Hilo is a village at the foot of the Labrose Mountain. I have been looking for a guide all day but the people here are a scaredly bunch. Peleva is cursed they say. They may be right. Cursed. I may be the one who is crazy. But I must reach it. To uncover secrets is my duty. My purpose.

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"What do you think I should do?" Leo asked the beached corpse.

Leo huddled, arms around his knees. The waves swayed the corpse's hair. The smell was far from nice. Putrid. Rancid. Foul. Decaying. He soon ran out of words for description. There was no describing it anyway. It was just too vile.

He was a man, the corpse. Was. Now it was a bag of bloated meat. The face was too swollen for recognition. Bits of decaying flesh tangled and dripped. One of the eyes was missing.

Leo thought of burying the man. Nobody should have their body exposed like this. His father always told him that corpses needed to be buried for decency, even enemies. The man wasn't an enemy. He was a passenger of that galley like Leo.

But Leo found hauling the bloated thing distasteful. His spine tingled just thinking of the texture. And the smell. A few paces away and the smell was already overpowering.

And so he sat, cold sand under his butt and downing sun to his front. The corpse remained untouched. He sighed.

"I shouldn't have left." He said, a statement he had repeated dozens of times already. "I am the heir of the Union. And the Union has grip over all the human kingdoms. It was possible for me to become the king of all humans. But now?" He blew a chuckle. "I shouldn't have left. Worst decision I made. I would have been sitting my butt in the palace right now, doing things of pleasure. But this is alright. I will find a way."

The corpse just stared at him through open eyes. Leo made a note of prodding the eyelid close later with some stick.

His stomach grumbled, an awkward thing to happen beside a bag of meat. Thankfully nobody else was around to falsely judge him of having wild thoughts regarding the corpse.

He laid on the sand, arms as pillow. The sky was dimming, the stars hinting their twinkles. Waves pushed against his feet. It was getting cold. Pehaps he should make a fire. But he didn't know how to. He had seen his father's soldiers rub stones and sticks together. Maybe sand would work?

In the end he just let the day ebb into night. The stars were indeed bright and so was the moon. His stomach still protested. That meal of hard tack earlier was interrupted by the storm after all. He didn't know if he should be glad or not. Hard tack, after all, was stone aspiring to be bread.

Perhaps he should find food? But where? There was nothing except...He stopped the thought, irritated that it blossomed in the first place.

Use you mind out there, his father's words. As if using his mind would snap food into existence. If it were that easy then he would have used his mind to get a flagon on mead. But no. He was hungry, wet and isolated. He didn't have anything with him except the dagger and that stupid journal.

He felt the journal in his pocket. The thing was damp but not wet. Good for it to survive when even humans didn't. Maybe he could find a village and sell the journal as an artifact? He was blabbering nonsense. There was no village. He was stuck here and would very soon be dead. Just like the corpse.

Well this wasn't so bad. The Omniscient saw it fit to test his spirit. It was a journey, the one he wished for. A little too different and bleak but he should be alright. He should be. The stars were blinking to his adventure. They must be excited being witnesses to his fate. A shipwrecked prince who became... well something. Taverns would offer discounts to his honor. The bards would swell their throats in singing songs about him. His father would be proud. His mother would be joyful. He would brag to Theo about his adventures.

This isn't so bad.

Tears skidded down his temples. Crying? He was crying? Why? He had what he wished for. Adventure. An opportunity to flutter his name. No. This cannot be. This wasn't so bad. He would conquer everything in his path and come back a hero. Nothing could stop him.

Lies. Pitiful lies. His tears continued to stream.

He was afraid. He didn't know what to do. Adventure? This wasn't an adventure. Adventures were supposed to be heroic. There was nothing heroic about getting stuck in a beach with a rotting corpse for company. Heir to Union and can't even bury a corpse. Was he a joke? Perhaps.

He wiped his tears and just shut his eyes. Maybe he should just give up. That would be easy. Giving up. He could already feel his glee. He wondered what would his father do if put in his place? Or his mother? Helpless. Being helpless was a cruel feeling. Those two had never felt helpless before. They always had a plan- an escape.

Well maybe not always like what happened that night twelve years ago. The scenes were still fresh as if it was yesterday. The stark smell of blood still pinched his nostrils.

His father was standing in front of him, arm limp to a gashing wound. His fine night garments were shredded and bloody. And yet his father still held a kitchen knife.

His mother was clutching little Theo and him. She was barely conscious yet she gripped them tightly. He remembered a carriage. Yes they were in a carriage and were about to visit his grandfather's grave when the assassins attacked.

Dozens of the assassins were sprawled bleeding and dead on the ground, one he saw was his father's doing. The royal guards were thinned by five Ice Thrower Ninevans.

He wondered what his parents thought that night. His father- standing against Ninevans who want them dead with a small knife in his hand. And his mother- hit to barely conscious by a Stone Thrower Ninevan and yet still clutching them.

He might never know. But if they defended him with grit, if they were willing to sacrifice themselves for him, then why would he give up now? His father's wound remained a scar. It would be an insult to them if he would laze into his death. Gone was the colorful adventure he hoped for. Gone was the galley and gone were his things. But he must at least go home. For them.

Leo sat. The night was deep and the tide had retreated. The corpse was still stanching.

He dug. With his cold hands he dug. Every handful of sand made the hole deeper. The coarse sand bit on his skin. He was probably wounded. He didn't stop. Waist deep and length of a full grown man, he aimed.

He dragged the corpse into the hole. The soft flesh shed with every heave. It was moist and foul and unpleasant.

"May the Omniscient lead you to an pleasant rest." He said to the corpse.

The grave was shallow but it was all he could do. He covered it with sand. There was nothing he could use for a tombstone and so he just left it out.

A grave without a mark. Poor guy.

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He washed his hand with the ocean. The smell lingered though it was tamer. He lay on a flat portion of the sand and drifted to a slumber not long after. Tomorrow he would f trek to wherever his feet would take him, hopefully home eventually. That night, he didn't dream.

Dawn offered a different view. The sea was calm, far from that ravaging storm which sank the galley. Pelicans and falcons dived for fish, their squawks gentle to the ears. The fine pinkish sand presented an prettier scene than the coarse dark of Holm. Maybe he could take a pinch as souvenir?

A forest surrounded the beach. Palms and bamboos thrived here. The way out was through the forest and he hoped the trek wouldn't starve or dehydrate him to death.

His boots and clothes were now dry though a little sandy for his liking. He pulled the dagger from its sheath. Steel. Good kind according to what his father taught him. He sheathed and hung it on his waist.

A strong breeze from the ocean blew to him, ruffling his hair. It was as if to push him forward, to nod him into continuing. He did. Each step further into the forest dimmed surrounding. Tall canopies hid the sunlight. There were critters and bugs and whatever was flitting in tall vegetation.

The grasses brushed against his legs. If not for his trouser he believed that the blades would cut his legs. He waddled in it, sometimes tangling.

He remembered being brought by his father in a forest once. It was just the two of them then but he believed that the royal guards were watching not far. They stayed for two days and those two days were truly rough. It rained and their simple leaves tent dripped. The bugs feasted on his skin, the blisters itched him without end. But it was fun. They speared a boar and cooked it after.

There wasn't a boar in this forest. The bugs and critters were aplenty but he wouldn't eat those things. No. Never.

The mud swallowed Leo's boots up to the heel. Walking had become a burden with every step a great effort. His sense of direction vanished long ago after his hundred step. He just slipped through gaps in the bamboo. Sometimes the effort would require him to climb.

He stepped on a small serpent. It hissed when it bit his leg. Leo grabbed its body and pulled it away. It slithered after it fell, flitting away to the thick bamboos. Green. All he could remember is that it was green.

Leo knelt. He inspected the wound. It didn't hurt though it probably would soon enough. Two holes were left where the snake punctured its fangs. He hoped that the oozing clear liquid wasn't venom.

Fear flooded him, an unwelcomed deluge. The skin around the wound seemed to burn now, a warm feeling though not pleasant.

The snake wasn't venomous. And if it was then he would be alright nonetheless. He would find help. Soon. Yes, soon.

He continued with a limp. Sweat bathed his face after a while. The itches from bug bites and touch of sharp bushes were too blatant to ignore. Thorns also scrubbed against him arms and face. His mother would be shocked if she saw Leo right now.

It went on. The forest seemed to get thicker with every step. He lost his way. No, he was lost in the first place. And so he just trudged to directions unknown. He didn't even know if he was going in circles.

The bamboos were dancing. Hard to believe but they were. His legs turned numb and so did his neck- especially his neck. Sweat trickled down to his chin as he resumed his trudge.

No, no, he thought. Exhaustion and dehydration, nothing more. That serpent wasn't venomous.

He held firm to the belief. But the hazy forest, the swaying bamboos, the limpness- they all lead to a frightening conclusion. Leo hastened. He was almost running now. He should be wounded, battered by the vegetation. And yet he just kept on running.

Use your mind, he remembered his father's advice again. He halted- legs aching, breaths short but mind thinking.

I was bitten by a snake and yes it is venomous. I am hungry and thirsty. And I am lost.

Water should take priority and then food. He cannot do anything about the venom. Water. He could climb up one of the palm trees and look for a nearby stream. No, he shouldn't do that. Or rather his injured body couldn't do that.

He stilled, closed his eyes and listened for any slosh which may indicate a nearby stream. He only heard the distant squawks of birds and the gentle rustles of the wind.

Wind. Leo opened his eyes. There was indeed wind, too faint for notice but it was there, blowing from his right. Trees and bamboos block wind. If he was in the middle of the forest then the air should be still. But there was wind which meant that an open space is nearby.

He looked to the right. His feet moved before he could even make a sound decision. He knew this was the way. The edge of the forest was nearby.

The wind grew bolder. He kept moving but not running. His ears caught a sloshing sound. It must be a stream. The good thing was that it was coming from the direction he was heading to.

Calm. You must remain calm, he told himself. Use your mind as what your father said. Because it works.

The bamboos grew sparse. To his front he saw the sparkles of a stream. The final step was a strange feeling. Triumph and pride concocted into one. He did it, a humble achievement but he found the edge.

A small stream winded next to the forest. On the other side was a plain covered in tall grasses. The best thing was that there was a dirt road wide enough for a carriage. It wasn't a farmer's trail or something. It was a main road utilized by many. He could get help.

Leo scooped water into his mouth. The water was murky and had bits of soil but never had water tasted so good. It trickled down his throat, the sensation was divine. He gasped and grinned. He felt alive. Hungry, bitten by a snake, still lost- but at least his thirst was gone.

Footsteps on the rock alerted Leo. Two men stood a few dozen paces from him. One was shorter than other but also had thicker arms. He wore a torn gambeson armor too small for his body. His face was tattooed with some red paint.

The taller man was the same although this one had his red hair tumbling down to his shoulder. He had a scrawny face too thin to be called handsome.

"Lucky eh? I don't see no identification on his neck." The scrawny one grinned, yellow teeth showing. "Ain't we lucky? One more in the bag."

"Aye but he's armed." The shorter one said. "Dagger."

The scrawny man stepped forward and drew his axe. "He looks tired. Look at him, all sweaty and red. Throw ya dagger lad and surrender."

Great. Bandits. Or worse.

Leo eyed his dagger. Abraham taught him how to use it. In fact, he was good with it. But the tongue was a far more deadlier weapon than a blade as what his father said.

He drew the dagger but held it lightly, not pointing at the bandits. He smiled. "You lads are in bad luck. What do you know about the Great Wail?"

"Drop ya dagger boy. This ain't-"

"The Great Wail is a disease. Nasty stuff. Contagious with the slightest touch. Aye." He pointed his dagger at the scrawny one. "A fortnight ago and this man came into our village. Tall man like you, ugly though unlike you. He begged us for help, crawled to us with blistered skin. Oh I don't want to remember what those blisters look like but it just got stuck in my mind. Horrid. Just horrid. His skin was rotting and those blisters have pus with worms. Even his eyes have blisters. We tended to him, cleaning his wounds. I tell ya, that wasn't very helpful. The bastard died the next day, wailing of course. That, my friends, is the Great Wail."

"Where are ya from? I heard no tale like that! Liar." The stout one said.

It was good news. The bandit was accusing him of lying. But accusations themselves were proof of little belief. Both men were not attacking because they were entranced by Leo's tale, believing it a little though they deny it. The belief sprouted not from his tale but from his voice and his stance. His father was probably the most charismatic person in the world. How could he, the son of King Timothy Castonia, fail to inherit even a pinch of that charisma?

Leo shook his head. "Our village chief caught it first. Good man he was. He began blistering all over his body and was dead three days later. The others caught it too. Children, the old, the strong, nobody was spared. Even my wife. Her name was Oliva. Good woman, pretty, kind. I fought three other suitors for her hand. Well Oliva died and I was there when it happened, kneeling beside our bed." He fell a tear but resumed his grin. "Oh you don't know how it felt hearing her beg for death. Her pretty face melted with the blisters. Worms feasted despite her still being alive. She wailed and wailed and wailed! Oh it was sound I never want to hear again. My dear Oliva wailing to death in front of me. And our child. Our child was still in her belly. I don't know what happened to our child. He or she died I'm sure. Perhaps eaten by worms while Oliva was wailing."

The stout man nodded slowly. "That is tough."

"Aye." The taller one said, lowering his axe. "Better it would be if it was only his wife. But unborn child? I know how it be feeling Mister. Crushing. Me first wife's first pregnancy ended in-"

"You must catch it too" Leo said, eyes wide. "Oliva had it. I have it. You two should also wail" He spread his arms. "Ha! Come to me friends!"

Leo stepped forward. The two flinched. Of course they did. He would flinch too if he was them.

"Crazy bastard! Get away from us!" The stout man shouted.

The tall one threw a stone at him. "Get away!"

They were about to run- to break. Leo could feel it. A look on their trembling legs revealed their fear. Leo did not stop. The bandits would soon run away.

Everything swayed all of a sudden. The bandits looked blurry as they threw stones at him. His body felt heavy. His walk sagged.

It was venomous after all, Leo though. Damn that serpent.

He fell and rolled. His breaths were short and his chest felt hard. The bandits were approaching him cautiously.

Use your mind, his father's advice again rang.

No, Father. Just no. I can't use my mind to escape this one, can I?