In the royal palace of Tecatonia, there was a ball, a huge, exuberant ball. It was filled with laughter, dancing, and all sorts of fun. A lavish chandelier was illuminating the room, and where its light could not reach there were placed candles. Lots of various dishes and drinks were being brought out by servants all the time. Even though many bottles and barrels of wine were already empty there was no shortage of it. Nobles of all kinds could be seen partaking in conversations, joking around, singing, or simply enjoying the dancing and the music. At the end of the hall there was a long table at which sat the king with the queen as well as the highest placed nobles of the kingdom.
"Oh, that jester of yours is utterly amazing "said the noble next to the king. Unfortunately for him he did not get a response since the king was too absorbed in laughter. The jester's name was Brandon, he was a tall, middle aged and a skinny man with short black hair with a stubble on his face. His colourful clothes were tightly hugging his skin as he jumped and danced around while telling one joke after another. He has been Leos personal jester for eight years now, however with time resentment to the kingdom has been slowly growing inside of his heart as he witnessed all the atrocities that are happening to the people throughout the land of Tecatonia. Brandon has seen people die of hunger, thirst and of sickness simply because they did not have enough wealth, but the nobles and royalty did not care, they were too focused on their own pleasure or simply were not bothered by that fact. Many of them viewed the poorer as vermin and that their only purpose in life is to work for those above, even though without their work they themselves would not be able to live in such luxury. But that did not matter right now, right now he was at a ball and he is supposed to bring joy and laughter to the people around him, nevertheless he could not help but feel disgusted by his peers for partaking in this ordeal as if the soldiers are not dying at a senseless war fought over some land and riches, and the poor are wondering if they will be able to live until the end of the week.
As a noble himself, Brandon knew that he was also a part of the problem however he ignored it and did not do much to help other, justifying it by saying to himself that he needs this money to live, and that he would become a disgrace in the eyes of others. When he made the king laugh again, he felt a mix of disgust of joy: joy because he is doing his job well, and disgust because he is making the cruellest person, he knows laugh.
"I am such a disgrace." Bran thought to himself.
"Why do they deserve this pleasure and joy while the others toil and die for them, it does not make any sense to me. "He wondered.
Anger grew rapidly inside of him, his hands started lightly shaking and his next joke came out of his mouth sounding a bit quiverish. Noone seemed to notice that detail however Brandon felt increasingly angry with himself and the injustice of the system, he however chose to ignore the fact that he was a part of said system. Suddenly an idea for a joke popped inside of his head, an offensive one but it could make some people laugh, maybe even a king, it was a risky joke, one born from emotions which Brandon was feeling right now, one that was meant to be used to release some of the steam building up inside of him. Finally, he decided to take the risk.
"Oh Leo! Oh king! Oh almighty! Your grace truly knows no bounds, well maybe except for the 'vermin' as you like to call them, they know them. "
At first it seemed as if the joke went by smoothly, and no one took too much interest in its meaning, relieved by that outcome Bran looked up to the king preparing to say another joke, but when he looked up at Leo he saw his red pupils staring at him coldly, and his long black hair only adding to his minacity. The ruler stood up from his throne and asked.
"Would you repeat yourself? I would like to know if my ears deceive me "
Brandon trembled, he realized he had made a terrible blunder and his body was showing it, his pupils were quivering, legs seemed as if they were not able to lift up his weight and his mouth half opened looked as if it wanted to say something or spout out some words that could ease the king, however none came out.
"So, will you repeat yourself or will you just stand there like a fool. Well now that I think about it you are a fool, so it does suit you. "
Those words made Brandon realise that he has been standing like that for more than thirty seconds now, and as he looked around the room, panic overcame him as he realized everyone's eyes were pointed at him and not a single word except the kings was said. Even the people that laughed at his joke were now looking at him in disgust, for how could someone say such treacherous things to the head of the state. Finally, after what felt like eternity Bran could use his mouth again.
"No, no it was merely a joke, an anecdote, one without basis or any prejudice towards you, it was simply a stupid, stupid joke, I apologize for it will not happen again. It was a mistake I do not even know why I have said those things. Please forgive me I am begging you. "
"So, it was not my ears deceiving me, you truly have said such a disgusting thing to me. I do not understand. Why, why did you say that. What have I not given you. Was I such a person to you? "
"No, of course, not "
"Then answer me, why?"
Brandon was panicking, he knew why he said that joke, but revealing the reason was the same as asking for death.
"Answer me." – Came the voice of the king, it made panic rise inside of him, once again he started shaking more violently and his voice became shaken.
"I – I do not know my lord. Please forgive me for my insolence. It shall never happen again I swear. "
The kings' eyes narrowed, slowly he took of the crown off his head and placed it on the table.
"I know, I know that it will never happen again, your promises are of no importance of me, you vermin. "
He grabbed his sword by the hilt and unsheathed it. He raised his arm up into the ceiling, and even though he was standing more than five meters from Brandon he swung. The jester saw a blinding light and then heard a thud. Looking down he saw his right arm on the floor, his eyes widened and then he saw that beneath his elbow there was nothing. Then out of panic and fear he collapsed and cried out in pain, and then everything went black.
"Take that scum away from my sight, we still have a party to enjoy, don't we?" said the king while sitting down back on his throne.
***
Brandons eyes slowly opened. He was greeted by a sight of metal bars and grey brick walls all around him. Behind him was a stack of hay covered with a rough material, and in one of the corners of the room was a small deep hole. He looked down to his right arm and saw that what remained of it has been bandaged and somehow taken care of. With a groan he stood up and wondered. "How long are they planning on keeping me in here, I guess for offending him in such a way I will be kept here until I die or get executed, well whatever the case may be I really should figure out how and if I can leave this place."
Suddenly he heard a sound of footsteps approaching, his interest piqued as to who may that be and what business they have with him. A person revealed themselves, it was a royal guard clad in leather armour with an iron chest plate and some arm protectors, in his hands he carried some dry bread and a flask. Without saying a single word, he threw those items into the cell and started walking away. Brandon tried stopping the man to ask him some questions, but his tries ended up being in vain as the guard simply ignored him and walked away.
Bran being injured was naturally quite hungry and thirsty so without much hesitation he started gobbling down on the stale bread which had no taste to it whatsoever however it was still food, at least the water made the texture somehow bearable. After eating he stood up and walked up to one of the walls. He put the nail of his pointer finger on the wall. The nail started hissing and turning red, and soon smoke was coming out of it. When it was hot enough, he slid it down a bit and carved a line in the stone. One line for one day.
Boredom swiftly overtook him so he decided to lay on the hay and try to pass the time by sleeping with hope that a brilliant idea would come to his head while falling asleep, unfortunately no such idea occurred to him, and he fell asleep. Bran dreamt of fire, an everlasting fire that consumed everything in its path, it was inevitable, and escape was futile. After the fire devoured everything, it cleared up, revealing a beautiful starlit night sky, in the sky were thirteen stars that were glowing brighter than any other.
And then he woke up. He did not remember much of the dream, but a single number was pushing itself into his mind, it was the number thirteen. After waking up he walked up to the wall and drew a second line, and then he waited consumed by though. He waited like that for hours until the guard came again handing him the same thing as he did the day prior. The stale bread was disgusting, it felt like trying to eat a brick, and when the brick finally gave in the inside was drier than sand and it fell apart easily getting stuck between his teeth and sticking under his tongue or on his gums, however it was also delicious, it relieved him of hunger. The water though was delicious through and through, its muddy taste did not bother him, the feeling of water going down his throat and into his stomach was pure bliss.
After a few days the disgusting bread and the bliss of water were the only things that he looked forward to, he already gave up on trying to escape, there was no chance for that, there is too much security and risk involved, that was how he explained it to himself. One day when he woke up and walked over to the wall to draw yet another line, the third one in a third column.
"Already thirteen days huh." he said to himself. The number seemed special to him, but he did not pay too much attention to that and simply sat down on his "bed" and waited for the guard. But today was special, the guard came earlier than usual, way earlier, only a few minutes have passed since he had drawn the line on the wall. This time the guard was not alone. Accompanied by two other guards he came to the bars and took out a key to unlock them.
"Get up." Said the familiar guard.
"Where am I going?" asked Brandon while standing up. However, he was met with deafening silence. Without hesitating too much he stood up and walked out of his cell that he already got so used to. When he was next to the guards, they put a metal glove on his remaining hand, it was bent in such a way that his hand could not get out of it and then, together with it a bag was put over his head. After that he had an idea as to where they were going to take him. He has seen other people wearing the same things as he was right now. He saw the at the execution platform close to the main square not too far away from the noble district of the capital. That woke him up, how could he have been so stupid to give up on escaping, at least if he tried to escape, he had a chance to live but now that chance was lost forever. Defeated he complied and let himself be dragged forward by the guards. With each step reality started to sink in, he was going to die, and there was nothing that could stop it. His eyes seen by no one slowly filled themselves with tears, every next step was accompanied by a droplet on the ground. Brans body was shaking, not violently and not lightly it was shaking like a scared cat that met a dog in an alleyway with no escape. He was shaking like a soldier whose weapon was kicked out of his hand. Fear was the only thing in his mind; it clouded and devoured everything else in his mind. He felt the scenery change, the sun was warming up his body, the ground was softer and for the first time in thirteen days he could hear the outside world. Suddenly they came to a halt and the guards turned left.
"Watch your step there are stairs in front of us." said on of the guards.
Panic and fear were now in full effect, they were clouding his perception so much that he did not even acknowledge the sound of hundreds if not thousands of people talking between themselves, wondering who today is going to be executed and what crimes did they commit. Walking up the stairs he could feel the wood under his feet grazing them, he could feel a hole growing inside of his stomach, consuming him from the inside. Now with each step there was not one droplet on the ground but two, and them three, and then more came along. After what felt like eternity they reached to top of the stairs and continued walking forward. And then they came to a stop and turned their faces to the right, the guards put the jester on his knees and raised his hand, then they took of the mask revealing his face. Bran's face was all wet from sweat and tears, he was breathing heavily and with each breath his body shook increasingly. Behind him stood a man dressed in claret robes with a white tree engraved in the middle. His face was covered by a spiky hood with two holes for eyes. In his hands was a two-handed sword, as tall as the man himself. In the hilt and throughout the blade there were embedded crystals. The man walked up to Brandon and leaned the sword on one of the wooden pillars. Then without a word he took out a small dagger and stabbed it into his left eye. The cut was shallow enough to not injure his brain. Bran's eye spilled out of his socket and blood spilled out of it. The pain was unbearable, it reminded him of fire burning through his whole head, igniting everything, and leaving nothing but ashes.
A blood curling scream was heard throughout the city as Brandon was being held by the guards trying to hold him in place. Pain replaced fear and panic consuming him from the inside. The executor however did not care; he was used to screams and this one although filled with agony and despair did not impress the man clad in claret. He picked his sword back up and lifted it over Brandons head, which was being held in place by three guards, and asked.
"Any last words jester? "
Brandons thoughts started clearing up, and after that they revealed something to him, he realized it, it all made sense to him now, it was right in front of him all this time. He started screaming again however this time, those screams were actual words and sentences.
"Thirteen! It's Thirteen! It has always been thirteen! Thirteen flames and thirteen stars! Thirteen statues! Thirteen kings! Thirteen Islands! And lastly! Thirteen heads!" His words were taken by most as nonsensical screams of a crazed person of the brink of death who has lost his sanity completely. And some even started laughing. At the same time as people were laughing his metal glove started turning red, and smoking, it was heating up. The executioner confused by Brandons senseless screaming lowered his sword before, so he had to raise it again. When he was about to swing it downwards, someone from the crowd started screaming.
"Run! Run people there is a fire! "
Aeden was eight years old.