The large room looked like a little infirmary, yet very and unnaturally quiet.
Unnaturally, due to the numbers of maids clustering around a bed.
They dared not speak.
Each of them nearly froze in this hell of a room, but none of them dare complain.
After all, they all had a priority first, one that could influence the peace of the realm.
And he gave no reaction. He didn't even look alive.
The dark haired boy lay, sprawled limply on the neatly dressed bed.
A close scrutiny on his hair and skin revealed that he'd been in some sort of life threatening circumstances.
His present location exuded royalty. Right from the golden lamps and expensive decors, down to also the scene.
Countless maids milled around him, waiting for instructions.
All sported worried faces, knowing the implications if something happened to that boy.
A stocky man, dressed in the garbs of a prestigious healer, sweated profusely by his bedside.
The boy's chest lay bare, its pale colour screaming danger.
Evident signs of poisoning.
A glance at his arm yielded an explanation.
It looked more decaying than the rest of the body. Even squirming somewhat noticeably.
A gash snaked from his right shoulder blade to his elbow, cleaving muscles and tendons apart.
It still bled. Evidence that all blood vessels in the region were torn apart.
Proving that the strike tore through muscle and bone.
This showed that the pursuers hadn't just wanted to capture; they intended to kill.
The blood dripped into a bowl, placed under his limp wrist.
The golden bowl bristled slightly with energy, as the blood inside reacted furiously with it.
Noticeably, the blood had some ability, which made it impossible to be contained within an ordinary vessel.
The atmosphere of the room grew more tense. Almost static with anxiety.
If the boy died, the Incarnas would never take that lying low.
It meant only one thing…
War.
Even a ten year old who had no inkling of politics could guess that right.
Umbra Ashmedai, the boy sprawled unconscious on the bed, was the Prince of Darkness.
The very jewel of the Incarnian race.
The Incarnas were a breed of part mortal.
Born of mutation between mortals and demons, they now regarded themselves as part of the demon race.
They had greater affinities to the demonic aspect than the human aspect.
No one knew how they came to be about, but the demons rarely took note of their existence anyways.
They remained powerful than the average human, possessing powers similar to demon's.
However, they remained mortal.
Though more than half of the populace disliked Umbra's existence, it remained something they had no control over.
He still served as a beacon of sure victory in the event of a war.
That is…they only saw him as a valuable weapon.
But a volatile one at that.
A slight backfire – which was very likely – could result in the annihilation of the entire realm.
Bustling in the room halted, when the doors of the room burst open with tremendous power.
Some of the maids almost leapt a foot into the air. Like though they'd been caught doing something.
They tore their eyes away from Umbra's physique, bright red tinge creeping up their cheeks.
A slim man entered, yet bearing the dangerous aura of a dominant ruler.
His long sleek hair looked slightly flustered as though he'd arrived here on a run.
his eyes roamed the room.
He signaled to the maids to open the windows.
Gratefully, they obeyed, allowing the wind to flow inside and ease up the heated atmosphere.
He took a step forward…
His footsteps, calculating and slow, like it normally did.
His expression, guarded, like always. But it slipped with a good glance at Umbra.
The healer saw it, and immediately deduced…
Something was off.
This time, his stare literally screamed with alarm and fear.
The healer's anxiety increased.
Even his Lord was afraid too.
Of course, the maids, too busy hiding their blushes, couldn't see it.
But he could.
Ragnar's fear barely spilled through hai expression, even on hopeless ambushes.
But it just did.
He sent a sharp glare, his face hiding his fear, mirroring annoyance instead.
Only to the shy maidens in the corner.
They all got the message and drew back, giving them privacy.
The sweating healer shuddered all over, seeing the venomous look on his face.
The goblet containing medicine fell out of his hand, but he didn't even react to the metallic clang.
His very frame shook in fear, not at Ragnar's glare.
Not at Umbra's state either.
But at the angry aura emanating from Ragnar.
He seemed scared, but he was also angry.
Deeply angry.
And the healer had an uncanny feeling that it wasn't only directed at those cowardly Cruceni.
"How is it going?", Ragnar kept his eyes locked on the healer's.
A young maiden came to clean up the medicine spilled by the fallen goblet.
They walked a bit away from the bedside to give her a little space.
"Negative, my Lord", the healer bowed deeply in shame and fear.
Ragnar could literally hear his uncontrollable shuddering…
Their proximity and his keen senses made it possible.
"The assault weapon was very superior and imbued with excessive arxra, and he can't possibly heal up in such a short period of time."
"I can see traces of poison," Ragnar glanced back at Umbra, trying to sound calm.
"Sorcery–induced poisoning, if I'm correct. It's no ordinary poison indeed."
"Beyond your expertise?" Ragnar glanced at him coldly. Initiating another shaking spell in the healer.
"I didn't say that, my lord…!"
Ragnar walked past the crouching healer, pausing to examine Umbra more intently.
Again, fear flitted across his face, his eyes flitting around the lifeless teenage figure.
If he died…
The relationship between them didn't seem any less complicated.
Ragnar clearly wasn't old enough to sire a child that old, unless he had gotten married in his early teen years.
Which he hadn't.
The unconscious boy was the 'Master's' son.
He was a mere mortal, compared to the lineage of the boy lying before him.
Umbra was mortal, but only because of his human genes.
Ragnar had been entrusted with the honorary yet dangerous privilege of raising the Prince of Darkness.
And yet, he kept messing it up.
'The Master', a bodiless voice that'd been instructing Ragnar for the past nine years.
In the light of what'd happened after all that, Ragnar learnt to trust the voice as an almost all–seeing entity of the past, present and future.
After leading him to acquire Umbra, he then instructed on the welfare of the Prince.
An operation that nearly led to war, as it involved crossing the Sheath, and straying into enemy territory.
The voice sounded more malevolent than anything he'd ever hear.
Coupled with the unmistakable selfish yet benevolent intentions, it made it hard to believe the existence of such a being
However, seeing is believing.
In this scenario, hearing actually.
'It won't happen again,' he thought pleadingly.
He couldn't know if or not the Master had seen all these. Or whether it even listened at all, but he didn't want to be taken unawares.
Higher placed immortals often didn't indulge in trivial issues.
Yet, they hated being ignored too.
To them, that was the highest form of insult.
Characteristic behavior of all gods, and divinities. Everyone knew them.
'Punish him…', the voice startled him, echoing in his mind.
He'd almost forgotten how cruel and cold that voice sounded.
He hadn't heard it in nearly three years, but it'd always unnerved him.
'He's alright…My noble blessings do heal better than any immortal healer can ever do…'
It paused, to lay emphasis on the overwhelming power it still wielded.
Despite not being anywhere near here. (That's a safe guess.)
'But he has to understand the gravity of his crime…Make him bleed, if possible. Make him listen.'
Those last words sounded so real and chilling that Ragnar shuddered in the hot afternoon air.
He glanced around instinctively, but relaxed almost immediately.
'If possible…'
The Master probably knew how stubborn the Prince was.
Discipline proved very difficult for him, right from time.
Meanwhile, he thought about the mystery of speed healing.
He also pondered on how serious the voice took Umbra's little tour.
But he'd not call the voice overreacting either.
Obviously, it cared about Umbra, and feared where that little wandering landed him.
But he didn't let his mind dwell on it.
The Master was probably a demon divinity, so literally there could be no surprises.
No one knew of any limitations to the power of the Divinities.
And he knew he wasn't the only correspondence of the "Master".
'Yes, my Lord', he thought again, 'I will try'.
Casting a significant glance at Umbra again, he spoke.
"Leave us."
At once, alll the present occupants of the room vacated.
The private quarters of the Prince had been under divine protection since his arrival.
On that account, no one could sneak in or out unnoticed.
No eavesdroppers too.
Ragnar wondered why the Council chose to protect the Dark Prince, instead of trying to eradicate him, as they'd always done.
After all, more than three quarters of them really wanted him dead.
Maybe, they really feared the 'Voice', though they'd never heard it.
All protective powers cast on Umbra left him whenever he crossed the Sheath.
That's what the invisible border between the Incarnas and humans/Cruceni was called.
And he'd just survived an expedition from out there. Clearly, the gods didn't want him to die yet.
"Umbra."
No response.
"Umbra, enough with the acting. I know you can hear me."
Umbra's eyes opened feebly.
Although he looked weak, a mischievous smile flickered on his face.
He looked up at the towering figure and sat up wearily.
'Why did you do it?'
Umbra sighed, looking down at his arm.
"Are we going to do this again?"
Ragnar's eyes narrowed, suspicion boiling already in his gut.
Umbra may be just a teen, but also he was far wiser than his age. He wouldn't just take strolls past the Sheath, knowing the risks.
"I know my mother is somewhere in the mortal world. I want to find her."
Ragnar sighed decisively. Umbra's eyes darted from his injury to him, darkening as they did so.
He knew that Umbra's mother had always been a touchy subject to him.
"So why do you want to see her?"
Umbra rolled his eyes, swinging his feet to the ground.
"We're not doing this again, Ragnar."
Ragnar fixed him with a beady glare, a vein throbbing in his temple.
Maybe, he's a king, with a palace, but Umbra called him whatever he liked.
That didn't make it rude. Ragnar knew that. Just playful.
"Well, in case you haven't noticed, she's the only family I have left, Ragnar," Umbra snapped, "she's the only one who can answer all my questions."
Ragnar already knew the questions Umbra was talking about.
Questions he'd been asking since the day he knew about his identity.
His father's identity; the foremost missing truth in his life. Then came his mother's location.
He'd refused to accept all excuses that his father was some highly placed demon.
Which happened to be the truth.
All the Incarnian overlords knew his father's identity. But they were all forbidden from ever mentioning it.
Under the unquestionable orders of the 'Master' himself.
He didn't relay that message through Ragnar, guessing correctly that they might not listen if he did tell them, so he chose a new messenger.
This meant that the Master constantly watched the Incarnas, and knew the higher ups, even among the Overlords.
"We are also your family, Umbra," Ragnar said, watching Umbra closely. "Besides, it was a really stupid reason to go off on your own into the Cruceni stronghold kingdom –"
"My mother is not to be called a stupid reason!" Umbra cut in, but Ragnar could feel a quiet storm raging beneath.
A powerful but easily deflect-able force emanated from those mere words.
Not much, but enough to ruffle Ragnar's hair.
Ragnar realized…this wasn't just about Umbra's mom…he'd other things…he didn't just want to say it out loud.
But he knew what it was.
'This is also about his friends,' Ragnar thought, glancing outside the window.
Umbra watched him get distracted by something random.
He couldn't see what could so interesting outside the window.
Anyways…
Now was his chance!
Ragnar already knew what Umbra could be planning.
He'd wanted to attack back, his Master's command in mind.
But he decided to calm down and wait. Maybe, discipline wouldn't be necessary after all.
His eyes strayed sharply to the rhombus shaped locket on Umbra's neck.
A soft sigh of relief escaped his lips.
"Never raise your voice at me again…for your good, before you force me to go extreme," Ragna warned.
Umbra glared at him quietly, his face too perfect a mask to reveal any of his inner feelings.
Ragnar knew he'd crossed the line.
Umbra might be unpredictable at times, but not now.
He would disregard that warning, and rebel. Not necessarily out of anger, but plain mulish spirit.
That's his idea of an indoor adventure. Randomly attacking Ragnar for no reason.
Ragnar steeled himself for the worse.
Umbra leaned back for a while, his eyes calculating.
That expression…Ragnar knew it. He'd seen it in plenty of training sessions.
He wasn't going to attack head-on.
Suddenly, he lunged out of bed. Ragnar tried to follow his figure but it blurred with unbelievable speed for a convalescent.
Next moment, his hands closed around Ragna's neck.
The royal guardian tried to wrench off his iron grip, to no avail.
Even before doing so, Ragnar had realized the futility.
He raised his open palms, to concentrate on a technique.
But Umbra was much faster.
He leapt off, landing lightly with almost no sound in a corner of the room.
"Well, I'd just turn this into a training session, with a slight bizarre change of location…"
Ragna drew two poisoned daggers from within the folds of his royal robes, smirking back at Umbra.
Then the boy moved.