Radiant Historia

- One Soul -

- I -

The very first king of Granorg was ten years older than his sister.

She was a carefree child, fond of songs and pretty dresses and fairytales. Whenever they were together, he could feel the heat of her gaze on him; here he was, the boy king who had led their people to safety while their father's empire was being ground down to sand and dust. To her, and to his people, he was an heroic figure, a romantic ideal. He was embarrassed by her worship. He was far from the noble prince she was imagining. Noble princes did not have to murder their little sisters, after all.

They spent little time together, each walled up in their own little universes: he, weighted down by the heaviness of his crown, she, swaddled in the warm confines of childhood.

Time caught up to her very quicky. She was fourteen when her brother killed her for the first time.

The king saw her very rarely afterwards. She travelled, as her duty dictated. Still, there was a pang in his chest whenever his wife called the court for a grand ball. The ladies danced in all their finest dresses, the knights were at their most courteous. History was being written in every of these nights. She should have lived this life as well, he believed, but fate had decided otherwise.

When she came home for the final time, the king was struck mute by her appearance. A silly girl had left his budding kingdom, but it was a tiny old woman with a stooped back and a knowing smile who returned to him. They embraced like old friends. He murmured to her ear words of love and regret. He could feel chuckles rumbling through her skinny ribcage as she hugged him closer.

The courtiers whispered and wondered who was the crone strutting arms in arms with the king at the next ball, bold as brass. Her tiny form was lost in a bouffant pink atrocity of a dress. The ladies tittered behind their fans. She did not care and neither did her brother. She had one last chance to be the princess she'd dreamed of being in all her childhood.

The brother and sister danced together all night.

- II -

The princes were born five minutes apart from each other. They were identical, down to the little crook in their ring fingers. The eldest cried the loudest, but the youngest was more fussy. Even so, no one save for their governess and their mother could tell which one was which. As they grew up, the twins were both amused and annoyed. Anyone who was observant enough could realize that they were as different as day and night.

They were a mischevious pair, prone to pulling pranks—always at the youngest's behest. They would often don girls' clothing and give their guardians the slip, holding hands as they skipped out of the castle. The oldest always tugged at his dress whenever the curious townspeople looked at them, but the youngest didn't mind. He laughed and smiled and twirled in his dress. I could have been a girl, he once confessed to his twin. I don't think it would have changed anything about me, really.

Things changed when the life was forced out of his body, replaced by a shard of his older brother's soul.

Only his twin noticed the subtle differences. His younger brother now scrunched up his nose at the sight of roast duck, he, the avid meat lover who'd always teased his twin about his difficult tastes. Once, he began to fuss and protest when his brother pointed to a pretty dress, telling him how good he'd look in it. But I'm a boy! the younger twin replied, horrified. His brother laughed it up, but the sound had been hollow and brittle to his ears.

The people at the castle could tell them apart now that the younger twin was aging more quickly than his brother. They could not help but be intrigued by the process. It's like looking at an older version of you, the crown prince's betrothed once told him. She couldn't possibly understand why her words disturbed him so.

He's not like me! he wanted to tell them. He's never been like me! The identity of his little brother was slowly fading away, replaced by a counterfeit version of his own self. Why couldn't anyone see this horrible reality for what it was? My little brother is going to die long before his body truly expire...

One night, the newly crowned king's brother showed up unnanounced to his twin's bedchambers. It's time. The young ruler had shivered as he saw his worst fears come to life. The twin he'd known and loved was already long gone.

The ceremony was attended by few. The two brothers stood apart, each holding a Chronicle. The younger brother had his eyes closed, his weather-beaten face placid like a lake in winter. His twin was nowhere near as calm. His hands were shaking as he raised the Black Chronicle, and he met his brother's gaze as the older man opened his eyes for the last time.

I killed myself, that day, the old king would tell his daughter on his deathbed, several decades later.

- III -

Perhaps, if she hadn't been such a coward, things would have—

Her younger brother was so close in age and appearance to her most believed them to be twins. He spent most of their childhood clinging to her, too shy and too sweet to deal with the constant barrage of false pleseantries they had to face every day at court. He truly was happiest laying in the grass in the courtyard, with some bug buzzing above his head or some kitten to play with.

All the opposite of their elder brother, the crown prince.

The adults never quite believed her warnings. Her older brother was always quiet and observant whenever he interacted with his tutors and their father's courtiers. They praised his obvious intellect, and a blush would then colour his cheeks, attesting to his supposed modesty.

With his two siblings, it was a different business.

Boys will be boys, their mother always said. He only meant to tease. At first, the princess stomped on her feet and screamed to protest, but that only made her father raise his voice instead. Be more reasonable, child, he'd scold her. This is not how a princess should act.

So, then, she thought, is this how a prince should act? She could see how her little brother would recoil whenever the crown prince approached the two of them. His gait was so carefully nonchalant, his attention usually focused on something else in a cold, calculated matter, as if he wasn't interested by what they were doing. Hello, little sister, little brother. Can I join you?

No! the princess wished she could shout. Instead, she always allowed him to sidle next to them. In time, she trained herself to ignore how stiff her little brother would get whenever their elder approached them.

What's that in your hands? the princess' older brother once began.

Their little brother had been holding a beetle. The crown prince snatched it from his hands.

What pretty green wings. It would make a lovely present for Mother, don't you think? He pressed on the insect's back, and the lovely green lacquer began to crack.

Stop that! You'll hurt him!

The eldest prince had laughed at his brother's tears and pinched his arm. It's a bug. It can't feel anything. The creature had been smashed to a pulp by then. Oops. Poor little bug. Clumsy me.

Another time, it had been a bird's nest. The princess had been sitting under a tree, listening to her little brother rattling off everything he knew about that species, when the crown prince had started to scale off the trunk. They told him to stop, and when the eggs came crashing at the youngest brother's feet, he shrugged, his face a blank mask. It was an accident. Beside, it's just some eggs. Why do you care? When the princess glared at him, hateful, his hand snaked up to her to grab one of her arms. Aw, don't be a baby, little sister. You're a big girl. You won't whine to Mother and Father about this, right? She indeed kept her mouth shut. She didn't show them the red mark on her arm either.

So then, when she was dragged to the Royal Hall to see her little brother be murdered, why couldn't she summon the strength to do something?

Your heir is a bully and a sadist, she could have said to her father. She could have told him his youngest son locked his door every night. She could had revealed that the time the crown prince had given her that concussion when they'd sparred together he hadn't really been sorry. She could have made him understand that the world was better off without her older brother in a position where he could set up people like puppets for his pleasure.

She could have attempted to prove she truly was the one worthy of the throne. She could have fought to save her little brother from the horror of seeing their elder march up to him with the Black Chronicle in hands.

She could have taken his place, even.

Instead, her youngest brother died an old, broken man after a pitiful and unrewarding life, and the realm burned as she drank up the bitterness of guilt right up to her deathbed.

Perhaps, if she hadn't been such a coward, things would have—

-IV-

The crown princess became aware of her secret duty at the tender age of seven.

Her parents hadn't meant for everything to turn that way, but since she was very close to her uncle, there was no helping it. She'd been highly distressed by his passing. She asked and she asked, why was he gone, and, oh, why will he never come back, how can you be sure? The king and queen were evasive, but the princess was smart for her age. Her grief was raw and more painful to her parents that her uncle's death had been.

The next morning, the princess stumbled upon her baby sister, and had to be immediately rushed out to the medical wing. She had taken but one glance down at the younger girl's face when another realization had struck her. She stayed a week in bed, beset by fits of shaking and sobbing. When she finally came out of her room, she had come to a grave decision.

The king and queen kept the sisters in separate parts of the castle afterwards. The youngest did not understand at first. She often slipped out of her lessons to look for her sister, to no avail, and whenever she did catch sight of her older sibling, the servants dragged her back kicking and screaming to her quarters.

Ten years passed, and the sisters met again, now as bearers of the Chronicles.

The young girl staring warily at the older of the two princesses was half a stranger. The crown princess tried to tell herself it was a good thing. We'll share a soul, but that doesn't mean we need to know one another. It would save them from a lot of heartache that way.

Another decade went by, and the girl who'd closed her heart off became queen. She oversaw her kingdom with a firm, but fair hand. Still, not a day went by that the familiar worry gnawed at her heart. Killing even a stranger would be an act of unspeakable horror, one that would stain her mangled soul forever. In the secrecy of her quarters, she'd pace and pace, her dread growing as the day she would have to become a murderer came closer.

When finally the moment arrived, the queen had managed to stay the picture of poise in spite of the circumstances. The older woman who came to her with the White Chronicle in hands indeed seemed a stranger to her. They went to the Royal Hall without exchanging even one word.

The youngest of the two sisters took her place by the great violet crystal at the far end of the ritual chamber. I'd forgotten how beautiful that place is, she murmured. An unwanted emotion stirred within the queen at these words. Her sister had said something similar, ten years ago. She tightened her hold on the Black Chronicle and tried to look away, tried to stop herself from finding some resemblance between the serene stranger in front of her and the little girl she'd once loved.

One smile from the older woman broke all of her defenses down. The queen rushed to her sister. The latter enveloped her in a hug, humming words of comfort as though she was the eldest of the pair, and not the youngest.

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, the queen sobbed. How can you ever forgive me?

The old woman cupped her sister's face, and their foreheads touched. It's alright. There's nothing to forgive. The queen hiccuped, raising a tear-strained face as her sister continued. I understand everything. I never was angry. I never hated you.

The two sat huddled up together for a long time afterwards. The queen asked after her sister's life; the older woman smiled and told her tale. They giggled and cried and held hands to make up for what should have been a lifetime's worth of love.

I am going to write about you, you know. So that my children and my children's children will know everything there is to know about your life.

The queen's sister laughed. Thank you. Perhaps in time your children and your children's children will find a way to stop this from ever happening again. She paused, and the weight of the hundreds of pointless, yet meaningful deaths she must have carried all her life became apparent. Perhaps in time they will.

-V-

His brother was born one year after the death of his little sister.

The crown prince disliked his new sibling immediately. His sister had been quiet and sweet, cooing at her elder brother whenever he found the time to play with her. The new baby was anything but cute; he was red-faced, tiny and wrinkly, and yet his shrill cries pierced the eardrums of every soul in the castle. Worse, he had the gall to live while their little sister had not.

The youngest of the two brothers grew older. He was ugly, with messy hair and bulgy eyes like a bug's, yet the tutors never ceased to praise the young prince who had begun to speak earlier than his elder brother did, who could read and write his name at the age of four, who was so quiet and oh so well-mannered and obedient. The crown prince secretly burned with anger. Whenever he tried to read to his teachers, and more importantly, to their father the king, the letters danced in front of his eyes, and the correct words would not come out. He could never remember all these important dates he'd been told to memorize or the names of those who had shaped history. His brother was a scrawny runt, with arms like twigs and a back slouched like a broken tree, but he could recite the acts and deeds of all their noteworthy ancestors without a slip of the tongue.

And most horrible of all, their cousin, the lovely girl to whom the crown prince was betrothed, doted on the little freak. It was not fair. It was simply not fair.

Perhaps it was why it was so easy to bury the knife into his gut when the time finally came.

(-VI-)

She was faced with a ghost as she met up with the man who had been sent to kill her.

Unfamiliar lines creased his brow and the corners of his mouth. His hair was longer, shaggier. Worse, her brother had, for a lack of better terms, radiated a warmth that smoothed down all of her worries the way his hand used to pat down her tangled tresses. The silent young man in front of her was anything but warm.

Yet she longed to lose herself in his embrace.

It was evident he knew little about the role that had been chosen for him. About the fate that had shaped up so much of his life already. She tried to keep it that way. Perhaps, then, could she be the one forced to give up her life, just as their birth order had intended. She hoped her half of a soul would go to him after she died, so he could spend the rest of his days whole.

How horrified she had been when she realized fate had other ideas.

Unknowingly, her brother had set up the pieces so only he could be sacrificed. The irony made her want to weep. When finally, after they'd defeated the abomination that had been their uncle, he held out his hand, silently imploring her to finish their shared task, she made a secret promise to herself. Theirs would be the last of the sad stories. The children born of their line from now on would have their happy ending, she swore on her brother's memory.

She just didn't expect to have hers as well.