Disclaimer: I guess I should mention that I don't own W.I.T.C.H. and that this is a clearly fan-based story?
Prologue:
"No! This can't be how it ends!" Phobos's voice echoed, defeated, throughout the castle. The Guardians and his sister Elyon all ganged up on him, like a pack of wolves. Swirls of colors representing magical elements swirled dangeroulsy around him.
"Funny how they always say that!" Will commented harshly as she saw the electric flow consume and suffocate him. Phobos was losing air, losing life, losing magic.
As the world around him began to fade, the name floated like a phantom in his clouds of thought. Elyon, Elyon, Elyon…
"No...no, listen to me..." The magic disappeared, and everything went black.
~%~
"But where will you go?" Weira asked her love, who was already packed and ready to leave.
"Anywhere where it's safe for you and me, and...for the little one." He looked at Phobos with a strange look in his eye that only the boy could see. No one recognized it except him.
"Daddy," A four-year-old Phobos blurted out, while he held his arms out to hug his father. "Daddy, don't!"
The knight did not chuckle or smile warmly as most fathers would. He kneeled down to Phobos's level and said with dark, deadly serious face: "Don't worry, child. You won't have to miss me, 'cause I'll be back."
Phobos wasn't sure if he was happy about that or not. He knew he didn't want Daddy to leave, but secretly, he was scared of Daddy, too.
~%~
"Phobos, we have a new courier! I would like you to meet Chaucey, who has a son just your age!"
"Yes, his name's Cedric!" Chaucey gleamed at the mentioning of his son. "He's very friendly! I'm sure he and the prince will get along!"
Phobos was now nine years of age, and though he was Prince of Meridian, he was far from a social butterfly. In fact, the boy hardly ever opened his mouth. He mostly kept to himself out of fear of being ridiculed. After all, who wanted to be friends with a snobby prince (or so most children misjudged him to be)?
Phobos didn't have much faith in this Cedric. He figured he'd be just like every other boy: friendly in front of the adults, but once they were alone, he'd ridiculed him for being a spoiled prince and would accuse him of being stuck up because he was so quiet.
Chaucey was handsome for a courier; he made his dull-colored clothes look good. He had short blonde hair which fell into place perfectly, and a little stubble on his chin. His dark bluish-green eyes were like a deep lake; they were easy to drown in. Chaucey was a good height and had a fit body.
To be polite and respond to Chaucey's comment, he nodded his head and said, "Yea, I'll bet he's great!"
Weira smiled down at her child, proud of her kind and faithful son. She'd feared she would have a difficult and spoiled brat, the fate of many royal mothers. But Phobos never once had a tantrum, was obedient, and helped even when he wasn't asked to.
The queen said something to the courier, who nodded his head and followed her to a separate room. Phobos had the feeling they were going to fetch Cedric, so he walked out of the room before they could come back.
The castle was immense and had paintings of aunts and uncles and nobles and ladies everywhere. They were not all very nice, and in fact, most of them were fake. But only Phobos knew this, for they inveigled people to believe they were humble and sweet. Sometimes Phobos felt he was the only one who knew the truth about anything, or at least the only one to acknowledge it.
Light from the sun streamed in through a huge window. The window was Phobos's favorite invention: it was a link to the outside world, without any requirement of actually having to immerse oneself in it. The window provided a beautiful scene: trees, lakes, a city, people, horses, cattle. Everything was right there in front of him, in a giant, moving painting. Phobos wished he'd brought his sketchbook with him.
He began to head for his room to retrieve it when a voice stopped him. "Hello! Are you the prince?"
Phobos whirled around, and dread filled him when he saw a blonde boy who so much resembled Chaucey. "You must be Cedric," he said, but only to be polite. The truth was, he wanted no more than run and never see Cedric again.
The pretty blonde boy nodded his head. He was very pretty, but in a strangely boyish way: sharp, elf-like features, glisening blue eyes, and fair hair which hardly scratched his shoulders. He looked friendly, but Phobos could see past that mask. He knew that the minute Cedric had him out in the garden alone or perhaps in his room he'd give him hell.
"I'm the courier Chaucey's son," Cedric stated. "My father told me that you like making new friends."
What a lie that is! Phobos thought.
"I like making new friends too! So, do you want to walk in the garden or something?"
I knew it, Phobos thought angrily, I knew this kid was like all the others! Yea, take me to the garden so you can push me and ridicule me about how lucky I am! How rich I am! How lonely I am!
"I...I actually wanted to get something from my room," Phobos said truthfully. Cedric grinned.
"Would you like me to come with?"
Phobos wanted to say no, more than anything! But he felt that as the Prince he had to set a good example, even if Cedric probably didn't deserve it. So instead he replied, "Sure."
Cedric nearly skipped when Phobos said that. "Okay, okay!" Why did he have to seem so nice?
Phobos never left his room messy; he always put everything back in it's place after he used it. Of course Cedric, as did most everyone, assumed that it was the servants that did a good job. It would be blasphemy to imagine that Phobos actually did things for himself!
In his drawer lay his favorite sketchbook (for he owned many). It had a leather cover and was filled with crippled parchment paper. Inside was a world of drawings: some of real things, and some purely from Phobos's imagination. His dreams consisted of complex creatures which could not be described by word of mouth, so he put them down on paper.
Giddy as he was, Cedric grabbed the notebook and said, "Let me see!" He flipped through the pages, fascinated with the prince's work. "Wow, wow...wowwww! You really drew all this? Man, you're gonna be an artist one day! Really, really! You're destined to be an artist one day!"
For a split second, the prince thought that Cedric was joking and would soon throw the sketchbook out the window, where it would surely be destroyed forever. But he did not; the courier's son stared at every drawing as if it were legitmately an artist's.
Phobos swallowed nervously. "Um, you like it?"
"Absolutely! What is this creature? It's beautiful! It's scary! That's amazing! How do you do it?" Phobos peered over and saw the Lurden he'd created - a strangely majestic type of bird with many colors and an elaborate pattern made with 40 different types of feathers.
"It's...I called it a Lurden. It's, um, just something that came in my dreams. That's where most my drawing comes from, from my dreams..."
Oh no...do I sound like a freak? Phobos wondered. Being ridiculed so often, he wasn't sure if what was coming out of his mouth was something one told just anyone.
"Yea! I get that! Wow, I wish I had your talent, your passion! My dreams are rare and boring, and tell me absolutely nothing. But yours, yours create worlds!" Cedric smiled warmly and handed him the sketchbook.
I can't believe it! Phobos thought. Is this kid truly what I think he is? Is he...real? He'd never met anyone who wasn't either fake or downright cruel.
"You know what Cedric? Let's go to the garden!"
