The rock was an aggravating one. It had to die. That was for sure.

But was the rock right? Or was it a liar?

He took several deep breaths. Then several more, to keep himself calm. In and out. Rise and fall. Is the rock right? Or am I… why should I believe my own conclusions. I have always felt like a pawn. Now more than ever. And to what end? In and out, went his breath.

Looking up, he saw Tiger looking at him. “Have you finished enacting your revenge on the rock?” Tiger asked.

“Yes, I have. It still isn’t completely eaten yet,” said Truth. “I am still angry at it too.”He then got up to take once more a drink. He knew he had to stop doubting himself. But that was too hard to do. Why should he try? I must try. It is right. But doing the right thing is so painful.

“Is it best if we split up? Should one of us go find the dragon named Courage?” asked Maple.

I will” said Truth, back from getting water

“I want to go with you,” Tiger had a slightly exaggerated expression of distress on.

Maple and Truth looked at each other. “I’ll take you,” Maple said. It ws best for the prince to be kept safe from all this harm

Hurried goodbyes then took place. They were very short. Shorter than short. Maple gave a him sorry and pitying look when they parted ways.

Separation was not unfamiliar to Truth by any means. He had been separated from his friends and family when the company his pa worked for went pear-shaped. He had been carted off to an orphanage. He then stole the master’s watch to make a profit shortly after he had arrived. They had carted him off to prison. The place for teens and early adults.

Perhaps, if he hadn’t been caught, he would’ve received consolation in the post from distant relatives. But in prison, no postman came by. Not to the guards, or anyone else. He had to make friends with who was there. Other criminals. Some murderers.

***

He was young, at the time. Three years younger at age thirteen when the calamity that destroyed his prior life. At age fourteen, he was in jail. Again. For stealing wallets and purses. This sentence was longer and different, for, on the seventh day of confinement, he was taken to a room for training. He was trained to kill.

They practiced on dummies and farm animals. But it still was wrong. They wanted him to kill. Take a life. How could one do that and not feel overwhelming guilt?

The training was hard and even had drawn blood from his veins. He was trained in combat. He was bad at it. He didn’t want to cause any harm. Most of the inmates agreed that physically harming people, let alone murder, was wrong. But it was those who only saw others as a stepping stone. Some of them didn’t mind hurting others, but some enjoyed it.

It was with these inmates that he was in this mysterious training with who drew said blood. And missing a claw didn’t help when he was wielding a sword or dagger. He had always had on with him, hidden in his armpit. He was too cautious. That what he thought at least. He still questioned that idea. But better safe than sorry, right?

***

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

It had been an hour since he last saw Tiger and Maple. He was alone. But he had to keep going on. He had to finish this task. The torch in his talon helped subside degrading thoughts. But they still came.

It was very quiet in the caves without Tiger’s aggressive happy energy—without Maples smarts—without the chemistry between the three of them. The cave seemed to be very pitying. He hated that. The cave should not be pitying. His life didn’t apply to it. Why should the cave care? Why should anyone?

Finding the entrance he had found with Maple, he peeked outside. Then stepping out into the darkness, he put out his torch so as to not to be seen. In a sense, it helped him dream. He wanted to sleep and dream so the dark wouldn’t come into his mind.

The streetlamps showed destruction and burning buildings. Certainly something for the newspapers. And certainly something the king had heard about. How long ago did the fire happen? A day? A week? He didn’t know. It felt like a day he was in the caves. But it could’ve been two or three.

One foot

Two foot.

He started walking

Left right left right.

The marching chased the thoughts all away.

At the sound of voices, he ducked into the shadows. And waited for them to pass. It was not uncommon for residents to be out and about. But in the aftermath of a fire it was strange. Maybe they were looking for survivors? But Truth seemed to think that was not the case

“I’m sure the daylights were scared out of people today,” said one. Her voice sounded more avian. Was she a griffin? There was a sect of the city for griffins especially.

“You couldn’t be more correct,” said the other.

“I wonder where Courage was during the fire. He should’ve been there,” the griffin said.

“Really? Does he have the will to–”

Out of earshot, Truth slipped out from his hiding spot.and found an alley several paces away. He didn’t use it, for it would take too long. But it would keep him hidden. Is the risk worth it? Should i go down and stay safe? Or go the fastest way.

Something inside his mind told him to not take the alley. It would be faster.

What would you actually do when you meet Courage? He thought suddenly. Do I just say, “hey come with me,” or do I say another thing? Is he responsible for all this death?

And also, why am I doing this? Because Maple told me to? Because in just a pawn on the board?

He would not be a pawn anymore. He headed for the nearest gate, abandoning his venture, to go off into the unknown. He would no longer be another’s to control. He would do his own thing. Even before the incident at the factory, he was too subordinate. That was long gone. He is himself.

The gate was unguarded. Strange. But he paid no mind to it. Tried to, that is. But it did nag his brainy bits.

The gate creaked. Truth slipped through into the mist. No longer being a pawn. Not even being a queues or knight. He was going to be the master of his own life.

It was misty outside the gate. There were trees all around as well. In the mist of the woods, the unknown crept about. Not all were bloodthirsty or murderous. But some of it was. And it was worth the risk to find some secrets that might lurk there. Those secrets might help him take control and defeat the Sovereign.

Buuut he had to find those secrets first, you know? He had his free will now, he hoped, at least. What was one to do with free will? Craft their own life? Their own world? Then if he did that, he’d be bending others’ wills to his own. He would be a hypocrite.

The mist was cold and, well… damp. Like all mist should be. But this mist was haunting. It was scary. Mist does not always need to be foreboding. It, in a sense, called to him, wanting him to come. He followed and disappeared into the woods. He went to find the desire of his heary: the want to control his destiny. That is, if it was a thing in the first place.

These questions were not for Truth to answer. That was the philosophers and theologists to work on. But he still doubted his own judgement. He always had.