The trees of a thick forest are blurs to a fleeting prince. Beneath the storm crawling above him, a thundering roar beckons from the outskirts of the kingdom to carry on the wrath of the king. The prince keeps far away from the home he once knew. With the blood of his brother melting into the fabric of fate, he knows returning to the kingdom would only bring him the same end. It won't be much longer before the king finds a way to cleanse himself from the murder -- knowing his son flees as a lone wolf through shadowed forests, it would be more than likely for the prince to hold the blame for the murder. If anyone succeeds in their hunt for the wolf, the prince will carry this burden until it presses him to his grave.
Aware of the consequences of stepping over the city's stone, the prince treads across his own paths over dirt and thorns. He walks alone in the night, the sprinkled warning of the storm ahead tapping his shoulders, and keeps the silence of the forests untouched by man. His clothes, once glimmering with the riches of royalty, have grown worn and dull. His face is flushed of color, his own blood halting from the sight of his brother's as it crawled to his feet. Not even the stars can guide him when they're buried in a brewing storm.
Keeping to the craters of the kingdom, the prince stays off the beaten paths that lead travelers beyond the kingdom. He has become a distant shadow to lurk and watch as his name is beaten into the bark of trees as a warning to innocents after the crimes thrown into his arms. The prince shuffles through the ticket of the deep and continues to find shelter in the dark. He continues his walk until the trees begin to unveil the sky above him, the green ceiling above him starting to thin, and he faces a bleak, faded horizon with nothing more than an open sea to save him. The thunder rolls past the kingdom, a dozen miles from the beaches where he now stands, and he exhales confidently. Scanning the beach on either side of him, he finds no light to burn him. There are no campfires, no beaming spotlights, and no signs of life. The perfect oasis, for now.
The only monument to tower over him is a tattered, crumbling remnant of an old restaurant. It weighs over the ocean waves, its foundation carries many open wounds, and it remains frozen tilted with its head just above a blurry skyline. The tower follows a unique design: a spiraling base holding up the head like the handle of a hammer, and the top of the tower is a circular disk that once held luxury and light. It now weighs itself down upon the ocean, its walls are torn and shattered, and the beauty it once held has been bled dry. The prince looks to the needle a few miles off of the shore, looking to the waves that wish to bury it, and hears the one thing he wished to escape from: a voice of another life.
"You're a little far from home, aren't you?" a feminine voice echoes through the winds of a dying storm. The prince spins around, without protection from the one who calls him. After living a life where a knight had always been at his side, it's a strange change of pace to see him weak and tossed to the shores. To his benefit, the woman carries not a single gleam of metal on her person. No steel blade, no chainmail -- she is no knight.
"I could say the same to you. Why would you be near these shores after what had happened?" The prince calls back. He holds his ground, digging his feet into the sands, ready for an incoming attack. Although her black suit and cloak make her appear no more than a traveler, he can't even trust his own kingdom to save him anymore.
"You mean to speak of the massacre? I know little of the cause," the woman speaks calmly. Every word she speaks is another step in the sand closer to the prince. "I do know of your grim fate, though."
"Fate? You mean to believe fate brought me here?" The prince bites. The woman holds up her arms.
"I hear all sides of the story, my royal prince. I know your name carries the blame of your brother's death, isn't that right?" The woman asks, knowing well of the answer. The prince looks around to see if she has brought company. Despite his expectations, she roams these beaches alone.
"You believe the same as the rest of the kingdom?" The prince asks. He lowers his head defeatedly and bites his cheek. She walks up to him, keeping his focus on her, but fully aware that he's using the close interaction to scan her body for any weaponry that may shelter in her fabrics.
"I may be willing to hear your side of the story. Not every rumor is a proper one to believe, especially when woven in royal threads," the woman shrugs. "It's almost sad to see you so alone out here. Where are you planning to go?"
The prince shrugs back. "As if I had any clue. I don't know what lies beyond these shores. I've been walking these outskirts ever since I escaped the eyes of those who now despise me."
"So have I," the woman grins, "I've been following you."
The prince steps back. "Are you an assassin, then?"
The woman laughs. "Far more than that, my friend."
The prince watches as she turns her gaze to the tower ahead. She rests her hands on her hips, looking out to a beauty turned into a nightmare, and is fully aware that he follows the same path.
"Many are trying to scavenge that tower for answers to what happened that day. A gorgeous monument to our people had been attacked by an entity we know so little about," the woman thinks aloud, "It's as if a fire had started deep beneath it, and the smoke became aware of itself. A sable cloud of its own mind started tearing it apart and no one knows how it got there... or why it decided to bring its wrath upon the people inside."
The prince looks to the tower. "I was there when it happened."
"So was I," the woman says. "I was there with my sister before the cloud consumed her. It's almost as if it took the light out of everyone inside before it did for the tower itself, hm?"
"It seems you've been following me for much longer than you realize," the prince says. The woman tilts her head to him.
"You're the one who just discovered I had been," she tells him smugly. "Do you still believe fate hadn't thrown us together?"
"That's only to say that fate doesn't end with a knife at my back," the prince speaks cautiously. "Trust is hard to come by these days."
"It is because I have seen you so closely that I believe you're not to blame," the woman mentions. "The knife would already be through your skin if I had wanted it to be."
The prince looks down at the shore, watching the sea swallow the sands beneath it, and nods. This woman carries a sinister appearance, but perhaps she does to keep herself away from the society beyond these shores. They both hold the same burdens of loss and grief. He considers what it would mean for him to side with this stranger, but knows his options are scarce if he wishes to survive.
"If what you say is true, then where will we go from here?" The prince asks. The woman looks to him and delivers a promising smile.
"Nowhere," she says. She starts walking past him, towards the forest, and he watches her leave. The prince stares, his eyes glossed with confusion, and holds up his arms.
"You're just going to leave me, or are you informing the guards of my location?" The prince shouts. The woman pauses and turns her head back.
"I'm finding wood for a fire, you pebble of a prince. I said nowhere, so we're staying on these shores. It's the safest place for you, given how many people avoid being anywhere close to that blighted tower, and I'm going to make sure you don't run your helpless self into your grave," the woman calls back.
The prince holds up his shoulders, amused by her lack of care for his place in the kingdom, even if that place was to be hung like an old painting beaten against a wall and beaten with a rusty nail. He dusts off his clothing and calls to her again.
"May I be graced with your name?" the prince asks. The woman looks up to the sky, nearly annoyed from all his questions, and looks to him one last time before she vanishes into the dark of the forest.
"Lacuna," the woman says. "Now, go find a good rock to sit on, and don't move."
The prince watches her body melt into the forest walls, grimacing to the commands of someone who may be out for his blood, but forces himself to stay calm. At the very least, these commands aren't coming from a band of knights as they drag him back to his father. His eyes drift to the tower again, looking into the black cloud that surrounds it, and sighs. Staring at its frozen, tilted form, he sits himself down over the sand and watches the storm as it nears the tower. Its imperfections are infinite, but it was built to be a reflection of his kingdom's perfection.
It's only a matter of time before the rest of the kingdom falls through the cracks of its haunting truths. He feels the winds as they rush through his black hair, the gusts of an incoming storm telling him of his brewing danger, and he stares out to the bleak skyline in search of a light that may restore the spreading terror of the kingdom.