A destroyed village was all that remained.
Houses were burned down, and bodies decorated the ground as the sun set in the background. Armored soldiers patrolled the streets, gathering survivors and killing anyone who offered the slightest resistance. It was truly a dismal time for the people of Emönæ.
On top of a hill west of Emönæ stood the royal palace. The once-majestic palace, perched on the hill, now stood battered and broken. Crumbling walls bore the scars of war; shattered windows echoed silence. Smoke clung to the air, mingling with ash. Bloodied corridors twisted through desolation, leading to the throne room—where splintered grandeur met a haunting emptiness.
In the throne room, a man knelt over a dead body. His armor was dented and streaked with dried blood; his face was scarred, eyes hollow but vigilant. Blood-stained gauntlets were cracked, and his sword was chipped yet firmly held. The man gently stood up. He had ash-brown hair that looked like a squirrel's nest, deep green eyes that were bloodshot, and a battered face with a gash above his lips.
The body was dressed extravagantly in royal regalia—clothes befitting a king. The body wore a golden crown, now amber-red due to the blood on it, and its once-white robes were heavily stained. The dead king had richly flowing auburn hair, a thick-set jawline, once beautiful hazel eyes, and a somewhat sturdy build.
Prisma ripped the head off the corpse and removed the crown from the severed head. He staggered towards the loggia, each step more painful than the last, wincing as he got closer, one hand clamped against his bleeding side. When he finally arrived at the golden balustrade, he got a bird's-eye view of the village in the valley below and took it all in.
To his deranged mind, the destruction was perfect. The chaos below was just what he needed to instill fear into the heart of Emönæ. He couldn't care less about respect and always loved being feared. The plan had worked out perfectly, and all of this—every single thing the sun touched in the valley—was his. He had created the perfect masterpiece: mayhem. And this time, there was no one to oppose his rule.
He leaned dangerously over the balustrade, held out his hand to reveal the severed head, and yelled, "Behold the head of Dezza Halo, your fallen king!"
The palace was a little far from the village, but his voice carried well enough to be heard.
Everyone in the valley looked in the direction of the palace, and almost immediately, the contrast of emotions was glaringly clear: elation and euphoria on Prisma's side, sorrow and despair among the captured villagers.
To Prisma, only the cheers from his men mattered, so he continued. "No longer shall we have weak breeds like this in our kingdom." He placed the crown on his head, looked at the severed head, and muttered, "Good riddance, my lord," before throwing the head over the balustrade.
"I am your new king, Prisma Yaoui. But no longer shall I go by that name. Unless someone seeks a death wish, I shall be known as Prismix. I shall build Emönæ beyond what anyone can imagine. What Dezza has failed to accomplish, I shall achieve—and more. This war marks the beginning of a new paradigm. This war shall usher in a new era, the era of Prismix, and anyone who is not ready for change shall suffer and be left behind. Anyone who tries to leave the kingdom without permission from the king shall be killed on sight. The village shall be rebuilt in three days, and after that, we shall mourn the dead. Now, I dismiss you to your duties."
As Prismix watched the soldiers herd the villagers like sheep, a soldier entered the throne room, walked up to Prismix, and bowed.
"My lord," the soldier greeted.
Prismix kept looking at the village and plastered a huge grin on his face, "What? Can't you see that I am basking in my new glory? This kingdom will be rebuilt... the Prismix way."
"The prince can't be found and Garuba has gone missing," the soldier reported.
Prismix furrowed his brows and balled his fists, his grin wiped clean off his face.
"That sneaky old fool," he said, not bothering to hide the hate in his voice. "Comb the forests. Take all the men. Leave no kingdom unsearched. Kill Garuba and any other person with him on sight, but I need the young prince alive. When entering another kingdom, lose your armor. We are not in the right state to start a war, let alone fight one."
"Yes, my lord."
The soldier rose to leave, but Prismix put up a finger.
"Wait," Prismix ordered.
"Any other thing, my lord?"
This time, Prismix looked back, his eyes boring into the soldier's skull.
"When you kill Garuba, cut his body into pieces and burn them. If anyone tries to get in your way, do not hesitate to kill them."
"Yes, my lord."
The soldier scurried away, and Prismix looked back at the village, an evil smirk finding its way onto his face.
"You can't run from me, Ataki."
********
A very old man and a young child are seen running through the forest.
The man is clad in a long, oversized teal cloak and is carrying two children: one strapped to his back and the other to his front. He has a very long grey beard reaching the bottom of his chest, no hair on his head, and watery amber eyes that seem to continuously dart sideways. Perhaps it was because he was running for his life. He had recently escaped death from a war-stricken kingdom, ravaged by a deranged megalomaniac. As a patriot, he had fought valiantly to resist the rebellion, but after it took his wife, he knew he had to leave. His thoughts raced through his mind. Although he had seen it coming, he still found it hard to grasp how everything had flipped so quickly. His thoughts were interrupted by the child's question.
"Garuba, where are we going?"
The child had platinum blonde hair and steel-gray eyes. He had a light spray on freckles on his nose. He was around the age of six and he wore a light grey tunic, forest green breeches, and dark brown shoes.
Garuba looked at the child and smiled, a failed attempt to make the child believe that everything was okay.
"Somewhere you children can call home, Kahito," he responded.
"Will my mother be there?" Kahito asked, a slight look of uncertainty on his face.
Garuba looked away and hesitated before he spoke again.
"No, your mother is not coming with us. I'm afraid your parents might be dead, Kahito. I'm sorry," Garuba bemoaned.
Kahito looked down, his eyes brimming with tears.
"No need to be sorry, I know she's are in a good place. You are not responsible for her death. It's the big bad man. He killed them... I saw him. I just don't want to believe it..."
Garuba froze. He slowly turned his head to look at Kahito. Kahito also stopped, though he was more confused than shocked. Garuba stared at Kahito for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke.
"You saw your mother die?!" Garuba asked, his voice so soft it was nearly a whisper.
"Yes..." Kahito hesitated, sorrow slowly creeping into his expression. "...I did. Is there anything wrong?"
Garuba slowly shook his head and replied, "No, not at all. Pardon me. Let's keep moving."
Kahito didn't need to be older or more mature to figure out that Garuba was hiding something from him. But he didn't care; he just wanted to stop running and rest. He was tired. A boy as young as him wasn't supposed to be running this fast and this far.
"We're nearly there," Garuba said as if reading his thoughts.
Kahito looked at the old man and breathed a sigh of relief.
*********
After a lot of running, they finally arrived at a large, empty, open field. They stopped and simply stood there, as though expecting something to happen.
Kahito was the first to speak.
"There's nothing here," he blurted.
"That's very observant of you, Kahito," Garuba remarked with a wry grin, his tone carrying a hint of dry humor.
The old man waved his hand at the center of the field, and a gust of wind blew. Like curtains, the wind pulled away a veil, and out of nowhere, a longhouse appeared in the middle of the field. The longhouse was broad and, though a bit shorter than most, it compensated with sheer length. Its sturdy timber frame stretched so far across the field that, if not for the open expanse, its rear would have vanished into the forest. A thatched roof crowned the structure, sheltering a communal space within, where a central hearth burned and shared sleeping areas lined the walls. It stood as both a refuge and a testament to endurance, its elongated form dominating the landscape.
Kahito stood there speechless, gawking at the house, unsure whether to be more surprised by its size or by the fact that it had appeared out of nowhere.
"Pick your mouth off of the floor and come in," Garuba chided.
Kahito recovered from his brief trance and followed Garuba. He ran ahead of Garuba and he pushed open to door.
Inside, the longhouse was warm and dimly lit, its central hearth casting flickering shadows on the wooden beams. Raised platforms along the walls formed nine sleeping spaces, softened with furs and straw, with personal belongings tucked into chests or hung from pegs. Shelves and racks held dried food and tools, while thick beams framed the communal space. The air carried the scent of smoke and aged wood, and heavy hides covered the entrances, shielding its inhabitants from the cold.
"Wow!" Kahito exclaimed. "This place is huge!"
"Yes, I know. I made it," Garuba said proudly. "Anyway, I'm going to put the children down—they're already asleep. Cute!" he cooed.
He placed each child on a separate sleeping platform, ensuring they were nestled comfortably among the furs and straw.
"Woah! What are your gifts, imagination?" Kahito wondered out loud.
Garuba dropped the two babies on the bed and laughed. He turned to look at Kahito and smugly answered, "No, not at all. Just the occasional pyro kinesis, telekinesis, and foresight. You see, I'm unusually blessed."
"Wow, that's so cool. You have all those gifts and all I can do is glow like a dying star," Kahito complained.
"That's very powerful, all you have to do is learn to use it better. Fate doesn't always give you something desirable so make what you have desirable," Garuba said, looking lovingly into Kahito's eyes.
Kahito just stared blankly at him.
"I don't get it."
Garuba sighed. "You will... one day."
An awkward silence followed. Kahito shifted uneasily on one foot.
"Anyway," Garuba said to ease the tension, "Why don't we go out to forage for food? We can leave the children here. There's a veil making this house non-existent to outsiders."
"OK," said Kahito.
They stepped out of the house, and Garuba was about to close the door when Kahito asked, "Who are those babies inside anyway?"
"Well, the boy is the prince of Emönæ while-"
"The prince!" Kahito interrupted.
"Hush it!" Garuba cautioned in annoyance. "Do you want those lurking around to know that we are harboring the prince?"
"Oops! Sorry," Kahito apologized.
Garuba stared him down and continued. "As I was saying, the boy is the prince while the girl is a tw... "Garuba froze and face palmed. "I forgot to bring out her twin sister."
"She has a twin?" Kahito asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yep!" Garuba answered. He turned away from Kahito and swung his arm downward. The air in front of him split like a curtain. Inside the rift floated a baby with red hair, bloodshot eyes, pale skin, and wrapped in a woolen flannel.
Garuba brought her out, and the rift closed. She looked at Garuba with big eyes and cooed. He carried her as if she were a ticking time bomb... maybe because she was.
"Kahito, meet Hunda. Hunda, this is Kahito."
Kahito stared at her as if she were a flying pig.
"Can I rock the baby?" Kahito asked.
Garuba pursed his lips. "I wish you could, Kahito, but unless you're protected, touching the child could cost you your life."
"Why?" Kahito asked, equal parts scared and amazed.
"Because this child's aura is strong. Very strong. It almost matches mine, but it far surpasses the prince's."
"The prince is strong?!" Kahito whispered in surprise.
"Of cou—" Garuba stopped mid-sentence, his words hanging in the air. He glanced toward the forest, frowning, before gently placing Hunda on the doorstep.
"Rest, Hunda. I'll be back," he whispered to the child.
Turning to Kahito, he said, "Kahito, whatever you do, don't let anyone touch her, and don't let her cry."
"Why do you say that?" Kahito asked.
Just then, an arrow zipped toward the back of the old man's head.
He shifted his head to the right and caught the arrow between his middle and index fingers. He then jumped and twisted his body mid-air, the arrow instantly catching fire. He threw the arrow back to where it came from, his back still facing the house.
For a moment, there was an ear-deafening silence.
Deep in the forest, perched on a tree, a Prisman soldier fell to the ground. His forehead had a clean arrow wound, and his eyes were glazed.
Suddenly, war cries are heard, and an army of soldiers begin to fill up the field. They all stop in front of Garuba, the Prisman soldier from the palace leading in front.
He unsheathed his sword and smirked.
"Garuba Ataki, Prismix will be glad to see your head on a..."
Garuba slowly raised his arm, and the soldier levitated into the air, screaming. Garuba then began to bend his fingers in a choking gesture. The soldier dropped his sword and held his neck, his legs flailing as he gasped for air, while his men stood still, watching helplessly.
Garuba narrowed his eyes and frowned. "You talk too much."
Immediately, the soldier's head burst into flames, and he screamed in agony. A short moment later, the soldier stopped screaming, his limp body dangling in the air like a ragdoll.
Garuba dropped his hand, and the soldier's lifeless body fell to the ground.
Kahito stared, dazed.
Hunda giggles and smiled.
The soldiers finally got over their shock.
"He killed the commander!" a random soldier yelled.
"Get him!" ordered another.
The soldiers yelled a battle cry and charged at Garuba. He brought his hands together and slowly slid them against each other. A long, extremely sharp katana formed between them. He brandished the sword and took a battle stance.
"Let's get this over with," he said stoically.
He slashed the katana at the soldiers, projecting a massive wave of fire toward them. The soldiers in the first few troop lines were immolated on contact with the flames, their screams of pain caught in their throats.
"Pity, it doesn't burn like it used to," he hissed.
Garuba created a huge wall of fire behind him to protect Kahito in case any of the soldiers got past.
He turned to Kahito.
"Don't make the child cry," he ordered.
"How?!" Kahito asked.
"I don't know. You'll find a way. I'm trusting you to figure it out."
"How am I—" Kahito began, but Garuba stopped listening and charged at the soldiers.
He lunged at a soldier, plunging his katana deep into the man's chest. The blade ignited on impact, and within a heartbeat, the soldier was engulfed in a raging inferno, his scream cut short as he crumbled to ash.
Behind the infantry, archers loosed a volley at Garuba. He barely glanced up— the arrows froze mid-air, trembling against his telekinetic grip. With a flick of his wrist, they reversed course, screaming back toward their senders.
Garuba vaulted into the air, his body wreathed in flames. With a sweep of his arm, he unleashed a blazing column of fire that tore through the battlefield, scorching everything in its path. Soldiers erupted into fireballs, their armor melting before they could even react.
As he landed, instinct flared—movement in his peripheral vision. A soldier lunged from behind. Garuba twisted, parrying the strike with a brutal clash of steel. Without hesitation, he swept his leg low, shattering the soldier's balance and sending him sprawling. Before the man could recover, Garuba clenched his fist. A sickening crack echoed as every bone in the soldier's body shattered like glass.
*********
Kahito stared at Hunda.
Hunda stared back.
This went on for a minute or two until Hunda began to fuss, causing Kahito to panic.
"Aargh! What does he expect me to do?! All I can do is glow like a dying lamp," Kahito complained.
Kahito became angry, his body glowing red. He noticed Hunda staring at him, mesmerized.
"You like it, don't you?" he asked, intrigued by her reaction. Hunda didn't move; she remained transfixed by the lights.
"Well, if you like that, then you'll really enjoy this." Kahito put his hands forward, and they began to glow with the colors of the rainbow.
The baby's lips curled into a tiny, toothless smile, her eyes crinkling as if she understood a secret joy. Dimples popped as she kicked her tiny feet in delight. Kahito smiled too, though his was more from relief than joy.
Behind the infantry, a dying archer abandoned his aim at Garuba and instead loosed his final arrow at Kahito. It sailed through the air—past the trees, past the soldiers, past Garuba, past the wall of flames—racing toward Kahito's head... until it stopped mid-air.
Garuba had sensed it breach the flames and halted it at the last moment—but not before it drew blood.
Kahito felt a warm trickle down the side of his head. Slowly, fearfully, he touched it. Crimson stained his fingers. He turned, coming face to face with the arrow, still suspended in mid-air, his own blood dripping from its tip. His hands stopped glowing, and his face turned pale with fear as the realization of his near-death experience sank in.
He let out a scream and curled into a ball, hands clamping over his ears. The sudden outburst startled Hunda, snapping her harshly out of her trance. Her lips quivered before she unleashed a blood-curdling cry.
The wail echoed across the battlefield, cutting through the chaos. For a dreadful moment, everything fell into an eerie silence.
Instead of tears, blood welled in her eyes, trickling down her cheeks in dark, glistening streaks. The moment the drops left her skin, every soldier on the battlefield froze mid-motion. A sickening crack rippled through the air as their blood solidified within them—sharp, jagged crystals rupturing veins, shredding arteries. One by one, they collapsed, lifeless, their bodies hollowed out from within.
Garuba looked around, visibly dazed. His gaze shifted back to the children, settling on Kahito, still curled up on the ground, sobbing. As his sword and the wall of fire faded, he rushed forward, kneeling beside Kahito and Hunda and pulling them into a tight embrace. The boy's body trembled violently, his small frame shaking against Garuba's hold.
"No more... please... no more blood. Stop... this. Mom... mom..." Kahito's voice wavered, his words barely forming as he rocked slightly, hugging Garuba.
Garuba felt his own chest tighten. He had seen warriors break, had witnessed kings fall, but nothing had prepared him for the sound of a child begging for the world to stop drowning in blood.
He pulled Kahito closer, his voice raw. "Let the tears fall, Kahito. Let them fall." His grip tightened, not out of strength, but out of helplessness. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry you had to watch your mother die. I'm sorry you lost your home. I'm sorry I didn't do more."
A tear slipped down his face, warm against his cold skin. "You've been so strong, pretending you're okay, smiling, keeping yourself together when you shouldn't have had to. I let myself believe you were fine because I wanted to believe it. But you're just a child, Kahito. And you've lost everything. So let it out. Scream if you have to. Cry. Do whatever you need to. Just don't hold it in anymore."
His arms tightened around Kahito as a quiet shudder ran through him. "We both lost someone today. This day marks the fall of a family, a home... a kingdom. Emönæ is gone, and the world will remember its fall. But right now, we grieve."
For minutes, they stayed like that, their sobs lost in the emptiness around them. No more words, no more battles—just the weight of loss, pressing down on them, unrelenting.
Kahito finally spoke, his voice unsteady.
"What... what happened? Did Hunda really kill all those soldiers?"
Garuba loosened his hold and glanced down at the pale, giggling baby in his arms. Her eyes were still stained red from the crimson tears. Gently, he wiped them away with his sleeve and let out a small, weary smile.
"Yeah... I guess so."
Kahito's wide eyes locked onto him. "But how?"
Garuba shrugged. "I guess she's just that strong."
"No, I got that. I mean—why didn't we die too?"
Garuba paused, then sighed. "Maybe... her instincts knew we were friends."
He ruffled the boy's platinum blonde hair, forcing some lightness into his tone. "Come on, let's get some rest."
"I'm still hungry," Kahito muttered.
"We'll take care of that soon," Garuba assured him, striding toward the house. Kahito followed, dragging his feet with exhaustion.
Without another word, they stepped inside.
*********
Meanwhile, in the ruined palace of Emönæ, Prismix stood perched on the balustrade, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Then, he heard it—Hunda's cry.
His eyes widened in shock. A shiver crawled down his spine.
"Impossible," he breathed, his face draining of color. "Has the time truly come? Is it already born?"
He clenched his fists, his voice trembling between fear and fury. "The celestial blessing... a child possesses it. But where? Why now—just when I have won?"
For a moment, silence hung heavy around him. Then, his expression hardened.
"Fate truly is a cruel thing," he murmured, a wicked grin creeping on his face. "But I will not fear. This child's fate is already sealed."
*********