Kinda short today, but I really like the cliffhanger this time. Sorry if anyone doesn't really like the time skipping, but I really couldn't think of anything interesting to put in there.

Chapter 8

Hawke went blank faced as Orsino explained the situation. Sebastian was clutching her gloved hand in terror.

A young girl Percival played with had been harassed by a templar, nothing serious, he was just chastising her for fraternizing with him. Eventually it got out of hand and the argument had become about how she was worthless as a mage, an evil that deserved to be locked up, et cetera. Your son took it upon himself to step in. The good news is that no one died. The bad news is that he took it upon himself to punish the templar. He said it was proper repentance for him to be locked in a mind prison. I pleaded with Meredith to let him go. Thankfully she will let him live, but on the condition that he take his Harrowing.

"It is today," he continued, his face grave. He looked up at them sympathetically. "She granted permission for you to be there when it happens."

"Take me to him," Lucy said firmly, her eyes full of sadness but her face no less serious. She could feel the prince beside her making his grip firmer. He didn't say a word.

"Of course. I'm sure you're familiar with Harrowings, Champion?" She nodded. He got up from his chair, opened the door, and the three walked down the hall. In front of a door sat a small boy, his hands shackled together, his feet tied to the chair. Despite his situation, he did not seem so much sad as he was patiently waiting. At the sound of footsteps he looked up, blue eyes flickering in the sunlight breaking through a window high in the wall. She rushed to him, wrapped arms around his shoulders, and hid her face in his shoulder. "Percival, I'm—"

"It's nice to see you, mother," he said without prompting. He looked up at Sebastian. "It's nice to see you again, father."

"How do you know who we are?" the rogue asked in surprise. He took a step closer. The First Enchanter was giving them a little space. "I haven't seen you since you were only a year old."

"One of the older children pointed you out. They were crying 'Look, it's the Champion! My, it must be great to be her' and I heard the First talk about you to the Commander," he said placidly. Percy's eyes closed in thought. "He too described you to me, in dreams."

Hawke continued to sob until Orsino approached once again with Meredith. "We must begin the Harrowing, Champion," the woman said coldly. Regretfully she let go, tears streaming down her face. They released her son from his bindings and lead him into the room beyond the door. The mage-turned-warrior and the prince clasped hands and followed suit.

Inside was the pedestal meant for the magic ritual and around the perimeter of a magic circle were three templars. They nodded their head to the Champion as she came in, but she did not return the favor. No one really blamed her; the stories of the brave woman's early years had become the favorite whispers in the barracks since her ascension to the noble title. She was blank, squeezing Sebastian's hand until he pleaded that she ease her grip, as they rattled off the rules of the Harrowing. With weeping eyes she watched as he touched the pedestal, and everything became still as they monitored his unmoving body.

Hello again. I suppose this is where you either sink or swim, Percival.

"Justice, you act as if you don't believe in me," the boy said as he gained his bearings in the slightly familiar Fade. Everything was fuzzy and slightly askew, like someone had shaken the world and left all of its features jumbled up like some puzzle. He got to his feet and looked around for any clue as to where he should go. The spirit pointed down a path. The young boy knew him well enough to trust his intentions. They walked down a winding path lined with gnarled trees and the wisps of restless dead.

Nothing is certain in the Fade, especially when there are demons to be expected. I suspect that the one you will face will be particularly powerful. I wish you luck.

The spirit disappeared, though he could still feel the lingering of his presence. Justice was a part of his life as much as himself; they were almost like twins because of their intertwined thoughts. Where Anders had struggled with the spirit to keep his human emotions and values, Percival grew around them. His guardian could not see in every recess of his mind, he was sure of it. Because of his teaching, Percy became sharp for his age, though not inhumanly so. What he knew best was to hide his real beliefs so he would not have to fight over them with his protector and the other children. The other boys called him a coward, Justice called him indecisive. He lived constantly trying to make fleeting dreams into realities.

As he walked down the bramble-lined pathways of the Fade, he considered his latest dream. He wouldn't know if they were strange by most standards, but he figured Justice had something to do with their nature. If they were not filled with the injustices of the world, he was given a reprieve and the spirit would retreat, allowing him some form of comfort in his human mind. If they were pleasant, they were flashes of long blonde hair or hands confined in leather gloves. When he had nightmares, he could only watch as blood, or what he thought was blood, slowly slid across slate flooring towards him. The last time he had a nightmare, he was woken up right before a demon swallowed him whole. He had nearly knocked his friend out cold while the other child tried to calm him down. The whole room was awake and staring at him as he sat there sweating and panicked.

His last dream had been a pleasant one and he was thankful for that; if he died today, at least part of that dream had come true. The delicate curve of his mother's face had turned out to be one that had wisdom wrinkles between her eyebrows, her lustrous hair was duller, and her skin was a little rough, but he did not care. She did not say the same words he had dreamed her say, and her voice had been a bit hoarser than expected, but he accepted her just as well. It was his mother, after all. His father was just as he 'remembered' him. He could not personally recall the man's visage from five years ago, but Justice had seen to it that the image was burnt into his subconscious.

Someone's voice caught his attention. He looked up, half-expecting it to be his friend or maybe Justice. But it was neither. What looked to be his mother stood before him. She smiled sweetly and held out her arms, beckoning him to rush into her arms. Percival moved one foot forward before he quickly pulled it back. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated which meager spell he could use in this situation.

Oh my sweet boy, do you not want me to hold you? You'll make your mother sad if you run away.

"Sorry, I saw my mother already, and you are not her," he said firmly. He pulled his other foot back as well.

How do you know I am not her? Don't I look like your mother?

"Close, but I am not that blind."

Foolish boy! Isn't what you longed for all of these years a family? Your darling mother and protective father? I could give you that, boy, if you just let me in.

"I would if I could, but if I defeat you, I can see my real mother and father. I can see a mother who doesn't need magic to make me happy." He decided on a spell as the words left his mouth. The demon's head bursted into flames. She flailed around a bit as he thought of something else. Her curses were drowned out as he heard someone utter a vocal spell and watched as the demon was skewered by a magical sword. He turned around to see who had dealt the final blow, but all he saw was a vanishing cloud of blue magical residue.

I have never witnessed such a phenomenon. He looked at the ghostly figure of Justice as he whisked the residue with his armored hand. It separated into a thin vapor and then dissipated. Before Percival could ask what he had meant, he felt himself being tugged by an invisible force back to the realm of flesh and reality.

"Lucienda… wrong? … Unconscious… flash of blue… sword? … Magic. I think she's waking up," he could hear a confused masculine voice say in the background, flitting in and out due to throbbing in his head. He was not given a chance to recover because a set of well-built arms pulled him up and dragged him across the ground. On his way past, he saw Sebastian fanning his mother's pale face with a piece of parchment. Percival promptly passed out himself as he was not-so-gently led to his own rooms.

Fancy meeting you here.

"Who—Mother?" Percival asked, trying to see through blue tendrils of smoke and the haze covering his vision. The only thing he had to go on was the sound of the woman's voice. He faintly saw her lift a hand and wave it passively. She did not seem very threatening. There was something oddly familiar and serene about her, despite the fact that she was currently caught on fire. The fire was however blue and seemed to pose no threat. It was currently ravaging a bush, but either ravaging it very slowly or very lovingly, because the bush looked to be growing where the flames licked it.

I suppose. I have met you before. You seem to me like the child I held. Tell me, do you regret being made? Do you regret this world you have created?

"Though I don't particularly believe in him, didn't the Maker make the world? What are you talking about? Where the hell am I?" He mentally slapped himself for cursing, even though it was such a light word. That was when he looked down at his feet. They seemed very far away from him now. Then he looked at his hands. They looked bigger, but not any more threatening. He looked back up at the spirit—or whatever she was. He at least assumed it was a she.

Everyone is a Maker. Everyone makes their own world. Do you regret yours? The one with the Muted Hero, the Exiled Prince, the Caged Son, the Corrupted Spirit, the Blind Knight? Do you not regret the role you have played in your world?

"I don't understand. What are you talking about? Who even are you?" He got to his feet and took a step forward. She did not seem any more afraid than someone would be of a plant sitting in its pot.

Who I am is unimportant, but if you must know, I am the Headless Bride. What I speak of is your reality. What I say is only the truth of what you have created.

"Headless Bride? That is a bit off-putting. And I haven't created anything. I'm supposed to be a little kid, why am I like this?" He approached her and attempted to grasp her form. His hands passed through her. Head filled with pain; he cried out and clutched it. Suddenly, he knew everything she was talking about. He felt tears falling down his cheeks. They were hot, like fire. They burned his skin.

Now can you tell me whether you regret? You muted the Hero, exiled the Prince, corrupted the Spirit, and you caged the Son. Do you take back caging yourself in this web of lies? Do you not want a life where you may be happy? Do you even desire your life at all, Son? As a Maker, do you wish to unmake this world and throw it into the abyss of the universe? I will give you time to decide it. You have until the Knight blinds you with her light, when the Hero mutes your ears, while the Prince exiles your voice. You have three years of your life to decide; was this what you wrote into the Deceived Bard's story books or on the Muted Hero's journal? Were your cries for help heard?

She faded away like the blue mist from before. He fell to the ground and could only stare at the black sky as he was faintly reminded that this was not the him that existed. He woke up briefly on the other side, felt himself being carelessly dropped on something that did not give way to his slight weight and heard the door being shut and locked behind whoever had left. His weary eyes confirmed that it was a room meant only for one. If they decided to kill him, they had at least allowed him a bit of comfort before they did so. He faintly heard someone say, "I guess she isn't the Champion for nothing."