Chapter 8

Restraint

“So the Prodigal bastard returns?” The tense silence brought about by Xibalba’s statement was broken by the cold, sardonic wheeze of Father Wynter.

“So it would seem.” Carnati sighed, placing her teacup and saucer down upon the marbled tabletop. “He approached the Flower Court in Verne Valley yesterday, pleading for forgiveness of past regressions, and requesting for shelter for the foreseeable future.”

“I find it strange that instead of seeking refuge in his ancestral home of All Hallows, he chose to stroll all the way to Yggdrasil to ask you solely for asylum.” Xibalba speculated aloud, his eyes cautiously peering towards his brother. “Is that not concerning to anyone?”

“Fitzgerald is also a denizen of Verne Valley, so I am obligated to take him in. Integrating him back into society will be the true struggle.” Mother Nature frowned, tapping her fingers against the porcelain cup.

“With all due respect, do you believe him to be genuine?” Father Wynter squinted at her, testing her resolve.

The Reyes both exhaled a sigh in unison, with the older man resting his elbows atop the table, rubbing the growing stress from his nosebridge.

“I will admit that I also have my qualms against such a request, especially after…” The woman trailed off.

Everyone currently in the room was in attendance during that meeting, and none dared to rehash its contents.

“There is no need to restrain yourself from speaking the truth, nor do I have any say in what you do with your country, My Lady.” Elliott began, slowly smoothing his hand over his beard. “Though, I do believe you should consider an air of caution regarding that boy.”

“My concerns aren't just his current standing, but also with your Retainee, good sir.” Carnati's warm gold eyes bore into Father Wynter’s light blue scleras.

There was a pause from all, a silence that was louder than any words.

Unconsciously, all eyes fell to the old man, his closeness to his Retainee well known by Elders in the room.

“May I ask, what are you trying to imply?” Elliott tilted his head in general confusion.

“I'm sure the Reyes can attest to this, but El Cucuy’s infatuation with unbridled power was well established throughout New Temperantia, especially under Alhactob's influence. I'm quite sure that the notion wasn't completely lost on Fitzgerald, though he may be hiding it well. He often imposes himself around those in his age group, and if I remember correctly, Commander Frost is also around that age, no?” Mother Nature responded in kind, sternly but with concern.

“How does my Retainee fit into this equation? Do you believe that he will have his eyes on her?” While his voice remained calm, there was a tightness behind it, like a coiled viper still deciding if it was prepared to strike.

“I can understand what Mother Nature is trying to convey. Machinations aside, he could have clear hostilities towards any and all denizens of Mt. Wynter, especially since after the Incident. We knew of El Cucuy’s madness, but not of his teachings.”Astoria explained softly, hoping to lower the tension of the room.

Carnati nodded to the Queen Titania as a small gesture of gratitude and towards the Remisian King. “Moreover, I believe that his true intentions may arise amongst his peers while none of us are the wiser. The Fall Banquet is very soon; all who have received their invitations have already RVSP’d, and I’ll assume that Fitzgerald will attend with the other Title Holders. Mind you, the most of our concern all depends on whether or not Lady La Muerte was finally able to make contact this year.”

“She sent her annual invitations to the mountain, as she had for centuries, though she is, once again, uncertain of an answer. Rowena, however, hastily declined as usual.” Xibalba reassured the group.

There was another brief pause. As almost in unison, the delegates' eyes rolled in annoyance.

With a haggard sigh, Elliott, not so gently, placed his teacup back on its saucer with a clank. “For certain, that woman will be the death of me if only she could find some inner fuckin peace…”

Xibalba scoffed, as he sipped from his own cup. “A woman that scorned, I highly doubt. She'll only continue her tantrum if you grant her allowance. I mean, what would you do if your Co-Leader suddenly rebels? Would you immediately promote a child into the place of a leader?”

“Well, when you describe it like that, perhaps it is time for new management…” The old man pondered aloud.

“Pray tell, hopefully not. Regardless of Rowena’s previous actions, you shouldn't be so hasty, Elliott. Better to keep the girl safe than be remorseful later down the road.” Chamiabac piped up.

“While I wholeheartedly agree that she is young, Commander Frost is Nicholas's child. Her duty is to grow into the Title herself, as she had for the Jack Frost Title.” Father Wynter shook his head. “She is fully capable and her potential is leading towards greatness, but I cannot make those decisions for her.”

Chamiabac chuckled compassionately, “I’m sure we all know the feeling of wanting to guide without controlling your heir.”

Xiababla discreetly rolled his eyes, only to jump slightly when Carnati seemingly knocked his shin under the table.

“Goodness hermano, are you alright?” Chamiabac asked concernedly.

“Back to the point at hand.” Astoria interrupted, briefly shooting Xibalba and Carnati a glare that halted their shenanigans, “While I understand the vitriol the woman has earned, perhaps we should return to the focus of the conversation before we jump into rehashing previous complaints?”

“Very well then, I'll be frank. Fitzgerald poses a concerning problem for the rest of the New Temperantia, due to his previous collaborative efforts with his father. I worry that he will have further conflicts with the other Title Holders, or accelerate into a potential issue.”

“Perhaps if he was also offered asylum in All Hallows, he may assimilate easier, diminishing those very conflicts.” Chamiabac offered.

“Hermano… As much as I want to believe in our brother’s legacy… I'm not so sure that he and the Prince-”

“Nonsense! Diplomacy in the face of adversity is a skill Geddeon has in spades, and even if he didn't, young Fitzgerald is still family. It would appear unkind of us to not welcome him home.”

The Remisian King stared at his brother, exasperated by the man's prompt, but dismissive response. “I believe you're missing the point, Jack.”

“I am fully aware of the situation. Both the ruins and the mountains are still recovering from the nightmare that was the Fallen Leaves Incident, and tensions are on the rise between all countries due to the actions of our family. However, if we appear to be so callous as to not welcome our own blood, what message will that send to our people?” Chamiabac ruefully explained.

The oddly calm and succinct response stunned the assembly for a brief moment, but not Xibalba.

With a solemn sigh, Mother Nature tapped on her teacup, pulling the attention of the room. “Why don't we make a compromise, then? Fitzgerald will remain under my purview at Yggdrasil until my medics have fully assessed him for any injuries. Then, I will personally hand him off to Lord Xibalba, with his current medical records, so that he may return back to All Hallows.”

While Chamiabac gave an appreciative smile at the suggestion, Xibalba’s face exuded a subtle but telling grimace; one he hid flawlessly when the eyes of the assembled flicked towards him.

Though, behind the hopefulness of the room for new beginnings, there was an air of unease and a silent hope that there would be no adverse effects.

“Ah, that is a sound idea, My Lady! We greatly appreciate your thoughts on this.”

Geddeon’s POV

The sonorous clang of steel echoed against the black stone walls of the training tent, followed by swift steps and clashes of metal against gravel and stone. Various cheers and grunts accompanied the metal orchestra, until a man's sudden grunt halted the clamoring noise.

Geddeon sighed and lifted his sword, resting the hilt over his shoulder. He approached the man on the ground before him, holding his hand out.

“That was a good attempt. Next time, remember to watch your footing; you're working with a heavy weapon, so your foot needs to be sturdy on the ground. Otherwise, you'll topple too easily. Watch me.”

“Yes Sir.” The man confirmed. When he grabbed ahold of the General’s hand, Geddeon swiftly pulled him up to his feet. The young soldier stared wide-eyed and surprised.

‘If he’s shocked about my strength, he must be fresh out of the academy. He’ll be no match for Lima.’

The General moved his hand to the hilt of his sword and lifted it from his shoulder. With his dominant hand, closest to the guard, and his other gripped near the pommel, he stomped with his lead foot and swung down, stopping just before the training weapon hit the ground.

The speed and strength sent a gust of dirt and gravel mixing through the air in a distinctive arched shape. When the pebbles fell silent, the sudden rupture of applause from the crowd engulfed them briefly, before the Prince adjusted his posture to stand upright.

The soldier next to him stood in awe of the quick movement, but was pulled out of his stupor when a hand clasped his shoulder.

“Practice that, and you can knock anyone back at least a foot. Put more muscle on, and you'll be able to knock them down.” The Prince smiled.

“Understood!” The man shouted excitedly, wiping the sweat from his brow. He picked his sword up from the ground and slid it back into its sheath, almost jogging back to the group.

“Let this be a lesson. I want everyone to practice what was displayed today and drive it into your minds. The Void waits for no one, and everyone should be prepared, especially new recruits. I will return in two weeks; until then, you are under the purview of First Lieutenant Lima.” Geddeon addressed the group of fresh faced recruits, nodding reassuringly.

“Sir, yes Sir!” The entire crowd confirmed in unison, saluting their General.

“Good, you’re all dismissed.” The Prince finished, saluting them back, in kind, before stalking away. As the authoritative barking of First Lieutenant Lima began to fade behind his thoughts, he began to walk away, drifting off into memories of his old spark.

All of the stories that his father would show him, all of the tomes his father would teach him. Back then, he would practically run into the library, ready to learn about anything and everything from the man. He damn near tried to squeeze the man like a sponge for his knowledge.

Nowadays, the King and Prince of All Hallows almost never casually cross paths, especially not enough for Magicks training. The only reason he was strong now was in most part due to his mother.

Geddeon suddenly stopped moving, donning a frown that suddenly crossed his face could have rivaled his uncle’s.

‘Oh! Right…’

He suddenly remembered his next “task”. In the early hours of this morning, his father's scribe, Carlo Locke, had placed a written reminder upon his desk, detailing a few amendments in the Prince’s schedule for the day; a pause in paperwork in exchange for training, featured by a tutor change.

Geddeon snorted, rolling his emerald eyes. That message was clearly his mother’s work, most likely informing him of her over supervising this mid-afternoon training.

Knowing the good Lady Wrath for as long as he has, her requests were never up for debate. Her training always went well into the evening, and more harrowingly, it was most likely going to be close quarters combat.

Wonderful…

Thankfully, the General made enough time to lead the troops training. By this time of year, the Copper Helm ranks that didn’t meet the requirements for the Bronze Helm were either returned to their posts, dismissed from active duty or placed in another faction. This group was nothing special for new incoming Bronze Helms, but that was also to be expected.

If anything, the crop he stepped in to oversee were already on their way to a Silver Helm promotion.

‘Good. Quality over quantity is nice, but if possible I'd like to shoot for both.’

As the Prince proceeded past the gates of the garrison, stopping only to return the salute to his soldiers, the growing rumble in his stomach made his gaze shoot towards the sky.

When he had arrived, it was just after first light and morning chow. Now by the sun's placement, he could see it was nearing noon.

More than enough time to sneak into the city proper and grab a quick bite before his scheduled training.

‘Something light…’ Geddeon mused, a brief shudder rippling through him.

He recalled the first, and absolute last time he mistakenly ate a full meal before training with his mother.

Attempting to stand, while violently ill in front of his then Commander was a humbling experience, to say the least.

Though, that wasn’t a thought he wanted to linger on.

While he could easily levitate through the streets, the Prince had always preferred to walk through All Hallows, whenever possible. There was something about the cobblestone streets and the smell of baked goods that consistently brought a delightful sensation of home to his heart.

He strolled past the various storefronts of midtown All Hallows. Windows upon black stone, filled with seamstresses, artists and cobblers, all steadily working on their crafts. The Artesians’ Guild had an influx of apprentices in the last few years, so it was nice to see them hard at work.

‘I should get back to my own craft… when I’m not busy…’

“General!”

That's curious…

It was more in order for the citizens to call him Your Highness, Your Lordship, or some random royal epithet, though it wasn’t unlike him to not secretly appreciate it.

He worked hard to make his city what it was. Maybe later down the line, he could help his country, as a whole.

“Sir! My apologies!” The voice was strong, weathered, and for the purposes of catching Geddeon’s attention, very loud.

When the Prince turned to the voice, his eyes widened a fraction. Running up to meet him was an older man, relatively short and chubby with abnormally pale gray-white skin.The man wore dark pants under an orange tunic with decorated bone patterns. His thick, curly pale green hair seemed to writhe under his wide brim cap almost in contrast to the neatly trimmed green goatee his facial hair was groomed into.

He was one of his father’s Scribes, Emilio Barrell, a man good for a laugh and a good confidant when the mood struck. Though, he was unsure why he was running toward him so worriedly.

“Señor Barrell, what seems to be the issue?” Geddeon questioned as he turned to fully face him. Drawing close Emilio almost collapsed in exhaustion as he struggled to catch his breath.

“G-General, I had- I had to tell you-” the man’s speech was interrupted with periodic gasps for air.

The Prince glanced over the man’s shoulder at the pathway he had run down, realizing just how far he was from the castle. He only walked down about six or or seven blocks, and while he was on the taller side, he wasn’t that fast.

“Take your time, Emilio.” Geddeon laid a hand on the man’s shoulder as he attempted to assist him. Suddenly, the older man grabbed the Prince by his shoulders as he brought himself back upright.

“My Liege, forgive me! But there was a mix-up in scheduling! Locke wrote down the wrong time!” The Scribe pleaded.

Geddeon felt his stomach drop, as the blood ran from his face. “Wha-what do you mean?” He muttered, fearing the worst.

“You are late, my child.”

The feeling of intense dread multiplied from the words spoken as they didn’t come from Emilio’s mouth; rather from the voice behind him. A familiar feminine tone, not stern but unamused.

He began to turn slowly, a bead of sweat dripped down his cheek.

Behind him stood Lady Wrath, arms folded and staring at him expectantly.

“Madre! I could've sworn that-”

“I heard him, Espadito. I cannot fault you for the shoddy work of others.” Wrath interrupted the Prince while staring down Emilio, who looked as if he would explode into dust.

“You’re dismissed, Barrell.” The woman ordered offhandedly. The Scribe bowed quickly to both Prince and SINN before fleeing away faster than Kujo on even nights. Geddeon could only look on in sympathy.

“As for you, follow me.” Wrath commanded briskly, turning her back and walking away. The Prince walked next to her, but a bit further behind.

“I trust my message was received regarding your training today?” The woman asked, continuing through the city. Geddeon kept a steady pace with his mother’s gait as they passed through the city streets. People gave timid waves and bows as his mother passed but seemed to brighten when the Prince followed suit.

Even though All Hallows is her birthplace, many of the common folk were terrified of the office and the power she held. To be fair, the citizens had all reason to be scared.

SINNs were one of the few entities that could demand respect and anything else they’d like, in any realm across the map. A request from a SINN is never denied, and as the SINN of WRATH; Maria was one of, if not the, strongest person currently alive, so her words carried a lot of weight.

“Yes though, if I may mother, I'm a bit surprised. Not that I mind of course, but Tío usually oversees hand to hand combat training.” Geddeon responded to her initial query with a little trepidation. He wasn’t ‘scared’ of his mother per se, but it was honestly harder for her to separate from her role than it was for his father or uncle.

They approached an acre wide divot in the ground, a space that formally served as the Reyes former fighting ring.

“As an instructor, even Xibalba’s constant eye and keen observation can be prone to biased reports. I wished to see your progress with my own eyes.”

Her words were calm and to the point, and served to keep Geddeon in thought as they made their way to the outskirts of All Hallows.

What had his uncle said that made his mother feel the need to check on his progress?

He wasn’t falling behind…

‘Am I?’

“Hermana! Niño! What took you both?”

Geddeon’s gaze snapped over to the Remisian King, standing by the one of the trees that overshadowed their little arena, holding a piping hot bowl as he waved over to them. The Prince's gaze shifted lower, and he noticed a small table ladened with similar bowls both steaming in the autumn chill.

“Your brother's stooges cannot be trusted to pour cerveza from a boot even if the instructions were on the heel,” Wrath explained as she scooped up one of the bowls from the side table. Her eyebrow raised at the contents as she took an exploratory whiff. “Really? Vegetable broth?”

Xibalba laughed as he handed the last bowl to the Prince as he took a brief sip from his bowl. “Your discerning taste aside, dear sister, something light is preferable when one is to engage in combat. Save the rich cuisines for after I say.”

Geddeon glanced down at the bowl of soup in his hands. While it was a pale vegetable broth, there were chunks of chopped vegetables swimming about, topped with a floating bayleaf.

“Should I expect such lackadaisical discipline in how you train my son?” Despite the sharpness of the SINNs words, there was no true bite, something the men caught onto.

“Now now Hermana. The day is early. No need to be so harsh.” The Remisian King chuckled.

“I would like to see his form before I cast judgement.” Wrath stated as she placed her bowl back on the table.

“Well, ain’t this precious.”

Geddeon immediately felt the tension in his shoulders as he whipped his head behind him, stifling a snarl when he recognized that irritating voice.

Standing in far more casual wear than their last interactions was Fixx, absentmindedly scratching at patchy facial hair and sideburns. From his peripheral, he noticed his mother and Uncle seemed to barely flinch from the interruption.

‘Another test?’ Geddeon internally seethed.

“Fitzgerald. A pleasure to see you’ve accepted our invitation.” Wrath stated plainly as she stood to meet the young man. For once, the Prince could see a spark of fear within his cousin’s eyes.

Something about seeing the usually cocky Fixx cower with barely any effort on his mother’s behalf was hilarious.

“Y-Yeah, thanks for the invite.” The Scion muttered, glancing over at the table behind them. “It seems like I missed the feel-good meal beforehand. Yay for family…” He quipped, sauntering past the group towards the makeshift ring.

“What's going on?” The Prince inquired from his seat. With a slight turn of his head, he noted Xibalba's grip tighten on his bowl as his jaw began to clench.

“Lady Wrath wished to see how your prowess in hand to hand combat was progressing, while your father wished for young Fitzgerald here to spend more quality time with the family.” The Remisian King gritted through a smile. “So, we decided a friendly spar between the two of you should help smooth things over.”

The Prince’s eyes narrowed, as he looked at the growing smile on his cousin’s face. His mother, ever stoic, locked gazes with her son, and though no words were spoken, he could read the silent command that blazed in her eyes.

‘Win.’

Fixx shrugged as he kicked off his shoes. “What can I say to such an invitation?”

“Perhaps an apology when you leave?” Geddeon snarled as he stood opposite his cousin.

Fixx stepped inside and began to stretch. “So, what are the rules?”

Xibalba sighed as his nephew rolled his shoulders. “No dirty moves, groin strikes, eye gouging, and no post-match hijinks.”

A sly chuckle emitted from the Scion. “You know, I always liked that word. Hijinks.”

As the men eyed each other, they both adjusted battle stances. Geddeon circled the ring, carefully balanced on his feet, while Fixx moved with wider steps, un-refined and dangerous.

The redhead raised his eyebrow. “You gonna fight or dance, Primo?”

The General’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll see…”

Xibalba Looked between the two. “Ready?”

When both men nodded, Xibalba gave an exhausted sigh and waved his arm downwards, signaling the beginning of the fight.

It started with a bang when Fixx lunged towards Geddeon, only to stop just short of running into the man's snap kick. The redhead swatted his leg back down before swiping his hand in an attempt to chop at the Prince's neck.

It was easily blocked by a shove, pushing him away about a foot.

The Scion returned with a low sweeping kick that was simply stepped over. The General immediately kicked his opponent’s leg out from under him, dropping him to the floor.

Fixx didn't stay idle on the ground for long, though. He rolled to a standing position and swiftly, with his back turned towards the man, lashed out with a left kick, sending his right leg back to try and deliver a shin to his neck.

With Geddeon’s speed, it was blocked, but then the Scion used the momentum to push off of the man’s forearm with his foot, spinning his legs under his body, and taking out the man's legs from the other side.

The General snarled as he leapt back to his feet to send a leaping kick to the redhead’s chest, a glancing blow that Fixx sidestepped, pushing his hand against his cousin’s back, and applying force to toss his cousin back to the ground.

“Careful Primo, you’re getting all worked up.” The Scion mocked.

Geddeon felt his blood run hot before he blindly dashed at the redhead. Between grunts and a flurry of punches, Fixx parried and dodged before cackling wildly.

“What exactly did you think you can do against me? I have no clue how you managed to survive this long, fighting as poorly as you do.” The redhead sneered, lazily swinging a wide right hook at his cousin.

The General growled before surging forth with a jab, slamming hard into Fixx’s chest with enough force for him to stumble back. He hammered two more punches to the same spot, off-balancing him more.

The Scion attempted to retaliate with a sweeping back hand, but Geddeon ducked before catching him with a hard uppercut.

The impact sent ripples of energy through the clearing. A spatter of bright blood flew from Fixx’s lip brought a twisted satisfaction to The Prince. Though, he didn’t note the crooked change in Aura.

Quick as a flash, the redhead slammed his palms into Geddeon’s ears, discombobulating him into a stumble. Then, he followed through by grabbing the man by his collar and slamming his knee into his groin, hard.

The searing pain sent The General gasping for air, before Fixx tossed him to the side, sending his cousin rolling into the dirt arena.

“FITZGERALD!” Xibalba roared, only to stop short of moving into the ring when Wrath raised her hand. The Remisian King glared at her incredulously, but her eyes remained locked on the fight.

“Not everyone fights with honor. He has to learn how to overcome that.” The woman’s tone brokered no refusal and was backed with all the authority of a SINN.

“You know cousin, maybe they threw out the wrong heir.” Fixx whispered before kicking the General in the abdomen. Blow after blow, he taunted his victim on the ground.

“You can’t use an armament!”

WHAM!

“You're impulsive!”

WHAM!!

“You’ve got no hands, boy!”

WHAM!!!

“You’re worthless!” Another kick to the ribs as his cousin wheezed through abused lungs.

WHAM!!!!

Geddeon felt the rage build within him.

‘Quell the-’

WHAM!!!!!

His thoughts were cut off with the blossoming of pain from his abdomen spreading to his sides.

His mantra wasn’t working.

He was being overwhelmed by a failure!

He was right.

“That’s enou-” Again, the Remisian King was met with Wrath’s refusal to intervene, though he did notice a gleam in her eye. With a low growl, he fell back as he gazed back over the arena.

The numbing had almost kicked in. Geddeon felt the impacts, but it was almost like the fire in his soul began to build, fueled by the rage he held in for centuries.

It was a fury that felt so similar, so defining of his nature, that any emotional control he held within burned through his mental reins.

“As feeble as your fath-” Fixx grunted as he kicked at the General again, only for his leg to be caught in a vice grip. The burning hatred that bled into his emerald eyes sent a visible shiver through Fixx.

The Scion stopped talking when a sudden fist slammed into his septum, completely catching him off guard and sending him flying across the arena.

When Geddeon spoke next, it was with a deep growl and through gritted teeth.

“You talk… too fucking much…”

The General's aura sparked unlike before, smoldering orange-gold embers shimmering against his slow standing frame. His eyes glazed over with the same orange-gold sheen.

“They’ll have to bury you three feet deep because you've only ever been half a man; just like your father.”

With a blink of the uncanny eye, Fixx was suddenly launched into the clearing. In truth, the Scion had been punched with such force that the man had not only bounced off of the ground, he also flew across the clearing.

Before he could hit the ground again, Geddeon connected with another devastating gut punch that briefly lifted his opponent into the air, then tumbling onto the ground.

The Scion scrambled to his feet, marred with bruises and a deep scowl as he launched a powerful punch towards the General, only for his hand to sink into an afterimage of embers.

The shock had no time to set in when the Prince seemingly materialized behind him and smashed his elbow into his opponent’s side. He snarled as he cocked back to slam a haymaker into Fixx’s face.

The redhead ducked back, allowing the blow to pass in front of him. He leapt to the side and came in with a haymaker, which was hastily blocked by Geddeon at the elbow, who delivered a heavy uppercut to his chest.

The force staggered Fixx back, leaving him wheezing to regain his breath. He attempted to perform his best combo; his one-two, to give him some breathing room, but he couldn't connect.

A kick to Fixx 's knee and a quick jab to the bridge of his eyes left the redhead blinded and his jaw open for a left hook. As he spun, he faltered back, trying to gain distance to try and catch his bearings; he didn’t see the General leap towards him with that same faint glow.

And like a falling star, Geddeon crashed into his opponent with a devastating overhead punch, slamming Fixx into the ground. The force was enough to shatter through the dirt, and limestone until it cratered in around them.

The Scion tried to rise once more, but the General picked him up by his shredded shirt collar and suddenly smashed him back into the same cratered ground. The injured man tried to retreat, but Geddeon was already standing above him, punching down in a blind rage until he heard an audibly loud crack.

He was tired of this fight, but he would rather beat his cousin within an inch of his life than face his mother.

And she told him to win.

His usual mantra was drowned out by a louder, angrier desire, a voice he had never heard before.

‘KILL HIM’

As he stared down at the crawling form of his cousin, the General could barely hold back the shudder of glee; the cockiness in his cousin's eyes finally flaked out.

The Scion was left in pure, indescribable fear; a terror only leveled by Lady Wrath.

Glad to know his apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Geddeon stalked toward his retreating cousin, his horns glowing so bright they appeared to be on fire. His unfurled tail whipped behind him in agitation, his teeth grit so tightly that he was certain they would crack.

Fixx gasped in pain as his cousin gripped his hair, he was lifted up with his right hand, leaving the left free to land punch after punch.

Trying to regain the advantage, the redhead launched a punch at Geddeon, only for him to catch it in a grip like a vice and twist it in a direction that shouldn’t be possible.

“THAT IS MORE THAN ENOUGH!!”

A roar of lemon-yellow flames separated the two combatants, the bright flash of the flames blinded Geddeon into a halt. When he gained his vision, he was being held back by both Xibalba and Wrath and before them standing was the King of All Hallows.

And he was livid.

“F-father.” Geddeon choked out, snapping back to his senses while being held back by his uncle and mother. Shame and dread suddenly washed over him as he eyed the stony face not of his father, but of his King.

“General, I will discuss your conduct later.” Chamiabac stated coolly, his eyes scanning between his brother and Ex-wife. “Explain yourselves.”

The surrounding air seemed to ripple as the lemon yellow glow of his aura bled into a nauseating yellow green. The tension was thick and suffocating and at that moment, Geddeon’s entire body stalled, too scared to function. He felt the hand holding his arm slacken as his mother walked towards Chamiabac.

“It was training, Jack.” Wrath stated simply. While the air roiled and churned with the rage of Chamiabac’s aura, Wrath maintained a visage of perfect calm as she stared him down.

“That was not training, Maria!” Chamiabac stomped forward as he spoke, gesturing to Fixx attempting to stumble to his feet. After a second, the two were within arms reach of each other. “Geddeon lost control of himself and would have killed Fitzgerald, had I not intervened!”

“Oi, I would ha-” Fixx attempted to mutter out as he fell on his backside, authoritative eyes glaring at him.

“SILENCE.”

It wasn’t a shout, but a simple command spoken by the King of All Hallows and the SINN of WRATH.

“My exact orders-” Chamiabac began as he turned back to Wrath.

“Oh, your orders?” Wrath interrupted with a contemptible shake of her head.

“My orders.” He continued, cutting her off. For once, Wrath actually stood quietly. “Were to help Fittzgerald meld easier with the family and the populace. Instead, I find him heavily injured by the General of my military. Meanwhile, two able bodied adults, merely sat there, watching! One, a foreign diplomat and the other, a Head of State.”

By this point, Geddeon held his head downcast, unable to meet his father’s gaze, much less speak in his own defense.

“As soon as you realized this ‘training’ session was getting out of hand, you should have stepped in and ended it but no. It is not enough that one of you took leave of your senses, but all of you have decided to act like children with a grudge despite my orders.” The embers flared around him with every infliction of his stern voice, the chill of his voice froze those around him.

“Father, I'm sorry. But Fix-” The Prince pleaded but the glare his father shot him halted all thoughts and ambition. Ever since he arrived at the scene, Chamiabac had a beacon of anger but in his father’s eyes, he didn't see rage. Instead, he saw the clear disappointment.

“Geddeon, you are an adult and the General of my army. You need to conduct yourself and act according to your station.” Chamiabac lectured, as the man’s head lowered in shame.

“Hermano-” Xiababla stepped forward, attempting to deescalate the uncomfortable situation.

“I’ll deal with you later.” The All Hallows King cautioned, shooting his brother an angered glare as he turned to lift Fixx off the floor. He kept his back towards them all, shaking his head. “I will make sure Young Fitzgerald is seen medically. Know that I am beyond disappointed in all of you.” He turned to face them, his face contorted with utter disappointment.

As quickly as he appeared, both the King and Fixx vanished in a burst of yellow colored flames.

The silence within the clearing was thick enough to cut through with a knife, yet all the Prince wanted to sink through the earth. His hands clenched into fists until his knuckles turned white, his tail lazily swished against the fallen leaves. He felt the retracting of his horns back into his forehead, but the usual pain didn’t register.

“Perhaps we should call it here?” Xibalba said, placing a comforting hand on Geddeon’s shoulder, his gaze shifting over the woman.

“I agree,” Wrath conceded, staring at the spot Chamiabac was previously standing. “I've seen what I need to see. Espadito.” She called softly, causing her son to lift his head dejectedly.

The tension in his hands relaxed slightly as he lifted his head and awaited her assessment, expecting the usual “do better” statement she commonly used.

“Despite what your father said, I want you to know I was impressed by your combat prowess. You have surpassed my expectations, but do not let it gas your head. You are free to leave; eat some actual food and recuperate for the rest of your busy schedule.” The woman explained, unmoving from her spot, arms folded under her bust.

The words made the Prince’s brows furrow momentarily, but after a few seconds of thought, he slowly nodded.

A rare moment of positive affirmation; such praise from his mother was only due in times of success.

It was her way of confirming the winner of the duel.

In her eyes, he won that fight.

Wordlessly, Geddeon bowed to both adults and turned to walk away, the energy and wind knocked from his sails.

Xibalba watched his nephew walk off. Despite the praise his mother gave him, it was obvious his Father’s words had clearly had an effect on him. “Told you so.” Xiababla snarked to Wrath. The woman remained deep in thought as she watched the retreating form of her son on the horizon.

“You noticed it too, right?”

Xibalba sighed as he too stared off into the horizon line.

“Indeed.”

Something is wrong with him.

The exhaustion was hastily cracking what was left of his willpower. He was well and truly tired of this ‘be the bigger person’ bullshit.

As he stalked through the city proper with an admittedly stilted gait, he could only focus on the pain. Most of it thanks to that low blow from his fucking dirtbag cousin, the rest from the ribstrikes.

And for what?! All because that irritating skidmark couldn’t be satisfied without breaking one fucking rule?!

‘I’m childish?!’

Not that entitled, Spoiled, Self-aggrandizing TROGLODYTE?!

‘No; I had to take shit from that waste of oxygen, but I’m the problem?!’

That speck of fermented Troll Dung -

‘Quell the rage’

Geddeon stopped moving, trying to take deep breaths. He had to regain his composure before he got to the castle. Of course, the citizens couldn't see the Prince look distraught.

‘No, of course not! That would be too fucking-’

‘Quell the Rage’

‘FUCK THAT!’

The Prince was swiftly taken aback by how vehemently his own thoughts seemed to rage about, though it was understandable.

It was he who would have to be held to a higher standard. He who would, of course, have to bear the blame for any affront. He who was never granted the grace and understanding that others were so wantonly given.

No; He wasn't bitter at all, but he was the fucking Prince!

To add insult to injury, a proven General, which automatically makes most if not all situations entirely his fault! No need for anything as silly as allowing explanations! Of course the explosion of anger must have been intentional! Prince Geddeon, always ready to bring dishonor upon the whole lineage! He should be a puppet with no emotion, that way he’d never be upset about the-

CR~ACK!

Geddeon’s thoughts ceased immediately when a sharp pain shot through his right hand.

When he turned his head directly to his right, his hand was in the center of a tree’s truck; cratered with shattered bark. It was thicker than he was tall, so it wasn’t in danger of being felled. However, the noise and the impact could have indeed drawn the attention of passing townsfolk. The Prince scurried away from the trees further into the city, damn near dashing onto the castle grounds.

To Geddeon, the light jog seemed to blur into one monotonous mess. He had little left to reflect on, and by this point, the anger had drained what was left, leaving him exhausted and fatigued well before mid-afternoon.

He greeted the servants that he passed as he stalked through the castle's halls, quietly hoping his words remained calm.

The Prince didn’t proceed to his quarters for a well intended rest; he continued down the hall to a different room with a similar door. Twisting the knob with one hand, he entered the room and unhooked his armor, gently placing the pieces on hooks by the door. He placed his jacket on the hook by the same fine wood door, and absentmindedly sent a splash of fire into the chandelier lighting every candle at once, bathing the room in a bright orange glow.

Geddeon sighed, gazing around the light cast paintings, papers, clay and canvas’ of his personal art room. A personal, secret hobby of his that only the closest attendants and family know about.

He stared fondly at one of his paintings that depicted a noble knight decorated in All Hallows regalia. It had taken him days to finish this one, and he was happy that the varnish still preserved his hard work.

By contrast, glancing at his ‘sculptures’, if they could be called that, brought a grimace to his face. It was quite the learning curve for him, but the ‘tree’ looked less like the model outside the castle window, and honestly had little in the way of form.

He sat at his chair, and noticed that thankfully, one of the servants had replaced the empty mug he had left the previous night with a steaming cup of pumpkin tea. He had to thank whomever did that.

His charcoal laid next to the penknife he used to sharpen the planks when they dulled, while his paints waited in the glass jars on his desk. As he looked upon a blank canvas, he thought perhaps he could salvage this ruined day with some creative release.

Almost an hour passed, and the canvas stayed blank.

Of course, on top of all the nonsense today, art block had reared its ugly head.

Hands in head, he sat still and contemplative, almost missing the subtle knocking at his door. The sound made him jolt in his chair.

“Y-Yes?” Geddeon stammered out.

“Might I intrude upon you for a spell, dearie?”

The Prince’s ears perked up at the familiar tone that came from beyond the door. He shouldn’t be surprised; if Tío was around, she wouldn’t be far behind.

“Yes Tía, please come in.” He responded back, turning in his chair to face the sound.

The door creaked as it opened, allowing entry for a mocha hued woman with long, dark hair floating around her full figure. She held on to the extremely ruffled gold hem of her off-shouldered dark red dress as she moved further into the room, smiling softly.

She stood about two feet shorter than himself with a crown of rubies, but her calming gaze made her the star of any room she walked into. Such was the nature of La Muerte, the Remisian Queen.

Until the Prince noticed the other figure behind her.

The patchwork gray woman that pensively glanced about the room stood shorter than the accompanying woman; draped in an distinguished orange and gold sundress and bolero. Crownless and humble, despite her dress, her fluffy chestnut hair was tied into two low ponytails. When her magenta eyes landed on the man, she smiled softly and waved.

“Mamá!” Geddeon exclaimed, as he rose from his desk to greet both women. “What brings you both to the studio?”

While his aunt‘s eyes shifted around the room over the many paintings, the chestnut haired woman walked over to her stepson. “I wanted to view your delightful work.”

The Prince felt his cheeks heat, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “Oh! I… haven’t exactly had the…” He trailed off.

He didn’t have the time from the day’s earlier events, and when he did, nothing came to mind.

The sudden shame of the lack of new exhibits started to peel away at him. Had he known his stepmother and aunt would stop by his studio, he would have prepared something.

‘Immature and unprepared…’

“It’s alright, sweetie.” The patchwork woman lifted a hand to Geddeon’s cheek. “You don’t have to make something just for me. I love everything you create! However, art block happens when you think too hard, so maybe you should step away for a spell to reset your mind?”

“I fear that I’ve been away for too long, what with my other duties.” He confided aloud, exhaling a sigh of exhaustion.

La Muerte was already a calming presence, but his step-mother was different from the passionate fire of his family; she was non-judgemental, careful, and kind. She understood the pressure of his family, and approached many problems with the patience of a saint.

His father and mother both used to have that same patience, but time changes all, apparently.

The red dressed woman moved closer to the two, the light clunks of her heels pulling the man from his thoughts. “I can offer a change of scenery, at least. Salí and I have come to help you prepare your outfit.”

The Prince blinked in confusion, staring down at the shredded remnants of his usual garb.

“My… outfit?” He mused. “Is something wrong with it?”

“For my banquet, niño?” La Muerte tilted her head to her nephew, stealing her gaze away from a crudely painted piece of Kujo. “Surely you were informed by your father or uncle?”

Almost immediately, Geddeon’s mood sank, a reminder of the day’s events.

Of course; despite the pomp and lectures doled out today, his father would fail to inform him of important delegate work.

Outwardly, he kept a straight face to obfuscate his true feelings, but his stomach churned with the thought of disappointing someone else that day.

“I apologize Tía, but neither uncle nor father have had the chance. I had a change in schedule and there was a bit of confusion.” The Prince explained to his aunt.

The women shared a look between them before Salí clapped her hands once. “There is no need to apologize, but we should get you ready since you will be in attendance.”

The man blinked. To be a guest would be a novel change and a monumental honor; he was used to only attending as his father’s security retinue.

To be seen on the same level of cultural importance as to necessitate a seat at such a table?

He honestly could barely hide his excitement.

“Wait. Would my Knight regalia not be sufficient?” Geddeon wondered.

Salí gave a soft giggle before holding onto his hand. “Sweetie, while your regalia is certainly…” She paused as if she was attempting to find the right word. “Eye catching. What I mean is we have an appointment with Lady Arachne in the Fabric District.”

“And before you ask,” La Muerte said, cutting the Prince off before he could respond. “No, it's not negotiable, Sir Knight.”

Well shit.

She only ever called him that when the obligation arose. So it was like he feared, he well and truly had no other recourse.

“So, when is the appointment?” He concluded, semi-reluctantly.

The Remisian Queen gestured her wine gloved hand towards the door, her decorative skull bracelets jingling on her wrist.

Terran’s POV

Hundreds of miniature, flat leaves hovered around Terran as he snipped cautiously at his pride and joy.

It was quite rare for him to be without his siblings, but that morning, his mother had arranged fittings for the Fall Banquet; a task he had completed earlier in the month. She, of course, knew that he needed some time away, what with the rowdiness of his siblings.

While he loved them dearly, there were days where he craved the silence and solitude.

On days where he was allowed personal freedom, Terran would make the four mile trek south to the Sakurai Forest, whistling with leaves until he reached his destination.

For years, the Alrune had been tending to a tree of his own design, watering and pruning it until it grew just below the skyline.

To him, this place was his own sanctuary; hidden behind layers of twisted bark and vines, and untouched by the rest of the world.

No one was allowed here, other than himself.

“Figured you'd be down here.”

The Alrune snapped his head towards the voice, causing all of the floating leaves to fall along with his concentration. Lime green eyes searched until they landed on his red-orange hair, waving his hand from a few feet away from the base of the tree.

“The fuck are you doing here!?” Terran barked as he lowered the branch he stood upon to the ground. The moment his wrapped feet touched the grass, he scanned the area around them for any other stragglers.

“I finished my fitting early, and Mom let me go so she could deal with Aeifael. So, I took a stroll.” Travis shrugged as he moved towards the base of the tree, his attention immediately pulled by the warping of the white wood trunk and iridescent rainbow leaves. “I see your tree is growing nicely.”

“How did…Who told you?” The older man stammered.

‘I've never told anyone about this. Not even Mom…’

“Oh, I've known about it for a while; I just didn't tell anybody.” The younger explained simply.

Terran squinted his eyes, incredulously, his heart pounding in his chest. “Who taught you how to blackmail someone?”

“What? No! I'm not gonna say anything to anyone. This is none of my business.” The Arbor Nymph frowned, briskly shaking his head and pointing to the tree.

“Uh-huh. What's the catch?”

“No catch. You obviously didn't actually tell people about this, because you wouldn’t have to cover it with five layers of protection.” Travis elaborated, grazing his hand along the twisted bark of the tree. “That much protection probably means that Mom doesn’t even know about it. So, I think I can safely assume that this is a seriously personal thing. Therefore, it’s none of my business.”

The Alrune's brows furrowed at his brother as he stood in shock. His skepticism was high, but then again, Travis was a steel trap. The man could smoothly remember things where most struggled, often regurgitating quips and witticisms that could stun a room into silence. His light hearted demeanor juxtaposed to his real bluntness of his memory was a jarring experience.

But any and all secrets told to the Arbor Nymph would be lost to time, never to be spoken again.

“You know, have I told you that you were my favorite brother?” Terran smirked, sliding his feet into his geta.

“I’m your only brother, unless you also claim Ged and Vince, too.” Travis scoffed, squatting down to examine a fallen leaf.

“Please. Those fucks claimed me. I didn’t have a choice.”

“They’re your boys. I can tell you miss them, so you must be excited for tomorrow.”

The Alrune glared at his brother, his right eye twitching in annoyance. “Your word better be bond. If you say anything, your ass is mine.”

The Nymph frowned again, rolling his eyes. “Once again, it’s none of my business. I have no intentions of being murdered, attempted or otherwise.”

Terran nodded slowly, his stare locked onto the now rising man. “Right, well, follow up question; why are you here? You said Mom let you go, so you come down here? Why?”

“Well, I was on my way home, but a few of the Nymphs pulled me to the side to tell me something. They apparently heard a rumor that there were rotting trees by the Lazuli Lake.” The redhead met his brother’s gaze. “They went to see if it was true. They confirmed it to be true.”

“It’s unlike you to choose work on your day off.” The Alrune mused aloud.

“The Nymphs described the surrounding Aura as a distinctive shit green.” Travis hinted, dropping the iridescent leaf in his hands.

This new information made Terran’s eyebrow raise. Immediately, he understood the assignment.

“I see. Tell me more on the way.”

The bright mid-afternoon air stunk with mold, stagnation, and death, to the point that the approaching men had to hold their mouths closed. Travis scanned the east while he scanned the west; not a soul in sight amongst the musky air.

But the trees felt warm, the lingering of someone’s presence.

“Did they say where they saw it?” Terran enunciated through his haori sleeve, squinting through the swampy musk.

“It was closer to the back, on the right hand side.” The redhead responded through his forearm.

Together, they both pushed further through the dank trees, following the mold-like trail along the bark and ground. As they passed decimated tree after diseased tree, the mildew smell intensified, and the decay of the grass widened into a blackish path.

Terran approached one of the nearby molding trees, squinting through the murk. The misshapen bark flaked away from the impacted spot, nearly melting into the core. Oddly enough, the area was warm to the touch.

‘What did this?’

“Over here!” Travis called from afar, pulling his brother’s attention away. The black haired man quickly moved closer to the voice, scanning the surrounding area, his eyes widening.

All around them sat scoured blackened grass and scorched trees, with a larger burn spot in a distinct circle. The air was more tainted than before, coated with a sickeningly green aura-like barrier.

“Can you tell if it’s him?” Travis questioned, shifting his gaze over to the Alrune.

Terran had seen this before, back when he approached Fitzgerald with Geddeon; the same fecund green aura around him, but darker. When the Scion walked away from them, the Prince had warned him then about his cousin and his new aura.

He trusted Geddeon's word; he couldn’t imagine his closest friend lie about something so important. Though, even he had to admit; his speculation that Fitzgerald was responsible for Void Spawn that could create more Void Spawn was hard to fathom.

But here in this clearing, filled with the scent of rot and decay, the Alrune felt his scepticism melt away.

“Yeah,” Terran confirmed, pulling his fingers from the diseased bark, a faint film of rotted sap coating them. “I think it is.”

“We should tell Mom.”