Chapter Text
It was a dark and stormy night. No. No, that actually was not true. It was quite a sunny day, even. One would hardly remember that day as such though. Imagining the events that played out as anything other than dark and stormy would be uncanny. The warm summer breeze along with the soft chirping of Starly and Taillow matched not with the scarlet blood drops staining the verdant grass. The gasping for air as the small child was hit with another Mach Punch and slammed into the ground.
“P…Please. Stop.” He begged. “I… can't.” He nearly staggered to the ground. “I can't do it. It's too fast--” He was cut off as he was thrown several feet away again. He fell to the ground with a resounding thud.
“Prince Lear.” Lear barely heard the angry yell over his own ears ringing. He sat up to see Lucario, the one firing the Mach Punches, as well as the face of his teacher. “If you don't want to get hit, then dodge the hit.” Despite his angry voice, he was smirking. Lear remembered he never once had seen him not smile.
His teacher was very tall, towered over Lear. He wore the school uniform, but one that was hardly put together. The tie was just slumped over his shoulders. His hair was unkempt. His eyes, tired. Though, through it all, his face was plastered with a smug grin. It gave him a threatening aura despite everything else.
“I tried, Mr. Janus.” Lear said through gritted teeth. Janus only laughed as Lear gripped the dirt in his hands and stood back up slowly, glaring at the Lucario. He stumbled, but didn't fall, as he felt the tug of his shirt lift him back up. He stared down into Janus’ eyes, shaking in fear.
“Well then try harder.” Janus sneered. “You're a prince aren't you? Prove it.” He sat the child back on the ground and patted his head. “Or do we need to try other methods?” Lear gulped, shaking his head vigorously. “Good. Now,” He walked away, back behind Lucario. With a shrug of his shoulders, he added, “Take it from the top.”
Lucario's fist glows as it readies another punch. Lear takes a deep breath, trying to focus. As the punch rushes towards him, he ducks down, but not far enough as it grazes against his back, and slams him back into the ground.
A real teacher would be impressed for a kid to nearly have dodged an attack that moves so fast that it always goes first. Not this teacher. Lear's senses were knocked so far down that the angry yells and insults were incoherent though.
Lear realized he felt nothing. Heard nothing. Barely even saw anything. He just remembered being so tired. Tired in all senses of the word. He heaved himself back up, wiping blood and sweat from his mouth. “Again.” He hissed. He felt nothing.
Janus’ smile vanished only for a second as his eyes widened in surprise. That small second was enough to show his humanity though. If Lear had not known about the hardships this man had caused him, he might would have pitied him.
It was only for a breath. His face returned to his usual sneer as he met the small teen's eyes. “Oh, really? Confident, are we, prince?” Janus said, mockingly. All he needed to do was glance in Lucario's direction for it to ready its attack. Lear closed his eyes in anticipation. He focused on every sense. He would be ready, this time, for certain.
“That's enough!” His focus was snapped away as he opened his eyes to see a tall woman, with the similarities of white-and-purple hair as Janus had. It was Celimine, Janus’ sister, and Lear's other main teacher. Lear remembered her to be more on the stricter side, but far less degrading and demanding as Janus was.
Janus whirls around to face his sister in anger. “Aw, c'mon, why are you here? You interrupted us again.” He dramatically sighed, sneering. “Your class doesn't start until I dismiss him.” He called back his Lucario in its pokeball and Lear let himself finally fall back down in relief.
“Yes, and now I'm dismissing him. Keep treating him like that and he will die before my class.”
How long had this little training lesson been going on for? His body pain was telling him weeks but the shape of the sun was telling him possibly an hour or two maximum. Janus had called it self defense class. That wasn't true. Lear had taken self-defense classes. When he was ten years old. In the castle… His mind drifted off, but he shook himself of the thought. Back then, he was taught with sternness but also understanding, not mocking. His father had been his teacher. Sawyer too. Before he was sent here. He missed it. He wished for it all to be back to normal.
He was twelve now. This was his new normal. Being beaten to a pulp by moves he had not even the slightest chance of dodging. Janus knew that. He knew this was not “self defense training” as much as it was watching the small child that was supposed to be in a position of power grovel beneath his feet. Janus viewed positions of power as a joke. He was very clear about that with every time he said daggers the word “prince”.
Lear let out a small sigh, clutching his knees and wincing at the pain. Janus and Celimine were in some kind of sibling rivalry bickering war, but Lear cared not to let their words come to heart. He wanted to go home, but also was too afraid to move.
He had been caught before, sneaking out. He shuddered. He could not let that happen again. He had to play out his part as a means to an end. It will be over soon. Soon…
He felt the start of tears form in his eyes and he wanted to scream out, but Janus would have taken it as another excuse to jab at him. He did not want to though. Play out some part? He just wanted his friends back. His home. His mother. The tears fell down to his chin as the grip on his own knees tightened.
Lear thought of the day his father, King Marcius, had sent him here. How he begged him not to let them take him away. Why was it? He tried to think of why any of this happened. All he remembered were the last words.
“Do not look at me with her eyes.” Marcius had said. Those words had been a constant echo in Lear's mind ever since.
“Hey, prince.” Lear's thoughts were broken off and he wiped the tears from his face to look back at his teachers. It was Janus who had spoken. “You look arce-awful. Clean yourself up.” He threw a towel at Lear's face. “Then you're going to my sister's class. Got it?”
Perhaps “endurance training” would have been a better word. Endurance not only of the body, but of the mind. And not in the way one would expect. How much one could endure of this teacher's mocking before they snapped and made matters worse? Yeah, that was it. Endurance training.
“Yes, Mr. Janus.” Lear took the towel in his hands and walked over to a small stream to get it wet. He hardly recognized his reflection staring at him. The fear in his lavender eyes.
Do not look at me with her eyes. He shook his head, tightly shutting his eyes so he would not have to see them anymore. He dipped the towel in the cold waters and washed his face and arms of the blood and dust. Which was… more difficult with closed eyes.
He could not keep dodging his reflection forever. He let out a sigh, opening his eyes once again to face… himself. Janus was right. He did look awful. Though that was his doing. He had bruises all over his arms and perhaps more on his back. His face was more scratched up and bleeding than bruised. The towel Janus had given him was red, but not red enough to hide the amount of blood seeping into it with his wounds. To hide the red from the waters as he got it wet.
What did I really do to deserve this? He thought of the events that might have played out for him to feel this weak and helpless despite his high ranking of power.
He again felt nothing as his body moved along through the day as he thought of his days as a kid in the castle…
((End Of Prologue))