Becoming Legend - Chapter 375: Prince Aesril: I Don't Like Them Either

“My Prince,” Gelethorn whizzed. Dark veins were faintly visible under his skin like spiderwebs’. His face was pale, devoid of light and warmth. Eyes squinting under the dimming light of the ocean seas. He was sweating, but bearing it with confidence as he tried to straighten himself up, off from the linen Dacota, the ship managed to give them but failed to do so.

“It’s fine now, my friend,” Prince Aesril said. Brushing Gelethorn’s brown silky hair then the remainder of red dust under his eye, nose, and mouth. His golden eyes were brighter than usual. Perhaps, this ‘usual’ was the only time Gelethorn witnessed them. “I took care of it already.”

Prince Aesril’s eyes darted at the pair of Mask of Caree resting on a small table to his right. A creaking noise was accompanied by the swaying of the room. Which in turn, made Gelethorn, the honest wood-elf, even paled more.

Gelethorn forced a laugh instead.”I hate the Seven Seas.”

“We all are,” Prince Aesril said, pulling his thoughts away from the pair of masks back to Gelethorn. “We all are.”

“It should be me, my prince,” Gelethorn said, followed by a cough. A thick, dark, mucus came running down his lips.

Prince Aesril abruptly wiped the mucus with a dump rag the crew gave him and threw it back to a small basin under the bed. His hands flickered back to Gelethorn’s chest and conjured a green, and white light. Easing Gelethorn’s breathing.

The wooden door behind him shook after the green and white light left the gaps under it. Prince Aesril closed and opened his eyes, snubbing the whispers of men and women behind the door.

The wood-elf gave prince Aesril a sad look while holding his friend’s arm before going back to sleep.

“No,” Prince Aesril whispered under the dimming light under his hands, letting go of Gelethorn’s arm and resting them to his sides. “I’m happy it’s me, my friend.”

Prince Aesril stood and rested his hand to the circular window over Gelethorn’s bed. Coldness seeped through his skin as he admired the dying sun over the horizon, over the calm waves of the ocean, the calm after the storm.

‘No!’ a cry racked his thoughts and prince Aesril pulled himself to the corner of the room where darkness seemed to calm his trembling soul.

Prince Aesril coiled at the corner like a whimpering dog. His hands wrapped around him. Golden hair fell, obscuring his vision.

Over the silent creaking of the woods was a cry of help shaking his thoughts, his very soul. The cry was maiden, like that of an angel, or an elf, or Gadsi. No, it wasn’t her. Perhaps, she was the wife of the human he knew on board the ship. The daughter perhaps. A slave, Prince Aesril supposed. But it wasn’t Gadsi.

“It wasn’t her,” Prince Aesril said, assuring himself. “My self? or what’s left of me.”

Prince Aesril looked at his hands, his fingers. Fingers. The very same fingers he used to heal the elves back at the tree of Pin’Tu. The same hands he used to nock an arrow to save the elves from monsters of their cursed continent. The same hands he used to embrace Gadsi after he was forced to dance with her. It was a dance, a festival of some sort. A festival he hated. But now, prince Aesril longed for it.

“You don’t hate them, do you?” Gadsi once said to him. Gadsi the dark elf of his age. People thought Aesril was fond of her. But Gadsi knew she wasn’t enough for his attention.

“But I don’t like them either.” Prince Aesril clearly remembered his answer to Gadsi. It was those times where prince Aesril rather hides than dances with Gadsi. “I’m… Just me. Beholden by his father, the king, to save the elves.”

His words were clear. ‘I don’t like them either’.

“I don’t like them either,” Prince Aesril whimpered. His voice was more like a hush. “I don’t like them either. I don’t.. .” He paused, staring at his hands. His vision blurred then blood leaked from his fingers. “I don’t,” he continued. Blood crawls to his wrist as though the concept of gravity is non-existent. The blood was fresh, crimson, red. Redder than the setting sun. Redder than the most dreaded thoughts the humans have done to the elves. “I don’t like them either.” He continued to what seemed to be a rhythm. A rhythmic sound making a song. “I don’t like them either.” His voice was now a hymn. A hymn the elves have been chanting for decades to serve their dead.

“For once,” Prince Aesril said, satisfied, “you are wrong, Gadsi.” Prince Aesril laughed. His voice crackled in the wooden room. The swaying stopped and he looked up. His hands, now free of blood. He crawled laughing to the sleeping Gelethorn. “Gele!” he cried, tugging at the wood-elf’s arm. “She’s wrong! We beat her! For once, she is wrong!” Warm tears slid down his cheeks. “She is wrong, Gele.” His voice cut through his words. “She is wrong… and I hoped we listened to her.”

Prince Aesril pushed himself up and bowed down to meet Gelethorn’s head. “It’s too late.” He began after a long pause, letting the tears freely run down his face, touching Gele’s forehead, “and I don’t like them either, Gele. Oh, Gele, my friend. I don’t like them now…” He paused and let the air linger for a moment before a bright fiery light burned the copper ring on his finger. He then pushed the air around them to produce nothing but silence. Prince Aesril could hear nothing, not the waves, not the crying woods, nor thunder and gust. It was nothing but his whimper and soon his voice: “I don’t like them, Gele… I despise them.”

The air then exploded with fire coming from the Prince of Elves’ fingers and burned the wooden door behind him. Women and men then screamed of agony, of pain, of torment, and torture.

For a moment, Dacota, the ship bound to O’rriadt, fell to a festival of fire and screams before it settled to a hush.