When I was born, the first thing I was taught was not to walk or to talk, no child born in my kingdom learns these skills first. No, the first thing we children learn is hatred and fear, fear of another race. My people have been at war with the Zametzi of the far north for generations, so long that we've forgotten why we fight; all we know is that we fight.
My people, and theirs, are vastly different. Our cultures, religions, abilities and even appearances set us apart. The Zametzi live in a frozen land where my people live on sand and in water; they wear fur and coats to their ankles where we dress in colors and thin chiffon. Our cuisine is a blend of fresh fruits and wheat-based dishes while they dine on dry meats and frozen vegetables. The north sport abilities of ice and fire while my people are blessed with creation. Where we have kings and queens they obey their Tsar and Tsarina. The royal house of the north are ruthless, soulless monsters; they are the Todoroki. The royal house of the south, the Yaoyorozu, are small but mighty and noble. I am a Yaoyorozu.
I am the last Yaoyorozu, aside from my mother, as my fathers slain body lays cold on the battlefield before me. Blood and fresh dew stained the unbroken blades of grass whilst bodies of both kingdoms decorate the landscape as if piecing together a puzzle. This was not an uncommon sight for me; since my twelfth birthday, I've walked the fields after the battles when possible. I pray for those who are gone and weep for those who are soon to be as they succumb to their injuries.
Family is important to my people, we cherish the love, hope and strength they give us. My father once told me this was the purpose of the royal family as well, to provide hope and strength for our people. Staring down at his lifeless body now, I found that I was unable to offer either as I felt the weight of his death pulling me to the ground. "Take him home." I choked on the words, sobs coming out in bursts as boiling tears trailed down my face.
Guards shuffled around me as a large hand was placed on my shoulder. "You should go home too." This was Tokoyami, my personal guard since I was eight and trusted friend. He was head of my guard and never left my side, always on the prowl for danger. He must know the pain I felt as he gave me a reassuring squeeze.
Normally, I would wander the fields for hours finding the poor souls who could not be saved. I'd kneel beside them to comfort them in their last moments no matter their allegiance. No one deserves to die alone. But today was different, I'd grown used to the fallen friends, but seeing my fathers void eyes as they stared at nothing shattered a part of me I was unprepared for. Tokoyami was right; I should go home with my father.
Turning, I prepared myself for the journey home until a strangled cry from further in the field, beyond my line of sight, caused my heart to quake even more. One poor soul was alone in a field amongst their fallen brethren, and from the sound they'd made, they too would soon be fallen. My guards were busy hauling my father's corpse, with great care, to notice and I stared at their backs as they progressed home. I turned back toward the cry, I would not leave this one to die, not alone.
Tokoyami caught me again, this time by the wrist, and gave a hard look. "Not that one, Milady." The way he'd said it caught me off guard. Some of these men and women on the field were friends of his, people he'd trained or met through his years of service, so his behavior was unusual. Unless he knew who the cry belonged to and felt they deserved to die alone.
I flashed a brisk scowl his way before I continued to make my way through the arrangement of bodies and blood looking for any sign of life. All to soon, my eyes fell upon the stark white head of man with bright red eyes and bloody frame. He was slouched with his back against a half-burnt tree and his limbs laid limp on the ground.
I stopped, understanding Tokoyami's previous hesitation. The white hair and abnormal eyes, these were traits that belonged only to the royal family of the Zametzi, just as obsidian hair, onyx eyes and fair skin were trademarks of my own family. This was likely the man who lead the attack on my father and his guards, killing at least twenty-five of our soldiers and our king as they made their way back home for the night. This man was a long way from home.
His name was Gregory Todoroki, youngest of the Zametzi princes, and here he sat bleeding out from a jagged slash to his abdomen only a few hours from our royal temple. "Not this one, Momo." At the sound of my given name, an informality, I knew Tokoyami was serious.
Here, amongst death, even my childhood friend could only see hatred. I turned on him then, as this was why a war that no one could remember how it began continued. "And why not Fukimage. He is suffering and in pain and a child. Nothing will ever change if we continue on this way." My whispering must had agitated the young prince, as he struggled to stand but gasped loudly in pain and groaned when he slumped back to the ground. Tokoyami's harsh eyes changed to understanding then to caution, but he gave me a nod and take a small step back.
The young enemy eyed us both, clearly alarmed by my guard's withdrawal as surely if I recognized him, he recognized me. I sat beside him and placed my hand over his, "Don't worry, I'm here now. You are not alone." Where his eyes were filled with hatred and caution before, now they turned sad and fearful, but that fear was not directed toward me; he knew he was dying.
He breathed out heavily and his eyes were filled with pain as he struggled to inhale. "Thank you." His voice was husky and dry, and I felt a cold numbness move over my hand. A thin layer of ice covered my fingers and was crawling up my palm. It was unnerving; the children of my people are told that the magic of the Zametzi will freeze you, leaving you in a place between life a death cold and alone. Or, if the Zametzi was a Todoroki, then they could freeze you and burn your soul apart all at once. "I'm sorry…I can't control it anymore." In a way, to not be able to control one's magic, I found that more frightening than the gash in his stomach.
"Shhh, young one, you have nothing to fear, my hand will thaw." Tokoyami came forward slowly, kneeling beside us as the young prince begged the unthinkable of me. He asked me to end the pain. He asked me to end his life.
I wasn't prepared to take such an inexperienced life, this was not something I could do for the child. Instead, I began to sing to him, if I could not cure his pain, then perhaps I could distract him from it. I could comfort him in his last moments.
It wasn't until I felt the chill in my hand lessen that I stopped singing and watched as the youngest Zametzi prince drew his last breath. Gregory Todoroki was dead. My father was dead.
Death will not bring peace, only more sadness and despair. I doubt this is something the head of the Todoroki family will understand, as he was not known for his kindness and understanding. No, Shoto Todoroki was not known for his kindness, rather he was known for his cold demeanor. So how would he react when he found out his youngest brother had been slain in the heart of the Ceraci nation, my kingdom.
I've based the cultures and regions of the two kingdoms on real countries, so see if you can guess them! Also, the plot is honestly not my own, I got the idea from a book I read, so see if you know the book too! If you have any questions, review or PM me! I love reviews! Thanks!
