A/N: I've had half this chapter written up for almost a year... No, I'm not kidding. Most of this chapter has been sitting here for over six months, ready to be published but my procrastinating ass has been putting it off. For that, I apologise my dear readers. I have really left you all waiting for a ridiculously long time. An UNREAL amount of ridiculous time. 'We're Kids?!' is turning 3 this August... I think that's what finally whooped my lazy ass into gear.

Anydoodles, thanks for all the support everyone - despite my random ass unofficial hiatus! The count's at 64 followers, 62 faves and 86 reviews! Plus the total views are over 25k! That's a staggering amount, like crazy, crazy amount. Can't believe this fic has skyrocketed so far!

Darkjuliet444 - First off, I have not given up! I just lost track of time, went through extreme writers' block for this fic and neglected to post an author's note. It's honestly my bad. I had a lot going on and just completely neglected updating past works. Anyway let me answer your points... Point 1: Arthur, Merlin and Escanor is one of my fave things I have planned. I don't wanna spoil much but the three of them are gonna go through some growth together. Point 2: Dreyfus and Grayroad (at the moment) are MIA. Grayroad's been captured by Merlin (as was canon) and Dreyfus/Fraudrin is gone. Basically I'd say this story is set canonically after Season 1 (the big showdown in Liones with Hendy) but it's up to debate cause it's REALLY canon divergent. I broke a lot of rules with this fic. Point 3: YES. Derieri is going to go to that festival! Gloxinia will make an appearance (as well as Drole) after the whole thing with Esta - which I can't spoil. Also Meliodas can totally recognise Chandler. Basically, a ton of stuff is gonna go down at this festival. It's a BIG moment. Point 4: I love how you sorted everyone into little groups! They're all totally accurate as well.

So my lovelies, enjoy the latest addition. Till next time,

D.L.D


P.S. It's like... 3 am where I am as I publish this and I just remembered to mention the other stories I've been working on during this fic's hiatus. Lol. Anyway feel free to go to my profile and check them out (they have better writing quality than some of my older fics). A personal fave of mine is 'Love Me, Harm Me'. Hehe. Ok, I'll leave you alone now :)


Silence wasn't rare between a student and their teacher. Often, when one taught others a skill, silence is mandatory to the learning process. Silence allowed students to absorb the information that their eager brains required to perfect their skill and trade. Silence allows a teacher to sort out their own plethora of knowledge, diluting it down a solution simple enough for their student to understand. For a teacher, for someone like Merlin, silence was needed to properly explain her thoughts and logic. Without silence, she could not function. Without silence, she could not think.

Anxiously, the young girl chewed on her bottom lip as she stuffed an empty book into a bag she'd acquired. Originally, she had not planned on needing this last resort for herself and Escanor. With the both of them being much more mature and resilient toward the curse than the other Sins, Merlin had believed that they would be able to retain their own memories. Part of her had hoped that she would not need to rely on someone else to return her back to her chronological age.

Unfortunately, fate did not have such plans.

Smoothly, the door swings open, revealing a rather nervous-looking Arthur. Sheepishly and awkwardly, he stood in the doorway, unsure of how exactly he should approach his highly elusive and mysterious teacher. Merlin was, after all, extremely cryptic and frigid in her speech. One could never tell what she really meant. One could never see what she really thought nor felt. All one could do was guess. Aimlessly guess and hope that it was correct.

"You asked to see me, Merlin?" Arthur breaks the silence first, remaining within the safety of the doorway.

Wordlessly, the Boar Sin turns around and faces the young king with a completely unreadable face. In one of her hands she holds the bag, still open, half of a book poking out of the top. Her other hand is free, the fingers flexing and bending with nerves as she stared at the intruding Arthur. Scattered raven hair frames her bright, golden eyes, somehow more scattered than usual, and her lips are pressed into a firm line.

Instinctively, Arthur finds himself wincing at Merlin's expression. In the past, she had used that expression to convey unfortunate news. When she anticipated a negative reaction, a shift that would ruin Arthur's day, Merlin would always pull the face. An unreadable grimace; a plain-faced stare. Merlin was never the type to be overly sentimental, nor was she the type to make a scene. All she ever did was play things seriously, analytically.

"I wanted to ask you something," Merlin eventually spoke, her high voice oddly unfamiliar and childish as it drifted through the air. Purposefully, she stepped toward the young king, offering him the bag's strap. "I need you to take care of this bag and record everything about myself and Escanor within this book. It may not seem like it is, but the book is vital to making sure that we can return back to normal."

"But why?" Arthur swallows, already feeling the weight of this task upon his shoulders. Like lead, the bag felt as if it could drag him down toward the centre of the earth. In fact, it could probably send him right to the pits of hell itself. "I thought that the spell could only make you and the other Sins look and act like children. Doesn't that mean that you are just adults stuck in the bodies of your childhood forms?"

Ah, she had forgotten about that little detail. Telling most people that the spell simply made them reset into overpowered kids was Merlin's solution to the nosy prying of the castle's gossips. At the time, it had felt like a good solution. At the time, she had thought it was genius to present the curse as something so simple to the masses. Yet now, when she needed to stress how dangerous this situation truly was, that omission of truth was an obstacle. A hassle.

Once again, Merlin's tendency to hide the truth had come back to bite her in the ass. Her own attempts to save others has now resulted in her having to give a more in-depth explanation.

"I wish it were that easy, Arthur," Merlin sighs, already feeling weary at just the thought of how complicated this situation truly was. If the spell were that simple, she would have already reversed it. "To be honest, the spell isn't that simple. That version of the spell is what I've told most people about because fear can do dangerous things to one's mind and logic. If I told everyone the truth about this spell, about what it was doing to us, then all that would happen is panic. No-one would think that we have a way out and no-one would believe that there is a way to save us."

Silence flits between the student and teacher, Arthur taking the time to allow the information to sink and settle into his brain. Usually, their silences were peaceable and understanding. In the past, Merlin would often be reading away at something or working at creating a new potion for some client or friend; Arthur would be working away at trying to understand the new task she had given him or perfecting a technique that he had read about.

Silence was nothing new for Arthur and Merlin; silence was normal. But this silence was filled with nothing but questioning. Confusion.

"Is that why you want me to write about you and Escanor?" Arthur asks quietly, glancing down at the small child before him. Again, another odd feeling. Arthur was used to looking up to Merlin, to seeing her as a powerful and mysterious enchantress. Now all he saw was a cryptic girl and her unreadable face, her chubby face plain and her golden eyes fixed to his. "To remind you about what you know?"

For a second, something passes over the smooth and unreadable features of Merlin. But only briefly. Like a flicker of light in the shadows, like a ripple in a still pool, that moment of comprehension is lost just as quickly as it came. That small something leaves Arthur even more confused than he was before, lost with this new Merlin.

This Merlin, this new Merlin, was nothing like the one he knew. His old Merlin used to be mysterious, intelligent and coy. Mischief always followed her and she moved with the grace and skill of a sneaky, black cat. If Merlin were to be compared to anything, Arthur would liken her to a witch - but a good one - her magical abilities and mischievous nature making him think of witches. Merlin was always graceful, always smug and always one step ahead.

But this new Merlin, the child Merlin with her youthful face and small body, was different from the one that Arthur knew. Sure, she was still cheeky and smug, but she wasn't as graceful. This new Merlin always lacked the emotionless and analytical front that he had grown so used to. This Merlin was much more... emotional. It was like she had a new heart, the heart of a young child, and with it came emotions and blunders that she could not control.

Having both of these Merlins, knowing both of these Merlins, was confusing for Arthur. They contradicted each other; they didn't make sense together. And she always seemed to swap between them, pulling a lever on and off all the time.

"Something like that," Merlin responds quickly, waving a hand dismissively. A small part of her old self that still remained. Suddenly, she turns on her heel and walks back to her pile of discarded books, settling next to it. "Just know that the fate of Britannia rests in your hands, Arthur. Without your help or skill, there would be no hope."

"But why?" Arthur asked, flabbergasted as she goes back to rifling through her research. Again, the weight of the bag drags him down, the book within it brushing against his arm as it stuck out of the top of the bag. "Why am I trusted with this?"

"Because you are my most prized pupil," Merlin grins at him, her golden eyes sparkling with something magical. "And I believe that you will do this right."

At least, she thinks, that is what she wants to believe. But Arthur doesn't seem to agree as he takes his cue from her, still very much shocked. With no other words, he turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him with a silent click. Heavy, the bag hangs from his hand, the book once again brushing against his arm from its post halfway in the bag. The book that Merlin had given him the task of looking after and using.

Frowning, Arthur pulls the book from the bag and flicks it open to the first page. Blank, just as he expected, but he's not going to leave it that way. Swiftly, he uses the quill left within the book's pages and jots something down before closing the book once more and heading away from Merlin's research room.

There is something wrong with Merlin - he can feel it. Something is going on with her. Something is making her act differently from usual. And he will get to the bottom of it even if it costs him his life.


"Looks like we left at the right time!" Jericho grinned, proudly brandishing the steaming steal of food that she had just bought from one of the many vibrant stalls. Light and fried and sugary, the aroma of pastries and sweets wafted through the air, melding with the more nutty and heavy scent of sugared almonds, and the solid, rich fragrance of chocolate from overseas. This entire district of the village was filled with all sorts of food and trinket sellers, bright, shiny objects and mouth-watering foods used to attract festival-goers here.

After closing shop early and sneaking out of the Boar Hat, both Jericho and Howzer had headed directly toward the bright lights and noise of the village's festival. Figuring that the kid-Sins would probably want to see stuff more interesting than food and trinkets, they had decided that this section of the festival would be the best to check out first. That assumption appeared to be true as they were nowhere to be seen.

Yet, it appeared that as soon as Jericho had stepped in line for some well-deserved pastries, Howzer had made himself scarce and gone missing in the crowd. Just the typical behaviour for that puff-brained bastard... No doubt, he was right in the middle of the gigantic swarm, gloating in the attention and most likely showing off in order to gain some boasting privileges. If that were true then it meant way too much attention was going their way.

"And of course I'm the only sensible one out of us both..." Jericho grumbled, all past pride discarded for frustration. Shaking her head, the knight took an angry bite of her pastry. Warm sugar melted on her tongue, soothing her frustration just a smidgen as she barged her way past a young couple. "You'd think that we'd stick together because we're teammates, but no, Howzer just had to go off and- "

All angry muttering is cut short when Jericho gets to the centre of the crowd, spotting Howzer's signature blonde quiff right in the middle of it.

There, in all his glory, he stood, flexing his arms and squaring up to some other young man. Behind him stood a rather frightened haggle of girls, all their hands clutched tightly together as they cautiously eyed the swiftly escalating situation. No doubt Howzer had seen something going amiss between the group and had tried to intervene. That natural instinct to be the knight in shining armour led to this: a large crowd watching as he prepared to fight a man.

In a normal situation, Jericho would have been proud of this sight. Seeing Howzer or any other knight defend those in danger was something that sparked an intense sensation of pride and happiness within her. However, right now, when they were both breaking the rules and ditching their work, this act of heroism and bravery was the last thing Jericho needed. If anything, it was the type of act that could get them caught red-handed by Princess Veronica herself.

"You stupid bastard!" Jericho stormed into the centre of the crowd, huffing as she landed a successful blow on the opposing man's face. Like a rock, he dropped to the ground, stunned by her fierce and unexpected attack. Jericho barely flinched as she roughly grabbed Howzer by his collar, yanking him down to her level. "Do you have any idea how stupid you are for doing this? I know you like to play the knight in shining armour but- "

"Relax, I wasn't causing a scene," Howzer shook his head, now glaring at Jericho himself. His own hand was prying hers from his collar, the knuckles red with fresh bruises. "If anything you did! Now everyone's wondering who the hell we are!"

Pausing, Jericho looked around the crowd, watching the shocked and concerned gazes of the spectating crowd. Behind them the haggle of frightened girls were even more closely packed, shivering as Jericho turned to look at them, her face still red with rage. Murmurs and whispers were beginning to grow around them, all centered toward the spectacle of a scene caused by Jericho's outburst and the hulking man she had so abruptly knocked out.

Red-hot embarrassment began to fill Jericho's veins, making her grip tremble as her face flushed, "We-well this wouldn't have happened if you weren't such a hopeless loverboy!" She grumbled, letting go of Howzer's collar and dropping him to the ground. "Next time think with your head!"

Still red-faced, Jericho stomped off, forgetting about her ruined pastries, now crushed with her balled right hand. She knew sneaking off would be a bad idea!


Darkness was something that didn't cause fear for Elizabeth anymore. Before darkness used to be linked to evil, fear, the unknown, but now she had come to link it with something else, something she did not truly comprehend, but something she knew would protect her nonetheless. Over the years, her interpretation of darkness had changed. Now, to Elizabeth, darkness was not the feeling of uncertain death engulfing her whole, nor the feeling of falling into an endless, unknown abyss; to Elizabeth, darkness was the return of an old friend that had always been constant, always been watching, and would always protect her.

Fear was something that had always lingered in the back of Elizabeth's mind. Unlike darkness, the unknown - fear - was something that always made her think cautiously and wisely about her next move. Yet when it came to Sir Meliodas and the Seven Deadly Sins, Elizabeth had never thought much about fear.

She only thought about hope.

Maybe that was why she was brave enough to take a risk, to dive into the deep unknown of darkness once more, to seek the deeply buried truth. A hidden key. A small reprieve. She wanted to finally know why she had visions - dreams - linked to an entirely different life, with a girl who looked just like her, with a man who was everything she knew Sir Meliodas to be. She wanted to know how she was related to the Dragon Sin; she wanted to know why he was still here now, watching over her just as he had in those strange visions.

So maybe, maybe, the hope that always combated the terrible fear in Elizabeth's system made her too silly, too brave and too confident. Maybe that hope was what dragged her into this moment, sucking in a deep breath and deciding to do something she'd never done before. Maybe that hope was not even hope at all. Maybe that hope was silliness, naivety, but it was too late to take it back once she had tapped Meliodas' shoulder.

He turned to look at her, "Elizabeth?"

No sound left the princess' lips, all of it sucked up into a puff of air that escaped in a surprised gasp. Pink warmth immediately heated her skin, spreading in an embarrassed blush as Elizabeth cursed herself for being so hopeful, so forward, in such a serious situation. She should have been more sensible about this!

"Um..." Elizabeth gnawed her bottom lip between her teeth, nervously fiddling with her hands. Desperately, she avoided the keen gaze of the Sins' Captain, keeping her eyes drawn to the gloomy ground. What a nice, pretty ground... "I just wanted to... ask if I could talk to you, Sir Meliodas. It's nothing too important but I - I think that you should know about it."

"Sure," The blonde hopped up from his spot, a well-chosen stone that allowed him to see over the crowd.

"Could we, uh... talk somewhere more private?" The pink blush only threatened to turn into a violent shade of red as Elizabeth spoke, her brain scolding her massively for such suggestive words. Such suggestive actions. However, they had to be said and done. Elizabeth had to make sure that no-one else (other those who already knew) learned of this situation. Much of it was too sensitive to ever be leaked.

"Oh I see, so you're trying to get me all alone," Meliodas grinned, waggling his brows suggestively. Elizabeth did not miss the eagerness behind the joke, the Dragon Sin ever being the one to tease and prod at her.

"N-not like that!" Elizabeth squeaked out, her face only growing more and more flustered at his teasing. Her arms flailed in embarrassment as she tried to garble out an excuse. "I'd never - I'm just - I just want to make sure that only you hear it!"

"Oh, I know," Meliodas grinned, easily taking Elizabeth's hand in his own. It was really warm, most likely from her racing heart, and he noticed that even it was turning red in her fluster. "I just like seeing you embarrassed."

"You - what?" Elizabeth could only stare at him, wide-eyed, as her feet automatically followed the mini-Sin-Captain away from the watching eyes of the story circle.

Skillfully, Meliodas used their tiny height to their advantage when sneaking away from the group. Obviously, it should have been harder to just sneak off from such a large group - especially because they had to be watchful - but the Dragon Sin had taken full advantage of the adults' distraction and the other Sins' eagerness to quietly slip away with Elizabeth. Ultimately, he ended up leading her through confusing paths between people before stopping where it thinned and died out.

This location happened to be toward the outskirts of the village, the gloomy veil of night making the once peaceful fields and hills surrounding it appear like foreboding forests and cliffs. Dark night sky stretched above, speckled with a few stars that shone dully through the shadowed clouds. There was no moon tonight, its appearance obscured by a thin smog of mist that perpetually hung over it. Only the brightest stars could break the cluster, but even they weren't too bright.

However, despite the ominous eeriness to the sky, the village was still bursting with welcoming warmth. Amber splashed from torches and other lights hanging around the fences, casting colourful shadows through decorations and windows; dimmed voices and melodies could be heard, floating in the air like a warm midsummer's breeze. Even a thin trickle of people still passed, all of them smiling kindly at the pair of children before falling back into amicable conversation with one another.

But, even with the assurances of the village, neither Meliodas or Elizabeth felt entirely comfortable. Entirely at ease. Nothing here was entirely dangerous; nothing here was entirely safe. There was still a chance for something wrong to happen. Both were too well-used to a calm before a major storm to ever fully unwind.

"You can let go now," Elizabeth spoke first, her voice quiet even in the semi-stillness of the air. She bit her lip. "We're alone now."

Meliodas looked down at his hand and noticed that he still has hers within it. His grip was tight, protective, but not enough to squeeze her delicate hand to death, to break it. It was just enough to yank her out of the way, to protect her if need be. A weird feeling settled in his stomach, that same sinking feeling that had settled there many times before; he'd forgotten that he was always protecting her, even if it was just subconsciously.

Blinking, Meliodas released Elizabeth's hand from his own. "Oh, right."

Seeing his expression, Elizabeth immediately felt guilt build within her chest. It clogged it, made it feel tight, and she found herself apologising before she even had the chance to explain why, "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," Meliodas shook his head, trying to laugh at her behaviour to lighten up the atmosphere. He ended up just grinning. "That's my fault for being way too comfortable." He then stuffed his hands into his pockets, quirking a brow at Elizabeth, "But what did you want to tell me?"

A deep breath. That was what Elizabeth needed to regain her composure and ready herself for the task ahead, the confession ahead, that involved someone she trusted and valued greatly. She must word this well, she must explain this well, or he will think she was crazy and he will dismiss her. If Elizabeth wanted this to go well, to gain Meliodas' support, then she needed to sound as sane as possible. She needed to be as cryptic as possible.

She had to let him figure it out by himself.

"I wanted to tell you a story," Elizabeth smiled simply, her teeth finding her bottom lip once more. "When King told that story, it reminded me of an old one I heard once before. I thought that maybe you'd want to hear it."

A story? A rather silly request in the eyes of most, but Elizabeth knew that if she wished it so, Meliodas would listen to her story. He always listened to her no matter how trivial her little requests were. No matter how small, insignificant or dumb Elizabeth thought something was, if she enjoyed it, wanted to show Meliodas it, he would humour her. But only humour her. And so Elizabeth knew how far she could push this little omission of truth.

"A story?" A raised brow. Amusement. Just as she'd thought, Meliodas was humouring her. "What type of story?"

"It's one the maids used to tell me," Elizabeth replied, already knowing that to be somewhat true. In reality the maids used to spin tales about a cursed prince, a fallen kingdom and a woman who managed to break the curse. They told her tales of knights in shining armour, tales with happy endings and true love's kisses, tales that consisted of countless princesses - many of them destined to be saved by a prince who rode in on a strong, white stallion.

During her childhood, Elizabeth was never told a tale of tragic love. Young Elizabeth was never told the tale of a naive goddess and her forbidden affections toward a infamous demon. Young Elizabeth wasn't even aware that such things could happen.

But Meliodas didn't know that; Meliodas didn't know that Elizabeth had learned that all recently.

"Alright, then," Meliodas' voice snapped her back into reality, made Elizabeth blink with surprise. She'd forgotten that she was meant to be in the here and now, not her brain filled with countless thoughts and memories. The Dragon Sin focused all of his attention on the princess, "I'm listening."

Now or never - never or now. Now was the time to act or Elizabeth may never get the chance to tell him again.

"Once there was a beautiful maiden who always felt ignored," Elizabeth began, feeling as if she were tracing the outlines of a story she had read many times before. A book she had picked up numerous times previous. Even though she had no real experience of it, she recognised it almost instantly, could predict every swoop and dip of the fine writing. "She was the most beloved thing in her kingdom, loved by everyone she met. But no-one really understood her - no-one truly tried to listen to her." She pictured the lone goddess Elizabeth, the young woman growing up within the walls of a society that did not truly know her nor understand her. All they ever did was pity her, humour her.

"But then, one day, she met a terrible beast," Unintentionally, Elizabeth found her gaze drifting toward Meliodas, the initial monster of goddess Elizabeth's story - or at least from her perspective. She tried to picture him, as he was now, back then, in the war, actively filling the role of the monster. It did not fit. "At first, he had told the maiden to go away, to spare her life while she could, but she didn't listen. Unlike everyone else, the beast had listened to her. He understood her."

Much like the beast, the Meliodas Elizabeth had seen in her dreams spared the goddess Elizabeth. He had saved her from death, warned her not to try to come near to it again, but goddess Elizabeth had. Goddess Elizabeth found herself drawn to that Meliodas because he had warned her - because he took her words seriously and did not brush her away like everyone else did. His severity was what triggered goddess Elizabeth's fascination, which had in turn triggered his. They became parallel; the same but never meeting, never joining.

"So the maiden decided to try and exist in the same world as the beast," Elizabeth paused, falling silent with her thoughts and words. This was the part she did not know how to word, the part she felt could reveal all she knew. If she said the maiden fell in love, Meliodas might catch onto what she was saying too quickly; if she said that she made a tragic mistake, Meliodas would not understand at all. She settled for an in between, a middle ground.

"But... it was a fatal mistake for both."

"They never truly got to be together..." Meliodas breathed, his voice barely reaching a whisper. But Elizabeth caught it, she heard it clear as day, and it confirmed her thoughts. It confirmed her beliefs: Meliodas did know about her link to goddess Elizabeth. Or, at least, he knew more than he let on about Elizabeth's strange link to this separate world.

Elizabeth stared him in the eyes, unblinking, "So, you know this story then?"

"No - just something similar," Meliodas responded quickly, too quickly, shrugging his shoulders in false nonchalance. His eyes darted away from Elizabeth's, shameful in nature as they refused to lie and look at her at the same time. They refused to deceive and glance at her at the same time. "Just an old tale."

Elizabeth could only internally sigh at the response, knowing very well where the blonde could know that story from. There was only one possibility and it had to be that. It was too coincidental to not be from that. His reaction to it, her own cryptic way of changing it, the true ending being much happier than the one he had uttered. The story of the beast and maiden was not one of tragedy - it was not one of death. The story of the beast and maiden was one of hope, one of love, one that was told to older children to teach them to love everyone, no matter their appearance nor prickly nature. It wasn't the tragedy Elizabeth had just painted it to be.

Right?

"Can I hear it?" Elizabeth found herself speaking before she can stop herself, hopefully glancing at Meliodas. Her cheeks flooded with pink warmth as his eyes cught hers, flashing bright emerald as they glint in the glow of amber light. "Your version of the story, I mean?"

"It's pretty boring," Meliodas scratched the back of his neck, trying his best to sound sheepish. Uncaring. He was doing everything in his path to prevent her from digging up more, from uncovering more, but little did Meliodas know about how much Elizabeth had learned. Little did he know that she was only missing one vital piece of the story: his.

"I don't mind," Elizabeth smiled warmly. She took his hand in hers, pleadingly clutching it between them both, trapping the Dragon Sin into focusing on her words, on her request, that she knew he cannot turn down. "Please, tell me, Sir Meliodas."

The blonde released a hefty sigh, knowing that she would not let it go if he continued to oppose.

"Fine," He huffed. "But don't say I didn't warn you."


From the beginning of his life, all the prince had ever felt was anguish, suffering. Whether it was from himself or those around him, delivered in the screeches of unfortunate, tortured souls, buried deep in the caverns of the demon realm's dungeons, the young prince had always been surrounded by suffering.

Ghastly groans, wallowing wails and screeching sobs had been the static white noise plaguing his ears from birth. Watching the sunken eyes and withered bones of weary workers and petulant prisoners was the average pastime for a prince of his status and genus. From day one it was an established hard truth of the world, a cruel reality that governed the very laws of how this universe worked. People like him, those with power, maintained the safety of never having to suffer; those who lacked power, the petty and the poor and the persecuted, would forever be trapped in suffering's cruel, merciless hand.

So, it came as no surprise when the young prince grew to live by that rule: do whatever it takes to avoid suffering.

Power was the key to maintaining this luxury. Great power, immense power - both physical and mental - was needed to sustain this right and privilege of which he was born. Being able to scare everyone around him, whip them into submission with just one dark stare, was a skill that the prince both needed and honed. In a world like his, with a father like his, it was the only true defense against suffering's attempts to drag him under its restraints.

Years were spent training. Too many years that cracked at knuckles, calloused hands and bled at the skin's seams. Toy swords had gradually been replaced with heavier and heavier metals, the size of the blades gradually expanding until the blade itself was larger than a tree's sapling. Dragon hunts had evolved into treks to Britannia, terrorizing the local people there.

When war came knocking on the border's of the prince's lands - sixteen years into his life - it came as no surprise when he was one of the first, face fixed with determination, marching right up to the battle-room, demanding to fight; he was ready for war. The prince was ready to face, ready to defeat, the great game of suffering and revenge; he was ready to prove, prepared to show, just how far he was willing to go.

"And what makes you think you are ready?" His father's mocking sneer had echoed around the room. Always being the type to underestimate, the type to cast his own large thumb over others, the Demon King was never the sort to see the benefits. No - he'd rather focus on beating you down while you still stood - even if you were useful to him.

"Because this is what I was made for," The prince had sneered in response, hand tightened into a powerful fist. "This is what you have prepared me for since the day I was born."

If that was truly the truth, the Demon King did not supply any insight into its meaning. Instead he had laughed, waving his son away with a nonchalant hand, shoulders shaking as he cackled atop his dark throne.

"If that is your argument, I will consider it," Was the booming response. "But fail me here and know the price: the suffering will not be short on your end."

Within days the prince had gotten what he wanted. Completed with the fancy title of general and the responsibility of an elite squad of ten fighters, the Demon King had given his son the chance to prove himself. To finally join in - experience - the true art of living by the universe's law.

Ditching the more political and scholarly duties of the crown, the prince wildly dived headfirst into the heat of the battle, itching to prove himself, dying to show how he could avoid suffering because he himself was made to make others suffer. And it had worked. Battle after battle, day after day, the prince was returning with more and more ghastly tales tacked to his shoulders from the opposing army. Faces paled with fear at just the sight of him; hands trembled around weapons as knees locked feet into place. The entire battlefield feared him. The entire WAR feared the threat he could pose to either side. The potential damage he could do.

Such a feeling was exhilarating, intoxicating, after being trapped under the looming shadow of the Demon King. After listening for years, on loop, the suffering that oozed from his surroundings, feeling the suffering he received on his end, it was refreshing to push it all onto someone else. Freeing, almost cathartic, it was enjoyable to watch the enemy suffer for once - struggling to actually process the pure misery that came with such anguish.

Maybe that was why the prince became so heartless along the way. As he mowed down more and more people, carved out even more paths of intense despair and pain, he grew apathetic toward it all. Somehow, some way, the outcome of the war didn't matter so much - as long as he didn't suffer from it.

Enter the princess, striking in her overly decorative clothing, pretty face bent into a stiff frown as she peered at him. In the middle of the battlefield, blood shedding at every corner, she was down on her knees, bawling her eyes out as she scrubbed at her pink face. When he'd plucked her out of the bushes, ready to off her with his bare hands, she'd laughed, almost sheepishly, looking like a child caught in the middle of sneaking out.

One look at her face and he knew he couldn't kill her. Not when it seemed much more interesting to toy with her instead. Abruptly, he dumped her right back on the ground.

"Hey!" A slight scowl as she winced at the landing, rubbing at her behind. However it quickly dissolved into nerves, her lip being crushed between her teeth. "W-what are you going to do now? You're not going to hurt me, are you?"

He delivered a shit-eating grin, "Maybe."

"Maybe?" She spluttered, voice shrinking into a shrill squeak as she swiftly shuffled backward. Unfortunately for her, that resulted in her back slamming into the stump of a long decapitated tree.

"Yep," The prince nodded, idly shifting his sword from one hand to the other. To build suspense of course - oh, and to prolong the anxiety. The sweet, sweet anxiety that came with people wondering if they'd escape with their lives.

"How foolish I was to think demons weren't so cruel," The princess huffed a little, her pale arms crossing over the embroidered chest of her dress. Questioning, almost accusatory, she turned her gaze to him, raising a brow. "Why do you like making other people suffer so much?"

That was when something changed. He didn't know what, couldn't name it in that moment, but something clicked that had never clicked before and refused to budge away ever since. Instead it remained, lodged there permanently, making him scowl at his inability to answer to her question confidently. The slight twinge to his gut as he peered at him inquisitively, delicate hands twisted together like the golden bands wrapped around her forearms.

"I'm waiting to suffer," The princess spoke again, not budging from her previous position. In fact she even shuffled toward him, offering herself up on a pretty silver platter. "Another victim to another demon. Yet another life taken in this endless war of power. Ironic, don't you think?"

Faced with her questioning stare, the pressure of her easy acceptance of death, all the prince could do was swallow. As for her question, to that, the prince could not answer; it was something he just didn't know.

...O...

Oddly, the princess had become a thorn wedged deeply into his side ever since that battle. Determined to get to the bottom of the mystifying spell she'd put on him, the prince had decided to simply break her down, piece by tiny piece if need be, in order to discover why - just why - she was able to turn what should have been a moment of intense suffering into something more peaceful, more accepted. Why she of all people - one of the enemy - could so easily accept suffering.

So, in the only way he knew how, the prince decided to test her limits.

Plucking her straight from the battlefield, like a pretty flower from a meadow, he decided that he would conduct his own experiments in order to seek the truth behind this conundrum. Possibly, too, to harness this skill she had for himself - to be able to avoid ever falling into suffering's cruel clutches.

However, much to his own chagrin, the prince's investigations had only managed to come to a single conclusion: this woman just would not give up. When faced with certain death, the princess had not fallen into despair; when forced to watch as hundreds - possibly thousands - of her own people perished at the hands of his army, she had still not wavered in her stubborn resolve; even when confronted with the harsh realities of the war, exposed to the uncensored true reports of the gruesome conflict - untouched by the propaganda of her own government, the princess still had not wavered. An inch.

Three months in and the prince was beginning to see her existence as a weight on his shoulders. Every day he would be surrounded by her, her sickly peppiness and energetic eagerness, the rapid spouts of innocent emotion that always seemed to ooze from her very presence. With watching eyes and a simple smile she would curiously absorb every single thing she saw, every tiny detail, and would question him on them incessantly.

Even during the torture, when he'd try to chip away at her toughened resilience, the princess would still smile despite the shimmering tears falling from her crystal eyes. Sometimes she would even try to talk to him, reason with him - as if he were a being who could be reasoned with. Ha, the very idea of it all was laughable!

Yet, today they were launched into the familiar back-and-forth often initiated by her curious probing. The millionth time after he had promised himself to ignore her.

"Why are you fixated on cracking me?" The princess had suddenly asked, raising a brow as she spooned soup into her mouth. Gently, her delicate hands toyed with her bread, squashing it beneath the pads of her fingertips.

Initially, the prince had been rather standoffish toward her conditions of imprisonment. The princess was, after all, a prisoner of war - a bargaining chip for his own army to use when the opportunity arose. Plus, she did serve a second purpose, one that relied on her spirit being broken and her resilience pushed to the extremes. Nevertheless, she was still a good bargaining chip; the prince doubted the enemy wanted their crown princess returned as a bag of bones.

So, reluctantly, he had to keep her healthy. Otherwise he'd risk upsetting his father along with the opposition.

"It could be useful," The prince decided to respond simply because he knew that her damned persistence would keep her going. Once a question fixated itself upon her mind, that princess could keep chattering on and on about it for hours on end.

To keep her quiet - he told himself - he would simply give her the most boring and blunt answers. When the princess eventually figured out that she would not be getting anything substantial from him, she would stop asking. Just like all the other prisoners had learned to before her; the prince was never the right person to approach for straightforward, helpful answers.

"You say it would be useful, but what would it be useful for?" The princess pressed after a moment of silence, not sounding accusatory at all as she spoke. Nonetheless, with how easily she appeared to be bypassing his methods of cracking her, with how gracefully she still held her head up high - despite being a prisoner of war - the prince couldn't help but feel as if it was. It felt as if she were laughing right at him, giggling at his inability to make her suffer.

The curiosity sitting in her eyes wasn't helping either. At all. Because it only mirrored the prince's own curiosity toward her, her supernatural ability to just... withstand everything that was catastrophically thrown her way.

"You don't need to worry about that," The prince snapped dismissively, feeling the agitation spike within him system just from looking at her. The embodiment of his own failures to crack a simple, silly princess...

In the face of his agitation, the princess only shook her head, "Maybe I do need to worry. Because it seems to be consuming you whole." Pausing, she bit into her lip as she idly stirred at her bowl of soup, eyes glued to the object. "You know, it's not healthy to be so fixated upon something like this. If you keep working away at a problem, it never gets any easier. If anything, it only results in you frying your brain completely, suffering under your own frustrations because you simply can't give yourself a break."

...O...

With how long her captivity was drawing on for, it was no wonder that the princess was growing homesick. Whenever anyone would mention anything about her people, ranging from the latest reports of battle to even passing remarks, she would grow tense and terse and teary. Everyone had noticed it - especially the prince, someone who spent the majority of the day with her. The reason for that - well it wasn't quite a simple answer.

At times they would be placed within the same vicinity simply due to his own agenda; other times she would placed within the same area simply because it was a viable option. Keeping the princess glued to the prince's side was a way of keeping her under lock and key. Keeping her within the prince's vicinity simply ensured that he would see the moment that she snapped, the moment that all the fine cracks, the tiny little dents, would finally collapse within themselves, shattering her completely.

What the prince hadn't anticipated was her finally cracking. Like fine glass, like a piece of porcelain flung against a wall, she shattered, the first signs of her true sadness leaking though the silent sobs that wracked her entire body. Hidden away from prying eyes, curled up into a tiny ball, the princess cried her woes away, tucked up in a small corner of the room. So tiny, so small, she would've gone unnoticed if not for the whimper that escaped her soundless sobs.

At the sight of her sadness, the prince couldn't help but feel a thrill shoot up his spine. This was it. The moment he was waiting for.

So why did it feel... somewhat unsatisfactory?

Oddly, the feeling would not squash itself like it normally did. No, instead it insisted on growing the longer he stood there, unsure of what exactly should come next. Originally, he had planned to exploit this moment of weakness, to use it to finally decipher what made the princess such a resilient and persistent person. But now, in the actual moment, faced with her actual despair, the prince wasn't entirely sure what he would do. Not with the peculiar unease settled at the pit of his gut.

"I know you're there," The princess spoke, breaking her chain of silent sniffles. Still curled up within her ball, she refused to look at him, but even so the prince felt as if her gaze was burning him, pinpointed right at his hesitant form. "Staring, I mean."

"Oh," Was all he could quietly admit. Quietly, as if he felt something like guilt. Despite himself, the prince felt heat climb his neck - the beginnings of nerves.

"What do you want?" The princess sniffed, blushing from being caught right in the middle of the act. Gently, she rubbed at her puffy, red eyes as she glared at him, as if it could hide away the incriminating evidence of her melancholy and tears. "Are you just waiting to rub it in?"

Yes, originally he had intended to rub it in. With a victorious smirk, smug as a fox that had trapped the pheasant, he was going to rub it right into her pretty face, tears and all and laugh - nearly to hysteria - with victory. Sweet, sweet victory. Victory over suffering, victory over this war, victory over her. And yet, when faced with the reality of it all, the feeling of victory felt near to nothing in his system. Instead it felt somewhat sour, acidic, as a knot formed in his gut.

Was it guilt? Was regret eating him up inside? No, surely it wasn't. Guilt and regret were the first signs of entering torment, slipping into the cold grasp of suffering and its cruel games. Suffering was something the prince never succumbed to. Suffering was something he hoped to never become engulfed within.

Nevertheless, the indescribable feeling in his gut was proof of this newfound change. Sitting there, like a solid lump, it was noticeable and the prince was certain that it indicated something changing. Something that unsettled him greatly.

Maybe that was why had this silly light bulb to show her the mirror room. To absolve the strange feeling - he once again told himself - to ensure that it didn't become a large problem.

"I'm going show you something," The prince stiffly announced, rolling his eyes as he extended a hand for the princess to take. Strange for him, wildly out of character for him, but it was also the same for the princess to glare at him, almost with something akin to hatred, as she pursed her lips.

"Is it another one of your silly experiments?" The princess raised a brow, hesitant as she blinked at his hand. Not that he could blame her. Really, he gave her no true warrant to trust him. So far all he had done were horrible things, cruel things, to get her to crack under the pressure. "Another battle seen from a front row seat?"

"No," The prince shook his head, already regretting the sudden thought of showing her the mirrors. Right now he was meant to be questioning her, examining her every word and action in order to decipher just what kept her going. Relentlessly, he was meant to test how far she could be strained - place her through further distress just for the sake of it all. That was what everyone expected of him; that was what he expected of himself.

Already feeling the large shoes of his father's formidable name, the prince had gained a reputation to uphold. Even during the war, taking part in countless battles, mowing down the enemy mercilessly, the prince had gained a connotation with cruelty, violence and intense, immeasurable bouts of pure wrath. All negative things, all things that fueled the bubbling pot of the world's gossip train, dozens of stories built around the image he had carved for himself since birth.

However now, stuck in this strange moment of hesitation and peculiar choices, the prince wasn't sure what he was meant to think of himself. Would this moment, this small moment of out of character behaviour, forever change who he was?

From the look of surprise the princess gave him, the answer was uncertain.

"Oh," She blinked, wordlessly accepting his hand.

Neither of them spoke as he navigated the familiar halls of his lifetime home, sticking to the less busier routes as gossip and whispers always did travel like the wind itself. In general, going to the mirror room was a frequent pastime of his. Ever since he was introduced to the room, filled to brim with magical artifacts unique to only this realm, a fast fascination had been fixed firmly into his brain. Plus Gowther, the caretaker, was always pleasant company.

Gowther - yes, maybe he was why the prince had decided to show the princess this room. Gowther could make her feel better, restore the broken spirit within her, much more successfully than the prince himself ever could. Then, once she was fixed again, he could resume his investigation; he could shatter her once again.

Face to face with the main attraction - the big mirror - and the prince knew he'd made the right decision. As soon as she'd stepped into the room, an overwhelming sense of relief flooded over the princess - almost mustering a full smile when Gowther had greeted them, waving kindly toward her. The prince himself had not missed the soft glare Gowther had sent his way, no doubt ticked off about his awful manners. Oh well. He could stay annoyed. The prince would never budge on his stance toward the princess.

"You can see anything you want from here," The prince informed her as she gingerly touched the glass mirror, appearing mystified as its reflection distorted like ripples in a flowing river. "I use it from time to time."

"So you do enjoy something other than senseless violence?" The princess raised a brow, something like amusement and wonder dancing in her eyes. They'd nearly been cleared of the puffiness and tears now. However, traces of sadness still remained: a raw redness, a tired look.

"Sometimes," The prince shrugged, brushing aside the slight twinge to his gut. The damned phantom guilt; it couldn't be real. No, he'd never felt true, genuine guilt before. "I'm not a complete monster."

Silence enveloped them as the mirror's ripples cleared, focusing into a stunning image of someplace much brighter and warm than the prince's own realm. Crystal blue skies; buildings carved from sun-bleached marble; endless grassy plains with ripened golden wheat: the princess' kingdom. Filled to the brim with the enemy, winged figures who laughed and sang and played wooden instruments, her domain was much more sunnier place, a place that exuded warmth and comfort and luxury.

A stark difference, the prince found, to his own domain. In his own lands the disparity between those who had and those who didn't have was clear. His people did not seem as peaceful nor carefree as the princess' subjects. Instead they cowered under the threat imposed by the Crown, those placed above them in the social hierarchy. As it had been well before his very existence - well before he could even be an abstract thought.

"Thank you," The princess smiled a tiny grin as she watched the scene displayed before her. Pink flushed at her pale face as she glanced at him. "You didn't have to do this."

"Well, it wasn't for you," The prince answered quickly, the heat creeping up his neck once more. Uncomfortable heat.

"Then who was it for?"

Again, he could not answer. Again, he didn't know.

...O...

More time passed and that unsettling feeling had failed to dissipate within his system. No, instead it had grown, infected not just his gut but also his lungs, his hearts, maybe even perhaps his entire brain. Consuming every action, engulfing every thought, this feeling settling within him, growing in his gut, was making the prince feel somewhat anxious, full of dread. And for the life of him, the prince could not figure out why. At all.

So far the war was heading down a spectacular course. Hundreds of kilometers had been reclaimed in the recent wave of attacks, multiple towns in the north of Britannia - as well as locations in the midlands - being handed over in the havoc of the latest demon-led ambushes. Entire cities were crumbling from just word of the army's arrival, sending ambassadors to arrange treaties and policies in order to limit any damage done to trade or the cities' populations themselves. Even well-established kingdoms, with armies of their own, were rethinking their alliances, instead reconsidering joining the demon army.

Countless weeks had passed since the prince was needed in battle; a further several had been done and dusted since the Ten Commandments were in full attendance. Never before had the war been doing so well. Never before had the demon army seen such wonderful results.

So why now, when everything was hitting its peak, when the prince was finally proving the point he had set out to prove years ago, was he finally feeling dread?

"Something terrible has happened," The princess confirmed his suspicions, lips pressed into a firm grimace as she turned away from the mirror. These days she spent hours glued to it, watching and updating herself on what the prince could only assume was the welfare of her own kingdom. That was why he had told her about the mirror, after all - to soothe the aching burn of her chronic case of homesickness.

However, today, she lacked the hopeful edge she often had within her words. No, today there was a foreboding tone to her statement, a signal that something wasn't quite right on her end of the conversation. And, of course, with how updated the prince himself was with the war, with everything that was happening behind the scenes of the war, he also knew that not everything was a peachy keen as it portrayed itself to be.

No, something was going down. Something big. That something would not let the unease in his mind, in his tortured soul, settle even a bit.

"I know. I've heard about it," The prince admitted, the words feeling like sticky tar on his tongue. Frowning, he stood beside the princess, staring into the mirror's surface. Within it was a room of people, all dressed in the flowing tunics of his traitorous enemy, piled into the tiny space to crowd around the tall and towering figure of a lone warrior. A familiar warrior. Who could ever forget the face that claimed to own the power of the sun itself?

Scowling at the memory of it all, the prince felt his fist tighten into a ball. Yeah, he remembered him. He remembered him well enough to want to hurt him personally; that spoke enough to his darkened, blackened hearts.

"Well it's horrible," The princess sighed, shaking her head at the entire scene. Her own hands were twisted together, almost in a silent prayer as she gnawed on the already bruised flesh of her tortured bottom lip. "Terrible. Why can't - why can't there just be peace?"

That question of hers - one that the prince could finally answer - was one that was answered long ago. Over and over again, through every repeated generation, war had been the answer to so many disagreements, every single schism between nations that refused to heal through peaceful methods. Races and cultures of people who were complex, people who could think and create and feel, were nothing new. This war wasn't a modern problem; this war was an ancient problem.

Conflicts between nations always came from somewhere. Determination, drive, to continue a war always came from somewhere. In this case, like so many others, the answer was simple: there was simply too much on stake for anyone to lose anymore.

"No-one wants to lose a war," The prince stated simply, surprising the princess as he actually answered her question. For once. After months of dismissing her, beating around the bush with meaningless answers, he was finally giving her a decent one. Sighing, he ran a hand through his wild hair. "And only one winner can come from a battle like this."

Unless they choose to suffer.

"What if there was a way to negotiate peace?" The princess suddenly probed, raising a brow. "To stop this madness before something even worse happens."

"That's not possible," The prince shook his head. Not now. Neck-deep in a war, placing every single resource they had into it, no-one wanted to withdraw; doing so would result in a catastrophic hit to the economy. Withdrawing from the war would be the biggest mistake for either side to make - not when the war had expanded into this much greater game of chess, involving not just their lands but the lands of Britannia as well.

"Well, I think I can negotiate a truce," The princess announced, a renewed spark of determination burning within her blue eyes. Hands planted firmly onto her hips, she puffed out her chest. "I think I can get those people back safely."

"A truce?" The prince couldn't help but laugh at the idea of it all. A truce this far into the war? After so many failed attempts? This woman was building the guillotine for her own public execution. She was asking for the people to chop her pretty head off with a hatchet. "I think that's the best joke you've said all day." However, when she glared at him, frown back in place, the prince could only blink, "You're serious."

"As serious as you are," The princess affirmed, nodding with a hum. Folding her arms over her chest, she turned back to the mirror, gesturing to the scene still playing on the glass. "I want those people to be returned safely and to do that you have to send me home."

Why did that statement, why did her words, sting him so? Why did the prince take it so personally, almost too personally, that she wanted to go home? That shouldn't have been a surprising revelation. No, not with how he had treated her nor with what she gone through. Homesickness was the root of the princess' melancholy. Missing her home, missing her people, was what kept her going within the toxic environment of the political enemy.

Nevertheless, the prince had figured that part of her had grown desensitized to the homesickness. With how happy she had been these past few months, occupied by the mirror and chattering away to him like a bird chirping away from its post, she had fooled him with how happy she'd appeared. Perhaps, even, she had managed to worm her way into his system, borrow like a parasite and now - when she was going - he didn't entirely know how to function without her.

Yes, maybe it was that last point...

"I don't know about that," The prince murmured, knowing himself that such a decision would be dangerous. Even if he approved of such a thing - which he didn't. The princess still had some use, was still valuable to be dangled like a prized jewel.

But then, at the same time, the prince also knew that her credibility was gone now. Months after disappearing from battle, seen with the demon army, the princess was surely marked down as a threat to the war's efforts in her own kingdom. Using her as a bargaining chip now wouldn't be as effective as it would have been months ago, if at all.

"That's the only way it will work," The princess snapped him from his thoughts. As if she could tell that he was running out of excuses to use - ones that she couldn't actually debunk. "If I go back home, I can convince the Archangels to let those people go. Once Ludociel knows- "

"It will be pointless!" The prince interjected, his voice much rougher and sharper than he had originally intended. Hands with a vice-like grip grasped onto the princess' wrists. "Once they know where you have been they won't trust you. They'll kill you."

"And I don't care about that!" The princess frowned, her own face twisting with frustration. Yanking her hands from his grip, she shook her head as she changed the image on the mirror. "Those people who are trapped right now, suffering because of this war, are your people. And if my people are responsible for that, if they are torturing innocent souls, women and children who have nothing to do with this, then I cannot just stand by and watch it happen. I may accept my own suffering, but I do not accept theirs. It simply wouldn't be right."

Right before his eyes, there it was, clear as day - the reason why the dread had been piling within his gut. The very reason why the war had been going so well so suddenly.

Dozens of people, hundreds of people, were contained in what was essentially giant orbs of light - torture chambers in their real function - suspended in a cruel purgatory between life and death. In a war, a conflict as intense as this one, such acts were nothing new. On the battlefield, to win, an army must do all they can to wear their enemy down. Women and children, however, were not the enemy; innocent people, people who had never picked up a true weapon of war - no less had fought in one - were not a threat.

Now, the prince was no angel. No, he was not innocent in breaking this rule. But to this scale, to this degree - he had never seen it before. Not like this.

"Fine," It left as a reluctant grunt, a restrained growl as he tried to contain the curdling outrage filling his system. Quickly. "You can go." Beside him, the princess was going to celebrate it. He caught it in the upturn of her lips, the smile that was about to form. Too bad he had to squash it before it even began. "But..."

"But?" The princess echoed.

"Don't turn back," The prince decided to say, turning his own back on the princess. On everything she stood for. "After this, forget the war and leave."

...O...

For once the prince wished for months to pass. Alas, it had only been a slow crawl of weeks, the entire kingdom falling into chaos and catastrophe after the latest stunt pulled by the opposition. Just as the prince had predicted, the princess and her silly words had done little to sway the hardened minds of her kingdom's military leaders. Too far gone into the conflict, too exhausted and too desperate, they weren't willing to give up what they saw as their golden ticket to success. Oh no. That would be just as bad as the prince's army giving up their own trump card, their own ace to play on their deck of cards - oh wait, he had.

"You are a fool," His father's voice rumbled through the ground, like tremors trembling the earth, as he glared at his finest progeny. The first to his ambitions of extending his legacy. "To give all this up, to die for something as insignificant as another person, what a fool you are, my boy."

Yes, a fool. He was a stupid, stumbling fool - but for a different reason entirely. None of it had hit the prince immediately. No, he never was any good at learning a lesson the first time round. He blamed his stubborn streak for that, the good for nothing hothead genes he'd inherited from his father. Being drunk with power and fixed on the wrong things tended to skew one's sense of reality; or rather, it distorted which side of the suffering scale they were on.

When the war had hit its peak, when things had reached their climax, that was when reality decided to pay a visit to the prince. Thinking that he already knew it all, was already aware to the mind play and smoke and mirrors distorting the truth, he had always dismissed the niggling sense of being used that came with playing his role as crown prince. No-one could fool him as he was the next in line for the throne, right? Who would even think to do such a thing?

His father, that was who. Behind the scenes, pulling the strings, orchestrating a war that simply wasn't a war: his father had been playing this game for years, decades, centuries. The prince had only fully realised it, properly seen it for what it was, the day the princess had walked out.

By then, though, it was too late. Much too late. All he could do was turn to Gowther, disappear and remain on the run ever since.

At least he had intended to remain on the run.

"Well if he's a fool, I'm a fool too!" The princess, beside him, her hand laced with his in solidarity. Yes, she had found him and told him about her plans to end this pointless conflict. Points planned out, army rallied and allies found, she had seemed well-established, perfectly successful in her plans to quash the great war. The only thing she couldn't predict was this - because who could have predicted this?

"You have no idea what you're talking about, my dear!" Her mother, thunderous, stormy, sparks of lighting crackling like static around her.

If someone had warned the prince about this beforehand, stated that he would be in this moment, standing before what was essentially two gods, he would have laughed. In the past he would have never considered going against his own kingdom; in the past he would have never thought that his father would team up with the queen of the celestial realm. Past him was a fool. The prince had concluded that ever since he left his kingdom behind in the dust. Past him was a fool.

But then, in true essence, that meant present him was too - only this time it was for the right reasons.

"This will not go unpunished," His father once more, ominous and dark. "But if you turn back now, the punishment will be lessened."

Turning to the princess, the prince raised a brow. He was met with a determined stare, just as unwavering and certain as it been months ago - when he had first plucked her from the battleground, exhausted and tear-streaked. Back then she had not feared death and now it was no different. In his mind, she would never let herself succumb to the fear of someone else taking her own life; she would rather charge, proud and headstrong, toward her own death.

And he would gladly follow her.

In the face of judgement from two gods, when given a chance to redeem themselves before two gods, the wiser choice should have been obvious. But the pair had never been wise. Instead they charged forth together, hand in hand, storming toward their certain deaths.