I do not own Chaotic nor anything related to it. It belongs to TCDigital.

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The Servant Named Mudeenu

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I'm eighty-one solans old. I've been in Perim for... thirty-four solans, maybe a couple months more. It actually takes me a while to remember that now.

There are children playing in the streets of Al Mipedim. Some of them are Human, and there's something very special about them. Every child out there younger than thirty-four solans was born here. They've never eaten fast food, never ridden in a car, never played a video game. Their whole lives have been Perim, and stories about Earth are just that: stories. Stories about a mysterious world far, far away.

I sit by my window, contemplating all of this, marveling at what my mind has created, and occasionally wondering if it's more than just in my head. It's a way for me to pass the time while one of the servants is brought to me. My thoughts wander, though, mainly to the scratch of the scrolls hidden in the sleeves of my robes.

"You called for me... Your Highness?"

I turn from the window. Kneeling in front of me is the once mighty Mudeenu. Gone are the fine clothes and armor he wore near constantly, as well as the confident- no, arrogant way he would hold himself. Now he wears rags. Rags and a humiliated heart.

I sit down in a chair I had placed near the window, and I interlace my fingers and sit straight. "You have been my servant for eleven solans now, Mudeenu," I say.

Mudeenu says nothing. He continues to stare at the ground in front of my feet.

I continue, "That means there are fifty-nine solans left in your sentence. Am I correct?"

Mudeenu quietly says, "Yes, Your Highness."

I slide one of the scrolls out of my sleeve. "There are points we need to address, though." I unroll it. "Mudeenu, you served in the Mipedian army for the entire duration of the M'arrillian war. Your efforts ensured the safety of all the creatures of Perim. For your service to Perim and the Crown, I award you a solan for each solan you served. These ten solans will be taken from your sentence, meaning that your servitude is now due for completion in forty-nine solans."

Mudeenu blinks and glances up at me before quickly looking down.

"Now, the Battle of Lake Blakeer," I say. "Your efforts during that battle are important enough to call to attention separately from the rest of your service. From setting traps on the battlefield, to the actual combat, you showed courage and saved many lives."

"Not enough lives," Mudeenu whispers.

I have to pretend I didn't hear that. "For your efforts at Lake Blakeer, I award you another ten solans."

I continue down the list. Five solans for the added duties of teaching Jupiter. A solan here and there for times where he had gone above and beyond what had been expected of him. All the while, a look of shock and awe is spreading across Mudeenu's face.

"And finally," I say, "for assisting in the arrest of the rogue conjurors, I award you two solans, three months, and seven hours."

Mudeenu is momentarily confused by the unusual amount of time I had awarded him. He kneels there for a while, and I can see his lips move as he counts backwards through the time left in his sentence. "That's... that's only two hours left," he breathes.

"I don't want you to serve me." I begin rolling the scroll up. "Not as a servant, at least. What I want is your respect. I want to treat you as a fellow prince of Al Mipedim, and I expect the same treatment back."

Mudeenu is quiet, though looking at my face rather than my feet.

"I know you don't like me, Mudeenu." I slide the scroll back in my sleeve. "I know that you've spent your years- sorry, solans of servitude with my name like acid on your tongue. Well, in two hours, you'll be Prince Mudeenu once again, and-"

"Only the King can say that," Mudeenu blurts before clamping his mouth shut.

I smirk just a little. "You think I haven't already spoken with Iflar about this?"

Mudeenu presses his lips together and stares at my feet again.

I stand up. "In two hours, you'll be a prince again, and you'll be expected to act like one. I don't expect you to like me, but like I said before, you will respect me. In the meantime, though, you have two hours left."

"...What are your orders, Your Highness?" I can feel the hesitance in his voice. I can feel the expectation for an impossible task.

I take a breath. "In the north barracks, there is a suit of armor that the son of Theb-sarr once wore. I'd like you to make sure it's presentable for when he wears it again."

Mudeenu's eyes widen. "Very well, Your Highness." Then he slinks out of the room.

"Well," a voice says from the far corner, "you just sent him to clean his old suit of armor." The air to my left flickers, and suddenly King Iflar is walking towards me. "A bit heavy-handed on the symbolism, maybe?"

"Just me being dramatic, I guess," I sigh as I turn and lean on the windowsill.

Iflar stands beside me and looks out at the children playing in the street. After a few minutes, he asks, "Why?"

I know what question he's really asking. "Maybe because he's learned his lesson now. After this long as a servant, the lifting of his sentence won't feel like he escaped punishment."

"And what else?" Iflar asks.

I look down at my hands, and from my sleeve I slide out a scroll that I had not shown to Mudeenu. The scroll's seal is broken now, but when it was whole, it was blue wax with the symbol of the Overworld Tribe pressed into it. I roll the scroll open, revealing Najarin's narrow, intricate handwriting.

"Because you're going to need all the help you can get," I say. "You know the card game I told you about? Chaotic? We're reaching the last part of its storyline. Something big is about to happen, and after that, we're flying blind."

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Up next: The Overworld Lake

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