Chapter Text
In a abandonned castle, a man sits on the throne, his posture relaxed, his eyes close. If someone alive was present, they would think he was sleeping or close to. But he was merely using his eyes to view the world outside, borrowing from the mind of a cat dwelling in the street to a bird in the northern forest.
When he didnt use his name, he liked to be called a Puppeteer, owning to his ability to control and possess a being at any time. It does come with some restriction yet it’s was so easy to make eye contact with living being and take control when he has nothing to do (often).
He uses his ability to check on the demon king, still in the last position he left it in: invisibles strings tying the king's hands to the magical staff, his soulless body sitting on the throne in the creation room of the dungeon, waiting for the next batch of monsters to spawn.
The Puppeteer furrows his brow, his eyes still close. Playing with this character is getting boring...
Switching to a mouse within the castle, he looks for interesting events, like the noble finding her husband in bed with a knight.
The noblewoman's reaction entertains him, and he agrees with her perspective that the husband is at fault, and cheers her on for a minute or two before he continues his research.
After a while, the mouse arrives at a corner of the throne room that provides a good view of the royal family.
The king of the nation sits upon his throne, with the Queen by his side. The court nobles converse quietly around them. A young man is kneeling in front of The Monarchs.
The King makes a gesture to silence the nobles before speaking. ''Misha, my son, I wish to enlist you in the effort to vanquish the demon king. I’m afraid it can't wait as we have countless reports of villages being attacked by his monsters.'' He hesitates before continuing.
''In this journey, I request that you assist the villages you come across, for we are too far to provide aid.'' The king seems exhausted, but his eyes tell of the trust he has in his son.
The Puppeteer abruptly stops the mouse's subconscious movements, focusing his attention to better hear. This could change a lot of things.
The kneeling man, he believe was Misha, looks at the king with respect ''As your son, but also your knight, I accept to go on a Hero journey, providing aid and ultimately vanquishing the demon king.''
Now that he look more closely, Misha is not in a prince garment. He adorns the royal knight uniform. The only difference from the others is the military ribbon near his breast pocket indicating his ranking.
''I would like to bring another knight from the healing division with me to ensure my well-being in this endeavor. Do I have permission?'' He asks, then lowers his head, awaiting for his father's answer.
''You have my blessing to have a healing-knight with you on this journey. I want you to never hesitate in seeking help from our nation.'' The king rises from his throne and approaches the prince, helping him stand up.
enclosing his son's hand with his palm, the king say firmy, ''the nation awaits your victorious returns, son.''
Misha nods once in understanding, maintaining eye contact with his father, witnessing all the love and trust that they contain. The moment ends with the nobles clapping around them, congratulating the forming of the Hero party.
The Puppeteer severs his connection to the mouse, opening his eyes. A wide grin stretches across his face, his eyes shining with excitement.
This is perfect! He was getting tired of the other plaything anyway! He always comes back to making a demon king when he feels bored... How many does this make? fifteen…sixteen?
Every time they’re defeated by a hero and he has to do it again, it's truly irritating.
The last five-ish he simply rolled his eyes when he felt the connection severe.
But now! Now he has a brilliant idea! why not be the face in the shadow? It's been far too long since he left the castle.
The Puppeteer gets up from his throne, patting off the dust on his clothes, and begins to skip towards his room, humming a tune while carefully avoiding the numerous string puppets strewn across the floor.
Some of the puppets are broken, giving the impression that a child ripped them in a tantrum, rupturing the fragile tissue and severing the strings.