[The Palace of Naasis in Henem, Year 3479]
[Two years after August Lunastre's departure for the Obsidian Sea.]
Chess pieces clattered to the floor as Artemis flipped over his bedroom desk, dancing with the shadows that pursued him wildly, the lanterns which hung from thin metal wires on the walls spinning in graceful circles.
He avoided them, these shadows which spun along with the lights that cast them, as if they were seeking his life.
It was the only way he could train without a partner.
Artemis struck forward with his curved blade, slashing through the air three-fold in a serpentine, incalculable manner. He had gradually begun to weave these untraceable movements into the sword style that had been taught to him since birth. It was all in hopes that he would be able to defeat someone far more skilled than he was.
He paused for a moment, his exhausted pants echoing through the large room. Sweat pooled at the edges of his shirt, his medium-length hair dripping with the proof of his diligence.
This time… I'll finally win against you in a duel… brother.
August Lunastre, the heir to the Lunastre Household and the oldest son of the current Witch-King would soon return to the shore of the Blackbaast. After spending two years at sea, which was tradition for the Sons of Lunastre, there would surely be the usual Capital-wide festival.
But then… it would be Artemis's turn. After they were all done praising him, he would finally have the time to be challenged. They had made a habit of dueling throughout their lives, and August was always able to thoroughly outclass him.
This time would be different.
Over the past two years, he had spent all of his time in his bedroom, reclusive. There was nothing more to do than train and study, of which took up the majority of his day.
He knew the attendants of the Palace thought him lazy, weak, and careless. They were sure that he spent his days wallowing in his bedroom, surely due to his brother's absence, and that he did nothing more than sleep and drink. But that could only be the farthest thing from the truth.
Because if they knew what he had become from the moment his brother had gone away, they would call him far-worse things than a weak and frail prince.
But when August returned, it would be different. No one dared speak ill of him when August was around. He had always been Artemis's protector. Whatever he had encountered in terms of misfortune in recent years, it would no longer matter. August would always be on his side.
At least, he prayed that August wouldn't demean him for what he had become. It was his only hope, his last hope.
A dull, constant pain spread over his back, causing him to wince through gritted teeth as he walked towards the edge of his room, dropping his blade to the floor. An ornate, golden-laced mirror was placed against the wall, which he often used to study his physique and anticipate his next bout of training.
Artemis removed his shirt quickly, positioning his back against the mirror as he glanced over his shoulder.
Black marks like coruscating tattoos swirled over his skin, gradually shifting back and forth like serpents. He grimaced, turning around to face the mirror. These were marks he had been born with, they were nothing new. But the pain was. He had heard of nothing like this before, and even after instructing one of his attendants to bring him every medical book the Palace had available, sifting through them over weeks, he had found nothing of value pertaining to it.
The worst trait of the newly-appeared agony was the dreams it wrought. They were terrible, terrifying dreams, always pertaining to some strange and mystical city buried in the annals of the deepest otherworld. And the most disturbing thing about them was simultaneously the most beautiful thing.
The visage of a woman always appeared in his dreams, faintly, briefly.
She had pale-red hair that flowed down her shoulders and back like rainfall, and a blanket of freckles like stars plastered on her cheeks. She wore a cloak, yellow, which swept across the ground as she walked, billowing in the breeze. It was vibrant as a field of sunflowers, and was the brightest colour he could make out within the dream.
And that was because the remainder of the dream was a stark, dull black.
Thousands of shadowy figures always obscured his path towards this woman, cast onto the ground by the present of a bright, shimmering light in the backdrop. They were fearsome as soldiers, their gazes a piercing crimson.
The shadows stood like a wall between Artemis and the woman, brandishing a plethora of weaponry, as if meant to scare him away, to keep him from reaching the woman and the light in the background that she gradually walked toward.
This bastard obstacle, they were his barriers, his shackles, his prison.
Just like the room he resided in now.
Lark, do you have anything to do with this pain…?
There was no answer to his inquiry. Of course, why would there be? Wasn't he just talking to himself in his head?
Artemis lifted the eyepatch that sat on his right eye, gradually opening his eyelids. His left eye churned with silver, rampaging like an eternally stormy sky, wisps surging back and forth around his iris.
You're the reason I lock myself away, why I've chosen to allow everyone to think I remain some lazy, useless Prince… you bastard Daemon.
Will you not even speak to me after all this time…?
Memories coursed through his head, interrupting his calm state. But no matter how much the stains of blood and the screams of agony tried to disturb him, he simply bit his lip like always, shaking himself out of his stupor.
It had been a day like this one— a rhythmic patter of rainfall on the windowpanes, the striking of thunder like drums— that he had first encountered the Daemonic Spirit that had made itself known as 'Lark'.
That was the day he had simultaneously killed his Magic Instructor, and the day prior to his self-initiated reclusion.
But those were memories he didn't want to draw upon. If the Daemon that had tricked him into a Contract didn't want to interact with him, then he wanted to continue pretending it didn't exist at all.
He lowered the eyepatch once more, letting out a relieved sigh as he returned to his swordcraft.
Suddenly, he heard a shrill scream erupt from outside his bedroom, coming from the vast hall. This section of the Palace was reserved for Artemis and his attendants, which means that it was likely a maidservant's voice.
Someone must have fallen again…
The corners of his eyes creased, wincing as the grandfather clock at the edge of his room struck an even hour, erupting with the sound of harmonious bells. For most people, this was a joyous sound, even if it meant waking up at an early hour.
But to Artemis, it was the grandest reminder that he could not just wake, he could not dress himself in his wardrobe of fanciful clothes and waltz out into the halls, ignoring the ireful gazes of his attendants, and dine with his own father. This was the father who often called him useless in the absence of his own brother, his father's prized son…
…his only real son.
It was around this time that the King, should be dining.
He stifled a chuckle. Perhaps it had been a maid who had fallen, dropping his father's habit of wine on her neatly-pressed dress. And what a shame it would have been, for she would have been chastised for her unseemly appearance by him.
A bitter man. A truly bitter, vile man.
Another scream resounded from outside of his bedroom door, closer this time. It was the same voice, same hurried anticipation, a wavering fear at the edge of its tone.
Odd…
He made his way towards the door, a third scream soon echoing through it.
But before he could make his way out, he stopped.
He hovered at the door, his hand resting on the doorknob.
No, I can't hesitate! I need to go. Stop- stop it!
He chided at himself, painfully so.
He couldn't get over his inhibition, his idea that they would think him a true, inhuman monster.
But he would think himself even more monstrous for shaking at the very notion of someone needing his assistance.
The matter of my attendants falls to me… no matter how much I act the role of a lazy, frail Prince, I must do my part…
Grimacing, he opened the door to his bedroom, stepping out into the hall.
Too in a hurry to think, he had forgotten to grab his sword.
It was a true shame, for what he was greeted with was certainly in need of it.
The silhouette of a woman ran rampantly at him, a manic expression on her face. A great wolf-like beast enshrouded the background, leaping at her with a murderous glint in its gaze.
What the f-ck is going on!?
He dashed forward, pulling her out of the way as the beast lunged past them, slamming into a pile of rubble behind them. He glanced down at the woman hurriedly, then back at the wolf, trying to ascertain his next move.
But then, he felt his mind seize up as they met each other's eyes.
The woman he held close had a head of pale-red hair, which sunk down her shoulders like rainfall, and a blanket of freckles illuminated her yellow gaze which shimmered with fear.
It was the woman who plagued his dreams!
And the beast pursuing her had risen, facing them as it shook itself awake from its dazed stupor.