Chapter Text
LOCATION: The Withered (?, ?)
TIME: Almost 13 Years Ago…
The building he was in wasn’t exactly a castle, though some might see it as one. The dark building was truly a fortress for the imperial family of the withered, though that family was small. The king and the queen were the only ones of true imperial blood, but with great sadness many years ago, the nurse had told the two lovers their fate.
‘*’
“You will never have a child,” the nurse had said. “Queen Arcia is unable to bring you children. You must find another way to pass on the crown.”
So the two, with great sadness, employed the help of a spirit who would tell them how they would find an heir. The spirit told them this:
“Deep in the darkest wood of the land, you will find a small pond. By the edge of the crystal waters, on the third day of the search, you will find a boy with glowing black eyes and skin white as the purest of snow. This boy will be your heir.”
The king and queen brought a search party to the woods the very next day. The fir, spruce, and pine trees were so dense that the only light in the wood was from scarce glowing fungus and the few lanterns the party had brought. The queen stayed in the kingdom and the king led the search himself, finding the boy on the third day of searching as the spirit had said.
His skin could be compared to snow and still seem whiter, his hair the same. His eyes were dark as the void under the realm of the Unstable, dark as the blackest depths of
the night.
The king brought him home to the castle and the queen was filled with joy at the sight of their heir. The boy was a chroma, a child of the void, without family or parents other than the darkness of the world. The two named the boy, the prince, Spoke Ishier.
'*'
(a/n: pronounced ish-higher, is the last name of the imperial family)
‘*’
Now at the age of four, the prince sat in his room in a tower of the Withered Fortress, in the late hours of the evening. He read tales of the world outside of The Withered, longing to go there even after his parents’ numerous warnings of the danger Unstable could bring to him.
Just under the young prince’s tower, a group of four thieves conversed in the shadows, hidden from the watchful eyes of the guards.
“We must sneak in and steal the prince!” said the first. “If The Withered is left without an heir, we could take the wealth of the land for our own! We will slay him once we are out of sight from the kingdom.”
The second and third nodded in agreement, but the fourth seemed doubtful. He did not speak his opinion, knowing the first of them was the leader.
They scaled the walls using ropes and the weakest of the bricks, climbing up to the prince’s room. The second and third of the group stood on the balcony, watching for guards. The first and fourth entered the room, with the first holding the prince quiet. The fourth, still with a feeling of unease, tied the silent and scared boy’s hands and picked him up. With all he could, the boy shouted.
“Help!” Spoke shouted, his voice feeling quieter than it was. “Hel-”
The first clasped a hand over the boy’s mouth, ignoring his tears and pulling him along. He cursed as he heard a guard who was stationed outside of the room barge in, spear pointed towards him. He let go of the prince.
“Run! Take him away, don’t let anyone catch you!” he told the fourth. With fear in his eyes, the fourth nodded and brought the boy to the balcony. The first fought the guard but fell as two more and the king entered the room.
But the prince was gone.
The king and queen searched for weeks, catching two of the other attackers but never the prince, before going back to the spirit that had asked previously for help.
“You will never find your prince,” the spirit told them. “You must wait until the day he turns seventeen, for on that day a messenger will go from here to all of the lands in every direction to say nothing but the fact that the prince of The Withered shall be found that day. He will not be the same as when he was taken. His crown, if found by an adventurer, will only fit him. If he wears the crown of The Withered, he will be the prince once again.”
The king and queen grieved for months, not wanting to wait those thirteen years to see their son again. But, knowing the earth spirit would be correct in the end, they stopped their search. In those years, the king fell ill and died, leaving the queen in her old age to rule the kingdom alone.
The Withered cut all contact and trade with the rest of the Unstable, hiding their existence entirely, determined to wait for the prince to return.
‘*’
Not too far from the kingdom, the fourth of the group was the only one who remained. Before the second had been captured, she had poured a burning magical potion on the boy’s hands, turning him from snow white to void black. The boy cried from the heat of the potion, white burns of his hands the only remnants of his old self.
Now alone, the fourth traveled for a month to the main Unstable, stopping in a small village he remembered from his time as a boy. Unwilling to kill the boy as the first had said, he decided to leave the boy with a new home and identity, though close enough to be found one day.
He knew of a kind man who lived there, a father. With hope for the boy, he brought the transformed prince to the father, a voided wither skeleton with a tendency to adopt children in need. He left a note that read,
This is Spoke IsHere. Please, take care of him.
Nothing else was in the note. The fourth left, tears in his eyes as he set the tired prince down on the porch with the note in hand. The prince’s burned hands were the only record of his once white skin, his eyes and a singular lock of white hair now the only white on his features.
The fourth ran, hiding the prince’s crown without knowing of the prophecy the spirit had spoken. He disappeared, falling ill and passing not long after.
‘*’
Spoke grew up with only the faintest memories of The Withered, knowing almost nothing of his previous prince hood. His father, a wither skeleton named Minute Tech, had brought him in with open arms the night he was found.
He had an older brother named Parrot, and younger than Parrot but still older than he, two twin brothers named Wemmbu and Flame. He loved his family and was sad as, year by year, they left to begin their own lives. The village disappeared and Minute left as well, leaving the house to Spoke.
Restless, the chroma traveled as well. By the time he left his home, he knew nothing of The Withered and was the age thirteen, four years too young.
But the years continued on, and soon, the day came for the prince to wake.