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       It was when the castle started groaning that he realized all was lost.

       Amidst the chaos, Alastair Ehn struck down his opponent with his cane and released a warning snarl at his pursuers. The armored men, startled by his animalistic expression, flinched – and that was all the time the crippled king needed.

       Briefly flicking liquid scarlet from his sword, Alastair returned the blade to his cane and swiftly limped down the hall, only one person on his mind. The ominous moans of his home echoed around him, becoming louder and louder with each deafening, explosive shell that impacted against its ancient walls. A high-pitched whistling demanded his attention, and Alastair swiftly ducked down against the side of the wide hall, bringing his tattered cloak over him. Not a second later, the entire world seemed to jump. Light and flame erupted behind him, fragmented stone and debris bursting inward. Flashing a glance back, Alastair watched with rising fury as Devil’s Fire, a result of the explosives, eagerly consumed his once grandeur halls, turning the usually crisp air into a suffocating mass of green smoke and dust.

       Another shell hit the floor below and the king gritted his teeth, resisting the instinctual urge to shout – it was no use when he couldn’t make a sound. Ignoring the insistent stinging that shot up his brace-covered right leg, Alastair stumbled up and continued on, maneuvering around fallen rubble and corpses. One body in particular caught his eye – the arm dangling from the rubble to reveal the tattered remains of a colorful, patchwork sleeve – but he pushed the sight from his mind. Alastair turned a corner, only to curse his luck for the fifth time that blasted day.

       “There he is!”

   “Kill him and she’s ours!”

       “INCOMINNNG~!”

       The king ducked, and sure enough three projectiles zipped over his head. Gunshots rattled in his ears; and as the sound of bodies hit the floor, Alastair turned his narrowed gaze toward the man who - wielding an enemy gun - had appeared behind him.

   It was Xenos, one of his five centurions. His tall figure was bloodied and bruised, uniform ripped and green scarf out of place. That stupid grin he always wore in chaotic situations was stretched obnoxiously across his face, a painful-looking burn following the curve of it.

       “Not ready to die yet, eh, Your Majesty?”

        Alastair snorted. Unable to vocally speak his response, he willed his words through thought to Xenos’ mind, ‘We must get her out of here.’

        Ignoring the suddenly disapproving look that crossed his companion’s expression, Alastair stalked past the centurion. While Xenos dutifully followed him, it was not without complaint.

        “But, Your Grace – “

      ‘Argue with me, and I will cut you down like the traitors.’

        “Right. Shutting up now.”

        Ehnshearts Castle was akin to a labyrinth in layout. It gave the king and his centurion an advantage in navigating its many halls and corridors, despite the artillery blasting against the outer walls and enemies milling about within. As the two men cut down another group of daring soldiers, Alastair found himself grimacing at the situation he had found himself in.

        It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. Despite the long-lasting, world-wide chaos induced by a failed apocalypse fifty years ago, not once had Alastair’s authority been challenged in his seven years’ reign. At least not to this extent. A few grumbling Elders from the Elders Council, yes, but not challenging by way of an actual assault on his lands and castle. Looking at the speed at which this particular attack had been launched and the immediate response of the public, it was almost as if it had been orchestrated.

       This in of itself perturbed the king.

       Considering recent events, he knew it was inevitable that his subjects would end up attacking each other over custody of the child they believed to be a wish-granting angel. But an assault from a neighboring government so far away - and organized in a mere day? The only way such an attack could have happened is if the Elders had a hand in it; but with their bickering group, no one could’ve seen that as remotely possible.

        Nonetheless, now was not the time to dwell on such thoughts.

      The safety of the little girl who had unceremoniously thrown herself into the king’s life was of the utmost priority. Regardless of whether the revelations of the prior day’s ball proved true, Alastair would not let her get captured. He could only imagine what “wishes” her kidnappers would try to get out of her. She would be caged, and being caged was the only thing the child had ever shown fear towards.

      “We’ve got company!” announced Xenos.

        Howling attackers in red rushed his blindside from an adjacent hall, and the king let instinct overcome him. Muscle memory from years of wars fought alongside his father surged through his body and sword. Alastair denied his rebelling – and now fallen – subjects not a single glance.

        “You know, you’re really scary when you’re angry,” commented Xenos. “If I ever had any doubts about your being half-draconic, they are definitely moot now.”

      ‘Says the man who laughs after shooting his opponents in the ass.’

      “Oh, come on, even you have to admit their reactions are funny!”

      Alastair rolled his eyes, only to flinch as lightning bolted up his right leg. Sucking in air, he pushed forward again, cane tapping loudly against the cracked and trembling stone floor.

   “My priority is to get you out of here, Your Majesty,” reminded Xenos, forcing himself to jog to avoid getting ahead of the crippled man he served. “I know she’s important to you, but –“

   ‘You know nothing.’

   “I know more than you give me credit for. You’re not the only one she talks to.”

   Xenos froze, breath caught in his throat. He looked down the gleaming, bloodied point of his king’s sword, eyes ending their journey on flaming, abnormally red irises.

   ‘Come again?’

   “All I’m saying,” murmured the threatened centurion, “is that you shouldn’t forget that we’ve been here for you too - long before she ever was.”

   Unbidden, Xenos’ words shoved Alastair into déjà vu, and an unwarranted memory forced itself to the forefront of his mind.

       “Don’t forget about everyone else, Aly.”

       Alastair snorted, not removing his attention from his heavy volume. A mere hour ago, he had retreated to his personal study, determined to avoid the Head Maid’s recent complaints about Xenos’ flirting with her subordina. However, despite his clearly vexed demeanor (which should have frightened any sane person away), a certain blonde child still found it suitable to keep him company. Said child was currently sitting on the arm of his plush chair and smiling all too cheerfully. She had been filling the silence with her humming before her sudden outburst, which the king was still dutifully ignoring.

       Seemingly recognizing that she would get no reply, a mischievous glint flashed in the little girl’s bright blue eyes. She leaned her head back into Alastair’s personal space, her smile morphing into a shit-eating grin when the king gave her an agitated look in response.

       “You wouldn’t be so lonely if you noticed them too, you know. They really do care about you,” the little girl insisted. “Look at ZenZen, for example!”

   ‘I am not lonely.’

       A sigh left Alastair’s throat as the child leaned too far and promptly tumbled backwards, right into his lap. His book fell to the floor with a loud thump!, and she became a complete giggling mess, her long, blonde hair fanned out everywhere.

   In the singsong voice she was most recognized for, the little girl trilled between giggles, “Whatever you say, Aly!”

   The sound of gunfire close by jolted him back into reality and Alastair scowled. Meanwhile, Xenos nearly collapsed from relief, gripping his spared neck as the temperamental king turned briskly away from him.

   ‘Do not test me.’

   Hiding a bitter smile, Xenos recovered from the brief fright and ran after Alastair, gun already locked on the upcoming enemies charging down the corridor towards them like angry bulls. The centurion scoffed. Really, what kind of fools charge at a half-draconic king?

       “Welcome, dear uninvited guests, to Ehnshearts Castle!” Xenos called out, a ridiculous laugh bursting from his lungs as he let loose a barrage of bullets. “Come and get your greeting gifts!”

/ / /

     It had been an absolutely disgusting day when he first met her.

       Alastair Ehn, King of the Northern Territories, had been in a vexed mood all morning. Not only had he been forced to take action against a group of anarchists who had had the gall to challenge his authority, but the weather today was shit.

       The weather, admittedly, was usually shit. Man-made apocalypses that alter the Earth’s surface and atmosphere naturally result in a negative impact on nature’s cycles – amongst other things. However, today it was particularly shitty – shittier than normal – and it was truly beginning to annoy the half-human king.

       Another barrage of acidic rain decided to repeat its earlier five assaults. Alastair scowled as his men dove off the dirt road in a frenzy to seek out the cover of wilting pines, only to yelp in alarm as the fog in the deeper forest decided to remind them of its existence. Clouds of thick, rolling mist lazily reached out and engulfed Alastair’s sheltering troops in a chilly, vision-impairing hug.

       “Ah, that’s a problem,” stated Xenos.

       Alastair turned his gaze to the man, giving him a particularly frustrated look.

       “R-right! Of course –“ Motioning for a nearby comrade to watch Alastair’s left side, the centurion who acted as the King’s Voice rushed towards the panic-induced soldiers.

       “Men! Regroup! By the King’s orders, regroup, you fools! What are you, children?! Get your acts together, damn it! You’re embarrassing me!”

       As Xenos’ insults ensued, Alastair turned his eyes to the horizon, completely ignoring the nervous soldier watching his left side. The sound of sizzling distracted him briefly, followed by a consequential sting of pain. However, he paid no heed to the hazardous rain that had managed to seep through his chainmail. It would only leave slight burns, and even then he would heal before they arrived at their destination. The men weren’t so lucky, but a few burns wouldn’t cripple their mission. It wasn’t as if they were unfamiliar with acid rain.

       “Your Majesty, the men are reassembled,” reported an out-of-breath Xenos, bowing for extra measure.

   Alastair acknowledged him with a mere nod, already moving forward. Xenos smoothly returned to his king’s side, and the cohort was back on track – as much as they could be with harmful rain taunting their flesh. Fortunately, once they left the forest trail and reached an expanse of fields, the rain ceased and the skies cleared. Unfortunately, the sun decided to take the spotlight, glaring down at their backs and shoulders.

   “I haven’t seen weather like this in years,” confessed Xenos, pulling his green scarf over his head to block the harmful UV rays. “Think it could be an omen?”

   “You speak too plainly!” hissed a short man – another presence Alastair had been purposely ignoring. Unfortunately, said presence was now making itself clearly known. “Respect your king!”

   “With all due respect, Elder Promethes,” drawled Xenos, “you’ll get dry mouth if you keep spitting like that every time you speak.”

   “Do not think that your years of service protect you from being demoted, Centurion Xenos!”

       Xenos laughed at this. “If you can actually succeed at getting your bickering council of old coots to agree on action against a mere centurion, I’ll happily accept that demotion!”

       Alastair snorted. The Elder’s face bloomed scarlet.

       Xenos grinned, satisfied with their reactions, and added, “But last I heard, you lot have been having a fit about the upcoming ball’s thematic colors for the past three weeks. How’s that going, by the way?”

       “Your Highness,” addressed the portly Elder, voice tight as he ignored Xenos, “Surely you do not tolerate such disrespect from your high ranking officers? It does not give a strong impression!”

       Alastair cast a glance from the corner of his eye to the subject of the Elder’s ire.

       Seeing this, Xenos looked alarmed, as if realizing that his king may just be contemplating the Elder’s words. However, the foreign thought that was directed to the centurion’s mind said otherwise.

       ‘What is your name again?’

   Xenos stumbled, barely avoiding an embarrassing meet-and-greet between his face and the road.

   “Y-Your Majesty! Surely you jest?!” exclaimed the centurion, mortified. “After eight years – I cannot imagine you could not remember it! Xenos! It’s Xenos!”

   By now, troops near enough to hear the conversation going on between their higher-ups were snickering out loud. Alastair flashed a sharp glance at a group who were peeking back at him and his floundering centurion, successfully making them jump back into straight lines. Oblivious to this, Xenos fell into sulking, and the Elder once again spoke, unrelenting.

   “I respectfully insist that you consider my earlier advice, Your Grace. I am not the only Elder of our Council who is concerned, I assure you.”

   Another round of acid rain met the old man’s words.

   Alastair’s eyes narrowed. He was fully prepared to enact punishments this time around for disorder. However, his troops appeared to sense the menacing threat glaring daggers into their backs and stayed on course, grumbling quietly. As a result of the rain, the ground quickly became muddy, sucking sloppily at their boots and calves.

   This journey was becoming more trouble than it was worth. Alastair began to contemplate other methods to deal with the anarchists, but again found he was unable to come to a better solution than his current one. It was upon this conclusion that a shouted command caught his attention from the front of the procession.

   “Halt! Obstruction in the road!”

   The king was not pleased.

   As Xenos jogged forward to assess the situation, the Elder continued his oratory about the importance of impressions and authority by Alastair’s side. The king idly wondered if the old man thought he was safer on his crippled right rather than his left, and how foolish such reasoning would be. His grip on his cane tightened.

   The acid rain suddenly let up. No longer muffled by the sound of falling water, exclamations could be heard distantly from the front of the stalled cohort.

   Alastair’s patience ran out. Without further ado, he limped forward, walking cane and boots squelching loudly in the mud. The noise of his approach silenced all those who heard it – that is, all those but at the front. His centurion and another soldier – one Alastair did not recognize – were arguing heatedly with each other, their faces cherry red.

   “She’s not moving! Just throw her aside!”

   “That is not how you treat a lady, soldier!”

   “You call that a lady?! His Majesty will have our heads if he finds out we’ve been stopped by a stupid runt!”

   “He’ll have our heads if he finds out you attacked a –“

   Right. Alastair had had quite enough of this. Eyes narrowing to cat-like slits, he pushed out a firm universal message to all those around him. His demand for silence made Xenos and the soldier he was arguing with jump. Immediately, the two startled men spun around and bowed, intoning a briskly shared “Your Majesty!”

   And then a blur lunged for him.

   In the mere seconds that it took, Alastair should have easily been able to counter the attack. Years of fighting in his father’s wars to claim and unite the Northern Territories had sharpened him beyond average human standards, regardless of the perks of his draconic heritage. However, something strange stopped him from countering. A misplaced feeling overwhelmed his mind, and a familiarity that he could not put his finger on surged into him, paralyzing him completely.

       Shouts of alarm split the air. Alastair did not register them. Not even the impact of a small, malnourished body against his was enough to snap him out of his sudden daze. As precious seconds ticked by – to lash out or not? – his scarlet eyes locked onto wide blue ones.

   Looking up at the king was a child’s dirt-smudged face, slightly burnt from acid rain and framed by matted blonde hair. Unbelievably bright eyes shined excitedly up into his, and thin arms wrapped tightly around his left arm.

       And then the child opened her mouth. A wave of song washed over Alastair, effortlessly sweeping away thought and reality. All that remained were the melody and words leaving the small one’s chapped lips.

    “I stumbled upon an empty shell,

    His words were hushed,

    His leg was still.

    I asked him what he wished for,

    And he would not tell.

    Such a lonely child was he.”

   “By Heaven, what do we do?!”

   “Do not strike! You’ll attack the king!”

   “But the urchin –“

    “What do you wish for, Alastair?”

        She was no longer singing. A burst of clarity chased away the fog in his mind, and Alastair’s eyes narrowed at the smiling child latched onto his arm. She was still staring at him, her dirty face as oddly bright as her eyes.

    “Y-Your Majesty?”

       Xenos’ voice sounded muffled. Alastair noted that this was odd, seeing as how the man was only a few feet from him. If not more distantly, the ramblings of the Elder insisting that someone protect the king this instant pinched at his thoughts. Hearing the underlying threat this carried towards the little girl attached to him, a surge of unexplainable rage rose in Alastair’s throat, and a snarl broke across his face.

   ‘You will not touch her.’

   All froze, eyes widening in fright as the infuriated thought assaulted their minds. If not for the expression on Xenos’ face, Alastair wouldn’t have even registered what he’d just done – but he did.

   ‘. . . Return to your positions.’



        Despite his brief lapse in composure, King Alastair and his troops experienced no other difficulties in completing their mission. To be frank, the anarchists hadn’t stood a chance against their numbers. Alastair’s cohort crushed them effortlessly, howling in triumph and shooting off arrows in every direction as they tailed the defeated men who had challenged their ruler off of the battlefield.

        The little girl that had joined them, however, was not so easily chased away.

        She was an enigma to the king. He had tasted the molten sting of metal carving a trail of fire across his face and skull, had endured the dreadful crunch of muscle, flesh, and bone collapsing and contorting into each other. He had been captured by his enemies countless times and tortured, escaping by the skin of his teeth and sacrificing large portions of flesh while he was at it. But there was an understanding in pain – a simple acceptance of what it was, how it came about, and what it could result in. The child that had stayed while the battle raged and who had returned to his side the moment it had ended was anything but understandable. Alastair had not met many children in his life, but he was certain that if most adults could not be brave enough to approach him, let alone touch him, children shouldn’t be either.

      Nonetheless, here at his side the little one was once again, affectionately clinging onto his arm as he walked his triumphant cohort back home from their battle. To say Alastair was dumbfounded would be an understatement.

        “This is ridiculous! Why is the wretch still here? Do something, Centurion Xenos!”

        “What do you want me to do, Elder Promethes? Rip her off His Majesty’s arm? She’s got a grip tighter than Lady Hera on Centurion Jupiter!”

      The strange child was about as oblivious to the bickering of Xenos and the Elder as Alastair was. Her mood seemed to be locked on “giddy,” not once altering since she’d first appeared. Normally, such a thing would have been unnerving, but the king could only feel confusion and – as much as he hated to admit it – curiosity. As if her very presence and attitude weren’t strange enough, she also exhibited a tendency to randomly start humming, if not burst completely into song. Why Alastair found her voice comforting, he knew not.

      “I’m eleven and a half,” announced the little girl, attempting to swing Alastair’s arm with hers. She did not succeed.

      “Will you not speak to me?” she inquired, looking up at the king.

      Alastair only glanced down at her from the corner of his eye, giving nothing else.

        “Erm, well, you see, kid,” cut in Xenos, casting an uneasy glance towards Alastair. Seeing no discouraging response from his king, the centurion continued, “His Majesty is mute.”

        Xenos flinched when the child turned her vibrant gaze to him.

       “Oh, I know that!” she announced cheerfully, grinning widely at the now disturbed man. “But he doesn’t need a voice to speak.”

        Her words startled Alastair, and before he knew it, he’d broken his silence.

        ‘Who are you?’

        The king’s grip on his cane tightened when waves of excitement rolled off the strange child holding onto him. Despite his abnormal method of communication, she appeared completely unperturbed to have his thoughts pushed into her mind.

        “I’m Eve, of course!” the child exclaimed. “Who else would I be?”

   ‘. . . do you not know who I am?’

         A grin – that same grin she had given him before she had sung – bloomed on the child’s face. “Of course I know who you are. You’re my important friend!”

         Alastair’s eyes narrowed, and his expression grew cold. Xenos and the elder paled, but the little girl named Eve appeared oblivious to it.

         ‘I have no friends. I have no need for friends.’

         “If that were true, why haven’t you chased me away?”

         Needless to say, the child was exceptionally skilled at throwing Alastair off balance. But then, so was Xenos.

         “You know, it’s fine and all if you don’t mind her clinging to you like that, Your Grace, but the men are going to start questioning your preferences in women.”

         After an intimate encounter with Alastair’s cane, Xenos limped the rest of the way back to Ehnshearts Castle.

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       It was when the castle started groaning that he realized all was lost.

       Amidst the chaos, Alastair Ehn struck down his opponent with his cane and released a warning snarl at his pursuers. The armored men, startled by his animalistic expression, flinched – and that was all the time the crippled king needed.

       Briefly flicking liquid scarlet from his sword, Alastair returned the blade to his cane and swiftly limped down the hall, only one person on his mind. The ominous moans of his home echoed around him, becoming louder and louder with each deafening, explosive shell that impacted against its ancient walls. A high-pitched whistling demanded his attention, and Alastair swiftly ducked down against the side of the wide hall, bringing his tattered cloak over him. Not a second later, the entire world seemed to jump. Light and flame erupted behind him, fragmented stone and debris bursting inward. Flashing a glance back, Alastair watched with rising fury as Devil’s Fire, a result of the explosives, eagerly consumed his once grandeur halls, turning the usually crisp air into a suffocating mass of green smoke and dust.

       Another shell hit the floor below and the king gritted his teeth, resisting the instinctual urge to shout – it was no use when he couldn’t make a sound. Ignoring the insistent stinging that shot up his brace-covered right leg, Alastair stumbled up and continued on, maneuvering around fallen rubble and corpses. One body in particular caught his eye – the arm dangling from the rubble to reveal the tattered remains of a colorful, patchwork sleeve – but he pushed the sight from his mind. Alastair turned a corner, only to curse his luck for the fifth time that blasted day.

       “There he is!”

   “Kill him and she’s ours!”

       “INCOMINNNG~!”

       The king ducked, and sure enough three projectiles zipped over his head. Gunshots rattled in his ears; and as the sound of bodies hit the floor, Alastair turned his narrowed gaze toward the man who - wielding an enemy gun - had appeared behind him.

   It was Xenos, one of his five centurions. His tall figure was bloodied and bruised, uniform ripped and green scarf out of place. That stupid grin he always wore in chaotic situations was stretched obnoxiously across his face, a painful-looking burn following the curve of it.

       “Not ready to die yet, eh, Your Majesty?”

        Alastair snorted. Unable to vocally speak his response, he willed his words through thought to Xenos’ mind, ‘We must get her out of here.’

        Ignoring the suddenly disapproving look that crossed his companion’s expression, Alastair stalked past the centurion. While Xenos dutifully followed him, it was not without complaint.

        “But, Your Grace – “

      ‘Argue with me, and I will cut you down like the traitors.’

        “Right. Shutting up now.”

        Ehnshearts Castle was akin to a labyrinth in layout. It gave the king and his centurion an advantage in navigating its many halls and corridors, despite the artillery blasting against the outer walls and enemies milling about within. As the two men cut down another group of daring soldiers, Alastair found himself grimacing at the situation he had found himself in.

        It wasn’t supposed to end up like this. Despite the long-lasting, world-wide chaos induced by a failed apocalypse fifty years ago, not once had Alastair’s authority been challenged in his seven years’ reign. At least not to this extent. A few grumbling Elders from the Elders Council, yes, but not challenging by way of an actual assault on his lands and castle. Looking at the speed at which this particular attack had been launched and the immediate response of the public, it was almost as if it had been orchestrated.

       This in of itself perturbed the king.

       Considering recent events, he knew it was inevitable that his subjects would end up attacking each other over custody of the child they believed to be a wish-granting angel. But an assault from a neighboring government so far away - and organized in a mere day? The only way such an attack could have happened is if the Elders had a hand in it; but with their bickering group, no one could’ve seen that as remotely possible.

        Nonetheless, now was not the time to dwell on such thoughts.

      The safety of the little girl who had unceremoniously thrown herself into the king’s life was of the utmost priority. Regardless of whether the revelations of the prior day’s ball proved true, Alastair would not let her get captured. He could only imagine what “wishes” her kidnappers would try to get out of her. She would be caged, and being caged was the only thing the child had ever shown fear towards.

      “We’ve got company!” announced Xenos.

        Howling attackers in red rushed his blindside from an adjacent hall, and the king let instinct overcome him. Muscle memory from years of wars fought alongside his father surged through his body and sword. Alastair denied his rebelling – and now fallen – subjects not a single glance.

        “You know, you’re really scary when you’re angry,” commented Xenos. “If I ever had any doubts about your being half-draconic, they are definitely moot now.”

      ‘Says the man who laughs after shooting his opponents in the ass.’

      “Oh, come on, even you have to admit their reactions are funny!”

      Alastair rolled his eyes, only to flinch as lightning bolted up his right leg. Sucking in air, he pushed forward again, cane tapping loudly against the cracked and trembling stone floor.

   “My priority is to get you out of here, Your Majesty,” reminded Xenos, forcing himself to jog to avoid getting ahead of the crippled man he served. “I know she’s important to you, but –“

   ‘You know nothing.’

   “I know more than you give me credit for. You’re not the only one she talks to.”

   Xenos froze, breath caught in his throat. He looked down the gleaming, bloodied point of his king’s sword, eyes ending their journey on flaming, abnormally red irises.

   ‘Come again?’

   “All I’m saying,” murmured the threatened centurion, “is that you shouldn’t forget that we’ve been here for you too - long before she ever was.”

   Unbidden, Xenos’ words shoved Alastair into déjà vu, and an unwarranted memory forced itself to the forefront of his mind.

       “Don’t forget about everyone else, Aly.”

       Alastair snorted, not removing his attention from his heavy volume. A mere hour ago, he had retreated to his personal study, determined to avoid the Head Maid’s recent complaints about Xenos’ flirting with her subordina. However, despite his clearly vexed demeanor (which should have frightened any sane person away), a certain blonde child still found it suitable to keep him company. Said child was currently sitting on the arm of his plush chair and smiling all too cheerfully. She had been filling the silence with her humming before her sudden outburst, which the king was still dutifully ignoring.

       Seemingly recognizing that she would get no reply, a mischievous glint flashed in the little girl’s bright blue eyes. She leaned her head back into Alastair’s personal space, her smile morphing into a shit-eating grin when the king gave her an agitated look in response.

       “You wouldn’t be so lonely if you noticed them too, you know. They really do care about you,” the little girl insisted. “Look at ZenZen, for example!”

   ‘I am not lonely.’

       A sigh left Alastair’s throat as the child leaned too far and promptly tumbled backwards, right into his lap. His book fell to the floor with a loud thump!, and she became a complete giggling mess, her long, blonde hair fanned out everywhere.

   In the singsong voice she was most recognized for, the little girl trilled between giggles, “Whatever you say, Aly!”

   The sound of gunfire close by jolted him back into reality and Alastair scowled. Meanwhile, Xenos nearly collapsed from relief, gripping his spared neck as the temperamental king turned briskly away from him.

   ‘Do not test me.’

   Hiding a bitter smile, Xenos recovered from the brief fright and ran after Alastair, gun already locked on the upcoming enemies charging down the corridor towards them like angry bulls. The centurion scoffed. Really, what kind of fools charge at a half-draconic king?

       “Welcome, dear uninvited guests, to Ehnshearts Castle!” Xenos called out, a ridiculous laugh bursting from his lungs as he let loose a barrage of bullets. “Come and get your greeting gifts!”

/ / /

     It had been an absolutely disgusting day when he first met her.

       Alastair Ehn, King of the Northern Territories, had been in a vexed mood all morning. Not only had he been forced to take action against a group of anarchists who had had the gall to challenge his authority, but the weather today was shit.

       The weather, admittedly, was usually shit. Man-made apocalypses that alter the Earth’s surface and atmosphere naturally result in a negative impact on nature’s cycles – amongst other things. However, today it was particularly shitty – shittier than normal – and it was truly beginning to annoy the half-human king.

       Another barrage of acidic rain decided to repeat its earlier five assaults. Alastair scowled as his men dove off the dirt road in a frenzy to seek out the cover of wilting pines, only to yelp in alarm as the fog in the deeper forest decided to remind them of its existence. Clouds of thick, rolling mist lazily reached out and engulfed Alastair’s sheltering troops in a chilly, vision-impairing hug.

       “Ah, that’s a problem,” stated Xenos.

       Alastair turned his gaze to the man, giving him a particularly frustrated look.

       “R-right! Of course –“ Motioning for a nearby comrade to watch Alastair’s left side, the centurion who acted as the King’s Voice rushed towards the panic-induced soldiers.

       “Men! Regroup! By the King’s orders, regroup, you fools! What are you, children?! Get your acts together, damn it! You’re embarrassing me!”

       As Xenos’ insults ensued, Alastair turned his eyes to the horizon, completely ignoring the nervous soldier watching his left side. The sound of sizzling distracted him briefly, followed by a consequential sting of pain. However, he paid no heed to the hazardous rain that had managed to seep through his chainmail. It would only leave slight burns, and even then he would heal before they arrived at their destination. The men weren’t so lucky, but a few burns wouldn’t cripple their mission. It wasn’t as if they were unfamiliar with acid rain.

       “Your Majesty, the men are reassembled,” reported an out-of-breath Xenos, bowing for extra measure.

   Alastair acknowledged him with a mere nod, already moving forward. Xenos smoothly returned to his king’s side, and the cohort was back on track – as much as they could be with harmful rain taunting their flesh. Fortunately, once they left the forest trail and reached an expanse of fields, the rain ceased and the skies cleared. Unfortunately, the sun decided to take the spotlight, glaring down at their backs and shoulders.

   “I haven’t seen weather like this in years,” confessed Xenos, pulling his green scarf over his head to block the harmful UV rays. “Think it could be an omen?”

   “You speak too plainly!” hissed a short man – another presence Alastair had been purposely ignoring. Unfortunately, said presence was now making itself clearly known. “Respect your king!”

   “With all due respect, Elder Promethes,” drawled Xenos, “you’ll get dry mouth if you keep spitting like that every time you speak.”

   “Do not think that your years of service protect you from being demoted, Centurion Xenos!”

       Xenos laughed at this. “If you can actually succeed at getting your bickering council of old coots to agree on action against a mere centurion, I’ll happily accept that demotion!”

       Alastair snorted. The Elder’s face bloomed scarlet.

       Xenos grinned, satisfied with their reactions, and added, “But last I heard, you lot have been having a fit about the upcoming ball’s thematic colors for the past three weeks. How’s that going, by the way?”

       “Your Highness,” addressed the portly Elder, voice tight as he ignored Xenos, “Surely you do not tolerate such disrespect from your high ranking officers? It does not give a strong impression!”

       Alastair cast a glance from the corner of his eye to the subject of the Elder’s ire.

       Seeing this, Xenos looked alarmed, as if realizing that his king may just be contemplating the Elder’s words. However, the foreign thought that was directed to the centurion’s mind said otherwise.

       ‘What is your name again?’

   Xenos stumbled, barely avoiding an embarrassing meet-and-greet between his face and the road.

   “Y-Your Majesty! Surely you jest?!” exclaimed the centurion, mortified. “After eight years – I cannot imagine you could not remember it! Xenos! It’s Xenos!”

   By now, troops near enough to hear the conversation going on between their higher-ups were snickering out loud. Alastair flashed a sharp glance at a group who were peeking back at him and his floundering centurion, successfully making them jump back into straight lines. Oblivious to this, Xenos fell into sulking, and the Elder once again spoke, unrelenting.

   “I respectfully insist that you consider my earlier advice, Your Grace. I am not the only Elder of our Council who is concerned, I assure you.”

   Another round of acid rain met the old man’s words.

   Alastair’s eyes narrowed. He was fully prepared to enact punishments this time around for disorder. However, his troops appeared to sense the menacing threat glaring daggers into their backs and stayed on course, grumbling quietly. As a result of the rain, the ground quickly became muddy, sucking sloppily at their boots and calves.

   This journey was becoming more trouble than it was worth. Alastair began to contemplate other methods to deal with the anarchists, but again found he was unable to come to a better solution than his current one. It was upon this conclusion that a shouted command caught his attention from the front of the procession.

   “Halt! Obstruction in the road!”

   The king was not pleased.

   As Xenos jogged forward to assess the situation, the Elder continued his oratory about the importance of impressions and authority by Alastair’s side. The king idly wondered if the old man thought he was safer on his crippled right rather than his left, and how foolish such reasoning would be. His grip on his cane tightened.

   The acid rain suddenly let up. No longer muffled by the sound of falling water, exclamations could be heard distantly from the front of the stalled cohort.

   Alastair’s patience ran out. Without further ado, he limped forward, walking cane and boots squelching loudly in the mud. The noise of his approach silenced all those who heard it – that is, all those but at the front. His centurion and another soldier – one Alastair did not recognize – were arguing heatedly with each other, their faces cherry red.

   “She’s not moving! Just throw her aside!”

   “That is not how you treat a lady, soldier!”

   “You call that a lady?! His Majesty will have our heads if he finds out we’ve been stopped by a stupid runt!”

   “He’ll have our heads if he finds out you attacked a –“

   Right. Alastair had had quite enough of this. Eyes narrowing to cat-like slits, he pushed out a firm universal message to all those around him. His demand for silence made Xenos and the soldier he was arguing with jump. Immediately, the two startled men spun around and bowed, intoning a briskly shared “Your Majesty!”

   And then a blur lunged for him.

   In the mere seconds that it took, Alastair should have easily been able to counter the attack. Years of fighting in his father’s wars to claim and unite the Northern Territories had sharpened him beyond average human standards, regardless of the perks of his draconic heritage. However, something strange stopped him from countering. A misplaced feeling overwhelmed his mind, and a familiarity that he could not put his finger on surged into him, paralyzing him completely.

       Shouts of alarm split the air. Alastair did not register them. Not even the impact of a small, malnourished body against his was enough to snap him out of his sudden daze. As precious seconds ticked by – to lash out or not? – his scarlet eyes locked onto wide blue ones.

   Looking up at the king was a child’s dirt-smudged face, slightly burnt from acid rain and framed by matted blonde hair. Unbelievably bright eyes shined excitedly up into his, and thin arms wrapped tightly around his left arm.

       And then the child opened her mouth. A wave of song washed over Alastair, effortlessly sweeping away thought and reality. All that remained were the melody and words leaving the small one’s chapped lips.

    “I stumbled upon an empty shell,

    His words were hushed,

    His leg was still.

    I asked him what he wished for,

    And he would not tell.

    Such a lonely child was he.”

   “By Heaven, what do we do?!”

   “Do not strike! You’ll attack the king!”

   “But the urchin –“

    “What do you wish for, Alastair?”

        She was no longer singing. A burst of clarity chased away the fog in his mind, and Alastair’s eyes narrowed at the smiling child latched onto his arm. She was still staring at him, her dirty face as oddly bright as her eyes.

    “Y-Your Majesty?”

       Xenos’ voice sounded muffled. Alastair noted that this was odd, seeing as how the man was only a few feet from him. If not more distantly, the ramblings of the Elder insisting that someone protect the king this instant pinched at his thoughts. Hearing the underlying threat this carried towards the little girl attached to him, a surge of unexplainable rage rose in Alastair’s throat, and a snarl broke across his face.

   ‘You will not touch her.’

   All froze, eyes widening in fright as the infuriated thought assaulted their minds. If not for the expression on Xenos’ face, Alastair wouldn’t have even registered what he’d just done – but he did.

   ‘. . . Return to your positions.’



        Despite his brief lapse in composure, King Alastair and his troops experienced no other difficulties in completing their mission. To be frank, the anarchists hadn’t stood a chance against their numbers. Alastair’s cohort crushed them effortlessly, howling in triumph and shooting off arrows in every direction as they tailed the defeated men who had challenged their ruler off of the battlefield.

        The little girl that had joined them, however, was not so easily chased away.

        She was an enigma to the king. He had tasted the molten sting of metal carving a trail of fire across his face and skull, had endured the dreadful crunch of muscle, flesh, and bone collapsing and contorting into each other. He had been captured by his enemies countless times and tortured, escaping by the skin of his teeth and sacrificing large portions of flesh while he was at it. But there was an understanding in pain – a simple acceptance of what it was, how it came about, and what it could result in. The child that had stayed while the battle raged and who had returned to his side the moment it had ended was anything but understandable. Alastair had not met many children in his life, but he was certain that if most adults could not be brave enough to approach him, let alone touch him, children shouldn’t be either.

      Nonetheless, here at his side the little one was once again, affectionately clinging onto his arm as he walked his triumphant cohort back home from their battle. To say Alastair was dumbfounded would be an understatement.

        “This is ridiculous! Why is the wretch still here? Do something, Centurion Xenos!”

        “What do you want me to do, Elder Promethes? Rip her off His Majesty’s arm? She’s got a grip tighter than Lady Hera on Centurion Jupiter!”

      The strange child was about as oblivious to the bickering of Xenos and the Elder as Alastair was. Her mood seemed to be locked on “giddy,” not once altering since she’d first appeared. Normally, such a thing would have been unnerving, but the king could only feel confusion and – as much as he hated to admit it – curiosity. As if her very presence and attitude weren’t strange enough, she also exhibited a tendency to randomly start humming, if not burst completely into song. Why Alastair found her voice comforting, he knew not.

      “I’m eleven and a half,” announced the little girl, attempting to swing Alastair’s arm with hers. She did not succeed.

      “Will you not speak to me?” she inquired, looking up at the king.

      Alastair only glanced down at her from the corner of his eye, giving nothing else.

        “Erm, well, you see, kid,” cut in Xenos, casting an uneasy glance towards Alastair. Seeing no discouraging response from his king, the centurion continued, “His Majesty is mute.”

        Xenos flinched when the child turned her vibrant gaze to him.

       “Oh, I know that!” she announced cheerfully, grinning widely at the now disturbed man. “But he doesn’t need a voice to speak.”

        Her words startled Alastair, and before he knew it, he’d broken his silence.

        ‘Who are you?’

        The king’s grip on his cane tightened when waves of excitement rolled off the strange child holding onto him. Despite his abnormal method of communication, she appeared completely unperturbed to have his thoughts pushed into her mind.

        “I’m Eve, of course!” the child exclaimed. “Who else would I be?”

   ‘. . . do you not know who I am?’

         A grin – that same grin she had given him before she had sung – bloomed on the child’s face. “Of course I know who you are. You’re my important friend!”

         Alastair’s eyes narrowed, and his expression grew cold. Xenos and the elder paled, but the little girl named Eve appeared oblivious to it.

         ‘I have no friends. I have no need for friends.’

         “If that were true, why haven’t you chased me away?”

         Needless to say, the child was exceptionally skilled at throwing Alastair off balance. But then, so was Xenos.

         “You know, it’s fine and all if you don’t mind her clinging to you like that, Your Grace, but the men are going to start questioning your preferences in women.”

         After an intimate encounter with Alastair’s cane, Xenos limped the rest of the way back to Ehnshearts Castle.