The dwelling, modest in size, stood amidst a plot of land that extended into the periphery of the town. The exterior of the house bore the marks of time, its weathered facade telling tales of both resilience and neglect. A small garden, though unkempt, hinted at a once-cared-for beauty that had now succumbed to the whims of nature.The plot of land, though on the outskirts, held a certain quiet charm. Trees stood sentinel, their branches casting dappled shadows on the worn path leading to the front door. The air carried the scent of earth and the distant murmur of town life, a delicate balance between solitude and connection.With a tentative grip on the doorknob, I prepared to turn and open the door to the small house on the outskirts. Before I could proceed, an unexpected noise disrupted the quiet anticipation. From the outhouse nearby, an animalistic groan echoed, sending a shiver down my spine.The absence of the guild member who had guided me left me alone with the unsettling sounds emanating from the outhouse. Anxiety crept in as I considered the possibility of a wild animal lurking within, waiting to pounce when the door opened.My nerves heightened, and I approached the outhouse cautiously. The groans grew louder, more visceral, stirring a sense of trepidation within me. Unsure of what awaited, I hesitated, my eyes fixated on the wooden door that separated me from the unknown.A decision was made to arm myself with a makeshift weapon. I scavenged for a stick nearby, a meager defense against the unseen threat. As I inched closer, the growls intensified, amplifying the eerie ambiance that surrounded the outhouse.In horror, I pressed on, driven by a mix of fear and curiosity. The growls seemed to reverberate through the wooden structure, heightening the tension. I approached cautiously, the stick gripped tightly in my hand, ready to face whatever awaited on the other side of the door.Just as I took a step within a few feet of the outhouse, the door swung open abruptly. In the doorway stood an older man, his appearance matching neither my expectations nor the source of the growls. Thick, curly red hair framed his face, and a long red beard cascaded down his chest. The man burst out, bringing with him a horrendous smell beyond compare.Caught off guard by the sudden emergence of the older man from the outhouse, I stumbled backward, the unexpected encounter leaving me sprawled on the ground. The air hung heavy with the noxious odor that had accompanied his exit."Sorry 'bout that, lad," he apologized, his voice carrying a distinct accent. "Eh, you may not be wantin' to go in there right now. Been eatin' slop off that damn ship for so long, my damn gut done gone and went bad on meh." He paused, observing me slowly getting up, and then recognition flashed across his face. "It's you," he said. "I recognize you."I remained silent, uncertain how to respond. His gaze lingered on me, a moment pregnant with unspoken thoughts. Eventually, he broke the silence. "You were on the ship too," he prompted, and it was then that I recognized him as the old man who had sung sea shanties on the ship. The realization stirred a complex mix of emotions within me.Silent, I didn't know how to feel about this person who had shared songs of freedom at sea. "Silent type, eh?" he remarked, walking towards a nearby well to draw water. "Least you can tell meh is your name though. Can't go callin' you anonymous, can I?" He chuckled, his tone attempting to diffuse the tension that lingered between us.As he awaited my response, I grappled with the decision to reveal a fragment of my identity. The encounter with the old man, now a potential housemate"I am nobody," I confess to the old man, and he sighs, acknowledging the weight of that sentiment. "Yeh, I know the feeling," he responds. "It's how any outcast would feel when cut off from Celestria."My eyes widen at the mention of Celestria. He is the first person to bring up my home, and I turn to face him, curiosity and surprise etched on my expression. "Don't look so shocked," he says. "We are both outcasts from that place."I can't help but inquire further, my voice betraying a mix of disbelief and curiosity. "You were an outcast from Celestria?" He nods, revealing a connection that extends beyond our shared sense of being outcasts. He opens up about his daughter, one of the queen's handmaidens, and her escape with her daughter and mother before the king's purge of the staff."I stayed in the royal home with my daughter, but as she went on the run, I was too old to," he explains, a weight of regret lingering in his words. Guilt washes over me, and I hang my head in shame.The older man snorts a gruff sound that carries a hint of defiance. "Kings an asshole anyway," he declares, approaching me. As I slowly lift my gaze to meet his, he offers a small piece of solace. "Names Booker, by the way, lad. Thadeus Booker."I hesitated, uncertain how to respond to Thadeus Booker's revelation. Eventually, I felt compelled to speak, "I am a prince," but before I could say more, he halted me with a shake of his head. "Nah, lad, you are not," he asserted, his tone carrying a mix of dismissal and caution.He continued, emphasizing the need for discretion, "Now, this may be hard, but you can't go announcing you are a prince to anyone, you hear? Especially after what your stupid paw has done." A sense of bitterness crept into his words as he expressed his disapproval of the king's actions. "I swear, I knew when the queen married his ass things would get bad, but I never knew he would stoop to this level," he added, shaking his head in disbelief.As the weight of my true identity lingered, a growl emanated from my stomach, catching Booker's attention. He laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the air, before beckoning me inside. "We may as well break in our new place. Let's have a little feast," he suggested, injecting a touch of friendship into the moment.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------As the seasons cycled through their rhythmic dance, casting shadows and light upon the modest dwelling on the outskirts, the passage of time etched its mark upon the bond between the old man, Booker, and myself. Our shared journey became a testament to the resilience of the human spirit in the face of adversity, a tale written across the canvas of changing seasons.The first year proved to be a crucible of hardship. Scarcity became our unwelcome companion, and the once opulent halls of Celestria were replaced by the humble abode that Booker and I called home. The adjustment from a life of royal abundance to one marked by frugality was a challenge that tested both the old man and the young prince.Booker, a man accustomed to the conservative rhythm of life, took on odd jobs at the guild to sustain our humble existence. The guild, represented by the kind-hearted Ceres, offered intermittent assistance. She visited when she could, a fleeting presence in the otherwise quiet days, her compassionate eyes carrying the weight of understanding. The winter months were particularly harsh, the biting cold creeping through the cracks of our modest home, challenging our endurance.In those moments when the hearth struggled to cast its feeble warmth and the wind whispered through the gaps in the walls, Booker's stories became a sanctuary. He wove tales of his youth, recounting the age of Heroes when he bore the moniker, the Red Devil. The incongruence between the heroic stories and the frail figure of the old man became a source of laughter and solace, a brief respite in the harsh winter months.Yet, beneath the surface of laughter, a poignant reality lingered. The scarcity of food, the biting cold, and the weight of our shared history carved their marks into our souls. The laughter was a mask, a reprieve from the stark contrast between the past and the present. Each passing day, I found myself yearning for the horizon, haunted by the possibility of Celestria's royal ships on the distant sea.The changing seasons mirrored the fluctuations in my own emotions. Spring brought a tentative sense of renewal, the blossoming flowers and the warming breeze weaving a subtle thread of hope. Yet, it was a hope laced with uncertainty, a fragile bloom that withstood the remnants of a harsh winter. As the undertaker would say to the hopeful criminal on the block. Hope is a terrible thing when you are dying today.On this bitterly cold day in midway in the winter season, I awoke to a chill that cut through the thin veil of warmth provided by our dwindling hearth. The once crackling fire had succumbed to the cold grasp of the night, leaving behind only fading embers and a biting void. I shivered as I realized that Booker was not beside me, his absence amplifying the starkness of the winter morning.I rose from the makeshift bed, my breath visible in the frigid air, and noticed the encroaching frost that had painted the world outside. In Celestria, winter was a foreign concept, a season that existed in distant lands but never truly touched the regal halls of my former home. Adjusting to the biting cold of this new world proved to be a challenge, and the absence of the familiar comforts made the struggle more pronounced.In an attempt to contribute, to stave off the encroaching cold, I wrapped myself in my coat and adorned a scarf—meager defenses against the biting wind that howled outside our meager dwelling. My hands, lacking the protection of gloves, sought refuge beneath my armpits as I ventured into the frost-kissed morning.The harbor town lay in the distance, its silhouette blurred by the winter haze. The air hung heavy with the cold, and my breath formed ephemeral clouds that dissipated into the frigid expanse. Each step sent a jolt of cold through the soles of my boots, a stark reminder that the luxuries of Celestria were but a distant memory in this new, unforgiving land.The biting wind cut through the layers of clothing, stinging my face as I closed my eyes, attempting to escape the harsh reality that surrounded me. In that moment of vulnerability, memories of better days flooded my mind—visions of my mother, a beacon of warmth, gathering us around to weave tales of faraway lands and snow-covered landscapes. Snow, once a mythical concept, now manifested as a relentless adversary, bringing not joy but pain and numbness.With my eyes tightly shut against the cold, I willed myself to hold onto the fleeting warmth that resided in my hands. The sticks, collected with numb feet, were fragments of a survival dance in a world that cared not for my past regality. The nostalgia for my homeland, with its warmer embrace, echoed as a distant ache, a longing for a time when life was more than a struggle for mere existence.As I crouched, my hands working to assemble a meager pile of sticks, the bitter truth of my situation settled in. I missed the temperate climate of my home and the luxuries of a life I had taken for granted. Yet, the ache for better days was a futile sentiment, an echo in the vast emptiness that had replaced the once vibrant tapestry of my life.Reality pressed down on me with a weight I could no longer bear. The sticks gathered with aching hands, became symbols of a life reduced to its bare essentials. In that moment, as the cruel winter wind continued its assault, my soul wailed in agony. This was my life now, a hell of a perpetual cold and unyielding struggle.The pile of sticks grew, a tangible representation of my desolation. With each twig added, my heart screamed, tearing itself apart as the painful truth enveloped me. The yearning for a warmer climate transformed into a gut-wrenching plea for escape. With tear-filled eyes, I cried out to the heavens, "Mother, Father! Take me back!" The words, carried away by the wind, lingered in the frigid air—a desperate lament for a life irretrievably lost.My scream echoed in the vast emptiness, a cathartic release of the anguish that had festered within. The realization, like a cold blade, cut through my soul—I was never going back home. The dream of restoration, of reclaiming the life I once knew, shattered into irreparable shards. In the desolation of that winter landscape, I stood broken, my heart laid bare to the unforgiving cold, and the anguished wail of a lost prince echoed through the frozen expanse.