Origin

Chapter 2 - Time Forgotten

It was mid afternoon. The sun had just passed its zenith, and, because of the recent heatwave, most of the staff in the castle had been granted the rest of the day off work. Some still continued, such as the cooks, who prepared cold summer salad in the shade of the kitchen, and the butler, who kept the royal family refreshed with drinks.

It was because of this that Phobos had the luxorious grounds to himself today. For most of the morning, the prince had emmersed himself in academia, furthering his arcane knowledge and bettering his power; he had regarded his hungry intellect as the most important thing in his life for quite a while now. Through hard work and endlessly straining himself, he had managed to bring his magical potential almost equal to that of his puissant mother. He was immensely proud of this acheivement, as the females of the royal family had always been born with at least twice the innate mana and dormant ability than the males, which was the reason that Metamoor had only ever been sovereigned by women. That would have changed with Phobos' accession... if his mother wasn't expecting a daughter!

The prince's concentration wavered the tiniest bit as he focussed on a hydrangea bush about thirty yards from where he was standing. An irate expression flickered across his face. His pale eyes snapped open as he hissed a command:

"Explode!"

A sphere of golden light burst from the middle of the bush, spreading outwards, dazzling the sorcerer. Flames erupted from within the sphere, consuming the bush and the grasses around it, carbonising them instantly and leaving nothing. It was much like a volcanic surge, threatening even to overwhelm Phobos. He hadn't expected himself to be quite this powerful, but, with two complex hand movements, the prince threw up a mana shield, protecting himself from the carbon residue thrown at him. Then there was nothing left but a smouldering stump and a small radius of blackened earth.

Phobos sank to a sitting position, drained of his energy after sustaining such a spell. That had been the most powerful explosion he had managed to date - it was a sure sign that his practise was paying off. Who knew, maybe soon, through dedication and hard work, he would even surpass his mother! Then she would be proud of him, and let him rule Metamoor instead of some unborn girl.

A hissing noise disturbed the silence of the gardens. It came from the Whisperers, tiny nymphs who dwelled within the grey-black rose bushes that scattered the grounds. Phobos had tended to them for centuries, taking a special interest in their growing, and now they were completely loyal to him. They spoke to him. Told him what he needed to know.

"Sstranger..." The voices called quietly through the air, cupping their tiny hands about their mouths in an attempt to amplify their whispers. Still too tired to stand, the thaumaturge turned his head towards the direction the warning was coming from. There, by the castle walls, there was an old keruing tree. From behind the thick trunk there was visible a single purple eye and a shock of messy golden hair.

"Come out, Cedric." Phobos commanded, rolling his eyes and forcing himself to his feet. The young shapeshifter slid guiltily out from his hiding place. About a month had passed since he had been plucked from his harsh life on the street to be a castle servant, and already the boy looked much better. He was no longer quite as thin, he had had a good bath (several, actually) and had been dressed in clothes befitting a manservant. He still, however, insisted on styling his hair in strange ways; it hung at odd lengths, and he had tied a part on the left side of his head into a braid, which hung down over his shoulder. It was completely asymmetrical, and looked most odd.

"That was scary..." Cedric muttered, playing with his fingers and looking at the small crater where a bush had once been. "Haha, I wish I could do that. Then I could've shown those, those bastards as threw things at me."

"Would that not have made them hate you more, hmm?" Phobos asked idly, making a gesture with one hand. A sapling appeared from the ground where the burned bush had been and a gentle smile crossed the prince's face. "I would have thought that you would wish to fit in with them."

"...Wh-who would want to fit in with them anyway? I... I never wanted to!"

"Hush." Was the only response from the platinum-haired man, who turned away from his young protege. The child swallowed nervously, not saying anything more. "You think you had the hard life? Ha, what a joke! Get out of my sight!"

The Whisperers hissed menacingly at the blonde-haired boy, who quivered in fear and made a dash for the door back into the castle. Phobos stood still, staring after his retreating servant, long black robes billowing and platinum braids buffeted about a little in the slight breeze that picked up. His anger, though contained in an almost expressionless face, still made the rose-nymphs cower under the pressure.

The little shapeshifter ran through the corridors until he was what he considered a safe distance away from his irate master. Even at his young, vulnerable age, Cedric understood that Phobos was unpredictable. The prince's mind worked in odd ways, often faster than most other people would be able to keep up with, even if they could see what he was thinking.

Cedric put his hand on the wall of the corridor he stood in, staring at it. His life was so much better now. All that was left was to be useful to Phobos; after all, why else would the infamous Crown Prince of Metamoor adopt an urchin from the streets, if he did not expect some use from him? On his first day in the castle, after being cleaned up, Cedric had shyly asked one of the maids what she thought the best use for him was. Her answer had been "fight for him". It was an ambiguous statement, as she had had no better answer, but at his young age, Cedric had taken it very literally, and had asked Phobos' permission to take lessons in hand-to-hand combat. There was a master from the countryside who knew nothing of Cedric's true form, and would teach for a very small fee, so, thrice a week, this man was called in to the castle for training.

At first, the blonde boy thought that it would be fun, when he was apt at this combat, to travel down to the city of Meridian and deliver his retribution to all those who had abused him. He told himself what fun it would be, to see them half-dead and covered in blood like the horrible, heartless worms they were. After his talk with Phobos just... he realised that, after all that, he didn't hate the people of Meridian. He just wanted to be one of them. To be accepted by them.

The heat died down a bit as the afternoon passed on into evening and the sun began to set. The storm of Phobos' temper had subsided as he wandered the corridors of the southern-most wing of the fortress. This was his part of the castle; his parents had given it to him as a two-hundreth birthday present, and he had decorated it aesthetically, taking the largest room as his bedchamber and finding good uses for the other rooms. The views from this side of the castle were amazing. Meridian could be seen directly below, with the swamp beyond and grey-blue mountains in the distance. The sunsets cast beautifully coloured shadows over the landscape, and Phobos often found himself gazing out at them. It calmed him and took his mind off his current predicament.

Well, it used to. Yet another stroke of bad luck had come his way. His doting and loving mother, her belly slightly swollen with his sister-to-be already, had bumped into him while he stalked the hallways and asked him if he wouldn't mind relocating his bedroom to the south tower, giving up this small haven for the new baby. Though his lips pressed together in a tight line, Phobos had acquiesed, and had asked Cedric to help pack away his belongings for the move.

"I don't understand, Master. Why can't the baby have the tower room?" Cedric asked, carefully gathering up the bedsheets and folding them.

"Because mother wishes for her to grow up surrounded by beauty so that she makes a beautiful queen." Phobos answered blanky. He ran a hand through some of his long platinum hair and then sighed in defeat. "Damn it all! For five hundred years, I've worked so hard to be a suitable king for Metamoor, and now this little bratling comes along and I have to give up everything to her. My room, my status... Ugh. I shall have to serve her. What a disgusting thought."

"I won't serve her. I'll just serve you, Master." The child replied quietly, putting the neatly folded sheets into a pile. "I'll always serve you. I promise."

If Phobos heard him, he did not acknowledge it.