"That's not good enough, Hans." Charles barked, pointing at the multitude of Arrows that were nowhere near the target.

Hans stood in the grass at the mark, his bow hanging low to the ground like his head. He knew it wasn't good enough, and all of his brothers were all shooting perfect arrows beside him. He looked up at Jehan who was right next to him dressed in a suit of pure white and lined with gold, and a scarlet cravat tied around his neck. Hans beamed as he saw him shoot an arrow down the range. As the oldest, Jehan had more practice under his belt than all his brothers, and as heir to the throne, he was expected to outshine the rest, and outshine them he did, in more ways than one. He smirked with pride when he heard the popping sound of the arrow against the target, and then, he looked at Hans.

"Having trouble, brother?" He asked as he knocked another arrow.

Hans nodded as he hung his head again. Jehan gave what Hans perceived as a sincere look of empathy. "Don't feel bad." He encouraged as he pointed another arrow at the target. "No one else could be worse than you, Hans."

Jehan released the arrow from the string, and it went flying down the range again. Jehan smirked as the arrow hit the bullseye again. "Excellent, Jehan!" Charles shouted.

Hans looked at the target in front of him, then down at the bow in his hands. The praise his father always shouted at Jehan did anything was what he wanted. he wanted to feel that pride. That joy that Jehan always got to feel. Hans looked at the target with a determined look and knocked an arrow on a bow that was far too big for him. He tried his hardest to pull the string back, but his small body wasn't strong enough to do so. Hans closed his eyes. This one was going to hit the target. He knew it. He released the arrow, picturing it flying through the air.

And then, he heard Jehan's uncontrollable laughter. Hans opened his eyes and saw where the arrow had landed. Only two feet in front of him, barely making it down the range. Hans looked angrily up at Jehan who wiped his eyes. "I told you no one could be worse than you!"

Hans looked down, feeling his eyes welling with tears as he heard Jehan's laughter continue, as well as his fathers.

"Shut it, Jehan."

Jehan's laughter ceased, and Charles's did as well. Roland came striding along down the range, his sangria cape that complimented his mulberry suit dragging in the grass, and his golden crown shimmering on top of his head. His hands behind his back which was as straight as a board. He pushed Jehan aside with his shoulder and went over to Hans. "Don't worry about them." He whispered kindly. "They're just jealous that you get this and they don't."

Roland brought his hands out from behind his back and presented Hans with a new bow, a smaller bow that was perfect for his size. Hans's eyes went wide at the display, and when he looked at Jehan, he had his arms crossed and was looking down at his perfect set of arrows. Hans looked back at Roland, smiling widely at his uncle. "I know you can do it, Hans," Roland whispered. "You just need the right tools." He motioned to the target. "Go on. Try it."

Hans nodded eagerly and turned to face the target again. Jehan watched out of the corner of his eye, already snickering slightly. Hans knocked the arrow, the new bow already feeling better in his hands. His form was impeccable as they'd taught him, but he felt stronger, more powerful. He pulled the string back, and his eyes went wide. He could pull it all the way back. Jehan's eyes went wide at the display, and then, he shook his head. Hans took a breath as he lined up his shot.

"Shoot, Hans." Roland urged.

And he did. Hans released the arrow, and it went flying forward. Jehan's mouth went agape as he watched the arrow fly down the range. Hans still had his eyes closed, but he heard the popping sound that had become all too familiar to him. The arrow had hit the target. It had finally hit the target, but where? That was the question he wanted to be answered. He was about to open his eyes until Jehan spoke.

"Impossible." He hissed.

It was then Hans opened his eyes, and there was the arrow. on the target, perfectly centered. He'd hit a bullseye. He jumped up and down screaming with joy and pride. Jehan rolled his eyes and went to retrieve his arrows along with his other brothers. Hans jumped onto Roland, beaming. "Did you see that uncle Roland? Did you see? I hit the bullseye!"

Roland laughed as he tossed Hans up into the air multiple times. "I did, Hans! I knew you could do it!" Roland caught him and looked little Hans in the eyes. "You can do anything if you have the right tools."

He set Hans down on the ground, and the boy looked at Charles. "Father did you see?!" He pointed at the target.

Charles clapped for him with a slight smile. "Wonderful, Hans. Now, go get that arrow and shoot some more."

Hans nodded as he ran to the target and pulled his arrow out of the target. Jehan stood at his target right next to Hans. "Did you see that Jehan?" Hans asked as he stuck out his tongue.

Jehan chuckled as he nodded. "Oh, I saw it alright." He smirked, bunching his arrows together in one hand. "I saw a boy get lucky." Hans's smile faded into a flat line, and he clenched his fists as he walked back to his bow where Jehan had already knocked an arrow. "Anyone can get lucky, Hans." Jehan fired the arrow down the range, and Hans watched as the tip pierced the middle of the target again. He looked back at Roland who was standing beside his father. His uncle gave him a smile, and Hans nodded. He knocked his arrow, and set up his shot, trying to replicate everything he had done the time before. He fired the arrow down the range again, and Jehan's eyes went even wider.

Hans had hit the bullseye again, and he stuck his tongue out at his older brother who simply rolled his eyes as he shot another arrow. Hans looked back at Roland, and they both grinned at each other.

/

Hans remembered that time vividly. The way Roland helped him through the times where his brothers put him down. He was grateful to have someone like that. Someone who stuck by him even when everyone else looked down on him as if he wasn't worth their time. Roland had taught him look up at them. To look them in the eye and say he wasn't afraid. That he could do anything if he just had the right tools to do it. That his brothers weren't any better than he was. He now sat across from his uncle at a small table, covered by silk lined with sangria and gold. He was dressed in a suit lined with those same colors. A white jacket, sangria vest and cravat, and fitted white pants engraved with laurel patterns. They were clothes he'd once worn when he was a prince. They were clothes he never thought he'd wear again. His uncle was engulfed by a suit of mahogany, with gold, laurel patterns enhancing the suits luxury. His long cape hosted the crest of Northern Isles, a shield, and inside was an N written in the fanciest script Hans had ever seen. Roland stuffed his face with what looked like steak. He couldn't tell since Roland had practically devoured the whole thing, and Hans had chicken in front of him. Another delicacy that he never expected to have again, and he hadn't even touched it. He picked up his fork and knife for the first time of the meal and dug the prongs, cutting into the crispy skin of the meat. He brought a small slice up to his mouth, but was denied the scrumptious taste for a moment longer.

"Well, Hans," Roland began, "I heard you had quite the mishap in Arendelle."

Hans kept silent and bit the inside of his cheek instead of the chicken at the mention of it. Jehan would sometimes come down to his cell and taunt him with the situation. He had to give his brother credit. Jehan did know how to get to his soft spots. Roland did as well, probably more than Jehan.

Roland leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of wine that was in a transparent glass. Hans's fingers curled in. "So, is that why you're here?" He asked with a raised brow, reading Hans's features. "I know your family is bad, Hans, but you wouldn't just come here without a reason."

Hans leaned back in his chair, mimicking Roland's posture as he chuckled and shook his head. "You're too good, uncle."

Roland waved a hand in dismissal, setting the wine glass back down on the table. "But I did hear you came close, even if you failed." The king leaned his elbows on the table, coming closer to Hans. The atmosphere suddenly took on a different tone, but Hans couldn't place exactly what he was feeling. He leaned in towards his uncle, silence being the only voice until Roland continued in a whisper voice. "What was she like?" He asked curiously. "The Queen?"

Hans furrowed his brows. He could feel the sword in his hand again. He could see Elsa on her knees, sobbing. Weak. Vulnerable. The picture of him sitting on the throne had shattered into hundreds of fragments right in front of him. Just like this sword had. "She was..." He trailed off, looking up at the ceiling that had been painted that sangria color, and then back to his uncle.

"She was...?" Roland urged him to continue.

Hans leaned back in his chair, contemplating his answer. As far as he knew, his uncle had never been interested in foreign affairs concerning any country other than the Southern Isles. He'd never been one for war or diplomacy for that matter. Hans's father was better suited for it even though Roland was the older one. "She was what you'd expect her to be." He replied.

Roland raised both brows. "So, was she a monster?"

There was that word again.

Monster.

Months ago, Hans would have used that same word to describe the queen. He would have bound her name to it if he could have, but now? He couldn't agree nor disagree. He was in her shoes now, and the guilt he felt couldn't be weighed. Hans now raised his brows, crossing his arms as a small chuckle escaped his lips. "Excuse me?"

Roland laughed. "Hans, that woman is terrifying. She's a beast. She can control ice and snow for heaven's sake. How can she not be a monster?"

Hans tried to keep his face clear of all emotion, but deep down, he was angry. Hans understood now. He understood how Elsa felt. The fear. The burden that power gave was too heavy for him to carry. Even his uncle would think him a beast if he were to ever reveal it to him. He only wondered how she managed to handle it all by herself.

Show him.

Hans almost jolted as he heard the voice in his head.

Let me out.

"Hans?" Roland raised a brew at his nephew.

The former prince shook his head, telling the voice no, and he smiled slightly at his uncle. "You can believe what you want, uncle."

Roland shook his head. "I want to know what you think, Hans."

That was the first time he'd heard those words from someone's mouth. The first time someone had actually wanted his opinion other than Arendelle where the people there depended on him for a day. This was different. This was genuine. The look his uncle gave him was everything he'd wanted from his father early in his life. He'd wanted conversations like this. Bonding time like this. Hans looked his uncle in the eyes, not afraid as he spoke. "No." He answered. "She was not a monster."

Roland furrowed his brows. "I don't understand."

Hans raised a brow as his uncle spoke. "You wanted my opinion, uncle. Did you not?"

Roland shook his head, the look in his eyes fading to disappointment. "Hans, she set off winter in the summer." He hissed. "She can create life with the flick of her wrist, and you say she's not a monster?"

"Because she's not!" Hans yelled.

"Then what is she?!" Roland shouted back, rising from his chair.

Hans locked his fingers together as he looked down at the food, still untouched on his plate. "I..." Hans's thoughts failed him. He didn't have an answer.

"You don't know." Roland finished his sentence for him, and turned quickly on his heels, his cape trailing behind him.

Show him.

The voice urged him again. Hans shook his head as he watched his uncle head towards the door. Elsa couldn't be a monster. Not when her accusers didn't give her the chance to prove them wrong. The fear in her eyes in the dungeon. The sadness. The guilt. Hans raised his chin again, rising from his chair as he saw Roland put his hand on the handle. "You don't know either, uncle."

Roland froze and turned his head to look at Hans. His eyes said the former prince was a madman, and there was no mistaking the disappointment in his eyes. "Get your head on straight, boy." And the door slammed shut behind him.

Hans heard his uncle's footsteps grow farther and farther away, and Hans was left there in the single room, the uneaten food still in front of him. He sat back down and placed his head in his hands. Things always had to be so difficult. They always had to be against him. Why, for once, could things not just be with him? Why was he incompetent? Why could he not make them see that they were wrong? Why would no one listen to him? He raised his chin again, examining the mulberry walls of the room, and his eyes caught a chess board on the other side of the space. In a few strides, he was standing above the chess board, picking up the white king from the board, and he closed his eyes.

/

All thirteen brothers were gathered in the large living room, and each one was paired with another with a chess board in the middle except Hans, who stood beside his father at the front of the room.

"You all know the rules." Charles began, "If you lose, you are done for the rest of the tournament If you win, you're that much closer to getting one week off chores."

Snickers among the twelve brothers were heard, and Charles shook his head. "Children..." He muttered. "Begin."

And then, there was silence. Hans picked up on the breathing of his brothers and the moving of the pieces on all the boards. He'd been watching his brothers play for years, and he memorized the game because of it. He spotted Jehan sitting across from another boy. He was small and his muscles were nonexistent, unlike Jehan who was balanced from head to toe. The boy had on a pair of glasses and a book in his lap. In between moves, he'd read the pages. The title read 'The History of Northern Isles'. Hans practically cringed at how fast he would fall asleep. It was only a few moves later that Hans saw Jehan smirking, and his older brother made one more move, and the boy across from Jehan groaned.

"Every single time!" The boy complained, drawing attention from all eleven of his brothers who were still playing.

Jehan chuckled as he began to reset the board. "Better luck next time, Lulu."

Hans looked back at Charles who spoke. "Lelouche has been eliminated. Continue on."

Jehan rested his hand on his cheek while Lelouche continued reading, but Hans was busy examining their board. He silently walked over to the two of them, standing over the board so he could have a better view.

"What are you doing?" Jehan asked, locking eyes with Hans.

Hans smiled innocently. "Can I play?"

He heard a laugh come from the other side of the table. His head turned sharply, and he saw another one of his brothers looking at him. "Are you begging to be humiliated, Hans?"

Jehan nodded before Hans had a chance to speak. "Yes, Roger. He is." Jehan looked up at Hans. "Fine, little brother. Play with me, but don't go crying when you lose."

Lelouch chuckled as he got up, offering Hans his seat. The youngest sat down, running a hand through his short red hair. Jehan smirked as he flipped the board around, giving Hans the white pieces. "I know how you like to go second, Hans," Jehan started, "But white is for... the weaker player. Therefore, you go first."

Hans bit his lip, containing himself from the laughter that came from his brothers. When he looked over at Charles, he was laughing as well. He couldn't let it get to him. Jehan was just trying to get in his head. "Fine." He took a breath and moved his first pawn forward two spaces. "Just make your move."

Jehan chuckled as he and Hans began to play. Hans had shut the world out, and the only thing in front of him was the chess board and the moves in his head. He was thinking as many moves ahead as he could, coming up with new strategies on the fly. For the first few moves, He let Jehan play. His playing style was becoming apparent. He wanted to render Hans useless, so he would use just that to his advantage.

Jehan continued to press Hans's pieces back, but by doing so, he left his king wide open. By the time he knew it, all of his brothers had already finished their games, and they, including Charles, came over to watch Hans and Jehan finish their game. He heard the muffled noises of his brothers giving Jehan pointers. No one bothered to help him, and that was fine. Hans didn't need the help. He couldn't help but smile when Jehan made his move, causing a ripple of confused looks around the room.

"What?" Jehan asked, crossing his arms. "There's nothing funny here, little brother. The way I see it, you're about to lose."

Hans smiled as he looked at the board again. He didn't respond. All he did was move his queen. The piece lined up with Jehan's king, and his brother's mouths went agape. He looked around the room to see even his father stunned. Jehan's reaction was the most priceless of all. He had gone pale, and his hand had curled into a fist. His king was being attacked by Hans's queen, but anywhere he could move it was cut off by one of Hans's pieces. He'd led Jehan right to where he'd wanted him.

"Checkmate." The small prince smirked.

Jehan growled as gossip among the brothers began. They spoke of Jehan's foolishness, and that was when Hans heard his father.

"Disgrace.."

Hans looked at Jehan who was boiling with rage. He had his fists clenched, and finally, the elastic that had he.d him down for a good amount of time snapped, and Jehan shot up out of his chair. He raised a hand high above his head, and Hans looked down, bracing himself for the impact, but all he heard was the scattering of pieces. He opened his eyes, and the board was broken down the middle. Pieces had fallen all over the floor, and some had flown to the other side of the room. Hans looked up at his brother, who was becoming more and more of a profligate each day. "You won't win next time, little brother." Jehan hissed, leaning as close as he could to Hans's face.

Hans had chills from head to toe, and he gripped the arm of his chair tightly as Jehan continued in a whisper. "If you ever embarrass me again, I will destroy you." Hans gulped. "I will make your life more of a living hell than it already is."

Jehan stormed off, slamming the door to the room shut behind him. His brothers followed suit, and his father was the only one who remained. Hans remained in his chair, looking down at the broken board. He looked at Charles who peered at him with emotion that Hans couldn't place. The king eventually turned his back to Hans and opened the door, one foot already out before he spoke. "The next time you play against Jehan, you will lose."

The door closed slowly, and Hans was alone, his only company the broken pieces of the board and the crackling of the fire behind him. He sank to his knees, picking up the white king from its spot on the ground. Its cross had been broken. It was useless. He stood up, bringing the piece over to the fire. The constant crackling seemed to speak with him.

You're not alone.

It would say, and Hans would continue the dialogue in his head. How could he be so useless? Why was it him who had to degrade himself to make others looked better? The crackling of the fire spoke with him again.

Let go.

Hans looked down at the broken piece, and then at the fire, and with a smile, he threw the piece into the flames.

/

Hans slammed his fist downward, smashing the board into two. The pieces flew across the room, some hitting the wall. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling on the auburn red in frustration. He had once again been degraded. Cast aside.

Why?

Hans stumbled backward as the voice spoke inside his head.

Why do you resist me?

"Why do you keep going into my head?" He retorted, moving to the bed where he sat down, wanting nothing more than silence.

Because I can help you, Hans.

"Help me by killing people?"

I gave you power.

Hans bit his lip, running a hand through his hair.

Do you not want it?

He pictured Jehan, the one who'd always ridiculed him cowering and calling him king. "I do." He whispered.

Then why do you resist me?

The voice asked the question again, and it was something Hans couldn't answer. He couldn't understand why he didn't let the monster in. Why he didn't embrace it and let it help him. Hans opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He sighed as he stood, walking out of the room and down the hall. His uncle had told him to get his head on straight, and for the moment, it was. He didn't think about the beast inside him. He chose not to pay it any mind, even as he heard the voice ask him questions. It begged Hans to let it out. To embrace it. Hans would never embrace such a thing. Not when it meant he would become like the one he despised the most.

He looked down at his hands, clenching his jaw. Was this what Elsa felt like? Afraid? Afraid to let loose? Afraid that everything would escape. He could see the turquoise gloves on her slender fingers. The fear in her eyes as she took them off and held the orb and scepter. The way they shook as her nerves took over. Her breath of relief when she had truly been anointed. He never thought he'd see the day when he could empathize with her or know the pain she went through. He'd thought they were opposites. He thought they couldn't have been any farther apart, but in truth, they had never been more the same.

Are you afraid?

The voice interrupted Hans's thoughts again, and he shook his head. "Shut up." He hissed at himself to the empty hallway.

Hans distracted himself with the decor of the castle. The walls were that unmistakable sangria, the halls were lined with too many doors to count. Vases filled with lavenders and orchids littered the palace, and empty suits of armor were placed scarcely throughout the palace. Pictures of former monarchs seemed to continue for miles down the hall until there was one picture bigger than the rest at the end. It was a picture of Roland, dressed in gold and deep purple, holding a sword as he rode a steed into battle. He stood, admiring the picture. His uncle had always been a great general. he understood the needs of his soldiers and the needs of his people. It was something Hans wished he could have. He wished he could have the trust back that he'd lost. The respect that he'd come so close to gaining had been flushed down the drain. He continued on his path, eventually exiting the castle, and out into the courtyard. The last time he'd been in an area this beautiful was at Elsa's coronation.

The mere thought of being back there made his blood boil.

Hans turned his head to the sound of grunting and the clashing of metal, and he smirked. He would know the sound of knights anywhere. He was pulled towards the sound, desiring a distraction. Something to take his mind off of whatever was inside of him. The voice's words replayed in his mind constantly. Why did he resist if whatever it was could give him what he wanted? Why would he resist what could give him revenge? Relief washed over him as the sounds of grunting and clashing metal came closer, and soon, he saw more than thirty knights all paired with one another, sparring.

Each one wore armor that covered every inch of their body. Some who dressed more sloppily than others had the signature sangria of Northern Isles visible from underneath the metal. He turned his head to see Roland with his arms crossed, overseeing the whole event. He was yelling critiques and criticism as Hans walked over to his side. They stood there for a few moments, no words exchanged only awkward body language. Hans ran a hand through his hair, debating on whether to speak first, but Rolan decided for him.

"Do you have your head on straight?" The king asked, turning to his nephew.

Hans locked eyes with his uncle who's ocean blue orbs showed a hint of concern, but there was something else inside as well. "Yes, uncle." He replied, turning towards the knights.

He straightened his back. He hadn't had to use proper posture in months.

"That's enough!" Roland spoke.

Instantly, the clashing of swords ceased. The knights all rearranged themselves into a single, perfect line, straight across the large field of grass and dirt that served as their training ground. Roland took a step forward. "You are all done for the day." He scanned the line of knights with his eyes. "Dismissed."

One knight took a step forward. On his right arm was a red bandana, some symbol of status Hans supposed. The knight spoke, his words muffled by his helmet. "On behalf of all the knights, your highness, I have one question." He lifted his arm with his sword in hand, pointing directly at Hans. "Why is he here?"

Roland looked form Hans to the knight, his powerful posture never diminishing. "This is my nephew." He answered.

"But your nephew is a traitor." The knight retorted. He sheathed his sword and removed his helmet, revealing short, angelic blonde hair and angry baby blue eyes. "He is a disgrace to your entire line, yet you choose to bring him here?"

Roland scowled, and the knight took a small step back. "Keep yourself in line, Maximus." Roland hissed.

The knight sneered at Hans, taking a step back in line with the other knights. "Disgrace.."

Hans couldn't count how many times he'd heard that word, but he did know that he never wanted to hear that word from anyone again. Hans sped forward, and Rolan failed to keep him in check as he swung a fist across the knight's face, connecting directly with his jaw. The other knights drew their swords, points pointed at the former prince who bared his teeth at the boy now on the ground. "I dare you to say that to me again." He hissed.

The knight got to his feet, stepping towards Hans while knights held him by his arms, attempting to keep him in check. "I'll say it as many times as I'd like. You're a disgrace!"

"ENOUGH!"

All heads turned to Roland who stepped in between Maximus and Hans. "Watch your tongue, Maximus. And you," He turned to Hans with so much anger Hans felt like cowering. "Just because you are my nephew does not mean you are exempt from respect. I thought your time in the dungeons would help you learn that."

Hans felt a stinging in his cheek, and he brought a hand to the source of the pain, he looked up at Rolan who held his hand up. He'd just slapped Hans. The other knights released Maximus, and Hans locked eyes with the knight.

"Dismissed," Roland emphasized.

The Knights headed off, but Maximus stopped beside Hans. "Me and you. Tonight. Here." He placed a hand on Hans's shoulder. "Be ready to bleed." He pushed Hans aside as he continued walking. Hans smirked. He would have a distraction after all.

/

The sun had set much slower than Hans had anticipated. The duel with Maximus had been on his mind all day. He'd been sentenced to his room by Roland after his outburst, but now he'd finally get the chance to let out all of his frustrations. He'd finally get the chance to prove Maximus wrong. To prove all of them wrong. He moved the curtains of his room aside, smirking as he saw the moon high up in the sky. He opened the window, feeling the breeze. It was cool. Perfect fighting weather. He smirked as he closed the window, and went to his door. He took a breath as he put his hand on the handle, about to push the door open.

You are going through with it?

Hans had gotten used to the voice by now. He was no longer stumbling or surprised when it interrupted him. "Who are you?" He asked, staring at the golden knob.

I am all that you desire.

"That isn't what I mean?" Hans said quietly, hearing footsteps outside his door. "Who are you?"

I am you.

Hans shook his head. This conversation with himself, as ridiculous as it sounded, would have to wait for another time. He opened his door just a crack, peeking his head out and looking side to side. The coast was clear, and he snuck quietly out into the halls. The sangria looked royal blue in the moonlight, and his white suit would be easy to spot in the dark. He maneuvered his way furtively down the halls until he found his way to the courtyard. he walked the familiar path he'd walked during the day, and eventually found the field, and standing in the middle was Maximus. There was no more heavy armor, only a sangria tunic and fitted black pants. His sword held close to his body, and another on the ground in front of him.

"You came?" The knight asked smirking. "I thought that you wouldn't have the gall to come here."

Hans smirked. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity to put you in your place."

Maximus laughed. "You can't speak to me about place." He hissed, pointing the tip of his blade down to the sword. "Pick it up."

Hans confidently walked over to the blade. He bent down, reaching out his hand until he felt a stinging in his shoulder. He grimaced as he clutched the blade, looking to see red dripping onto his suit. He looked at Maximus who held up his blade, showing the blood he'd just taken from Hans.

"How honorable." Hans muttered.

Maximus growled as he ran towards Hans, his sword raised high. He brought the blade down hard toward Hans who sidestepped, taking this chance to try for a strike of his own. He slashed upwards, scraping Maximus's back. The knight let out a grunt as he turned to face Hans again, his sword at the ready. He shuffled closer to Hans, and lunged forward, poking at Hans's stomach. Hans blocked the strike with the outside of his blade. Maximus smirked as he closed the gap between them, throwing a punch that connected with Hans's nose. The former prince stepped backward, yelping in pain as red started dripping down. Maximus cackled as he came forward again, striking at Hans's side, leaving a deep gash. Hans yelled again, sinking to his knees as he clutched his wound.

"That is where you belong," Maximus spoke, coming up from behind Hans and placing his foot on the former prince's back. "Down in the dirt." He put pressure on his heel, pushing Hans's face into the ground.

Let me out.

Hans's eyes widened as the voice spoke.

I can help you.

Hans felt cool metal on the side of his neck. His eyes moved to see Maximus's blade. "You'll take your dishonor to your grave, weakling." The knight taunted, pressing his sword a slight bit harder into Hans's skin.

Anger overtook Hans. Another word he never wanted to hear again. He closed his eyes and released all the anger that had been pent up inside him for years. "I AM NOT WEAK!"

The voice cackled inside Hans's head, and that was when he heard the scream. Hand heard crackling and snapping, but of what? He had no idea.

Open your eyes.

Hans did, and he'd never wanted to close them again so badly. It was the scene in the forest all over again. The entire field was in flames that reached twenty feet high, and Maximus laid with his face buried in the dirt, screaming in agony. Hans slowly rose from his position on the ground and took in the whole scene, terror on his face.

"What did you do?!" Hans yelled, his eyes wide with fear. This couldn't be happening again. He didn't even know what was happening.

I didn't do a thing.

Yelling voices were heard over the crackling of the flames. Hans frantically looked around for somewhere to go. Somewhere to hide, but it was no use. The knights had arrived, three tending to Maximus who was still yelling in agony, and then came Roland through the flames, his eyes wide in astonishment and terror, and his eyes met Hans, who stood unfazed through all the flames.

Hans had never seen a more horrified look on his uncle's face in all his life. The king had gone pale even in the orange flames. he'd looked like a ghost walking through hell. Knights drew their swords, quickly closing in on Hans and surrounding him. He felt his knees buckle from underneath him, and two powerful arms forced him to the ground. All he could hear was his uncle's scream. "MONSTER!"

/

I know this came a day early but I have finals next week, so this weekend will be spent studying so I wanted to post it when I could. Enjoy the chapter and I'd love to hear what you think of the story in a review!