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The sky wept that night.
How terrible it was, that one simple stroke of a sword can crush a heart, wake a dreamer, shatter a life?
Though he was not loved by all, Father was a great man who loved his kingdom and his family with all his heart. He stood tall until the end.
What thoughts ran through his mind when that ornament-like sword pierced his body, cold and sure like a true vehicle of death? Surprise? Pain? Anger? Sorrow? Disbelief that such an act could be committed by the one he considered family?
The answer to that question would remain forever a mystery. The darkness had hidden his face.
But the moonlight revealed the familiar face of the killer all too well. It was not the muscular face of a fighting man, but the soft, rounded cheeks of a diplomat. A soft-spoken man who detested spilt blood and preferred to reason instead. A rare royal who had the humbleness of a commoner and never raised his voice in anger. Perhaps that was why the blood specks stood out all the more.
The eyes above those cheeks were supposed to be warm and kind, and the lips always smiling, but tonight they were hard as the steel in his pale hand. Everyone thought he was the sweetest, gentlest man they knew. He was not an evil man – such an idea would be inconceivable. And he was family! So why …?!
And under those billowy, scholarly robes he wore, had he ever even carried a weapon before?
Under the moonlight, the unlikely killer stood like a marble statue. He did not seem to have realized that he had an audience. For now.
There was still time to run.
And cry. And think. And plan. And choose. But that was for later.
...
Right now, the innocent child who’d only wanted to play with two best friends that made the world complete ran with all his strength. And wondered why the crimson clouds of dawn looked so much like blood?
...
One day, even he would understand – and all too well.