Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ.
PLEASE READ FIRST: This fiction has Christianity-based themes. If you cannot handle another person's historically-accurate, yet fictitious take on the religion, then this story is not for you. Any and all comments based on your personal opinions of religion will be ignored, as it is irrelevant to the terms of reviewing on this site. I will, however, happily accept ANY and ALL flames, constructive criticism, and compliments on this story based on my knowledge of proper GRAMMAR, KNOWLEDGE OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE, LITERARY ELEMENTS, PLOT STRUCTURE, and CHARACTAR DEVELOPMENT. If you review by simply saying "This sucks," I would like to know WHY it, so I can improve. I apologize if this sounds too abrasive, but I have no patience for mediocrity and laziness.
There will be violence, gore, adult situations, the possibility of drug/alcohol abuse, and other highly sensitive subjects aside from religious themes. Also, I have taken creative liberty to change the physical appearances, BUT NOT THE PERSONALITIES, of King Cold, Frieza and Cooler, so as to better suit their roles as humans and not aliens; also Seventeen and Eighteen's names have been changed to their foreign counterparts so that way it reads better and suits the story.
If you haven't turned away by now, please enjoy reading Chapter 1.
According to ancient legend, billions and billions of years ago, when the universe exploded into existence, the Gods of the Cosmos were born. Initially made from the light of the white-hot after-glow of the explosion, they soon took on solid forms; these forms changed depending on where in the ever-expanding universe they resided.
Tired from eons of travelling incomprehensible distances, these six cosmic deities decided to make their own home. Diligently they worked hard on making the perfect place of residence; they chose the perfect spot in the galaxy suitable to accommodate their every need and used the elements created by the nuclear fusion of the sun to create life-sustaining matter.
After billions of years of work, they soon had the perfect home; earth. The king-god, Vegeta, and his wife, the queen-god Annin, took residence in the lofty skies and mountains. Because they ruled all things on the planet, as well as the universe, they had to choose a place from which they could view the heavens beyond and keep a watch on their precious creation below.
The god of the water and conductor of the plate tectonics, Bardock, made his home deep within the oceans of the world. His wife, Hanasia, the goddess of nature-made growth, took to the shores so she could be on the land and near her husband.
Nappa, the god of fire and an expert smith, hid deep in the mountains where precious metals were abundant. He was close with the King and prestigiously made many weapons for him, perfecting His Majesty's lightning-bolt spears he would soon be famous for wielding.
The final primordial god, Broly, took to ancient caverns deep, deep within the earth's crust. With no mate to be had, he spent his years in solitude, collecting earths hidden wealth. Refusing to venture to the surface of the earth, he was oblivious to the changes that were taking place by his fellow gods.
After millions of years of experimenting with creating life (failed experiments being wiped-out altogether, and other's used as "survival of the fittest" test dummies), the four other gods collaborated together to create a being they could share their knowledge with. This being eventually became known as homo sapiens.
The problem with this was, the gods wanted creatures so unique that the humans had their own souls and wills. With this, came a difference in ideals, and thus wars among other issues. The humans were so unorganized and individualized that the death-toll was rising. Souls began taking up space on the planet, and something had to be done about it.
Broly's underground realm was roomy enough for ectoplasmic matter to collect, which was how the god of the underworld became the god of the dead. Collecting souls caused him to become one of the more infamous gods, due to his morbid duty.
The souls having a place to go solved the space issue on earth, but it didn't help the war issue. The King and Queen gods were in over their heads with prayer and celebrations of types, courtesy of the mortal beings. They decided to produce heirs of their own to take off some of the work-load they have unintentionally burdened themselves with.
King Vegeta and Queen Annin had one son together, whom they named after the King. He was appointed the godly duties of the god of war. He would soon be worshipped and praised for aid in countless wars and battles throughout Man's existence on earth.
He grew up thirsty for blood and the heat of battle, claiming many lives on his own. He relished in glory and was always victorious. With his wife, Zangya, the goddess of victory and wisdom, and also Bardock and Hanasia's middle child, there was no enemy that couldn't be conquered.
Being that Hanasia was the goddess of growth, it was only natural that she bore many children, so her and Bardock had four together: Raditz, the eldest; Zangya, the only girl; and a set of twins, Goku and Turles.
Raditz was the god of the night and lunar activity. He also was a renowned hunter of not only wild game but people as well. He had a bizarre fascination with the fear of a human (as well as the taste), and mysterious disappearances were often blamed on him. Needless to say, he is not the favorite child, though his parents couldn't bring themselves to exile him as King Vegeta did his bastard half-breed son, Tarble.
Turles, the older twin was the god of youth and longevity. Infamous for his immaturity, lack of morals, sobriety and chasteness, he was often viewed as the god of celebrations. One thing was certain, he had perfected the art of wine-making among other spirits, and prayer was often directed toward him when the wine-making season began on various portions of the planet.
Goku, the youngest of the children, was the favored one. He was the god of solar activity, luck and good fortune, and exemplified all that is just. One could say that he was different from the other gods in moral standing, for he was the only one to retain his virtue and always kept a clear head. His parents often showered him with praise, and even the King showed much pride in the young god. Of course, this began a deep-seated rivalry with Vegeta, who was competitive by nature for glory and attention.
Nappa chose not to mate or have children, being that he preferred his life aiding Vegeta and his father. Broly also did not have a mate, but his work-load was immense, and he figured he could use some assistance.
From the tragic souls of two siblings, a brother and sister, who shared the same death-day as well as similar looks, he fashioned himself two minions to aid him in collecting the souls of the dead. Sytten and Atten were their names, and legends speak carefully of the two entities, naming them omens of death and bad luck.
Sytten, the male, and victim of suicide, was the embodiment of the grief and sorrow associated with the death of a loved one. He is famous for haunting areas suffering from plagues, famine and wars; he is also said to take the form of a raven, while his sister favors the dove.
Atten, the female, was the embodiment of the comfort and strength to move on from the loss of a loved one. She is best known for easing the pain of young wives and mothers who have lost their husbands and sons to battle. Another thing she is known for is bringing misfortune to men who treat their wives badly, as this was the cause of her death and her brother's suicide. Despite their opposite roles in death, they still stayed by each other's side.
The gods were content, despite some being more infamous than the others, because they were still revered and respected by the humans. Everything the humans did was done according to the gods' standards, or as close to as possible…at least for a while.
Eventually, some of the mortal beings started pulling away from the gods and making up their own belief systems; those who went the scientific approach viewed that belief in the gods was primitive and made no sense with their theoretical beliefs that everything that happens in nature was more or less controlled by gravity and not ethereal entities. Others fabricated their own beliefs, mostly centered on a singular god (monotheistic), rather than many (polytheistic). Eventually, the singular-god belief would catch on like wild fire, and the belief in King Vegeta and all of the gods beneath him would be whittled down to less than half of their original followers.
The biggest blow to the amount of followers of the gods was when the infamous Kingdom of Chilling was established. Extremely devout believers in the One God, warriors from a portion of the world that was dark and frozen half of the year traveled south to the serene, hill-covered landscape and conquered the area, burning, hanging, and out-right massacring those they deemed "pagan" (which was nearly everyone).
The most blood-thirsty of the line of vicious rulers was the most recent king, King Cold. He had a particular liking for public burnings, believing that fire could purge any evil spirit and send it back to hell from whence it came. If one didn't follow his belief in the Faith of the One God, they were arrested for heresy and sentenced to die the next day.
Despite being cruel, he was also well-known for having one of the best military forces on the planet, which allowed him to expand his rule over a vast amount of land, thus naming it The Cold Empire. King Cold was respected and feared by some worldly leaders (who often surrendered without a fight), whereas others resisted as best as they could. Of course, this led to the destruction of that particular kingdom and another plot of land to be added to Cold's ever-growing empire.
Needless to say, the world was in trouble. The gods had the power to help, but they would only help those who believed in them. In their eyes, why should they help those who denied their existence?
A gentile snow began to fall the evening of the day Her Royal Magesty the Queen Leena, of the Kingdom of Chilling, died. Beloved by her subjects as a stern yet fair ruler, the progressive decline of her health and eventual death was a major blow to the morale of the citizens of the kingdom and Royal Empire.
The cruelty of her husband, King Cold, was not altogether stopped, but was lessened during their marriage. Beheadings and burnings were fewer, taxes were lifted slightly, and more treaties were made with adjoining kingdoms rather than declarations of war. Unfortunately, when the queen became ill, the tyrannical grip-hold was reinstated, as the civilians all feared.
Funeral preparations were made during the queen's final days, so it was to the king's pleasure that an autopsy would not be performed and the funeral would be held the same day. There was no wake, and the funeral was to only be attended by members of the court and other nobles of the kingdom. Of course, the various towns and villages seemed to be shrouded in a sea of black, as the citizens all mourned without having to attend the funeral.
Meanwhile, in the castle's private burial grounds, the nobles gathered together to pay their respects to the late queen. All dressed in royal blue, the color of mourning that the people of Her Majesty's home country wore, they stood around the casket as a royal priest spoke words of prayer and safe passage to the afterlife.
King Cold stood in a stoic silence that contrasted the seemingly-genuine solemn expressions of his two sons, Frieza, the young prince, and the older prince, Cooler, who was next in line to the throne. It was hard to tell whether the royal trio was truly hurt by the loss of a queen, wife and mother, but it wasn't unheard of that neither of them visited the dying queen often; the king even took mistresses to his bedchambers and had not a bit of shame boasting about it.
There was one person, however, who remained by the queen's side, even at Her Majesty's worse. This person was the Lady Bulma, daughter of the Count and Countess of the County of Roxton, and personal servant to the queen herself. Though her face remained firm, she could not stem the flow of tears that streaked down her colorless face as she watched the casket lower into the ground. She loved the queen, and did all she could to follow her prestigious example; because of her rank of seniority over the other Ladies-in-Waiting, she made sure they were to follow the high-moral standard as well by keeping true to The Faith and their womanly virtue.
At her side stood her only son, Trunks, who was the same age as the young Prince Frieza, eighteen. He broke his grave stare from the scene before him to glance over at his mother. He wasn't as close to the queen, though he knew that his mother was, and he was genuinely concerned for her sake.
Suddenly, a small, ring-adorned hand reached up to brush a stray tear from Bulma's face. Trunks blinked, unsure of what he had just seen; he did not remember seeing anyone on the opposite of his mother, as she was at the head of the group on their side of the grave. His mother did not react to the gentle gesture, and he leaned forward ever slightly to see if there was anyone on the other side.
There was. A fair-faced young woman, about the same height as Bulma stood staring with what seemed like an expression of sincere sympathy at the woman she had just touched. Her blue eyes, however held not even the most minute form of emotion. Trunks could not, for the life of him, remember seeing this girl in the castle at any given moment. He would definitely remember seeing her, too, for she did not dress at all in the same style that was quite common and fashionable for the area, let alone the current weather.
Her style of dress suggested she was of some sort of foreign descent, possibly even royalty, given the gold jewelry on her neck and hands, but surely she had to be cold? The thin, flowing white robes cloak and hood she wore couldn't possibly protect her from the biting chill. What's more, she wore nothing on her feet, save for golden bangles around her ankles.
Trunks wished to ask the woman where she came from, but, again, no one seemed to notice her presence. A covert nudge to his side, courtesy of his grandfather, the Count, suggested that he had better pay attention to the prayers being given, lest he be punished for rudeness. Still he could not help but let his mind wander to the mysterious young maiden.
"…may she rest in ever-lasting peace, and her mortal soul reside for eternity in the Kingdom of the One God." The royal priest closed his book of Holy Scripture. The balding man bowed to the king and the princes and walked back toward the entrance of the castle. Not a moment afterward was the area full of the hisses of hushed voices as the grave was slowly filled back up.
"Trunks?" Bulma asked thickly, addressing her son, who was taking the free opportunity, as the other members of court filed back inside of the castle, to look for the girl.
"Son, who are you looking for?" She asked, this time with more clarity. She withdrew a silk handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed any remaining tears from her eyes.
Trunks looked toward his mother. He was silent for a moment, as he pondered whether it would be wise to mention seeing strange people that others couldn't see or not.
"It's nothing," He finally responded, stealing one last glance, "I think I am going to retire early; I did not get much sleep last night. Will you be alright, by the way?"
"I will be fine," Bulma smiled sadly, "I'll have to remain strong for the others and continue living by the queen's example. But you go ahead and rest, my dear. You've been practicing your music relentlessly, and you deserve a rest."
Trunks smiled once more at his mother and inclined his head politely toward his grandparents. He strode across the whitening lawns, skirting around various headstones, and entered the castle. The mysterious girl plagued his mind, and he had to know why he saw her, yet no one else did. Surely someone with her bizarre appearance would have attained more attention than just his. Also, why did she touch his mother's face? Regardless, he had to seek her out, if only to satisfy his own curiosity.
"He's really grown to be a prime example of what every young man should be," Bulma's father praised none-too-modestly.
"Yes, I'm quite proud of him," She replied, staring at the door her son had just stepped through. She didn't have long to let her mind wander before her mother chimed in.
"I can't say enough how smart and handsome he is!" The older woman said happily, despite the current circumstances, "I'm quite shocked that he hasn't taken any interest in any pretty women here in court! Regardless of his upsetting conception, no offence to you, Bulma dear, you've really done well by him. He will make an excellent husband."
Bulma gave an odd sort of smile, which looked somewhat like a grimace. She was used to her mom's habit of bringing up how Trunks was conceived, and the shock-wave it caused the other nobles of the kingdom. The woman had good intentions, but Bulma couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt every time the event was mentioned.
Images of the strange man in golden armor swam into her view. Their hasty introductions and steamy coupling played like a fast-forwarded movie reel; how the man left shortly afterward, never to hear from her again, leaving her eighteen-year-old body impregnated with his son.
Because she was of noble blood, sexual relations out of wed-lock was strictly forbidden, so she had to claim rape. She swore she didn't remember who the man was, or if he was a noble. Since she was well-loved for her intellect, parents' high status and charming attitude, she was forgiven by the queen herself. Still, a lie was a lie, and it weighed on her conscience what she was hiding. In the strictly-religious society, if the truth ever got out, her very life could be at stake. It was bad enough that she was hiding the fact that she was not religious at all.
"Dear," Her mother said gently, noticing her daughter's lack of focus, "Are you sure you're going to be fine? Do you need me to stay with you tonight?"
Bulma shook her head, "No, mother, I am fine. I've just got quite a bit on my mind." Idly, she reached up to adjust the royal-blue, fur-lined hat poised on the top of her head. Forgetting the silk kerchief that was held in her hand, the fabric slipped from her fingers with a sudden gust of wind. She reached out to snatch it out of the air, but the silk had flown high out of her reach and entangled itself in the bare branches of an apple tree.
"Oh bother," Bulma's father said, looking up at the handkerchief high above them, "And I say, is that a dove up there? That's a good sign, indeed." Though rather hard to see against the pale gray clouds above, the bird in question seemed to acknowledge the fact that it was being talked about; it stared directly down at the trio.
"Good signs aside," The man's wife added, also looking up at the bird, "The snow is falling heavier; we really should go inside the castle, lest we freeze to death out here."
The dove's eyes followed the family back into the castle. It hopped along the branch it sat upon until it came to the neglected kerchief. It nipped up the fabric into its tiny beak and took off in the direction of the town surrounding the castle.
In the crowded streets of the adjoining town, a young man dressed in a rich set of robes and cloak of black, stared directly upward at the sky, unaffected by the snow falling on him. This strange behavior went unnoticed by the other townspeople who bustled about, concerned with nothing more than the death of their beloved queen.
The sadness in the air was beautiful to the man. He could taste and smell the very fear of the people, who knew not what to do now that there was nothing to stop the tyrant king from wreaking havoc once more. Of course, their depressing concerns were not his own; he just reveled in them.
If he weren't staring directly at the sky, he definitely would not have noticed a stray dove flying lower and lower toward the ground. Within moments, the bird morphed into a young woman identical to him in appearance, save for her blonde hair. Her white robes and gold jewelry mimicked his black robes and silver jewels. He noticed first-off the forgotten silk fabric in her hand.
"A souvenir?" He questioned without so much as a greeting; his voice soft-spoken and rather detached. He took the fabric from his counterpart, "The tears are fresh and hold much despair. This person must have been very close to the dead queen."
"She intrigues me," The blonde said; the pair began to saunter down the narrow, filthy street, as if the townspeople weren't ridden with depression, "Or rather, her son does."
"Careful, Atten," The black-haired man responded, "Lord Broly wouldn't like that."
The girl, Atten, rolled her eyes. "Please, Sytten, you know that I didn't mean it that way. That child, though…he noticed me when no one else could."
Sytten nodded, but said nothing. Atten took this as a cue to continue.
"Perhaps he could be of help. If we could possibly appeal before the others—"
"Dear sister," Sytten interjected, " You know very well that the boy is considered a bastard by none other than his father. Also, you and I aren't the most popular among the higher-ups, so the chances of either of us gaining an appeal are more of a laughable fantasy than a reality."
Atten grabbed her brother's upper arm, stopping him and wheeling him around to face her. "We need any and all aid we can get!" She said, "Look around you! It's because of this," She gestured to her filth-covered, gray surroundings with much contempt, "We are losing believers! This pig-sty is our enemy!"
The male snatched his arm back, "Very well, but I want to see the boy for myself."
"Because you have a better perception of whose worthy of our realm and whose not?"
"Absolutely," He smiled, ignoring the sarcasm, "But it might be best to keep quiet of our endeavors until we are absolutely sure about the boy. Meanwhile, I hear rumors that there are others just like him who are of age. I'm surprised the rumors are only just now spreading."
Atten thought for a moment, tugging her hood over her head more, as the breeze pushed it back, "Perhaps whoever started the rumor wanted it to be heard. I mean, why would the secret be allowed to be let out after all this time of being careful, assuming of course the rumors are actual facts."
"Right. Well, while I am getting to know our little friend a bit better, you will find out all you can about this rumor. You are the lesser of us two evils with the lofty ones, so surely you can find out something."
The female nodded her agreement. In an instant she had disappeared in a flurry of white feathers.
Almost a week after the queen's death, a new reform had already swept over the kingdom. On-site, public executions were already brought back into law, and prayer in the privacy of the civilian's homes was once again outlawed.
The king made no effort to search for a new queen, feeling that he was much too old already to worry about such things. He was perfectly fine with the fact that his eldest son and heir would soon take his place with the woman he—the king himself—had chosen as the princes' betrothed. The Princess Viilea, of the much warmer and extravagant kingdom of Luxus was the perfect match; unrivaled in beauty, it was quite a blow to the other suitors that she would go for someone from a kingdom known for their barbaric ways.
Nonetheless, Princess Viilea and Prince Cooler are to be wed the day of King Cold's death. The Princess' coronation as queen is to be taken place that day, as well. Needless to say, the kingdom's civilians all wondered just what kind of a ruler the quiet, intellectual, yet sometimes introverted, prince would be. It was very well-known that he is much kinder to his servants than his younger brother, yet he has shown a certain disregard for his eventual position of power.
The people speculated whether the rightful heir would give up his birthright to his cunning, more sadistic younger brother; after all, it was no secret who wanted the title more…
In the center of the town, an event was taking place, causing a bit of an uproar with the townsfolk: a man was sentenced to death. The executioner gripped the whimpering, quivering man roughly by the shoulder and pushed him onto his knees before a blood-stained chopping block. Tears and mucus flowed freely down the frightened peasant's face as he lowered it onto the wood.
THOK! In one fell swoop, the head of another accused heretic rolled off of the chopping-block and onto a pile of hay before it. The crowd of spectators of this public event cringed and clutched their religious trinkets, each thankful that they were able to keep their heads for a little while longer.
Trunks, who was there to witness the scene, felt chills as he watched the botched head's eyes blinked slowly at him. The urge to vomit was all too close, and he very much wished the head would shut its eyes. Suddenly, a voice that he didn't much like, but distracted him nonetheless was heard from beside him.
"I am quite glad to see that the old punishments have been reinstated," The owner of the voice sneered, "Wouldn't you agree, master Trunks?" He said the word with as much sarcasm as he could muster.
Trunks looked over at the man next to him, none other than Prince Frieza. The young royal loved attending the executions, dressing in only his best furs and jewels; his crown poised on his neatly-cropped blonde hair.
"If you say so, your highness," The lavender-haired male responded without much enthusiasm. He wasn't at all apologetic that he didn't share the prince's blood-lust, he was only sorry that he was chosen to accompany the spoiled tyrant this day.
Frieza took little notice of Trunks' less-than-happy remark, as well as little notice of the simpering commoners bowing at his feet as the pair walked through the dispersing crowd.
"I want to congratulate you on getting accepted to Clearington University at such a young age," The prince continued. Trunks was rather taken aback by the uncharacteristic kindness, and was at a loss for words.
"It's not every day that someone such as yourself gets accepted to such a prestigious school."
"Someone such as myself…your majesty?"
"Someone from an uncertain lineage; I mean I'm not even sure if we are fifth cousins or not."
"With all due respect, I-I don't think it really matt—"
Frieza laughed heartily, cruelly, "You are so naïve," He said, getting a hold on himself, "Of course nobility matters, but I am rather shocked that you haven't chosen to take up a higher position in court. The only reason that you are even allowed in court and not sent back to the Count and Countess is because my mother requested that your mother remain in court and attend the king." He then smiled up at Trunks, who was nearly a head taller than him, yet the same age.
"Of course you know what that means?" He asked cynically.
"Your majesty, please!" Trunks said rather loudly, not hiding the offended and shocked look on his face, "This is my mother you're speaking so openly about!"
"You are right, I do apologize," The prince said, not sounding at all apologetic, "At any rate, I do hope your rather conventional family can handle the cost. Of course, if you talk to the secretary, I'm sure he could give you a lo—"
Suddenly much commotion from the other passersby cut the prince's sentence off short. "Prince Cooler is here!" Someone announced, followed by much groveling.
"FRIEZA!" A sharp bark came from the head of the bowed citizens, who had parted the way to make room for the tall figure to step through. Viewed as the opposite of Frieza, his chin-length, dark hair that usually fell into his eyes danced around his thin, handsome face as he marched toward his brother, looking quite haughty yet annoyed.
Trunks, who actually held more respect for the elder brother, than the other, bowed to the figure, but received no acknowledgement otherwise.
"You will not address me in such a disrespectful manner in front of these commoners!" Frieza piped up, throwing his chest out and straightening his back. The effect didn't do much to add to the young prince's height compared to his willowy brother.
"As your elder, and heir to the throne, I have every right to speak in whatever manner I see fit," Cooler said icily, earning a deeply-reproachful look from the younger prince, "And since you pointedly ignore any and all servants sent to retrieve you, the king, your father, has asked me to do so."
A silent staring match seemed to be going on between the two brothers. Frieza, face red from sheer embarrassment, looked as if he were trying to cause Cooler to burst into flames with the intense, fiery glare he was giving. Cooler, however, remained indifferent and unaffected. Trunks, a mere observer now, personally thought Frieza was being childish and unreasonable; the prince was also making himself look rather foolish in front of the other townspeople.
Finally, though, Frieza broke. A loud sigh of defeat escaped his lips and his tense body relaxed. "I apologize," He said rather stiffly. Trunks was rather surprised at the sudden submissive role the otherwise brazen prince had taken. Though Cooler finally acknowledged Trunks' presence with a curt nod, Frieza did not bother to bid his chosen companion for the day a farewell.
The young noble sighed. Every encounter he's had with Frieza was an uncomfortable one. He was very much well-aware of the prince's numerous attempts to gloat about the fact that even though they were related (albeit, distantly), Trunks was still no better than a lowly commoner. Still, he didn't let these passive-aggressive insults change his own personal opinions about himself. He knew very well that he was just as educated, talented and cultured as the rest of the nobles. Of course, even if he wanted to bite back with a witty retort, he couldn't; he did value his life, after all.
After a quiet dinner with his mother later on that evening, Trunks was very much happy to be able to enjoy a bit of quiet. Deciding that he'd practice music first before calling a servant to draw him a hot back, he made his way toward his own bedchamber first. Much like his mother, he loved to work on special projects behind closed doors, though his were for musical purposes as opposed to Bulma's inventive writings and sketches.
He needed the de-stressing remedy that the violin gave him. After all, being Prince Frieza's friend-for-a-day really took a toll on him mentally. He really had thought that he was to have a break from the little tyrant for the day, but he was wrong. After Frieza's meeting with his lord and father, Trunks was re-summoned to witness and impaling and then to follow the prince around for the rest of the evening, listening to His Highness' dreams and aspirations and His opinions on how the kingdom should be run.
So stuck in his own head, Trunks barely registered a fellow hall-occupant until he accidentally ran into her.
"Forgive me," He said quickly, turning to see whom he had struck, "Oh, Lady Aoi, I-I didn't see you…" He smiled apologetically at the brunette servant-girl.
The young female, Aoi, laughed breathily, "It's quite fine, Master. I know how you're always off in another world." She smiled brightly in the flickering light from the torches lining the otherwise dark stone hall. Being of foreign stock, and lower-standing parents, she didn't have very many friends in the castle; Trunks, however, always showed her much kindness, so naturally she developed a bit of a fondness for him.
"Is your mother well?" She asked, "I know she was a favorite of the Queen—rest her soul."
"She is fine," Trunks responded, not quite in the mood for small-talk, but not wanting to injure the young woman's feelings, "She is strong, you know this."
Aoi smiled, "Of course," She said brightly. She noticed Trunks' body inching further toward the direction of his room, "But I suppose I should be getting back to my nightly chores…" She said, not altogether looking pleased. Actually, she looked down-right uncomfortable. Trunks had seen that look on a few other ladies in Court far too much for his liking.
"I'll leave you to it, then," He said, inclining his head politely, trying hard not to give a look of pity, "Good night, Lady Aoi." He turned to make his leave but Aoi's hand on his shoulder stopped him once more.
"I do not like it!" She whispered desperately, "B-but I can't be put to death for disobedience!"
"My lady," Trunks said in a quiet, warning tone, "As much as I would love to help you, it is best not to speak so freely of these matters."
"I know…" The girl sniffed, tears pouring freely from her warm, brown eyes, "It's just…"
The young master shook his head, silencing Aoi once more, "Just leave it at that. If you want, I can speak to my mother. Until then, please try to keep strong."
Aoi sniffed and nodded, wiping her streaming eyes, "Thank you, Master Trunks," She said thickly, "Your words bring me comfort."
With a final encouraging smile, Trunks turned to finally leave, mind heavy with another worry that needed to be alleviated with the entrancing and escaping sounds of music. As he twisted through the tightly-winding stairs leading to his room, he thought he heard a long, sad, wavering note of a violin being played.
He thought to blame the depressing tune on delirium from the day's stresses until he registered the music getting louder as he approached his bedchambers. Cautious, yet curious, he ignored the initial reaction to call for a guard and sneaked toward the door. He reached up to pull a torch from a wall-holster in order to be able to see.
He had no clue who would want to invade his personal space, but he was in no mood for any more drama. His hands trembled with the building adrenaline brought from the thought of a possible unfriendly confrontation, he breathed in steadily to ease himself. His hand clenched around the handle of the door.
1…, He mentally counted, 2…3…
He threw the door open wildly, only to be met with the biting cold of the open window across his small quarters, raising small bumps on his skin. Flurries of snow spiraled through the opening, yet no one occupied the room. Still, he heard the music well, as if someone were playing right next to him.
"Whose there?" He asked, deepening his voice to sound a bit more formidable. Looking around, he noticed that his violin was missing from the wooden stand in the far corner next to his wooden desk, "I command that you show yourself, unless you wish to be met with a guard or two." He hated that his words sounded less threatening spoken aloud, than they did in his mind, but the emptiness of his room baffled him.
He walked over to the window, mist escaping his mouth as he neared the opening. There was no light below, but he knew that the height was too great for someone to live through a jump. He reached out and shut the glass, blocking out the freezing winds. As soon as the windows were shut, the music halted.
"Hello…?" He called out meekly, thoroughly frightened. He turned to find himself staring at a pale-skinned, dark-haired man sitting on the edge of his bed, violin and bow in either hand.
"You're easier to scare than I thought," The intruder said silkily, blue eyes scanning the figure before him, "…and here I thought you might actually be a challenge."
"Who are you? What are you doing in my private quarters?" Trunks backed up against the window, though his fists were balled, ready for a fight.
"This truly is a fine instrument," The man continued, ignoring the question, "It's hard to find violins of this quality anywhere." He glanced down at the delicate, carved wood in admiration, then back at Trunks. The young man, still standing at a distance, did not look at all comforted. Instead he looked suspicious and rather curious.
"You…you look very familiar," He began carefully, now hugging himself absently from the cold in his room, "Like someone I've…" Then the thought dawned on him, he remembered the blonde girl from the funeral. Now that he thought of it, both persons looked nearly exactly alike. He suddenly felt very tired, weighed-down with the obvious trickery, "Please don't tell me that I am imagining things…"
"To most you could very well be imagining things, for in this kingdom we are but a heathen's tale. We allegedly do not exist," The man continued, eyes flashing, "But we are very real."
"You are making no sense. Be straight-forward with me, or I will seriously call the guards this time; I grow tired of this foolish game."
The black-haired man huffed, "Very much like your father, you are," He said, pretending to pout, "Absolutely no fun at all."
Trunks blinked in surprise, "Father?" He inquired, "Though I have one, I do not know who he is, nor care to claim him as mine."
The statement was returned with a laugh, which offended Trunks. "My situation is nothing to make fun at!" The young master exclaimed incredulously, "You have some nerve!"
"Oh, but it is, most certainly. You see…everything you've been told about your conceiving was very much a lie. We all know your father and—"
"How dare you speak of such private matters in such a casual way!" Trunks interjected heatedly, "I can have you hanged—" He stopped before he went any further. Never before had he been pushed to resort to brutality. Instead, he chose to change the subject, but not his tone, "Who is this 'we' you speak of? Are there more of whatever you claim to be than just you and the blonde maiden?"
"As I've afore mentioned, we are what the legends speak. My sister—who is most certainly not a maiden—and I are none-other the fabled death omens who serve Death himself. There are others, as well, of higher standings. There are those who control the harvest, the water…the very air you breathe at this moment."
Trunks looked in disbelief, "But these are just myths—lies-spun by those who worship the false gods! You surely must be a demon taking a poor innocent's form! And you speak of death as if it is a person!"
"This is no lie," The robed man sighed, "It is more than obvious I was mistaken in thinking that you would be open-minded to what I have to say. I knew that you'd be difficult to convince, but I didn't think you'd be this stubborn. Of course, you kingdom-folk are quite set in your ways…at any rate, you are ignorant to your heritage, and must be taught. As I am now short of time, thanks to this mindless banter, I cannot tell you what I wanted now…but if you wish to satisfy the curiosity that I do sense in you, and don't try to deny it, as little can be hidden from someone like myself, just seek me out."
All of this was a bit much for Trunks, but he still had to ask, "Assuming that I do desire your council, how do I find you? I do not even know your name, though I have asked for it."
"Sytten," The spirit responded, "Just call my name, and I'll surely be at your side. I trust you are intelligent enough to pick somewhere inconspicuous and private. Just make sure that this is what you want. I suppose that it is best that I give you the option of knowing, anyhow, for once you understand the truth, your view on nearly everything you do will be changed forever."
"So I just have to call for you?" The master asked, feeling guilt pool in his core, for what was transpiring between him and the strange man was surely blasphemous. Sytten nodded and pushed open the windows, "Wait! You cannot possibly survive the jump!" He cried, lurching forward to stop the man from doing what he feared. When he reached out, however, he found himself clutching nothing but a single inky-black feather.
He stared out of the open window, searching for a sign of the strange man in black robes. He couldn't help but think that this could very well be a dream. He had only to wonder whether it would be fit to satisfy his curiosity of knowing who his father was, or to just pretend the encounter never happened. He couldn't possibly go to anyone about this, for surely he would be put to death for madness.