The 14th of Ymiden 718
Once upon a time, far, far away, in a cavernous city cloaked in darkness, there lived a man who had everything.
Born as a product from the Queen’s union with a mere commoner, he had no claim to the throne. In a matriarchal citystate where men were considered to be at the bottom of the social ladder, he was not worthy of respect regardless of bloodline. Quite the opposite, in fact. As son of the Queen, he was a most detestable failure, even more so than if a son would have been born from any other woman.
Whenever such a thing happened, the mother was required to make a choice before the boy’s second birthtrial. Either send the child away from the city, where he would grow up in exile, or allow him to remain in the city, where he would grow up a slave. Both were harsh, but tradition demanded the choice be made, as it had been for hundreds of arcs.
The women of the city were fundamentally different from their male counterparts. Sisters were not the same race as their brothers, even if they were born twins. Daughters were strong and healthy, living long lives. They inherited the mystical powers bestowed on the first women of their race, the blessing of the shadows. Sons, however, were weak. They lived perhaps seventy arcs at the most, growing old and withered where the daughters retained their beauty and youth. It was no surprise that when the race was created and the first children were born, the sons were deemed failures.
It was agreed that city should remain pure and strong, culling everything that didn’t fit. Mothers were mothers however, and few were willing to kill their flesh and blood. It was agreed the male children would be sent away if they showed no signs of possessing the abilities the daughters did.
However, mothers were mothers. Few were able to part with their flesh and blood after raising it for a couple arcs, hoping they would be special. The first to show promise. It was agreed that the male children would be allowed to stay in the city, though only as slaves. There were many tasks no-one wanted to waste their time on, after all, so that problem would be solved as well.
No-one was exempt from this tradition; warriors, merchants, tutors, physicians, Vices—
Not even the Queen herself.
At least, that’s how it should have been.
However, the Queen refused to make a choice. She didn’t listen to her Vices, the only ones who knew about the child. She was the Queen, the creator of the city and its inhabitants. Privileged. She resolutely believed her son was different from the others. He carried her blood after all, and whether it was sooner or later, he would show a glimpse of his potential.
Indeed, he did.
Four arcs after his birth, the boy displayed tremendous power. A mere candle flame compared to the sun that was his mother’s, but far more than the little spark the female race possessed. Yet, his power was not like theirs. He wasn’t blessed by shadow. He was not an Emean entity like his mother either. He was like all other sons, but he also wasn’t. His strength was genuine, and he remained in the city.
Yet, even the Queen could not nullify hundreds of arcs of tradition. To change the rules so deeply ingrained in the city would destabilize it. It would go against the culture, clashing, and the citizen’s loyalty to her might waver. The child was shown to the public, but wasn’t allowed to walk free. Freedom was the right of women only.
As time passed, it became clear that he didn’t age as fast as the other males. At a certain point he simply stopped, putting even the females around him to shame.
The Vices arranged for him to be taught as any female would be, though the classes he received were private. He was trained in the art of combat, fighting in the colosseum as a test of his mettle. As if it was the natural way of things, he effortlessly defeated any who stood between him and victory, gaining the title of champion. Allowed to challenge female warriors now, his name gained notoriety, winning battles they thought he’d lose. He challenged even the Vices, and proved his strength was equal to theirs.
Perhaps unexpectedly, his mother used him and his abilities for secret missions, sending him to support attempts to expand the city’s influence. He was given important tasks, and did not disappoint. His reputation grew, but tradition did not change.
A man he was, and a man he remained. He was allowed to walk around the city, but not freely. Around his neck sat a collar of pure shadow, and always was he accompanied by retainers. They kept an eye on him, steered him away from places he wasn’t allowed to go. Even outside the city they followed him, making sure he did return. The only time he did not see them was inside the palace, in his personal chambers.
He knew it was the Vices’ doing.
They weren’t openly against him, they wouldn’t dare. Every so often they sent women to his chambers, always those that suited his tastes. They would bestow presents onto him; new gear, clothing, delicacies, drinks,… They would praise him for his accomplishments, allow him to walk around the city to revel in his fame, drinking in the looks he garnered from the citizens, enjoy them step respectfully aside as he passed, to play the part of the city’s prince. They would even indulge him when he asked to travel to a different city for a while, agreeing all too eagerly.
But he was only a dog on a leash.
The retainers were always there. Reporting his every move to the Vices, both inside the city and out. He wasn’t allowed to interact with the male population, as they feared he might stir them up. They made sure he stuck to his missions when sent away, making him return straight away after completion. He was too valuable to be away for too long. He was too dangerous to be left to roam free inside the city.
He kept up the act. Pretended to be content with his life. He did what they expected of him. He took the presents they gave him, ate the delicacies and drank the beverages, he looked pleased with himself when walking among the citizens, and smiled at them, he bedded the women they sent up to his chambers. The duties of the Queen’s son.
Truly, he had just about everything he could have wanted. Except for one thing.
He often wondered how his life would have turned out if he hadn’t manifested his powers so early. He often pretended things had turned out that way, telling himself stories of his adventures and trial to trial life. Free to do whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased. No retainers holding him back, no Vices spying on him, no orders to obey.
Yes, he’d have been a failure, but he thought he’d have been happier that way. His heart longed for freedom.
Not that he would ever attain it. The collar around his neck informed the retainers of his position at all times. They, in turn, informed the Vices. His mother monitored the collar as well, as it was she who’d placed it on him. Could he get it off? Of course, no problem. However, it would end his life. He would have no home to return to. It would be seen as a sign of his rebellion, and the Vices could not allow an asset as powerful as him to roam freely. He could be used against them, after all, and thus they would send assassins on his trial. No matter his prowess in battle, he couldn’t fight if he didn’t know they were there. He’d be living with one foot in the grave, never allowed to loosen up and relax.
That was perhaps even worse than being on a leash.
He closed the doors behind him as he entered his chambers, hearing his retainers take their positions next to the entrance. Outside, but close enough to intervene should anything happen. There were no secret exits, no windows. The only way out was the door. He couldn’t go anywhere without company. He sighed as she sat himself down in one of the richly padded chairs, propping his head up with a hand, elbow on the armrest.
If only he could go somewhere they couldn’t follow…
As if on cue, a doorway appeared in the air, translucent and ethereal, shimmering and waving like a mirage. It swung open then, revealing a passageway beyond, distorted and blurry. Otherworldly. He rubbed his eyes, but it was unmistakably there.
“We need your help,” a familiar voice said.
He focused on the people in the opening for the first time, eyes widening as he recognized them. They all had the same face, but wore different attire. There was a warrior in armor, a man in an orange gi, one wearing leather clothes with spiked pauldrons, and several belts—
The one who’d spoken though, was a man in simple garb. Dark colors, patched up more than once. His hair was long and messy, wild and unkempt. He wore a goatee, and possessed a face that would be an excellent fit for a smirk. His eyes were dark and carried a spark of mischief in them, though it seemed to be mostly gone from his orbs. He looked deadly serious, and with reason. Apparent from the way he was supported by his companions, he was wounded. There was blood coloring his clothes, fresh cuts and bruises on his face.
It was like staring in a mirror, if that mirror showed how he’d look after arcs of being a vagabond and just recently having survived an encounter with assassins.
The man in the doorway extended his hand for the prince to grab, an open invitation.
“Will you come with us?” the man asked, locking eyes with him.
The prince did not hesitate. He needed not to think about it. He grabbed the extended hand firmly, stepping into the doorway with a genuine smile on his face.
