The palace's inner ward was quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional chirping of birds. Stynx sat on a marble bench beneath the shade of a tree, his posture unrefined and uncaring. His Prussian blue hair shimmered faintly under the filtered sunlight, and his rusty orange eyes—sharp, piercing—were locked in a perpetual frown. His formal attire was pristine except for the faint folds of his cape, and he exuded an air of nonchalance and disinterest.
As he bit into a crumpet, crumbs fell to the ground, unnoticed until his gaze shifted downward. Ants. Tiny black bodies scurried across the grassy terrain, their movements swift and precise. One scout discovered the crumbs and, within moments, chemical signals called reinforcements. Together, they hoisted pieces of the crumpet and began their march toward an anthill nestled in the roots of the tree.
Stynx watched with a curious glint in his eyes, a faint interest stirring as he rose from the bench. Quietly, he followed the line of ants to their colony, the loaf of bread still in his hand. He crouched near the anthill, observing the flurry of activity—the workers dragging their prize into the tunnels, the guards scuttling about in defense of their domain.
Without a hint of hesitation, Stynx extended his hand. A single flick of his finger unleashed a stream of fire into the hill's entrance. The flames roared as they surged through the intricate chambers, incinerating everything in their path. Ants scattered in chaos, their frail bodies curling under the heat. From deep within the colony came a faint, piercing screech—the queen, her death throes lost in the inferno as her eggs were reduced to ash.
Stynx stood, brushing the dirt from his hands. His expression betrayed no satisfaction, no remorse—only an empty detachment. He tossed the remainder of the bread onto the scorched mound and walked away, his posture upright and composed.
As he made his way through the ward, whispers followed him. Some murmured "bastard" under their breath, their voices laced with contempt. Others cast furtive glances, afraid to meet his eyes. Stynx ignored them all, his head held high as he strode past the armored guards into the stone keep.
***
In a poorly kept chamber tucked away in a forgotten wing of the keep, Stynx's mother slouched in a chair by the window. Her once radiant beauty had withered, leaving behind a disheveled, hollow shell. Tangled hair framed her pale face, her parched lips trembling slightly as she exhaled. On the cluttered table beside her lay empty vials, discarded alcohol bottles, and a smoking pipe still faintly warm. The acrid scent of a familiar substance still lingered in the air.
Stynx entered without knocking, his sharp gaze immediately falling on the mess. "…You really shouldn't be indulging this much," he said, his voice flat as he gestured to the array of containers. "It's destroying you."
The woman stirred at his words, her glassy eyes blinking as she registered his presence. When her gaze landed on him, her face contorted with anger.
"It's you," she spat, her voice venomous. Rising unsteadily to her feet, she crossed the room in a fury, her hand striking his cheek with a resounding slap.
"You ruined everything!" she screamed, shaking him by the shoulders. "That man left because of you! The king ignores me, refuses to touch me, love me! He refuses to make me queen—all because of you! Every misfortune I've suffered, every ounce of pain—it's your fault!"
Stynx stood motionless, his face impassive as her accusations tore into him. "You're a devil child," she hissed. "You should have never been born. You should go back to whatever hell you came from."
Her tirade left a suffocating silence in its wake. Stynx turned to leave, but before he could take a step, her demeanor suddenly shifted. She reached for him, pulling him into an embrace that was disturbingly tender.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean it. I'm just… so lonely. So sad. I'm in so much pain." Her fingers brushed against his face, trembling. "If you really care about me, you'll help me. Get me more medicine. Just a little, so I can feel better again."
Stynx said nothing. He simply nodded and left the room, his steps echoing in the empty hallway.
***
The alley was dark and reeked of filth, the faint glow of sunlight barely penetrating the shadows. Stynx stood cloaked in black, his expression unreadable beneath the dark hood. The man before him—a wiry figure with shifty eyes and a crooked grin—flashed several small vials filled with shimmering crystals.
"These are top quality," the dealer said, his tone sly. "Rare stuff. Price ain't cheap, though."
Stynx's orange eyes gleamed beneath his hood. "How much?"
The man smirked, sensing an opportunity. "For you? Triple the usual. And you'd better not tell anyone where you got it, kid."
Stynx didn't flinch, his eyes glinted under the shadow of his hood. Without hesitation, he produced the exorbitant sum and handed it over. The dealer chuckled as he pocketed the money, clearly pleased with himself.
"Pleasure doing business," he said, turning to leave.
"Wait," Stynx called out, his tone sharp and icy.
The man paused, glancing back. "What?"
"You forgot your tip," Stynx said, his voice deathly calm.
Before the man could react, a torrent of fire erupted from Stynx's outstretched hand, engulfing the dealer in an instant. The flames roared, illuminating the alley with a hellish light. The man's screams echoed briefly before falling silent, his body collapsing into a charred heap.
Stynx stood over the remains, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips—not one of joy, but of grim satisfaction. Power surged through him, intoxicating and absolute. Control over life and death was a heady feeling, and he relished it entirely. Tucking the vials into his pocket, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows, leaving nothing but ash in his wake.
***
"Do you have anything to say for yourself? I nearly went blind from that sorry excuse of a curtsy you gave in front of Prince Reneal earlier," Lyndoria snapped, her voice dripping with irritation. "What if the princess had fainted from sheer embarrassment, huh?!"
Daisuke frowned, clearly annoyed as he delicately grasped the edges of his dress between his thumb and first two fingers on each hand, pinkies raised with exaggerated elegance. Is this seriously what I risked my life to buy the Nexusphere for? To be humiliated like this? He let out a silent sigh. Dad must be rolling in his grave right now.
"Extend your right foot six inches behind the left," Lyndoria ordered sharply. "I said right, not left!" she barked, striking Daisuke's leg with a leather riding crop—one that looked suspiciously like it belonged in a far more scandalous setting in the bedroom during "happy hour".
"Now, bring your right foot just behind your left heel," she continued with exasperation. "Keep the ball of your foot lightly grazing the floor. And stop looking down!" she snapped, using the whip to tilt Daisuke's chin upward. "Your head should be bent forward at a slight, 45-degree angle."
"Keep that thing away from my face!" Daisuke protested, jerking back. "I don't know where it's been!"
Lyndoria unleashed a rapid flurry of strikes with the weapon—or toy, whatever it was. "Don't you dare talk back to me! And what is that posture? I said a 45-degree angle! Keep your head up and maintain eye contact!"
Daisuke's growl of irritation faltered when his gaze shifted to Lumielle. She sat by the window, her expression distant, her hand absentmindedly stroking a dozing Zephyr.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked softly, concern breaking through his annoyance.
"Language!" Lyndoria barked, smacking him atop the head with the crop.
Daisuke clutched the steaming bump, turned on his heel, and ground his teeth in exasperation. Lyndoria, meanwhile, wore a wicked grin, clearly savoring the rare chance to exact her revenge. Lumielle, unable to hold back, let out a soft chuckle at their awkward exchange.
"Are you okay?" Daisuke repeated, this time correcting his language.
The princess lowered her gaze, her lips pressing into a rigid line. "I just… have a lot on my mind."
SWISH. SWISH. SWISH.
With a casual stride, Daisuke moved toward the brooding princess. Without so much as a sidelong glance, he effortlessly dodged each of Lyndoria's strikes, his movements smooth and almost dismissive.
"You!" she hissed in frustration. "Do you have eyes in the back of your head or something?"
Gotta love Sixth Sense, Daisuke thought with a smirk before shifting his focus back to Lumielle. "Is there something in particular that's bothering you?"
"I'm… worried about my father," she confessed.
Lyndoria halted her movements, the weight of the princess's words bringing a quiet heaviness to the room as her own gaze softened with concern.
"In that case," Daisuke said quietly, summoning a familiar feline from his shadow in a manner that reminded the princess of Sinister Granny's space-time spell. "Why don't we check on him?"