The Lightning Prince
The Day of the Dark they call it. It’s ironic, of course, because that is when they received the prophecy of the light. It was a dark, cold day. The sun, it seemed, was forbidden to shine through the dense white, pinkish clouds. An elder woman, with blind eyes, and hair as raggedy as an old mop, came to king and queen of the kingdom of Fulgur. She dressed in purple robes and red feathers and beads decorating her all around. She spoke, and all listened, as if her words carried an enchantment that denied them to ignore her. It was said that there would be a time where the kingdom would suffer due to the sin of one, in its greatest times, and they would fall into darkness. There would be time where the Blue Prince would rise from the ashes and bring light into the darkness. The king, of course, chose to keep this a secret from all who had not witnessed this, and those who did were sworn to secrecy. And later, the king-as all prophesized leaders do- tried to escape their fate, only to lead themselves directly into it.
"Not a day goes by that the day doesn’t haunt me”, thought Zeniath “the sounds of the shattering glass, the blood that spilled through my hands, the agony and fear in their faces. Although, had I to relive it again…I’m not sure I’d choose differently. He deserved it!” This was the only thought he could grasp to, to feel sane; to not feel as if he’d betrayed his family and future kingdom. It had been nothing but a rash decision, guided by fear, anger, and jealousy. It cost him more than he could have ever thought of. It wasn’t his first rash decision. He was known for them. But he never experienced such a consequence as the one he received. Zeniath tried blinking his emotions away, but a single tear managed to escape. It wasn’t until he heard a voice pierce through his thoughts, that he came back to reality.
“Prince Zeniath!” it called out to him.
"huh?" Zeniath rolled his eyes and blinked, trying to bring himself back to reality.
"what is your judgment, sire?"
"oh, uh..." Zeniath cleared his throat, trying to regain his authority (and hide his emotions) “repeat the accusation for me, so that I may... reassure my decision
"Well, sire,” Spoke Amos, Zeniath’s adviser, and most loyal friend. He had taken care of him after the King deceased. “What more is there to discuss?” said Amos in his Ingusian accent. He always did sound a bit arrogant with it, but Zeniath never Amos to be the kind-except in some situations where it was very much called for. “The farmer’s kart hurried in your direction as you inspected your workers. Its speed was highly dangerous considering it rolled from the top of the hill." Suddenly, the room felt as if the atmosphere changed. From the cool day it was, the room felt hot and charged. The prince’s rage caused him to stand up, causing the farmer fear and toy with his hands nervously. Beads of sweat filled his forehead as he watched the prince stand and take in a big, deep, breathe before shouting: "GUITLY! Throw him in the dungeons! Three weeks for attempt of regicide!" The accused farmer was taken away as he screamed and kicked for mercy. “A mistake!” escaped the understandable sentence through the farmer’s screams. “It was an accident!”
Seconds later, the room was calm and cool again. The prince sat in his throne, breathing heavily. He did not trust the farmer’s words. He wouldn’t trust. He must’ve been one of the many angered from the shunning the kingdom had known for the last seven years. "Wonderful choice, sire" said Amos. Zeniath looked at Amos. His short hair, toning gray with time like rust on metal, shining yellow with the sun’s light as the door opened again. Amos smiled at him, trying to be supportive. The prince trusted very few people, but he trusted no one more than he trusted him. A small, thin, maid had come into the room with a bowl full of water and a cloth to help the prince cool down. They all knew how easily angered he was.
"I wish to speak to no one else Amos, not right now at least. I’ll deal with the rest later" He stepped down from the throne and took the cloth, nodding at the maid. He put it on his forehead as he walked hurriedly down the room, reaching for the door. Amos, of course, was now in charge of listening the complaints, messages, and claims from all the people and guards from the kingdom.
"Of course your majesty, you are the one who makes all the right choices and of course your mind must rest" Amos really must have been rewarded in this life, or the next, with raising Zeniath with his ill temper. Even so, he cared for him still.
"I'll be in the back garden, and I do not wish to be disturbed." Zeniath’s voice sounded irritated.
“Of course, sire. I shall tend to the others while you take your place.”
As prince Zeniath strolled through the garden, he observed the birds, the rabbits, and the squirrels, and thought "what gives them the right to be so cheerful?" suddenly he found himself screaming at a bird in the tree "What gives you the right?! What do you have that I don't have? Stupid bird! I could have you killed anytime I wished!! Sing a cheerful song about that!!" Suddenly he found himself hearing the cheerful songs of a crowd in a party, though he knows it's just a memory, and tears fall once more from his eyes. He thought of the night and the ball. All the members of Fulgur and those of the kingdom of Colemly, from the Land of the West, danced together in unison. It really was the perfect metaphor for what the night was for. The ball was to celebrate the peace between the two places. The Kingdom of Colemly was a prosperous land with much commerce from the other four kingdoms of the Land of the East, but king Calvin, king of Comely, had always been fond of Zeniath’s family. King Abbot, Zeniath’s father, had never been reluctant to help the people of Colemly whenever a brother kingdom from the Land of the West proclaimed war or other troubles. All the young boys and girls who danced freely, not knowing the horror that was to unveil. The young, the old, the rich, the poor, the men and women all alike had had to witness a murder at such a joyous time. Had he listened more to his father, could he have prevented it? Or perhaps he was bound to the prophecy that was still unknown to the prince himself. He pondered restlessly of the past. He lay on the grass, surrounded by the yellow flowers his mother was so fond of.