Chapter 68: The Banished Prince Returns
The Master reappeared with a crackle of energy, arriving in a remote house nestled deep within a forgotten forest. This place was veiled in shadows, surrounded by tall, twisted trees and guarded by ancient magic only he could command. It was the one sanctuary no one—not even the girls—had discovered.
Percy groaned beside him, clutching his ribs. The pain had spread through his torso like fire, robbing him of his voice.
"Rest," the Master said, helping him onto a stone bed carved into the wall. "You were brave. Too brave."
Percy clenched his jaw. He wanted to ask where they were, what had just happened—why he had leapt in front of that attack—but the agony prevented him from speaking.
The Master placed his hand over Percy's wound. His palm glowed with a sickly red light, magic drawn from dark realms, and slowly the blood ceased to flow. The wound closed, though not entirely. It would take time. Time they didn't have.
When Percy finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, the Master stood in silence for a long while, gazing down at his unconscious son. But it wasn't Percy his thoughts lingered on.
Little 7...
He had raised him. Trained him. Molded him. And now, he was gone—reduced to a memory, just like the others.
The grief clawed at him unexpectedly, raw and bitter. With a heavy breath, he moved to the farthest end of the hidden house and pressed his hand to a plain, unmarked wall. It shimmered under his touch, then vanished, revealing a narrow hallway and a silver-framed mirror glowing faintly in the dark.
He stepped before it.
"Are you there?" he asked.
The surface of the mirror rippled, and then a shadow emerged—a swirling, formless figure with crimson eyes and a voice that rasped like wind through a crypt.
"You've lost control," it said without preamble.
The Master bowed his head. "Little 7 is dead. And Little 9… refuses to listen to me."
The shadow said nothing for a long moment. Then it hissed, "You were warned. He was never to think for himself. And yet you let him slip. You lied to me."
"I didn't lie. I believed he was under control—"
The mirror flared with black light.
"You have less than a month, Banished Prince," the shadow growled. "If Little 9 is not returned to obedience, I will come for him myself. And if you stand in my way, I'll erase you with him."
The Master's throat tightened. "He's still my son, even if he's strayed."
"Then retrieve him. Or prepare to join him in ruin."
The mirror faded into silence.
---
The next day, the Master tried. He sent word through enchanted means, calling out to Little 9 wherever he lurked. He offered apologies, false at first—claims of misunderstanding, misdirection.
But Little 9 didn't respond.
He tried again, this time sharing the truth of the girls' assault. He described how Little 7 had fallen and how he himself had nearly died—how Percy, his brother, had taken a blade to protect their father.
The message stirred something in Little 9, but it wasn't sympathy. It was rage.
"I'll be the one to destroy him," Little 9 whispered into the wind. "Not them. He's mine. My revenge. My ending."
Yet still, he didn't return.
As the days passed and the mirror's threat loomed, the Master made one final attempt. This time, he spoke the truth.
"I wasn't the highest hand in this," he said quietly, sending the words through the void. "There is one above me—one I dare not name. He sent me. I was merely the vessel."
There was silence for hours. Little 9 wondering who master was talking about that could get master to do their bidding. But he knew not to ask because Master only shared what he wanted to share all by himself. If he wasn't ready no matter how many times he's asked he'll never share.
Then, at long last, Little 9 responded.
"Fine," he said coldly. "I forgive you. But don't mistake that for loyalty."
The Master exhaled, relief flooding his chest.
---
Percy had healed by then. His body was strong again, the wound closed, and his anger sharpened. He wasn't the same boy who once doubted his father's motives—now, he was fully in.
"I'll stand by you," Percy said. "Whatever comes next."
The Master nodded, a new resolve forming in his eyes.
Since the girls now knew where he had been hiding, it was time for a new tactic. A bold one.
He stepped into the open, casting a glamour over his robes—deep crimson with gold thread, the royal crest of his long-lost kingdom blazing on his chest. And with Percy at his side, he walked straight into the village square.
Villagers stopped in their tracks.
Whispers filled the air like smoke.
"Who is that?"
"Is that…?"
"No, it can't be… he's supposed to be dead."
The Master raised his hand. "People of the land," he declared, his voice clear and commanding. "I am the Banished Prince. Eldest son of the great king. You know of me. You've heard the tales. And today, I return to claim what is rightfully mine."
Gasps echoed through the crowd.
"From this day forth, I will take the throne. My coronation will be in three days. Prepare accordingly."
And just as he turned to leave, two figures stepped forward.
Elara. Ariella.
"You were banished," Elara said, voice sharp with fury. "Your own father knew you didn't deserve the crown. He gave it to your brother, the youngest, because even he saw what you truly were."
"You don't deserve to rule," Ariella added. "You deserve to be stopped."
The Master smiled.
"You have your opinion. But I'm not here for your approval. I've given the village time to prepare. Three days. Use them well."
And with that, he vanished once more.
---
Panic swept through the village like wildfire.
"The Banished Prince is back!"
"He'll bring ruin!"
"We mustn't let him take the throne!"
"But how? We're not warriors—he could kill us all with a flick of his hand!"
Old villagers who had grown up hearing tales of the banished prince's wickedness gathered at the center. Tears welled in their eyes.
"If his own father didn't trust him," one elder said, "how could we?"
"We'd rather die than see him rule us," another muttered. "Death is better than darkness."
Elara and Ariella arrived just in time to hear the outcries.
"Everyone," Elara said, raising her voice. "We hear your fear. And we share your anger. But listen—don't throw yourselves into battle. The Master isn't just a man. He's made pacts… twisted himself into something darker. If you face him with hate, he'll crush you like ants."
"But he cannot crush us," Ariella said firmly, stepping forward, "because we stand in front of you. We are the chosen ones. You know this. The Queens have told you. And we promise…"
She looked out at the terrified faces, her eyes alight with determination.
"We'll take care of him. You are not alone."