence.
"Astel," Godrick's voice was a comforting rumble, like distant thunder promising rain to parched earth.
The child turned, his clear blue eyes finding the old soldier. "Godrick, do I have a mother and father like the other children?"
Godrick, his heart a fortress of regret and sorrow, knelt before Astel. He could not help but pause, catching sight of the regal portraits that adorned the damp walls—the late Queen Maria's face alight with a beauty that time could not tarnish, King Johann's eyes dark with a grief that was more anger than sorrow.
"You have your mother's eyes," Godrick said, evading the heart of Astel's question. "She was as fair as the dawn and as kind as the summer rain."
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Astel's gaze wandered to the portraits, to the regal woman with a crown of golden hair. "And my father?"
The question hung heavy between them, laden with truths that could crush the boy's spirit. Godrick's heart ached, for he had sworn fealty to a man who could consign his own blood to such a fate. "Your father... he is a king of vast lands and great power," Godrick chose his words as one might select stones to skip over a still pond, careful not to disturb the surface.
"Am I to be a king like him?" Astel's innocence was a blade to Godrick's soul.
"In another life, you might have been," he said, voice thick with unshed grief. "But we are all of us bound by the roles the gods give us."
Astel looked at the paintings, at the queen's gentle eyes and the king's stern visage. "Do they know I am here? Will they come for me?"
Godrick's gaze followed the boy's. He saw not rulers, but two mortals caught in a tapestry of their own making. "Some castles are made of stone and wood, some of duty and necessity," he said softly. "Your mother is with the gods, and your father... your father fights a great war."
"But not here?"
"Not here," Godrick affirmed. "Here, there is only you and I, and the sea, and the moon that watches over us."
The boy nodded, a silent acceptance in his eyes. Godrick reached out, laying a gauntleted hand upon Astel's shoulder. "I am here," he said, the words a pledge, a bond forged not of blood but of shared exile. "I will teach you of the stars and the waves, of the stories hidden in the winds. I will be here, every time the moon graces the night."
Astel leaned into the touch, a small smile gracing his features. "Will you tell me a tale, Godrick? One of knights and dragons, and heroes bold?"
Godrick nodded, his heart swelling with a mix of love and melancholy. "Of course, my boy. Listen, and let your heart sail on the wings of these tales." As Godrick spun stories from the threads of his imagination, he watched over Astel, the boy who was both more and less than what the world believed him to be.
Amidst the spun tales of valor and the laughter of an innocent, Astel's gaze drifted to the glint of metal at Godrick's chest. The aged soldier, ever vigilant, followed the boy's curious eyes to the locket he wore, a simple piece of silver that held within it the faces of those who tethered his soul to a world beyond these gray and unforgiving shores.
"What is that?" Astel's voice was a whisper, a breeze that danced through the stillness of their secluded world.
Godrick looked down at the locket in his hands, his fingers tracing the outlines of the faces within — two souls worlds apart yet ever present. "This is my heart, young prince," he replied with a voice softened by the distance from his loved ones.
Astel's eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in awe. "May I see?" he asked tentatively.
Nodding, Godrick opened the locket fully, revealing the miniature paintings of his wife and daughter. Astel leaned in, his breath a ghost over the precious artifact. "Who are they?"
"This," Godrick said, pointing to the woman with eyes kind and a smile that spoke of quiet strength, "is my wife, Ellyn. She heals with herbs and kindness in our village. And this," his finger moved to the smaller face, a girl with wild curls and a mischievous gleam, "is Myra, my daughter. She has your years."
"She looks like you," Astel observed, his voice carrying a wistful note.
"Aye, she has my eyes," Godrick admitted, "but the fire in her spirit? That's all from her mother."
"What is it like, to have a daughter?"
Godrick chuckled softly, the sound rich with love and sorrow. "It is like having a piece of your heart walking and laughing outside your body. She is as fierce as she is kind, much like her mother."
Astel looked up at Godrick with a depth that belied his tender years. "Do you love her more than anything?"
"More than anything in this world, Astel," Godrick's voice was a solemn vow.
Astel's gaze lingered on the locket. "Do you think," he started, hesitantly, "do you think my father would have a locket like that of me?"
Godrick's heart constricted, and he placed a gentle hand on Astel's shoulder. "Your father... he lost much when he lost you. It's a deep regret that he must bear."
"Will I ever meet your daughter, Myra? Could she... could she be my friend?"
Godrick's eyes softened, and for a moment, he allowed himself to dream of a world where such a thing could come to pass. "Perhaps one day," he lied. "If the fates are kind."
The boy nodded, a silent pact made with hope. "I would like a friend."
Godrick closed the locket, tucking away the visages of his loved ones, along with the painful impossibility of Astel's wish. "You have the heart of a prince and the soul of the brave," he said with conviction. "Any who know you would be proud to call you friend."
They sat in silence for a time, the night air filled with the haunting call of the sea. Godrick knew his days were measured, his time with Astel precious and fleeting. He would guard these moments, treasure the smiles and the questions, for in them, he found the strength to face the dawn and all its cruel truths.