His eyes are exactly the same shade of red as Corrin's. But they're sharper, smaller, as if he yearns to disappear from the very world. Corrin holds a more innocent flair with her big wide peepers, thanks to her young age. They could be twins, disregarding the age difference. This boy—or rather, this man's slit eyes are framed by beige bangs swept to the side, shy of unruly. His ears are pointed like Corrin's, blush red like his cheeks and the whites of his eyes. He's looking down, and his lips follow that direction. His despondent demeanour doesn't deter from the fact that the resemblance is uncanny, even with his boyish looks.
He cries like her too. Not wailing, and barely enough to catch attention.
He's garbed in an intricate set of armour, unmistakably Nohrian. What's peculiar about it is that it's predominantly white, not a very popular colour among the King and his kin. The lightweight protection clings around his youthful build. Amusingly his feet are exposed like little Azura's, but that's about as amusing as the situation gets.
In his hand dangles a mysterious-looking sword that grazes the ground. Its menacing hilt can almost detract from the depressions along the bronze, the ones that are reminiscent of eyes. It's Hoshidan. An odd yet fitting contrast.
An eternity passes while his only witness, a prince, stares in a blend of confusion and curiosity. The prince fails to realise it's been twilight for an awful amount of time, no clear distinction between the sun waking up and going back to sleep. The prince fails to identify his surroundings; near him is a humble bridge sitting atop a stream, which flows through a green landscape. The prince only wonders who this man is.
The enigmatic figure ceases his grief immediately. He raises his head and silently mutters. His mouth apathetically moves to look like he's saying:
"Don't."
He points the sword upwards, the tip at the crook of his neck. He closes his eyes before slowly plunging the weapon into his mandible. His eyes flutter open and roll upwards until they're just bloody voids sucking the life out of everything in its vicinity. The blade keeps going, at a painfully snail-like pace. His mouth is ajar, thus silence and blood leaks out. At this point he's just letting gravity do the rest. How the blade goes through his skull like grass is unbelievable. Impossible. Something that could only happen in a dream.
Then the two princes wake up. One from Hoshido, the other, Nohr. Ryouma rushes out to purge the first meal he's had since the capture of King Garon's child. Xander grabs his pillow and crawls under the bed to muffle his cries, so that he wouldn't alert anyone else.