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Dimitri bounced on the balls of his feet, excitement bubbling within him that the day had finally come. His stepmother’s Lycanroc had finally had her litter, and it was his turn to choose his puppy. His family’s tenured history of bonding with the wolves was central to their image as the royalty of Faerghus; his father was never painted without his own Lycanroc faithfully by his side. He grew up with the stories, and knew that the day he was finally granted permission to bond with his very own puppy would be unforgettable.
“Come on in,” called his father from the other room.
Without hesitation, the young prince burst through the door and fell to his knees beside the whelping kennel now populated by mewling newborn Rockruff. The dam lifted her weary head to greet the boy before returning her attention to cleaning off her babies. Dimitri counted 4 in total, and one in particular caught his eye—an undersized male puppy with a coat of azure fur rather than the usual brown.
“Why is that one different?” he asked curiously, pointing at the runt of the litter.
“Every few decades, we see a puppy come out with a coat as brilliantly blue as our family sigil. It is rare, but not unheard of. This one is rather… small, in comparison to the others. It may not survive.”
Dimitri’s blue eyes widened at the thought that this unique little one may not survive. He had subconsciously chosen that puppy the moment he saw it, and his father’s comments filled him with dread.
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” he pled.
His father returned his gaze and sympathy overtook his features. “I will do my best, Dimitri. I take it that is the one you want?”
Dimitri nodded.
“Very well,” his father affirmed. “I will have you assist me in caring for this puppy; let’s pray the Goddess is on our side.”
Dimitri diligently tended to the runt, far beyond what his father requested of him. He had named the whelp “Rocky,” in the uncreative way children tend to name their pets, and spent the majority of his days by the dam and her puppies where he could quickly intervene if the runt began to struggle.
His efforts paid off. A few weeks later, Rocky had nearly caught up to his siblings in size. Once deemed old enough to be removed from the pen, the blue Rockruff trailed behind the young prince everywhere he went. Rocky lay beneath Dimitri during meals, the latter of whom would slide food below the table when his father looked away. During church services, the prince would hold Rocky in his arms, giggling as the puppy licked his chin. They played outside together, and once exhausted, collapsed into bed curled into each other like a boy and his bonded animal companion that had known each other for lifetimes rather than a matter of weeks.
He had been about to head outside one warm summer afternoon when his father summoned him and the young pup into the throne room. When Dimitri entered, he saw his father’s Lycanroc, a day form wolf with the regality befitting the King’s own image, following his movements until the boy paused before his father’s throne. He knelt respectfully, as he had been taught to do, and Rocky bowed on cue.
King Lambert smiled. “You trained the whelp well. The bow is a neat trick, I must admit.”
Dimitri grinned back as he stood. “Thank you, father.”
“Now,” began the king as he rose to his feet. “It is time I impart upon you the tradition of our family. The legacy we pass from king to king.”
“Is it not the partnership with our Lycanroc?” the prince inquired, before glancing at Rocky and adding, “Or Rockruff, prior to the evolution.”
“That is only half of it,” the king explained. “It is time you learn the significance of the branching evolutions their species has. You recall the three forms?”
“Certainly. Day, midnight, and dusk,” recited Dimitri obediently. His father had begun walking the walls, where the paintings of past kings were displayed. Each ruler’s companion was pictured beside them—Lycanroc of every variety, alongside kings both loved and despised.
“These evolutions are not arbitrary, my son. The Kingdom demands much of its rulers, and we have learned with time that the Lycanroc’s evolutions are connected to each king’s ability to fulfill the expectations of the realm. As you know, our lineage has a high number of day form Lycanroc.”
“Yourself included,” the prince chimed in.
“Yes. The most respected kings have had day form Lycanroc at their side,” Lambert said as he gestured towards the portraits of well-known members of the royal family that had long since passed. “This evolution signifies a king that is balanced. One who will lead with compassion without compromise, bringing or maintaining the peace in Faerghus.”
“There are dusk and midnight forms on the walls as well,” Dimitri added questioningly.
The king’s expression darkened. “A dusk form evolution indicates a king that reigns without conviction, leading to strife and hardship. While there are worse, the people would be more reassured seeing their future king beside a day form Lycanroc, and so that is what you must provide to them, understood?”
Dimitri noticed with intrigue that his father had not addressed the midnight form. His blue eyes fell on the portrait of a deceased king and his bipedal Lycanroc, its eyes haunted and mouth hung open in a wicked gape. This is the form we rarely speak of, Dimitri observed. Why?
“I understand. When should I expect Rocky to evolve?”
“That is dependent on the individual Rockruff. His evolution will come, and when it does, all eyes will be on you, Dimitri. Do not let me down.”
“Yes, father,” the prince agreed. He studied the young pup and wondered if it was truly possible that these animals predicted the competence of a ruler. It seemed a superstition, and yet his father avoided the topic of the midnight Lycanroc as if no good could be found in such a thing. Against his better judgment, he asked, “What kind of king ruled beside a midnight form Lycanroc?”
King Lambert closed his eyes and sighed. “I ask the Goddess that you not need this knowledge, my son. We have not seen such an evolution since the last war, and we do not wish to see one again.”
Dimitri grew pensive. “A king who ruled during war, then? That is hardly a determining factor in one’s competency. Perhaps it was a foreign ruler who instigated the war.”
“There is more to the darkness of the midnight form than war, Dimitri. The day and dusk Lycanroc are calm, loyal, and powerful. The midnight forms…”
“Is there something… wrong with them?” asked the prince hesitantly.
“Madness.” Lambert’s words were tight; tense as a bowstring, as if he did not wish to say these words, and only duty could force him to. “Midnight Lycanroc are unstable. Their kings have succumbed to war, madness, and disease.”
Dimitri’s stomach twisted. No wonder his family rarely spoke of the midnight form. He silently prayed the Goddess would guide his Rocky into an evolution that would make his father proud, and reassure the Kingdom that he would be a good king, free of strife or madness.
~
“Eat this,” Dimitri instructed, lowering a plate of ostentatious royal recipes before his puppy.
Rocky wagged his tail happily as he scarfed down all manner of food presented to him. The prince moved down a list, checking off potential evolution-inducing items one by one. Rocky was beginning to feel nauseous and his tongue hung out of his mouth when Dimitri finally ran out of food.
The pup barked, then burped, then barked again. Laughing, the prince crossed off ‘feed him until he evolves’ from his list and moved onto the next.
“Evolution locations are next,” he said with a grin. “Let’s go explore?”
Rocky’s vibrant eyes and enthusiastic yips indicated his readiness, and the two ran out of the castle before any of the servants could question if he had permission to wander off on his own.
He tried the quarry first, hoping the resemblance to mountainous terrain would inspire an evolution, but Rocky only chased his tail until he flopped over in a dizzy fit. Forests and lakes weren’t any more fruitful, and praying in the church didn’t have any effect either. Dimitri did have the pleasure of seeing his trick training pay off as Rocky bowed in an imitation of prayer and earned delighted praise from the others present.
Giving up on faith as a means of evolution, he dodged the questions of the priest, darted back out and headed towards the bazaar, where he intended to search for evolution stones as his next method.
As the two neared the section of Faerghus dominated by shops, Dimitri caught sight of a redheaded boy and a blonde girl arguing. The boy’s Growlithe was watching the two with an open, unconcerned expression.
He recognized them immediately and veered in their direction, calling their names as he approached. “Sylvain! Ingrid!”
The two halted their argument and faced him, both lighting up in response. Ingrid hugged him before crouching to greet Rocky with an affectionate head scratch.
“Hey!” Sylvain said as he returned the prince’s smile. His Growlithe leapt forward towards Rocky, and the two tumbled playfully as they vied for the title of top puppy.
Seeing their roughhousing sparked an idea for Dimitri. “Sylvain! You’ve been training your Growlithe right?”
“Uhh…” Sylvain stalled, tossing his arms behind his head. “That’s what I said, huh?”
Ingrid frowned. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! Just because you aren’t the firstborn doesn’t mean you can treat everything like a vacation!”
Dimitri realized the two were back at their usual disagreement—Sylvain shirking his responsibilities while the level-headed Ingrid tried to persuade him to see the error of his ways. This never went anywhere; the three had known each other for years, and Sylvain was nothing if not consistent.
“What say you to a sparring match?” suggested the prince hopefully.
Ingrid laughed. “Your Highness, Sylvain has no chance.”
“Excuse me,” protested the redhead. “I am quite capable.”
“Growlithe might be capable,” corrected Ingrid haughtily. “You are inept.”
Sylvain rolled his eyes and turned to Dimitri. “If it’ll get Ingrid off my case, then why not.”
The boys called for their companions and positioned themselves across the open space outside the bazaar gates. Ingrid stood referee, counting them down to begin.
Ever the showman, Sylvain made the first move, directing Growlithe to tackle. Rocky evaded the move with ease and retaliated with a kick of sand into the red pup’s eyes.
“Shake it off!” shouted Sylvain. Growlithe obliged, and for a moment after regaining his visibility, the pup forgot he was in a battle—he sat and scratched at the back of his ear absentmindedly. Ingrid laughed at the clear lack of training displayed by the fiery puppy.
Dimitri calmly instructed Rocky’s next move and he carried it out to the letter; the rocks embedded in the fur that ran the length of his neck began to glow before flinging themselves at his distracted opponent. Growlithe yelped as the rocks crashed into him.
“Almost there, buddy,” Dimitri said encouragingly. “Time to claim the win!”
At Sylvain’s command, Growlithe unleashed a fireball in defense of himself. Reacting quickly, Rocky beat his tail into the ground to raise a large stone; with two precise hops, he landed first atop the raised stone and then thrust himself at Growlithe from above. The fireball fizzled into the upturned earth and Rocky crashed into his opponent with a brief roll before the two came to a stop. Growlithe wriggled to no avail as he lay immobilized on his back with Rocky pinning him.
“Dimitri and his Rockruff win,” announced Ingrid. To Sylvain, she added, “This is what happens when you don’t—”
“Give it a rest,” Sylvain sighed, interrupting her chastisement. “I already lost, I don’t need a lecture on top of it.”
The prince studied Rockruff, but the pup did not show any signs of evolution. Maybe one battle isn’t enough?
“Your Highness,” an older voice called from the bazaar gates. Dimitri spun to see their other friend Felix, as well as his older brother Glenn, headed towards them. Glenn had a disapproving look on his face as he addressed Dimitri. As a member of the royal guard, he knew Dimitri likely didn’t have permission to be unsupervised outside the castle.
Felix ran ahead, eyes wide and full of interest. “You guys had a battle?”
“Yeah, bet you can guess who won,” Ingrid added dryly. Her eyes flicked to Glenn and a subtle blush rose in her cheeks.
“Fe, she’s bullying me,” Sylvain whined.
“Wow,” exclaimed Felix. “I wish I got to see that!”
Sylvain threw his arms up in resignation. “I need new friends.”
“No, you need some semblance of a work ethic,” Ingrid retorted.
“I meant the battle anyway,” clarified Felix. “Although I’m sure you deserved whatever she said to you.”
“Your Highness,” repeated Glenn, now beside Dimitri and placing a hand on his shoulder.
The prince gave the knight a sheepish smile. “Hello.”
“You know you aren’t supposed to leave the castle without protection.”
“Well, you’re here now,” pointed out Sylvain. “So he can stay, right?”
Four sets of youthful eyes landed on Glenn.
“I’m off duty,” Glenn replied, gesturing at his brother. “Spending time with Felix before I return to my post.”
Sylvain didn’t budge. “If you’re off duty, it’s not on you to take him home, then!”
Ingrid bit her lip; Sylvain’s logic was juvenile, but she didn’t want her friend sent home either.
“You’re not going to leave me just to take His Highness home, are you?” Felix asked Glenn, his face accusatory.
Glenn sighed. “Fine. You can have a bit longer together, but I’m taking His Highness home before sundown.”
The knight dutifully shadowed the kids as they explored the bazaar, despite having just left it. Dimitri thanked him more than once, recalling how his father had told him to always show appreciation for those who will serve under him. Glenn simply smiled and tousled his hair before encouraging the young prince to go enjoy his time with his friends.
Later that night, Dimitri dumped out the bag of items he’d purchased from the bazaar and laid them out neatly. Various stones and bizarre contraptions the prince didn’t recognize were sprawled out. Anything and everything the shopkeepers assured him were evolutionary aids ended up in his bag.
Rocky gently touched his paw to each one, but by the end of the line, he had not responded to any of the stimuli. Dimitri sighed, discarded the unhelpful items into a heap on the floor, and scooped up Rocky.
“You’ll evolve eventually,” the young prince told the pup. “I just want to make sure you evolve into what they want from you.”
Rocky’s tail ceased wagging and he tilted his head, a slight worry in his eyes. Dimitri regretted his statement the moment he saw the pup’s crestfallen expression—the pressure he felt, he had inadvertently placed on his Rockruff tenfold.
“Please, forgive me,” Dimitri whispered, holding Rocky close and scratching the pup behind the ears. “My worries shouldn’t be yours. I’ll love you no matter what you evolve into.”
Rocky licked his cheek and Dimitri laughed as he and the pup laid down for the night.
~
As the crown prince, Dimitri had begun accompanying his father to diplomatic meetings in order to gain a sense for how his father governed. Rocky was always a step behind him, modeling the gait and temperament King Lambert’s Lycanroc exuded. Dimitri found the pup’s imitation of the older wolf amusing; regardless of species, it seems the young look to the older generation to guide them. He had to admit, if Rocky were to imitate anyone, he was glad it was the current king’s companion.
Dimitri knew little of the upcoming excursion. He had been told they were heading northeast and that the entire royal family would be required in order to ensure the proper outcome. His father had even outfitted him in attire that matched the king’s, down to the sigil on the chest and golden trim over the dark blue fabric. He felt truly royal in these clothes, and wondered if perhaps that was the purpose.
Since Dimitri was a bit on the young side, the tailor had to modify the clothing to his size; he had taken the excess material and crafted a bowtie for Rocky that gleamed the same blue as Dimitri’s own uniform. The pup kicked at it at first, but with a gentle reprimand from the prince, he accepted his new accessory.
Outside the front doors were four caravans; one for the king and crown prince, another for the queen regent and their court mage—a friend she was rarely seen without—and two additional caravans with Kingdom soldiers. Each royal caravan also had a member of the kingsguard present, and to Dimitri’s delight, Glenn was assigned to his.
Dimitri gave his stepmother a quick hug before she left in the first caravan. He shuddered when his eyes met the court mage’s—her expression had been unusually cold. He was grateful when she disappeared into the caravan behind his stepmother.
“Dimitri.” King Lambert was holding the door for his son, and he climbed in, closely followed by Glenn. Rocky curled up beside the prince and closed his eyes, content to nap the hours away.
“Felix wanted me to say hello,” the knight told Dimitri as he took his seat. His sword hung at his waist and he pulled his cape to the side to avoid sitting on it. “When we get back, he wants to challenge you to a battle.”
The king laughed at this. “Ah, I remember those days. Lyc and I were unbeatable.”
“I thought he didn’t have a partner?” Dimitri asked, puzzlement in his voice.
Glenn straightened, not having realized the prince was unaware of the news. “My apologies Your Highness, I thought my brother told you he would be getting his partner while we were away. Perhaps that was meant to remain a secret.”
Dimitri frowned. “He did not tell me. If he intends to spar, he would’ve had to let me know anyway. Why wait?”
Glenn shrugged. “He’s competitive. He may have wanted the advantage of surprise, or for you to not know what type his partner will be.”
“What type will it be?” Dimitri asked, and both Glenn and his father laughed at this.
“You can ask him when we return,” Glenn winked. “We can make a day of it. What do you think, Your Majesty?”
“A fantastic idea,” the king agreed. “We can invite a few of the others to spectate, host a feast, turn the event into something festive. We will have plenty to celebrate after this trip, after all.”
Dimitri looked at his father with admiration, lost in the daydreams of how exciting this party they’re planning will be, and in musings about what Felix’s partner will be like. Another puppy like his and Sylvain’s? Or something else entirely?
With a smile still on his face, he leaned his head against the window and gazed out. He must have dozed off, for when he snapped back to attention, the surroundings had changed entirely. Glenn and his father were still engaged in conversation reminiscing on past trips they’d taken.
Dimitri blinked the sleepiness out of his eyes and peered out to guess as to their whereabouts. A glint of something unidentifiable shone in the distance, and Dimitri narrowed his eyes as he focused on it.
There, he thought as the flash appeared again.
“Father,” Dimitri hesitantly said, drawing his father’s attention to the window. “Could you take a look at this?”
The king waited, and a few moments later, he saw the same flash. He stood, his brows furrowed in thought.
“What is it?” Glenn asked, his hand finding the hilt of his sword.
In response to Glenn, the flash spontaneously erupted into a wall of flame that raced ahead as well as behind them—the horses pulling the caravans saw this as well, as they came to an abrupt halt and fought to free themselves of their reins.
“It’s a trap,” the king gritted through his teeth before whirling around and making for his own sword. “Dimitri, stay here while Glenn and I check outside for the cause of the flames.”
“But—”
“This is serious, do as you’re told,” Glenn added with a sympathetic look.
Dimitri stared anxiously as the two men exited the caravan. They were gone only moments before the king’s head reappeared in the doorway.
“We are under attack, the wall of flame is closing in, and the other caravans have been cut off from us,” he explained rapidly. “Come, we need to escape!”
The manner in which the flames appeared and moved were unnatural, and so the sudden apparition of hooded figures was not entirely surprising to the king and his guard. Dimitri reached down and lifted Rocky into his arms protectively. His father’s Lycanroc howled, snapping warnings at the ambushers as they began to circle.
The flames halted in a circle around their caravan at a radius of about 30 feet—the other caravans were obscured from sight, and their only indication as to how they fared was the outbreak of steel clashing with steel, the whistle of spells hurtling through the air, and the occasional howl of one of the royal family’s Lycanroc.
He had barely processed the sounds coming from outside their ring of fire before the figures within his own moved to strike. His father and Glenn were doing their best to ward off the assailants, but the figures seemed to glide in a mystical fashion. Dimitri had a sinking feeling they were up against forbidden magic.
His suspicions were confirmed when one of the hooded figures raised a gloved hand and summoned arcana of endless black, enveloping the caravan beside Dimitri and causing it to explode. The debris from the blast was thrown with such force that Dimitri saw only the expulsion of shards followed by a sensation of wooden fragments slamming into his head and arm before he blacked out.
~
Dimitri’s consciousness returned to him slowly, and the smell hit him first. His eyes snapped open and confirmed what his nose had told him. He was surrounded by death. Completely alone aside from the sound of crumbling coming from wherever the flames lapped up next. The first body he saw looked like a dummy to him; he had seen a human body before, but they had perished of natural causes. The worst he had seen was an execution, a carrying out of justice per their laws.
This… this was unlike anything he had seen before. Bodies lying over other bodies, bloodied, severed, blackened, charred—he could go on, but his stomach pled with him not to.
See past them, he told himself.
“Father!” he screamed, tears pooling in his eyes as he searched. He clutched his left arm where the blood had been running down from a shard of wood impaled into it. Removing the wood intensified the bleeding and he removed his shirt to tie it around his arm in an attempt to create a makeshift tourniquet and prevent himself from collapsing. Touching a hand to his head, he noted with something akin to relief that what knocked him out had been blunt rather than piercing.
Through walls of flame, crushed caravans and mangled corpses, he caught a glimpse of the kingsguard’s uniform. “Glenn,” he whispered, stumbling to where the man had fallen. The fury of battle had claimed the knight’s life, piercing his body until the light had faded from his eyes. Dimitri felt sick. He thought of his friend, of Felix, discovering his brother had been killed. Mercilessly cut down in a Goddess-forsaken land of ash and blood.
He barely held back the floodgates in his mind as he stood back up and resumed searching for his father, desperate to find him alive, to not see his father as still as he had found Glenn.
In a break between the suffocating clouds of ash, a beam of sunlight illuminated the golden crown the king wore; Dimitri rushed to where his father lay motionless, eyes open and staring lifeless into the sky above—a sky obscured by the smog that rose from the devastation that followed hungry flames.
“No!” he cried, shaking the king helplessly. “Father, no! Wake up!”
Tears ran down his face as the realization sank in that King Lambert, his father, had also been lost. He was only fourteen, he was meant to have years with his father beyond the decade and a half he had lived. The kingdom needs him. I need him, thought Dimitri despairingly.
Distantly, he heard Rocky’s bark as the pup frantically darted through the massacre in pursuit of the young prince. When the Rockruff found Dimitri, the boy was rested with his head on his father’s chest, eyes closed and fists clenched, unwilling to believe that the body before him no longer breathed. Surely, if he blinked, he would reopen his eyes to find that the king was just asleep.
Rocky cautiously crept onto Dimitri’s leg, laying beside him with his other side on the king’s stomach. He whined softly. Before the prince could process the pup’s presence, a whirring noise preceded the apparition of a hooded mage robed in a deep black, his face masked and voice distorted. The mage’s arm lifted and he began to cast, his attention directly facing the prince.
Dimitri’s fragmented thoughts did not register this danger to himself—in his broken state, what he saw was his father, vulnerable, and this stranger that appeared to take his father away from him. What little coherency the boy held came undone as he screamed at the mage, his blue eyes flaring with a gaunt rage wholly unfamiliar to him.
He leapt to his feet and charged, having unsheathed his father’s sword in the process and rushing recklessly in his assailant’s direction.
The mage began laughing, unperturbed by the sight of the fourteen year old boy advancing on him in a mindless state of aggression. What he did not anticipate was the boy’s Rockruff; the pup overtook Dimitri easily, and having placed itself between the unknown sorcerer and his companion, he sprang up with his teeth bared.
Halfway through the air, Rocky’s body burst into light. Dimitri halted his assault and watched in awe as the body of his companion grew. His muzzle lengthened, the fur on his neck converged onto the back of his shoulders, neck and head, protruding forward and over, and his limbs lengthened significantly. His bushy tail shrank until only a tuft remained. His front paws had grown into clawed fists and his back legs gained the muscle to support the bipedal stance of the form that Dimitri most feared seeing—the werewolf, midnight Lycanroc, with blood red eyes and the same wicked growl portrayed in his ancestor’s portrait.
Without pause and too quickly after the blinding light for the mage to react, Rocky’s claws lengthened into daggerlike weapons he used to reduce the mage into a screaming pile of torn robes and exposed gashes. The werewolf seemed to inaudibly laugh, his body rocking subtly from the motion as he stood over his prey.
After the mage had stilled, Rocky slowly turned his head to face the prince. He stood with a hunched back, his front paws dangling and eyes redder than the blood that fled the mage’s corpse. Seeing the evolution of his beloved puppy into midnight form Lycanroc, Dimitri broke into choked sobs.
“I’m sorry, father, I failed you,” Dimitri said between pained breaths. This will be my legacy. War, tragedy, and loss.
An unmistakable voice cut through the chorus of fire and death.
No—your purpose has been born anew.
Dimitri froze. His eyes flicked to each side, but the voice couldn’t be placed.
“Father?” he whispered.
Another ghastly cry rose from within him.
Avenge us…
“Glenn?” he gasped, his head spinning as if the chaos around him had gone silent and been replaced by the echoes of the dead swimming in the throes of his desperate mind.
A voice that resembled his mother’s sang, Avenge us…
Avenge us…
Avenge…
Other voices joined the first, until he was forced to drop the sword and press his palms against his eyes. The growing pressure behind his eyes expelled all other thought, all emotion, leaving him hollow but for the words of the lost. If he kept his eyes closed, he could almost feel their presence as the words continued to build into a symphony of tortured songs. They sang of sorrow, and they sang of revenge.
The final sound to join the ethereal choir of grief and insanity the prince heard was one of mourning; a deep, bellowed howl, a reverent note held in honor of the royal family’s demise, and marking a young prince’s descent into madness.