The clock struck midnight.

An ominous feeling spread with the fog. The wind pushed the leaves around the ghostly streets like it did each September night. The air was silent, windows closed, the street lights barely touching the concrete; every once in a while, a cry would split the town into two asymmetrical parts, and then a sigh would fuse it into that same, predictable tranquility. The sky above the town was so unreachable, so dark and scornful, that the drops it released dented the facades and the streets which were now full of puddles. Engraved into the town’s soul was a family crest the citizens avoided touching; if it were to come to life, they feared, it would swallow them together with their tranquility and half-shut curtains. It was a monster with a sword in its teeth, with roughened skin, and eerily determined eyes; a monster with a wish, maybe, or a duty that sealed it beneath the concrete.

A pair of battle shoes split the world in half. Echoing through the empty street, leaving marks in puddles, was the pride of a princess. She held a lantern in one hand and gripped her sword with the other; the chilly air made her fingers wrap around it tightly. Barely able to see ahead, she walked slowly. There was a possibility of her being lost, one she refused to acknowledge; her father hoped to avoid such silly mistakes by sending her a companion. How very naive.

"Jeremy?" she called out to a blurry yellow stain seemingly moving ahead of her. "Jeremy Blake?" Her voice echoed through the street. The light that flickered at the end of the street slowly got closer until the princess was face to face with a man in black. His face, just like hers, was covered with a hood, so she barely saw a gentile nod of his head. He was pleased with her punctuality. Old men tend to be very impatient, after all.

"Anything out of the ordinary?" she asked as they walked in an unknown direction.

"No, Your Majesty."

She sped up her pace, forcefully stepping over her family's crest. They called her a prodigy, those cowardly, lowly creatures she despised. She knew they didn't mean it.

"Have you been well?" she asked impulsively. There was no answer. The man who was once so close to her couldn't decipher her feelings at all.

The fog was thicker than she could have imagined. It was as if the town wasn’t really there, as if she wasn’t there. In the distance, it seemed like a clock stood, tall and proud. She could imagine its hands moving quickly, too quickly to grasp with earthly eyes; she was not divine anymore, nothing but a little girl with a lantern and a crystal sword. The wind carried an uncannily rotten smell. She forced her head deeper into her collar so only her eyes could track the movement of her companion. After walking around for some time, she gave her companion a letter.

“This is the address,” she commented.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Then she felt a strange sensation; her vision blurred, and she found it incredibly hard to breathe. Her heart screamed for help, and her pupils widened unnaturally. She knew it, the moment her steady hand dropped the lantern. Without a second thought, she ran through the fog, leaving her companion to call out her name and disappear. So much time had passed since she was last able to feel the adrenaline rushing through her veins with such intensity. She was scared like never before. Before her, cutting right through the white curtain, a golden thread seemingly appeared. She tried to grab it, but it disappeared without a trace once the sinner’s hands tried to grasp its holy manifestation. She tried to follow it, aimlessly wandering around that strange little town gone with every fog; if the clock had ticked any slower, she would have, surely, found a way to obtain its eternity. But it was only a street filled with small bakeries that spread before her. Then she heard rustling, and her eyes were finally able to recognize human shape. It could have been an apparition, a product of wishful thinking, of hope she still held onto, but it slowly approached her with something heavy on its shoulder.

“Coming through,” it said.

Her future froze for a second. The feeling disappeared like it was never there. She gripped her uniform and barely held back tears. After everything she had gone through trying to find peace, that was all she was capable of. So, she carefully moved to the side. A young man brushed past her. On his shoulder, he held two bags of flour, then dropped them right next to her. Was it the perfect peace in his posture or the rightful look in his gray eyes as he glanced at her? For a moment, he looked like a statue. She felt nervous; so nervous, in fact, she wished to rip his eyes out.

"It seems you have wandered quite far from home, haven't you, Flamer?" she asked boldly, her hand that was shaking behind her back.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He looked at her. Upon noticing the small golden 'R' engraved on her black uniform, he knelt without a word, dropping his gaze to his shoes.

"Speak when I ask you to!"

"My Father was a Flamer, but my mother is a Crystalian. I was born and raised here," he replied.

The wind blew constantly, angrier with each passing moment. A lock of her dark hair, which was safely tied on top of her head, freed itself with the fast motion and blurred her vision. She took no time to push it aside, for she was too busy observing the face her shaky hand had grasped and forced to look up at hers. She focused on the small, red spark that occasionally lit in his eyes, then disappeared: the only visible symbol of his race. He seemed very conscious of it since he lowered his head as quickly as he could.

"You seem amused, Raven," he said, clueless.

“Very,” she replied. “State your name and occupation.”

“Thomas Hammer, ma’am. I load flour for a living.”

She felt her heart beat faster with each word. “And your parents?”

“I only have a mother.”

“And what does she do?”

“She is a housewife.”

“And your father?”

“Dead.”

“Dead, what?”

“Dead, ma’am.”

She pushed her hood off and watched as his eyes glistened. “Have we met before?” he asked, suddenly short of breath.

She smiled, as equally ignorant of the future as he was of her past. "Possibly. Diane," she introduced herself.

Maybe there was something mystical in the letters that shaped her being, or maybe it was divine reconciliation that struck them so; the queen and her destined knight wearing ripped clothes, covered in flour made up the shape of the future. He stood up and stretched out his hand. When she didn’t take it, he wiped it with his shirt, trying to make the mixture of flour and sweat disappear. She watched him, suspicious of his motives, like she wasn’t the one looking for a fool.

His warm skin wrapped around Diane’s gloves. "Thomas Hammer." He hesitated for a second; a battle with oneself is worse than any other. "Can I help you with anything?"

She saw salvation in those eyes. Only brief, but long enough to give her hope. "Do you happen to know George Brown?" Diane asked cautiously.

Thomas’s eyebrows narrowed. He looked to the side, thinking. "No, I don't think I do." Then he paused and said even louder: “I don’t! That’s strange! Everyone knows everyone around here.”

Diane smiled, slightly mockingly. “Of course, you don’t.”

“Is he, uhm, a fugitive, or something?” he asked awkwardly. He had already finished what he came to do, so there was nothing else to keep him in the fog. When she didn’t answer, he felt blood rush into his cheeks. “I mean… I heard that Ravens are stronger than the regular guards, so I thought…”

“Ravens such as myself don’t deal with fugitives,” Diane replied. “Only murderers.”

“Oh, uhm, I see,” he said and proceeded to cough uncomfortably. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Diane. I must, you know, go.”

When he tried to walk past her and get lost in the fog, she grabbed his arm and pulled him back to where he stood. A moment of silence gave Diane time to consider her options. She could feel his breath in her bones; no, it was Her bones. Nothing she owned was her own. It was a charade, a game to win at all costs.

It has to be him. If not… Then I will… Leave? Always aimlessly. Should I just… No, I could never. There is too much at stake. Should I do it then?

"Where do you live, Thomas Hammer?" she blurted out.

He pulled his arm out of her grasp and looked around quickly. “W-Why, why?”

"Because that is where I will be staying for the time being."

"What?" he blurted out. “N… I don’t… How?... Why?”

Diane smiled. "Well, I need somewhere to stay for the night. Besides, it is not like you would refuse your future queen, would you?" she smiled, pulling a necklace from under her collar; on it was a small Hunster crest only she was allowed to proudly wear. He immediately fell to his knees and put his head on his hands that were touching the ground. He felt embarrassed, though he knew he should have been scared. Such horrendous rumors he had heard about his future ruler, about her temper, and above all her cruelty. But the girl standing in front of him was none of that; she was only lost and scared of the future.

“F-Forgive me, Your Majesty, for my ignorance and stupidity!”

“Yes, very well. I would like to get going now. I have a horrendous amount of things to do.”

She stretched out her hand again, and without failure, without a second thought, he took it. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, I..." Thomas continued apologizing, hoping that the clock would allow him to breathe only a second more.

"It's alright, Thomas Hammer. Please, call me Diane. It would be awkward to be so formal with a person you are to live with."

Intentionally ignoring his confusion, she told him to lead the way. She knew he wouldn't dare refuse and, for the time being, that was enough. It was the life she had been assigned the moment she first opened her eyes that was screaming from within her bones; she never should have liked the world.

"I am sorry, but my home is a very humble one," Thomas remarked shyly.

"Don't worry about such things."

They heard the sound of the clock. His time was up.