Tale IX: Young Qinghao (Mizael)
"All of the characters that color the story aren't in the original work at all!" BANG!
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 9122
Characters: Mizael, Durbe, Kamishiro twins, Don Thousand, Vector
Relationships: Mizael/Durbe
Warnings: Dragons die, If you hate the movie Tangled, this is not for you (maybe)
Summary: Rescued from his tower, a young man with long hair goes on a madcap adventure with a fugitive knight.
Once upon a time, there lived a young couple expecting a child. The woman craved the herbs growing in the garden of her neighbor and urged her husband to steal them for her. Night by night, the husband crept into the witch’s garden and stole away with the precious herbs until one night, the witch descended upon him in a furious cloud. Despite all of the man’s pleading, the witch refused to spare him until he revealed his wife’s condition.
With a single word, the foolish man bartered away his only child to the witch.
Vector rolls his eyes as he flips through the pages of the story. He knows this story already, a cruel reminder of better times. Before his death, he and his twin brother had perched on their father’s knee as he read them stories from foreign countries. In the cool evenings, he would always return home from the governmental offices with a book in his hands. Sometimes it was legends. Sometimes it was poems. Other times, they were fairy tales.
He had especially loved the fairy tales from foreign countries, bringing him to snowy wastelands and vivid plains. They were a blessed respite from the humidity and heat of his homeland. As his father painted tales of clever swindlers and foolish kings, he and his brother stared up at him, enraptured by the tales he told. They had been close then, sharing the same bed and lessons. There are still some nights where he dreams of their childhood together, making him wake up in a cold sweat.
Shaking his head, he flips to the end of the fairytale.
When the tears that she had refused to shed since her banishment from the tower fell into the blind prince’s eyes, sight was restored into the cloudy depths. The prince took his princess home to his kingdom and there they lived, happily ever after.
This was the first tale that their stepmother had fed to the fire, noting the perverse values that it contained. He didn’t blame her. When he had first heard the tale, he had thought that Rapunzel’s pregnancy was a good thing, a product of genuine love between her and the prince. Later, when he had learned the truth behind the process, the tale never sat right with him again.
The day the book was burned, their father had returned home late. It was rare for their father to be so late and the brothers had been far too worried to care about a single book being burnt. As the books continued to be burned and their father continued to return later and later, the reek of alcohol clinging to his skin and his kind personality all but erased, a rift began to grow between Vector and his brother. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened, but when only he remained to bear their father’s beatings, it had already become too late.
Vector thumbs through the fairytale and grits his teeth. This should be a fast and easy one.
🏮
"And so I’ll read a book, or maybe two or three…," sings Mizael as he dances around the tower.
His pet lizard vigorously nods in agreement. Mizael sits in front of the mirror and brushes his hair. Even if no one besides Father Don saw him, he always tried to look his best because who knew? Maybe one day, his prince would come. Or something like that. Maybe a dragon. Ooh, a dragon would be cool.
"You know what’s a drawback of having long hair?" asks Mizael to his lizard.
The lizard makes a questioning noise and Mizael smirks, continuing to brush his own hair.
"It’s impossible to put on a shirt over your head. Jackets are alright during the winter seasons because you slip them over your back but..," Mizael trails off as he sees his lizard doze off.
Making a grumbling noise, Mizael places the lizard on the vanity and walks over to his dresser.
"Sometimes, I just want to have a day where I’m naked," declares Mizael. "I have enough hair to cover myself up anyways."
Silence answers him and Mizael yanks open a drawer with a frown. His father would never approve though. Maybe he was going crazy, being locked up in the tower with very little human interaction and having a lizard as a friend. Picking out a slip and a pair of loose trousers for his outfit, Mizael dresses himself and picks the lizard up again.
"Let’s go get some breakfast, Jinlong."
The lizard stirs at the mention of his(?) name (Mizael has never been sure, but he had always assumed Jinlong was a he). Once they make their way down to the kitchen, Mizael picks a few mint leaves from their indoor garden and garnishes his bowl of rice and scallion oil with it. Jinlong eats from Mizael’s bowl, although Mizael is pretty sure lizards shouldn’t be eating mint leaves, rice and scallion oil. Regardless, he doesn’t stop his friend. Once the two finish their breakfast, Mizael washes the dishes. He looks at the paintings covering the walls and sighs. There was barely any room left. So painting was out of the question for today. Maybe he could teach Jinlong how to duel again. Wouldn’t that be fun?
Dusting the kitchen, Mizael eyes the clock and groans. Days passed by languidly in his world. Sometimes, he feels as if he’s been trapped in a bubble, forgotten by everyone save for Father Don. As if this wasn’t truly living and he was just...suspended. Waiting. For something.
But what?
Double and then triple checking the kitchen for cleanliness, Mizael nods in satisfaction and picks up Jinlong, the two heading upstairs again.
8:30, on the dot. As always. Over and over again. Mizael begins to gather his hair at his feet, preparing for Father Don’s arrival. After exactly 15 minutes of gathering his absurd amount of hair, Mizael looks out the window and sees a man in court garb appear. The mist surrounding the high stone formations is just like any other morning. On particularly clear afternoons, Mizael swears he can see the rooftops of the Imperial Palace where father Don worked, but when he told his father, he received a laugh.
"Oh silly mouse, those are just more rocks. The imperial palace is hundreds, thousands of li away," chuckles father Don.
Father Don arrives at the bottom of the tower and waves at Mizael.
"Mizael, Mizael, let your father clamber and climb by letting your hair down," cries Father Don.
"Your son is here and he will greet you without a frown!" calls Mizael back as he lets his hair down.
The silly rhyme had been thought up by the two when he was very young, briefly breaking up the already monotone lifestyle. But as things are wont to be, it merely melded in with the endless routine. Mizael bites his lip at the customary pain that followed as his father began his ascent. He tightens his grip on the windowsill and looks down from the tower. It would take about half an hour for his father to climb.
While Father Don climbs, Mizael looks out the window and counts the number of stone formations he can see in the mist. One. Two. Three. Four. Five ...A bird passes by the window and Mizael grumbles as he loses count. One. Two. What day was it anyways? Briefly, Mizael looks at his calendar and jumps in surprise. In two days, it would be his 17th birthday! Has his life passed by that fast?
Right . Every year, without fail, there would be an array of lights that would fill the sky, even more beautiful than the stars. Although they were mere flickers from the tower, Mizael couldn’t help but feel that it was something for him. One day, he would see those lights up close. What were they anyways? Fireflies ? No, fireflies wouldn’t be that bright from this far. Fire ? Hmm...Possibly. Maybe lanterns. That would be pretty. But he doesn’t know for sure until he sees the lights up close.
"What did you have for breakfast?" calls Father Don.
"Rice, mint leaves and scallion oil," replies Mizael simply.
As always.
Once Father Don makes his way into the tower, Mizael sighs.
"My birthday is in two days," announces Mizael as he pulls his hair back up.
"I know," says his father cheerfully. "What would you like for your birthday?"
Mizael swallows hard and looks at the mural he had painted on his ceiling. 16 lights danced in front of a figure with long, long blond hair and a lizard on his shoulder. Every year, he would add a light. Father Don follows his gaze and sighs.
"Just once?" he asks softly. "Please? You and I, we go and see the lights. Together."
Father Don’s expression darkens, his eyes narrowing and his long beard drooping.
"Absolutely not," he snaps.
The coldness in his father’s voice chills him to the bone. It was just as he had expected. Mizael looks out the window and once again feels the yearning well up his chest. Regardless, he swallows it and turns back to his father.
"Alright then," sighs Mizael. "I’m sorry that I asked. Instead, could I have some duck, poached eggs and egg noodles in broth for my birthday dinner?"
Like the sun through thunderous clouds, Father Don’s gentle demeanor returns and he nods.
"Of course. I wonder if you can finish it all though," he chuckles. "You’re so skinny. Now turn around and let me brush your hair."
Doing as he is told, Mizael closes his eyes. Someday , he promises himself. Someday he’ll feel the sand beneath his feet. Someday he’ll touch his toes on the shores of a lake. Someday he’ll be out of here.
“Oh blessed dragon, creator of the worlds,
Turn back the clock, turn things amok,
And return what once was mine,” chants Father Don.
“The blessed locks will shine, a gift from the dragon divine,
Through the gold fine, the magic will deliver thy time,” chants Mizael in reply.
His hair shimmers, filling the gloomy room with light. Jinlong looks up, never growing bored of this part of the routine. Father Don lovingly runs the brush through Mizael’s hair and then kisses him on the back of his head.
"There we are, my son. I look forward to celebrating your birthday with you!" says Father Don as he stands.
Mizael forces a smile as he lets his hair down.
"Me too," he says as he bites down a whimper as Father Don grabs his hair and begins climbing down the tower.
Just like always. Over and over again. Once Father Don reaches the ground, Mizael exchanges a wave and pulls his hair back up with grunts of effort. Sighing, he flops on his bed, earning a surprised squeak from Jinlong.
When would his life begin?
🏮
"Hello? Is anyone here?!" calls an unfamiliar voice.
Mizael stirs from his afternoon nap. He wipes a bit of saliva from his mouth and mumbles incoherently. Jinlong grumbles as his own nap is interrupted.
“Hello?!" calls the voice again.
"C-coming!" says Mizael as he jumps out of bed. "Ow!"
He trips over his own hair and grumbles as he fumbles with the locks to the window shutters. Once he throws the locks open, his mouth falls open into an O. A young man with silver hair looks at him with a matching astonished expression. Mizael’s eyes look down to see that the man is riding a horse with wings. With his hands shaking, Mizael’s hands run to the shutters and tries to close the windows.
"N-no! Please!" cries the man. "I-I mean no harm!"
"And how do I know that for sure?!" calls back Mizael.
"Please! I need somewhere to hide!"
"Why?"
The man looks around nervously.
"Please!"
The desperation in his eyes makes Mizael open up the shutters a little bit more. Gasping out his thanks, the man parts open the rest of the window and tumbles in, the clanking of his strange garments making Mizael wince.
"Who are you?!" exclaims Mizael, scanning the room for a weapon.
He quickly grabs a nearby paintbrush and threateningly points it at the man’s eye.
"I-I’m Ser Durbe! I...I’m from a faraway land," stammers the man.
At the mention of a faraway land, Mizael puts down the paintbrush and plops himself onto the floor. He pulls his hair back in, his eyes focused on the strange man the entire time.
"Where?! What’s in your faraway land?! What are the sights and sounds? The land?" asks Mizael excitedly.
The flying horse makes a derisive snort. Durbe chuckles and whistles for the horse to fly away. Whickering grumpily, the horse makes itself scarce. The man meets Mizael’s eyes and gives him a shy smile.
"Slow down. What’s your name?"
"Mizael," answers Mizael.
“Mizael, huh…?” ponders Durbe, stroking his chin. He gives Mizael a small smile. “That’s a lovely name.”
Heat fills Mizael’s cheeks. He’s never thought much about his name before. He looks in the direction where Durbe’s horse flew off.
“How did you find me?” he asks.
Durbe awkwardly shrugs.
“Mach and I were flying as far away from the palace as possible…,” he answers quietly.
“The palace?”
Durbe raises a brow.
“Yes. It’s a few li away from here.”
Mizael’s eyes widen.
“Take me there!” he exclaims.
“What?!” exclaims Durbe, jumping back.
"My birthday’s in 2 days and I want to get out of here and see the lights. They always appear on my birthday. And for once I just wanna see with my own eyes up close. I-I’ve never been out of my tower all of my life and..."
Astonishment fills Durbe’s expression.
"You’ve never been out of here? All of your life?" he asks softly.
Mizael shakes his head.
"My father won’t allow it."
"My God..," utters Durbe.
"Who?" asks Mizael in confusion.
Durbe shakes his head, his armor clanking. His hand shifts to his side unconsciously. His eyes then move back to Mizael. Determination sparkles in its blue depths. Mizael’s heart skips a beat.
"I’ll help get you out of here."
"R-really?"
He knows he’s not supposed to trust strangers, let alone the first human being he’s seen besides Father Don, but...
Durbe nods vigorously.
"Once my pursuers have disappeared, I’ll get you out of here," he promises.
Mizael looks out the tower window in confusion.
"Why are you running away from the palace?"
Durbe tugs at his collar.
"It’s a long story."
“I’m sure I can wait. I’ve been stuck here all my life.”
Awkwardly, Durbe nods.
“Er, I came to retrieve my father’s possessions and the palace has banned foreigners…,” he says, trailing off.
The sound of his stomach growling fills his face with heat. Mizael stares at him in fascination.
"Can I get you anything to eat?" offers Mizael.
Durbe breathes out a sigh of relief.
"Yes, please. I could eat a horse."
"You eat horses in your faraway land?" exclaims Mizael.
The silver haired man laughs.
"No. It’s just a saying."
Mizael laughs despite his confusion and then leads the man down to the kitchen.
"Do you like rice?" asks Mizael.
The man shrugs.
"Anything right now sounds divine."
Smiling, Mizael prepares a bowl of rice and dribbles bits of scallion oil onto the rice. He gives the man a pair of chopsticks and then pulls a chair out for him. The man looks at the utensil in confusion. He clumsily maneuvers the two sticks and Mizael lets out a laugh. His hands fly to his mouth as he sees Durbe further blush.
"Do you not have chopsticks in your far away land?" he asks.
Durbe moves the two sticks around in bewilderment.
"No, although I’ve seen people use it..," mumbles Durbe.
"I’ll get you a spoon and then you can tell me more about this land you come from," chuckles Mizael as he opens up a drawer.
A smile fills Durbe’s face and he sets down the chopsticks. His hand once again pats his side and he breathes out a sigh of relief as he feels the plant’s reassuring press against him. Maybe, just maybe, he could escape with his life intact.
🏮
“Wait, that’s not going towards the lights! That’s going away from the lights!” protests Mizael.
Durbe chuckles and pats the flank of his pegasus reassuringly.
“We still have two days. For now, I want to show you things you’ve never gotten to experience,” says Durbe.
“But I want the lights!”
“Did anyone ever teach you about patience? When I was a squire, my master would make me wait for hours on end while he drank himself silly at the local tavern.”
Mizael crosses his arms and blows a strand of hair away from his face.
“Oh yeah? Have you ever been kept in a tower for all your life?”
Durbe remains silent at that, awkwardly maneuvering his pegasus onto a nearby meadow.
“Oh yeah, why are you being so nice to me? Isn’t the world full of self-interested people? I don’t have anything particularly useful…”
Mizael trails off as he sees Durbe’s lips stiffen. He hops off of Mach and places his fist on his chest with a resounding clink. Once again, the determined look fills his face, filling Mizael’s chest with warmth. On one knee Durbe kneels, taking Mizael’s hand in his.
“It is my duty as a knight to protect the weak and liberate the oppressed. You fall into the latter and I must do what my principles command me,” declares Durbe.
“What’s a knight?”
Durbe lets out a sigh. This was going to be a long day.
🏮
Wait. What?! Vector looks up at the empty tower in confusion. There were still 19 pages left in the story! How could Rapunzel have left the tower nine pages in?! He takes out his tome and panickedly leafs through it. There it was, the illustration of the wistful girl staring out of her tower, long white hair and milky eyes gazing out into nothingness. For one, the tower in the book was blue and featured carved marble tiles. This one was built of stone. Secondly, they were supposed to be in a blue desert with blue sand and blue mountains and pretty much everything else blue. Yet the only blue thing in this clearing was the sky.
Vector checks the setting of the story he was in once again, flicking open his map-watch.
Rapunzel.
He glances back at the hefty tome. Rapunzel. Vector frowns and scratches his head. Turning to the table of contents, he runs his finger down the stories. After Rapunzel came another completely different tale. Vector peered through the next tale, the paper thin and the ink light, a sign that it wasn’t an active tale. And, from the lack of mirrors, apples and demons, Vector definitely wasn’t in that story. So then where the hell was he?
The sound of galloping horses interrupts his thoughts and he gnashes his teeth in irritation. Diving into the bushes, he watches as a pair of ruffians ride past the clearing. From their ill-suited red robes, they must have been low-ranking officials sent from the palace. Without any guiding story to lead him to the protagonist, Vector reluctantly climbs up the treetops and follows the two.
Upon glimpsing their blue and purple heads, Vector sneers. The damn twins again. Wherever they went, trouble seemed to follow. He could tell from their wicked grins and foaming horses that they were far from the heroes of the story. No heroes or heroines were this outright wicked. No, the twins’ composure, from their frenzied smiles to their wild eyes spoke of characters with nothing to lose. Characters whose lives were not watched over by the stars.
The conniving heroes hid their cruelty behind kind smiles and righteous attitudes. As the story bowed to their whims, they had no need to be outright cruel.
Vector checks his pocket watch to find that the happy ending had not yet been achieved. The sight of the meter at the bottom usually annoys him, but not this time. It meant that he still had time to search for his prey.
The twins make their way to an isolated cottage, roughly yanking open the door and dragging out the elderly inhabitants.
“On behalf of the Great Emperor, we have come in search of a foreigner with silver hair,” declares the brother.
“He owes us our due,” snarls the sister.
When the elderly couple blabber out inanities, the twins sneer and enter the house. The crashing of furniture follows soon after. A few minutes later, they exit the house with sour expressions on their faces. For good measure, the sister kicks the old man to his knees. Without apologizing to the couple, they mount their horses and ride off.
Vector has to admit. He likes this iteration of the twins much better than the candy-grubbing heroes he had to hunt. Their lack of a moral compass tickled him pink. Characters without much of a conscience were the most entertaining to follow.
🏮
“This is…sweet…!” breathes Mizael as he sips the plum wine.
Durbe beams.
“It’s this region’s specialty.”
The barkeeper looks at the couple dubiously. Mizael, with his lengthy hair gathered into a thick braid and Durbe, standing out amongst the sunkissed farmers with his pale skin attracted attention that he was uncertain whether he liked or not.
“Do you come here often?” asks Mizael.
Durbe grins.
“No, but my father’s journal wrote many things about this place. He served the previous emperor until his first child passed away.”
Mizael’s expression clouds at the mention of the lost prince. Although the going-ons of the palace were a distant world away, he could not help but feel sorrow about the legend of the lost prince. Everyone had placed all of their wishes into the child, hoping that he would continue his father’s benevolent rule. To perish before he could even accept their wishes…
He sighs, finishing the last of the plum wine.
“I see,” he murmurs. “Although I know that the lanterns are to commemorate the prince, isn’t it odd that it occurs on the same day of my birth?”
Durbe shrugs, his armor clinking.
“The world is full of many strange coincidences.”
Before Mizael can reply, the door to the bar is forced open. A pair of sword-bearing officials furiously scan the room before landing their gazes on Durbe. The twin with the magenta eyes grins upon seeing Durbe, wiggling her lithe fingers at him.
“Hello there, Durbe,” she calls in a drawl.
The knight pales. Immediately, he grabs Mizael’s hand and whistles for Mach. In the back of the inn, the pegasus neighs in response and forces his way through the backdoor, throwing off anyone that stood in his path.
“CATCH THE FOREIGNER AND HIS ACCOMPLICE! HE HAS COMMITTED A GRIEVOUS INSULT TO THE GREAT EMPEROR!” bellows the other official.
All attention switches to Durbe and Mizael. The poor farmers immediately spring upon Durbe and Mizael before Mach rushes in and throws them on his back. Kicking away any men that held him down, Mach lets out a furious snort before crashing through the window. He takes to the skies quickly, deftly avoiding the arrows of the shabbily dressed officials.
When they break through a layer of clouds, Mizael looks at Durbe warily.
“So you are a ruffian!” he exclaims.
“Not a ruffian!” pants Durbe. “I only entered the palace to retrieve what was rightfully mine!”
“You snuck into the palace?!”
“Through the roof, yes.”
Clicking his tongue, Durbe spurs Mach away from the sun.
“The roof?! What was so important that you had to take it from the roof?!”
Durbe gives a nonchalant shrug. Clink.
“The last flower in the world that bore my family name. You see, back in my home country, a plague killed off the others. Only the bloom that my father had gifted to the previous emperor remains.”
“It’s just a flower!”
Durbe’s eyes fill with a furious light. He tightens his grip on Mach’s reins.
“It is not just a mere flower. It is a flower that has miraculous properties.”
Mizael snorts while Durbe bristles in irritation, trying to forget the crazed light in the twins’ eyes.
“It allowed the previous empress to safely deliver the Lost Prince. Without its help, there would have likely been no prince.”
“The prince is still lost,” mutters Mizael.
“Some say he may still be alive, waiting for the perfect time to reclaim his throne.”
“It’s been more than twenty years. He’s lost.”
Durbe shakes his head, the wind mussing his hair. His jaw is set in determination, his face adapting the expression that Mizael was beginning to adore.
“I have hope for him. He is the only one that carries true dragon blood,” he murmurs.
At the mention of ‘dragon,’ Jinlong curiously peeks out of Mizael’s braid. Mizael gives him a reassuring pat.
“Dragon blood?”
Now this Father Don never told him of.
“Why, yes. They can control the hearts of dragons.”
“Dragons aren’t real,” scoffs Mizael.
Durbe chuckles.
“My father extensively wrote about them. He even brought a dragonscale home.”
Mizael crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.
“I may have spent all my life in a tower, but I’m not that dumb.”
“Then why does the new emperor have an entire building kept under lock and key? When we flew across it, Mach grew uneasy and I heard growling.”
“It could be anything!”
“The current emperor was born from a high-ranking concubine. He doesn’t have a drop of dragon’s blood in him. Therefore, he has to keep the dragons imprisoned,” says Durbe.
“Isn’t this treason, to discuss the emperor like this?”
He’s read various stories of men being put to death due to sharing undesirable details about their ruler. He’d rather not be in the company of such a man. Yet Durbe’s expression was serious, as if the slander he spoke was the indisputable truth. Mizael twists his lips.
“It’s what everyone at court knows,” murmurs Durbe.
“What about the previous empress?”
The knight stills, his back rigid.
“You didn’t hear?” he murmurs.
“No…?”
The knight sighs, nudging Mach to fly lower.
“After the death of her first child, she went to the mountains to grieve and was never found again.”
Mizael swallows hard. The prince must have meant the world to the empress for her to have disappeared like that. Their flight passes by in silence as the sun begins to set. Landing in a clearing, Durbe unmounts Mach and helps Mizael down. He begins to set up camp for the night as Mizael sits by a tree, thinking about the empress and her child. Durbe whispers into Mach’s ear and the pegasus nods, trotting off to a nearby patch of grass.
As Mizael watches Durbe busy himself with the bedrolls, he awkwardly offers his help.
“Tell me more about the Lost Prince,” he says, taking a roll from Durbe’s hands.
The knight sets down his roll and begins to take off his armor, piece by piece.
“What would you like to know?”
“Start with his mother,” says Mizael as he starts to run his fingers through his hair.
With his tiny claws, Jinlong attempts to help as well. Durbe watches the two with a small smile and then shrugs.
“Empress Fenglong the Vivid was the last surviving child of the former Dragon Empress. It was a miracle that she, the frailest of six royal children, survived the fire that engulfed her family. Even more miraculous that she was able to survive to adulthood and sire a child.”
Durbe pauses, drinking in Mizael’s large blue eyes and fascinated expression. Truly, what had he been taught in that prison of his?
“After much difficulty with her pregnancy, the royal physician prescribed a poultice made from my family’s flower, the durbe.”
A snort interrupts Durbe’s story and he gives Mizael a withering frown. Mizael covers his mouth and stifles his laughter.
“Apologies. It is a funny name for a flower.”
“I think it’s a perfectly good name, thank you, very much,” huffs Durbe. “Only my family knows how to cultivate these flowers and we gifted the Empress with two.”
“And was it as miraculous as you claimed it was?”
Durbe nods. Reaching into his shirt, he pulls out a thong with a small leather pouch. Looking furtively around, he takes out the contents of the pouch only when he deems that it is safe. A soft gasp escapes from Mizael as he regards the small flower with silvery petals. It glimmers like moonlight, a soft chime emanating from the blossom. The sound fills Mizael with warmth, similar to when Father Don brushes out his hair.
“With the help of this blossom’s sister, the Empress delivered a healthy baby boy with hair as golden as her favorite dragon’s scales. Some say that the Lost Prince was the dragon’s child.”
murmurs Durbe.
Mizael’s hand unconsciously goes to his hair. Durbe sprinkles a bit of water on the flower and examines the silvery leaves.
“My family’s flower can survive for years without water or soil. The plague at home, however, destroyed the flowers and its seeds in the blink of an eye,”
In silence, Durbe tucks the blossom back into the pouch and hides it back in his shirt.
“And then…? What happened to the dragon prince?”
The knight’s expression darkens. He gazes down at his shoes, worn through with his adventuring.
“And then, the child was stolen. My father was blamed for the child’s disappearance and was put to death.”
Mizael gasps and his fingers still.
“I’m so sorry,” he utters.
Durbe shakes his head.
“It isn’t your fault. My father was a man of honor and defended his innocence to the very end. It was what a true knight would have done.”
The sound of crickets fill the air as Mizael and Durbe turn away from one another, gazing into the past. It must have deeply pained Durbe to have told this story. Mizael clutches his chest in guilt.
“A few days later, the Empress and her dragon vanished in search of her son,” murmurs Durbe.
Silence. The knight sighs and begins to unpack the dried meats from his satchel. There was something about Mizael that he couldn’t quite place. Something ethereal, something powerful lurking behind those guileless eyes…He runs through his father’s letters in his mind, the parchment now worn and collecting dust in his study across the sea.
With hair as black as a raven’s wings and eyes as piercing as the bluest of skies, what the Empress lacked in stature, she made up for in her striking appearance. I will never forget her blue eyes nor how the world stopped whenever she called out to her beloved beasts. I hope that one day, you will be able to meet someone as powerful as her.
Surreptitiously, he glances at Mizael. His eyes are aimed up at the heavens, the stars filling his face with a soft glow.
“My father must miss me,” sighs Mizael. “I’ve been so ungrateful.”
The day’s adventure seems to have worn off of the young man. He pulls his knees close to his chest.
“Nonsense,” growls Durbe. “He imprisoned you in a tower for all of your life.”
“To protect me!” protests Mizael.
“From what? The world? Foreigners like me?”
“Yes!”
Mizael pauses for a few moments, worrying his lips.
“At least, that’s what he said.”
“The world is full of liars,” mutters Durbe.
“Then are you one?”
“Perhaps.”
Durbe tears off a piece of jerky and hands it to Mizael. He then tears off another piece for Jinlong.
“Lie to me all you want, but I’ll make you take me to see the lights,” huffs Mizael.
“To the Lost Prince’s Festival?”
“What?”
“That’s what the lanterns are for. They’re let into the sky in hopes that the prince will find them and return to his palace.”
“I knew they were lanterns!” exclaims Mizael. “Father Don was lying, then!”
Realization fills Mizael’s face and then his brows furrow.
“But why would he lie?”
Durbe regards Mizael in silence, prickles creeping up his spine.
Golden hair was not a common occurrence in this kingdom. Nor were young men imprisoned in towers for all of their lives. Yes, a cheap street performer could have an animal perch on his shoulder for as long as he wanted, but never with the loyalty and trust Jinlong and Mizael seemed to share. Durbe glances at the lizard, with its white scales and red eyes. The lizard glances back at him and flicks its tongue out, as if sensing his suspicions. It winks at him and Durbe immediately turns away, the blood rushing through his ears.
No. Fate did not work in such ways, not for downtrodden heroes like him. Yet…
Durbe stares at Mizael, gently feeding his lizard a piece of jerky. Then his father’s kindly face fills his mind. His father had left for distant lands when he was very young, but the memories they shared continued to burn bright. He was always loyal to his benefactors and kind to those less fortunate than him. By his father’s side, they had offered food to the poor and bowed at their king’s feet.
“ Always do what is right,” instructed his father the day he left for Mizael’s lands. “ Even when the world conspires against you.”
Mizael smiles, giving Jinlong a loving pat. The knight takes a deep breath, his father’s words filling his mind.
“There is a song my mother taught me. It is a lullaby meant to be sung to our flowers every dawn,” he utters, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
Fates above, do not toy with me like this, prays Durbe.
“Oh?” asks Mizael, absentmindedly chewing on his jerky.
“It goes like this,” begins Durbe.
He takes a deep breath. His voice is shaky with disuse. It is a passable tenor, meant to sing softly to the silvery blossoms in his family’s garden. A gardener’s gentle voice. Back at home, he would spend late nights drinking with his friends and a lute in his hands. His singing never failed to lull the rowdy party to sleep.
“ Oh blessed dragon, creator of the worlds,
Turn back the clock, turn things amok,
And return what once was mine. ”
Mizael’s eyes fill with recognition. Durbe’s heart fills with hope as the familiar melody is returned in Mizael’s strong and bright voice.
“ The blessed locks will shine, a gift from the dragon divine,
Through the gold fine, the magic will deliver thy time,” sings Mizael.
An image seen only in his family’s registry comes to life before him, a golden glow enveloping the forest. This was the reason why most members of his family covered their hair. Only he had been born without the aid of the Durbe flower, the beginnings of the plague eating away at their sparse supply.
There was no doubt now, who this golden-haired stranger was. On shaky limbs, Durbe bows, touching his head to the ground.
“Your Majesty,” he breathes.
Mizael stiffens.
“It can’t be,” he says, a nervous smile filling his lips. “I’m just a…”
Durbe bites his lips. To return to the palace would mean certain death. Yet, there was his father’s name to clear and his dying wish to grant. He looks at Mizael with grave eyes. Mizael holds it, confusion adding a hint of fear to his stare.
“It’s…”
Fwip!
An arrow flies past Mizael, pinning a piece of his hair to a tree. Durbe pushes Mizael to the ground as an arrow lodges itself to where he had stood. He frantically whistles just as a pair of laughter fills the clearing.
“You couldn’t have possibly forgotten us, have you?!” calls a young woman’s voice.
“A knight’s all about honor, isn’t he?!” calls a second voice.
“MIZAEL!” booms a third voice, unfamiliar to Durbe.
Mizael pales as Mach approaches.
“Father,” he utters.
“You are not going back to him,” snaps Durbe, hefting Mizael up and jumping onto Mach.
“But I need answers!”
“The palace will answer everything!” shouts Durbe as the pegasus leaps into the air.
He turns back to see the three riders on his trail, glaring at him. He grimaces at the twins on horseback, each armed with a quiver of arrows and a wicked bow. The red uniforms of the guards that they had worn have been replaced by their usual boiled leather and black clothes.
“Don’t try to run now! We still need to be compensated for our services!” calls the older brother.
Shark Arlington, one of the best lockpicks in his city. And, the kingdom’s best marksman. Beside him, his sister sneers as she nocks an arrow. Serpent Arlington, the best sneak thief in the kingdom. While her brother had a successful front as a locksmith, Serpent spent her time unapologetically looting the homes of aristocrats. There had been no one else better-suited to infiltrate the imperial palace.
Mach narrowly avoids Shark’s arrow as he veers towards the right. Below them, the twins continue their barrage of arrows while Father Don shouts. A gasp escapes from Mizael as his hair is yanked back. Adrenaline coursing through Durbe’s veins, he slashes at the hair that was held back by Serpent’s arrow.
“Go!” shouts Durbe.
The pegasus lets out a pained whinny as an arrow flies through his wing. Durbe grimaces and urges Mach to carry on. Mizael stares down at his hair in shock, the blond locks quickly fading into black. A pained wail escapes from Father Don and Mizael winces. He had never questioned why his father had never allowed him to cut his hair. To see it now, fading into a dark black, makes him think of the darkness that filled his father’s eyes whenever he had dared to question any of his rules. Eventually, he had kept his mouth shut and quietly agreed to anything his father told him to in fear of facing his wrath.
As they carreen past the clouds, Mizael looks down at their three pursuers.
The third horse is without a rider, Father Don’s familiar red robes flapping in the wind.
“We’ll find you soon!” cries Shark.
“Just. You. Wait!” screams Serpent.
Soonafter, Mach lets out another pained whinny as an arrow pierces him through his flank.
“No…!” gasps Durbe.
Another arrow follows and Durbe curses under his breath. Blood began to dye Mach’s white coat red. When a third arrow narrowly misses his steed, Durbe forces himself to lower.
“Follow my lead,” utters Durbe.
“What?!” whispers Mizael panickedly as they fly back to the earth.
Durbe swiftly unsheathes his sword and holds Mizael in his arms. As the twins catch up to him, he glares at them.
“ Don’t come any closer,” he hisses. “I hold the life of Crown Prince Yulong in my hands.”
Heedless, the twins gallop forwards, laughter erupting from their chests.
“And how does a gardener produce the Lost Prince from thin air?!” cackles Serpent.
“Because the Fates favor the honorable,” growls Durbe.
Shark snorts.
“‘Honorable?’ Say that to our contract.”
“You were going to leave us for dead in that palace, weren’t you?” drawls Serpent, sliding off of her horse.
The twins approach the two with matching grins, swords sheathed.
“I will pay you, just as soon as I can return the prince to the palace,” says Durbe.
Serpent laughs dryly.
“It seems that the Fates have also favored us! We’ve been given a second chance by the great Emperor to return you to the palace.”
The twins are an arms-length away from Durbe. His blade quivers on Mizael’s skin. Shark snorts.
“You’re not going to kill him. You’re too ‘honorable’ for that,” he says mockingly.
Durbe remains silent, his expression unmoving. The twins take a step forward.
“Back off,” warns Durbe.
The twins exchange a glance and then reach into their pockets. In unison, they toss a white powder towards Mizael and Durbe, enveloping their world in darkness.
🏮
Wheels. Horses. Coldness. Mizael stirs awake to find bits of light filtering in through his covered head. Beside him, a body stirs. A familiar grunt reveals that it’s Durbe. Behind his bound hands, he can feel Jinlong’s scales on his skin. They jostle and bump against each other for what seems like hours, the voices of the twins their only respite. Various times Mizael falls asleep, his dreams filled with the red glow of the lanterns.
When the path below them erupts into music, murmuring voices and cobblestone, Mizael once again opens his eyes and curses the burlap sack that was pulled over his head.
“Almost there…,” drawls Serpent in a singsong tone.
Mizael groans, trying to flex his limbs to no avail. Durbe is silent beside him, anger communicated through his tightened muscles. The voices crescendo the deeper they go, from stallowners hawking their wares to children laughing at Mizael and Durbe. Smells of fresh meat and dumplings fills Mizael’s senses and he realizes he hasn’t eaten his breakfast yet. Distantly, he can hear clashing cymbals and drums, a joyous beat reverberating through the streets.
“We carry prisoners to the emperor,” calls Shark’s distant voice.
The clashing of armor. The sound of steel on steel. The cries of the twins. Bodies falling to the ground. And then they are back onto the loud streets of the city. Beside Mizael, Durbe stiffens. A chill runs up Mizael’s spine. As the minutes pass by, the voices from the bustling market die down. The silence that follows makes Mizael pull himself closer together. Unlike the easy voices of the city goers, the voices of these individuals are hushed.
A large gate creaks open. Beneath them, the paths are smooth. Although the ride is without bumps now, the unease in Mizael’s heart increases. The coldness has returned alongside the silence. Jinlong curls his tail up by Mizael’s finger as if to reassure him.
When they are untied by rough hands and forced to walk, Mizael falls on his knees and is yanked back up. They trudge through yet another gate, their needle-filled feet screaming in protest. Then they make their way up marble stairs. A flurry of voices fills the building before them. Through the holes in the bag, Mizael can see glimpses of red. Pushed towards the entrance, Mizael and Durbe approach the warm air emanating from the room with a hint of relief.
Enveloped by warmth, Mizael almost relaxes until the sack is yanked from his head and he is blinded by the light in the grand hall of the palace.
“Bow before Emperor Kaito, first of his name, lord of the grasslands and conqueror of the seas!” barks the guard.
A rough hand forces Mizael’s head to the floor before he can glimpse the radiant figure before him.
“There should only be one,” calls a voice from above.
Beside him, the guard stiffens.
“He was with the foreigner. We thought that he was an unaccounted accomplice,” replies the guard nervously.
The shifting of fabrics.
“Show me your face,” calls the voice.
A kick in Mizael’s side. Mizael looks up, his heart beating loudly in his chest. He is met by a pair of piercing blue eyes, just like his own.
“Who are you?” asks the Emperor.
“Mizael…,” replies Mizael. “My Lord.”
“He is the Lost Prince,” utters Durbe in a voice dry with disuse.
“Silence!” shouts the guard, kicking Durbe.
The Emperor remains unmoved.
“And your evidence for this?”
“His hair glowed gold when I sang my family’s lullaby. It only happens to children born of the durbe flower,” replies Durbe weakly.
A hmph was his reply. The Emperor runs his eyes down Mizael’s now completely black hair and disheveled appearance.
“There have been many pretenders. How are you any different?”
“I…A man named Don imprisoned me in a tower for as long as I could remember. He never allowed me to cut my hair and told me that the world was full of liars and thieves. For as long as I lived, I was not allowed to leave until Ser Durbe conceded to my request to take me to see the lanterns of the Lost Prince. They appear every year on my birthday.”
The emperor raises an eyebrow. He turns to Durbe, who looks at him with a grimace.
“Creative story, foreigner. But this does not convince me to spare you. Execute them both.”
Durbe pales while Mizael stiffens. As the guards pull them up to their feet, Mizael struggles against his bonds. He glares at the emperor.
“You don’t understand!” exclaims Mizael. “Durbe was honorable throughout our entire journey! He rescued me from my prison and showed me how beautiful this world was! You can’t kill him for merely granting his father’s final wish and restoring his family’s honor!”
“He is a thief,” growls the guard.
Dressed in gold silk and a heavy hat with jade beads, how could the emperor know of the tower with its cold stone and lonely nights? How could he know of the fear of being hunted like an animal, arrows whizzing past him like deadly hornets? How could he know of being lied to his entire life, blindfolded and deaf to the rest of the world?
“He is NOT!” snaps Mizael.
He digs his feet into the ground, his cheeks burning with anger. Durbe, who had risked life and limb to restore his family’s flowers. The honorable knight who had patiently taught him about the world. His singing, so soft and sweet. How he had treated Mach just like a close friend. How he refused to allow Mizael to return to Father Don and his lies.
They could not put such a man to death.
The blood rushes through Mizael’s veins, coursing through his body like rivers of fire. He burns from the inside out like never before, his hands stiffening into claws. His face burns and he shakes away from the guard’s grip. Distantly, he can hear something crashing, as if thousands and thousands of cages had been shattered. A glow fills the room and his vision is filled with light.
“UNHAND HIM!” commands Mizael.
His voice echoes like never before, a growl in its undertones. The guards do as they are told, dropping Durbe and then bowing down to Mizael, their foreheads touching the floor. He snarls at the emperor. Cracks form in the ground as he stomps his feet.
“LISTEN TO US!” shouts Mizael.
The Emperor glares at the young man. He stands up from his throne and unsheathes his sword.
“It is true, then,” he murmurs.
“EXPLAIN!” demands Mizael.
A flicker of distaste fills the Emperor’s face.
“You are the Lost Prince.”
“I am…”
Mizael trails off as he glances at his reflection in a nearby mirror. His golden hair has returned, reaching past his waist. Red marks have appeared on his face and his eyes glow with a blue light, pupils elongated like a dragon’s. And behind him, a dragon of white and gold roars. He meets the dragon’s eyes and immediately recognizes Jinlong’s wise smile.
“Jinlong…!” gasps Mizael.
The dragon lowers its head in greeting and then turns to the Emperor. It opens its mouth, a woman’s voice escaping from its throat.
“ And who are you to sit on the throne, child not of my blood? ” booms the dragon.
“Empress?!” exclaims Durbe, running up to Mizael.
The dragon glances at Durbe.
“ After many years spent meditating and searching for my beloved Qinghao, we have become one,” replies the dragon.
Qinghao. Artemisia. A plant known for its healing properties and silvery leaves. The name fills Mizael with warmth. It sounds familiar, as if it was something he has been called many times before. He glances up at Jinlong and the dragon blinks in acknowledgement.
“ You were Yulong to the people, but Qinghao to me ,” murmurs the dragon tenderly.
All of those moments spent with Jinlong, from reading to eating. All of the laughter and tears that they shared…Where Father Don was distant, Jinlong had been attentive and listened to all of Mizael’s fears with bright, intelligent eyes. Having a mere lizard for a mother would be absurd, but now, when he gazes into the great dragon’s eyes, he can understand. She had been by his side the entire time.
From behind, a chorus of angry roars fill the air. Mizael looks behind him to find dragons of all colors and sizes escaping from the ruins of a gray building. The peace he had so briefly experienced shatters.
“He cannot rule. He knows nothing of court rituals,” snaps the Emperor.
“ You have brought nothing but fear to this kingdom. A mere mortal cannot rule,” hisses the dragon.
The Emperor stands his ground, his sword now pointed at the dragon.
“If you wish to see this kingdom continue on, you will allow me to remain. This child will die in court.”
The dragon flickers its tongue. A small flame escapes from its mouth.
“ A dragon cannot be slain. We will only return, angrier than before. ”
Mizael watches the two spar, his hand clutching his chest. Could he truly see himself there, in the Emperor’s robes and throne? What would he even do as Emperor? He exchanges a glance with Durbe, memories of their adventure throughout the land filling his mind. From the end of the hall, the Emperor looked so small amidst the decorations of the palace. It felt as if he had become a part of the building as much as the building had become a part of him.
No. After the tower, he will not settle. Not now.
“Keep the kingdom,” says Mizael.
Jinlong and the Emperor stiffen.
“ But your birthright! ” roars the dragon.
Mizael holds the Emperor’s stare.
“I will not be imprisoned ever again,” declares Mizael.
He holds Durbe’s hand, squeezing it.
“I choose to wander the world with Ser Durbe.”
The shock that filled the room was palpable, with the guards and attendants’ widened eyes. The Emperor’s shoulders lower with relief. Hesitantly, Jinlong turns back to Mizael, red eyes glowing.
“ Child of mine…! ”
Mizael reaches out a hand to caress Jinlong’s lowered head.
“Perhaps I will return. But for now, I would like to learn more about this world,” he murmurs. “There is still so much I don’t know. I can’t be an emperor ignorant of the world that I govern.”
“ There are books! Tutors! I can teach you!” protests Jinlong.
Mizael shakes his head and gazes at his mother.
“Mother, you know very well that it isn’t the same, gazing at pictures on pages,” he murmurs.
The dragon makes a small noise of irritation. Then, a small sigh follows. She slightly lowers her head.
“ If that is what you wish. Then my brethren and I shall accompany you until the time comes, ” acquiesces Jinlong.
Mizael beams and embraces Jinlong’s snout.
“I want to feel the sand on my feet and see the ocean. Then, I would like to come to Durbe’s home and help him restore his family’s garden,” lists Mizael. “I haven’t been living until Durbe freed me from Father Don’s tower.”
The dragon closes her eyes, two pearls dripping from them. They fall to the floor, bouncing off of the cracked tile. When she speaks, her voice is unsteady.
“It is true…you have suffered for far too long, ” she sighs. “Perhaps it is time for me to also see the world.”
Mizael holds Durbe’s hands. They gaze into each other’s eyes, exchanging smiles.
A neigh interrupts them as Mach soars through the palace’s entrance. Durbe immediately pulls Mach into an embrace and pats him on the flank. His flank has returned to being pristinely white, the wounds only leaving behind a few dull patches.
“Of course, my friend. You’re coming home with me as well!” he laughs.
As if sensing Mizael’s need to escape, Mach tosses Durbe and Mizael onto his back before they can protest. Galloping past the guards, the pegasus flies into the sky with Jinlong and his dragons following them. With the wind in his hair and the sun on his skin, Mizael can almost imagine a world filled with nothing but sunlight and glittering scales.
🏮
Ping! The happiness counter in Vector’s pocket watch finally chimed. Smirking, the sniper on the roof aims his gun at Mizael and his parade of animals. He’s never killed a dragon or a pegasus before. But…he thinks he deserves the extra kills, just for the hassle that Mizael had put him through. He had been nothing but a nuisance, his story nothing like the original. There was no guide, no map, no marker on who or what the story had been about. It was as if he had been stripped naked, blindfolded and then forced to run through a briar patch.
Vector had traveled through forests, jostled his way through the crowded capitol and vaulted through roofs to get to his target, praying that this was the right one. Now, as he takes aim, he feels a rush of satisfaction wash over him.
Sure, Mizael was one of the more innocent protagonists but he still had a job to do. Everything seemed to unfold beneath his fingertips with ease.
“Scale! Scale!” cries his hat.
“I already looked at it! He’s guilty!” snaps Vector as he steadies his aim.
“Guilty guilty!”
Boom. Jinlong roars in pain as the first bullet hits her flank. Vector then aims for the head and finishes off the dragon. For a moment, Mizael’s horrified gaze meets Vector’s. With a grin, Vector takes out Mach. As they and Jinlong begin to fall, the dragons following them turn towards Vector. His heart roars with excitement as they fly towards him, roaring with rage. Mizael’s shriek fills his ears, reminding him of his true target.
Really, he could just let Mizael fall to his death.
But he knows that the story would do anything to save its hero. Better now than risk losing him again. He shoots a dragon in the way.
“Final bullet!” warns his hat.
“I know!” snaps Vector amid the dragons’ roars and fireballs.
He takes his final aim at Mizael and pulls the trigger.
The red that blooms from the impact is one of the most beautiful things he has seen, the red mixing with the gold of Mizael’s hair. As he falls to the ground, he is like a meteor of red and gold. Amidst the dragons’ cries and the fire that barely grazed Vector’s skin, a flower of red and gold in the midst of the courtyard bloomed, putting even the silver petals of the durbe to shame.
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