The Royal Palace of Valoria
"Your Highness," Alistair began, bowing slightly.
"What is it now, Alistair?" the prince asked, his voice tinged with boredom as he leaned lazily on the armrest of his grand chair, chin resting on his hand.
"The King has finalized the wedding arrangements. He's tired of your excuses, and this time, he says you must marry the girl he has chosen."
Prince Alvah rolled his amber eyes dramatically. "Oh, tell me something new," he muttered, adjusting his posture.
He was dressed in fine royal garb, though his disheveled appearance and casual attitude toward protocol made him look more like a noble rogue than a dutiful prince. His deep sapphire tunic, embroidered with silver, hung loosely over his shoulders, the sash tied without much care.
Alistair's expression turned grim as he glanced toward the locked door before speaking again. "Prince Alvah, you know we don't have much time left."
Alvah scoffed. "Oh, quit calling me that. What did you say my name was again?"
"Mavros... Mavros Geraski."
The prince grinned. "Perfect. Call me that. I like the sound of it—Mavros."
Alistair's lips twitched with faint amusement. "Of course you do. It's your name, idiot."
" Do not forget who you are speaking to," Mavros' eyes narrowed. "Besides, why should I even believe you?"
Alistair raised an eyebrow, his tone matter-of-fact. "Because it's true. And because I can do this." With a snap of his fingers, the chair beneath Mavros moved abruptly, and he toppled to the floor with an unceremonious thud.
"What was that for?" Mavros demanded, glaring up at his personal guard—Alistair, whose mysterious abilities had saved his life more than once.
"Here," Alistair offered a hand, but just as Mavros reached for it, Alistair pulled away, causing him to fall back again.
"That's the biggest rule, Mavros. Never trust an Aquarion. I can't believe you do not even remember that."
Mavros groaned in frustration. "How am I supposed to remember a bunch of silly rules when I can't even remember my own name?"
Alistair sighed. "We need to fix this memory problem, and…"
"And to do that, we have to find her. Yes, yes, I know," Mavros said with a lazy wave, cutting him off. "You've only mentioned it a thousand times."
"The Hawthornes are holding a coming-of-age ball," Alistair continued, undeterred.
"Great, another boring social event to endure. At least I'll meet some new beauties." Mavros' grin returned, but Alistair's sharp gaze wiped it off quickly.
"Mavros, be serious for once!" Alistair snapped.
"Alright, alright. No need to yell," Mavros muttered, standing and brushing himself off. "So, do we have an invite?"
Alistair smirked. "Of course. You are the prince, after all."
Mavros rolled his eyes again. "Right, the prince."
"Do you really not remember anything at all? Try thinking back."
Mavros closed his eyes, deep in thought, his brows drawing closely together as he searched his mind for an image, but nothing surfaced.
"I don't remember anything except when I found myself drowning at the river at Valoria's border."
Alistair waved his hand, and a book appeared in his grip. There was no title on it; it was brown and heavy, with intricate gold vines climbing up the spine and cover. He laid it on the table and closed his eyes, concentrating his thoughts on the book. It emitted a bright glow, and the pages flipped open. Alistair finally opened his eyes, and Mavros simply glanced at him.
"Do you have to be this dramatic every time? I've seen you do this countless times; it has now become boring."
"You know, sometimes I really just want to leave you here to rot and die. Unfortunately, I'm bound by oath; otherwise…" Alistair said through gritted teeth, his blue eyes emitting a dangerous glow.
"Come on, you don't mean that, do you? You love me. Did you see your face after you succeeded in lifting me from the water? You looked so scared." Mavros laughed, but he paused as glowing letters began to appear in the air.
Mavros frowned. That had never happened before.
"Alistair... what...?" Mavros trailed off in surprise.
"The book is ready to give us answers."
'SOLUM QUI TERRA AMPLEXU GEMMATUS,
ANIMUM TENENS ET GRATIAM RESTITUENS,
SEMEN QUOD ARUIT, RESTITUERE POTEST,
ET MALEDICTUM DEBILITAT AD MAGNUM PRETIUM.'
Mavros' black eyes glowed like ambers, and suddenly, the words made sense to him.
'ONLY THE ONE ADORNED BY THE EARTH'S EMBRACE,
WHO HOLDS THE SOUL AND CAN MEND ITS GRACE,
CAN SOW WHAT HAS WITHERED, RESTORE WHAT WAS LOST,
AND WEAKEN THE SPELL AT A GREAT COST.'
The book shook gently before snapping shut and falling into Alistair's hand, where it vanished once again. Mavros fell out of his trance, and his eyes returned to their normal color.
"Is what I did normal? I couldn't understand it at first, but suddenly, I could read it."
"I guess your powers are not entirely out of control yet."
"So that is it? That's the answer we're looking for? Does it even make sense to you?"
"It's a riddle we have to crack, and just like the Most High, Dominus, said, we're looking for a female."
"A female adorned by the earth's embrace. Wow. Sounds like we're looking for someone clothed in soil," Mavros burst out laughing.
"You're mocking the only power that can save you?" Alistair asked with a raised brow.
"It just doesn't make any sense. Think about it."
"You've become so shallow-minded."
"Say whatever you want. What is the way forward?"
"We have to keep looking for whoever it is. But the book has given us a clue now. To be adorned by the earth's embrace, to sow what has been withered... what could that mean?" Alistair thought deeply, sinking into his chair.
"Perhaps it means we're to search for a mole."
"No."
"A female worm."
"No," Alistair deadpanned.
"Hehe, I know! A snake!"
"Just shut up! And let me think."
"Alright. Do what you want," Mavros said, sitting on the fine silk of the grand canopy bed. The chamber still felt a bit strange to him, even though it had been his for almost a year now. Oil paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, depicting heroic tales. An opulent chandelier, lit the place, casting a warm glow over the polished floors and luxurious rugs.
Suddenly, the room filled with cold air, and the paintings began to shake violently. Mavros' fingers turned a pale blue, and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull. His breathing became erratic, each gasp sounding like a desperate plea for air. He nearly slid off the chair when Alistair rushed to him, his own face pale with alarm.
"My Prince! My Prince!" Alistair's voice echoed with urgency as he struggled to hold the convulsing Mavros upright.
The door to the chambers flew open as the prince's guards surrounded them, their expressions a mix of panic and determination. The royal physician hurried forward, his hands steady despite the chaos. He pulled out a vial of freshly brewed dreamsbloom herb, a peculiar herb that seemed to calm the Prince during his episodes.
"This herb is very rare. I'll need to travel to get more of it," The physician muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing in concern. Alistair nodded grimly and carefully poured the liquid into the spasming prince's mouth, even as Mavros coughed and sputtered.
Beads of sweat formed on the physician's forehead as he worked quickly, dabbing Mavros' clammy skin with a damp cloth. The guards stood at attention, their weapons drawn, ready to face any unseen threat that might have triggered the prince's episode. Alistair's mind raced. This wasn't the first time, but each incident felt worse than the last.
After what felt like an eternity, the spasms ceased, and the paintings stopped their violent movements. Mavros' pale complexion slowly regained some color as his breathing evened out. The guards carefully lifted him onto his bed, their movements gentle but efficient, before bowing and leaving the room.
The royal physician lingered for a moment, packing up his tools with practiced efficiency. "This cannot continue much longer, Sir Alistair," he said softly, after everyone had left. "Whatever afflicts him is beyond my knowledge."
"Thank you. I'll take it from here," Alistair said, his tone clipped but polite. The physician hesitated, then nodded and left.
As the door clicked shut, Alistair grabbed Mavros' hand, whispering words in a strange language. His blue eyes glowed faintly as he channeled his energy into the prince, willing him to wake. After a tense moment, Mavros' eyelids fluttered open.
"What happened?" Mavros rasped, sitting up slowly, his hand instinctively clutching his forehead. A faint tremor lingered in his limbs, a reminder of how close he'd come to the brink.
"I know what we have to find, My Prince," Alistair said, his voice steady but filled with a newfound determination.
"What is it?" Mavros asked, his voice hoarse but curious.
"A Ninx. What we're looking for is a Ninx."