The royal palace within the Kold district, the wealthiest district in the Kingdom of Crystal, was bustling in overdrive with media camera crews, civilians and fanatics falling over each other in their attempts to catch sight of their favorite royal family members or noblemen, touring visitors, and permissible palace visitors that were hard at work. Visitors and guests with official access came and went through the splendorous crystalline gate, receiving stares from gawkers as they passed those on the public street. Stoic security guards behind the gates did not bat an eye in the face of such obvious awe, curiosity, jealousy, and hostility.

The princes and royal family did not enter through the front gate when they returned; their entrance and exit was via two side gates at the back of the palace, on a small private road next to a massive decrepit forest of ice trees, pillars, and peaceful temples that remained open for noble families and not-so-well-off civilians. Third Prince Caspian enjoyed walking through those pillared temple pathways in his youth whenever he went to the royal palace, and he did nothing different in his adult years. The blooming season was upon them, making the trees vibrant with blue and azure blossoms and leaves, and pillars reflected mild morning sunlight off its glossy surfaces. Once in a while, it hit Caspian in the eyes, so he ducked his head and squinted with adaptability as he strolled along.

His guard of 10 years, Royal Officer Landon Rapello, followed from two feet behind him, his sword slapping his leg with each step. “It’s wonderful that the war has hardly touched nature here, right, Prince Caspian?”

Caspian glanced at him and nodded. 

“How is your military work coming along, Your Highness? I have heard that the recent battle was more terrible than usual,” Landon sighed. “The household hates you going out there, me included.”

“My weapon will not sit,” Caspian said. “It was terrible, but there’s good news.”

“Oh?” He puzzled over how there could be good news over the disastrous ravages and tragedies of the past battle. Certainly it was not worth the amount of damage wrecked to their country. He knew not to ask further; such sensitive information could not be divulged. He had asked many a time in the past, only to be ignored. “Whatever happens, we will keep security tight here at the palace and neighboring districts. Your cherished forest will be the same vision as ever. Our vigilant eyes are nothing to scoff at, even in times of war.”

Caspian smiled. “Yes, thank you. Please continue to protect our home and queen.” Although he requested this for reassurance, the queen alone was no easy prey, for she was trained, vigilant, and headstrong as well—without a doubt, a beatific bure¹[1] The equivalent of a hawk bird on Earth. In the Kingdom of Crystal, they have aqua blue feathers with white streaks and tail ends, and long, skinny feathers. Some of their colors are changed in other islands/countries due to mixed genes. Their eye vision is one of the sharpest and farthest in the bird class. of a high caliber.

“Yes, Prince Caspian. You needn’t ask twice,” he said. “Her Majesty is as bored and lovely as ever. She entertains the press and council members rightfully to no end.”

He did not doubt that for a second.

“She is your mother, you know. Do you not miss her? If I may be so forward, well, do you know that Her Majesty misses you every day? There can be only so many hours she would spend with people she does not adore. Surely you can take a break every so often to see her.”

Caspian could feel him poking accusing eyes into the back of his head. It was something more than a few people at the palace asked every time he came by. Of course he was weary of the question, but he was not without understanding.

“The work that goes into such an intense war like the one we are in the midst of is more pressing than feelings of yearning.” He stared ahead, unable to enjoy the wind, shade, and colors with the other man’s dreadful topic pushing into the fore of his mind. “16 years under the same roof is plenty. Ask no more.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Landon did not regret broaching the topic; of this, Caspian knew. By asking time and again, and reminding him of his mother’s wishes, they were ingrained in him. He may forget it sometimes, but now he felt a twinge of guilt. Landon did not regret it yet, but Caspian would make him. 

When they approached, a palace security guard opened the outer gate for him. Behind the gate, the head butler bowed and said, “Your Highness, welcome home. I hope your journey was nice and worthwhile.”

He nodded. “Good morning, Thomson.”

He was greeted at a back palace door by the head maid, Wendy. She had short, clean white hair, and bright gray eyes that exuded maturity. She smiled. “Your Highness, welcome home. I hope you have been doing well. Your room and early noon meal are as they should be, proper and fresh.”

“Thank you, Wendy.”

Caspian strode down a long expansive corridor with crystal glass windows, various white doors, and clean blue carpeting. At the end of the hall next to a large glass doorway, a round staircase led up to the second story. He went straight up to the third floor, where he knew his private quarters would be located. In the second floor and third floor lobbies, maids, palace servants, and guards bowed in greeting. As he continued down another hallway and passed the third floor kitchen, a cooking apprentice dashed out and chased after him.

“Your Highness, welcome back!” he called, beaming and grinning. “It’s me, Jerome. Do you remember, from your last visit? I prepared your noon meal and dessert today. I hope it’s to your liking. They’re all the favorites you mentioned to me last time.”

Caspian stopped in his tracks and eyed the spirited youth. He was the cooking apprentice he had met during a previous visit three weeks ago. “Jerome, good afternoon. It will be my pleasure to try it. I trust that you’ve improved.”

“Yes, Your Highness, of course! I am always practicing and cooking. The chef allowed me to take care of your noon meal today. For you and everyone at the palace, I will become the best apprentice you ever knew!”

Caspian was sure he had heard those statements from him before. He was a bit of a parrot, wasn’t he?

“Your Highness, it would be so good of you not to leave me in the dust,” Landon said, upset, from behind Jerome. “Jerome, let’s leave His Highness to rest and enjoy his meal, shall we? He’s had a long journey this morning, and no doubt he has been hard at work with military service this entire week as well. The war, you know. Chit chat later.”

Jerome bowed, still grinning, bid farewell, and hurried off. Landon shook his head as he watched. “I think he’s your fan. I don’t know where he gets all that energy. Could it be his age?”

Caspian had to agree.

He walked on when Landon turned his gaze on him. “Really, Prince Caspian, is it so hard to share more? This past week couldn’t have been fun.”

He could picture Landon’s hands resting on his hips as he spoke in disapproval right behind him. He said, “No.”

 “Well, if you’re wondering about me, which I know you aren’t, I’ve not had fun either.” He sighed. “Without you in my sight to reassure me that you are safe and well protected, I will never be comfortable. The pit of my stomach is in tangles every time I hear of that dreadful three letter word, and I wonder if you are well. Even knowing you are a powerful crystallizing soldier does me no good.”

Caspian paused at a door and looked into his eyes, which showed concern. “Landon, I would tell you not to worry, but you wouldn’t listen.”

He shook his head. “No, Your Highness, I wouldn’t.” He smiled, opening the door for him. “Tell me, do you ever worry about your mother or brother?”

Caspian went inside the room, answering right away, “No. With you and Mr. Moorland alive and kicking, I have nothing to worry about.”

“It’s good you trust in us so keenly. We do know what we’re about.”

He moved aside to let Thomson in, who began to set out the belongings in Caspian’s luggage. Though he always had plenty left in the bedroom’s wardrobe, he had brought the luggage to wear what he preferred for the next occasions. Thomson put the top layers into the walk-in closet at the right side of the room, knowing that those layers were Caspian’s prioritized wardrobe for the day ahead. He had no need to stow away the rest, as he would not be staying more than two days at the palace, much to Landon’s chagrin.

“Is the palace staff doing well these days?” Caspian asked of Thomson. “Any attempts to break in?”

Thomson said, “No, Your Highness. Some of the press and fanatics near the front gate have been riled up and agitated for some reason or other, but there has been no success in breaking onto the grounds. If there were any fools, I’ve not heard because they must have been caught.”

They were likely riled up about the recent battle that the television, news, and media labeled as the worst incident of devastation and brutality in recent years. There had been sightings of some kind of rod in the hands of the terrorists that had attacked the people of the Kingdom, a magic weapon never before seen in magic history. Some news covered the sightings with pictures to prove it, while other news tried to debunk the photographs and claimed they were forged. In this battle, innocent and hardworking lives were speculated to have been lost as high as into the thousands. The numbers did not fare so well in the military as well, in the high hundreds, which was costly to the family, country, and overall fight for peace.

It was a devastating nationwide event. The queen would make an empowering speech two days from then, advocating for justice and support, and many more in the days to come.

“Yes, well, with our hundreds of highly-practiced knights and guards on and around the premises, it isn’t going to happen. I thought we had your undivided trust, Your Highness,” Landon said.

Caspian raised his hand. “You’re right. But I had to ensure that everyone inside feels safe. Not just my mother.”

Thomson smiled. “I appreciate your asking, Your Highness. We are as privileged and blissful as we have always been. This city is more secure than the best museums and banks. If you will allow it, let us not jinx our good fortune with further talk of this.”

Landon’s lips twitched, probably at the implication that Thomson was asking Caspian to shut his mouth. As per usual, he pretended not to notice.

Security was indeed great at the palace and surrounding districts, for they were so removed and untouched by war for many centuries. The terrorists, with their few numbers, would not have won against the regaled security details, trained guards, and powerful knights. It was also a possibility that they had not been purposefully targeted due to the International Union of Peace Enactment that had been formed many decades ago.

Removing the royal cloak from his shoulders, its aqua crystalline shoulder pauldron face up, Caspian handed it to Thomson, who set it in a lidded box in the closet. He removed his boots in the closet, then returned to the room and sat on the comfortable sofa next to a corner fireplace, crossing a leg at the knee. There he stared out of the tall window beside him.

A mammoth of a tree, splendid with its thick limbs and teal and aquamarine shades, overlooked the opulent gardens and numerous patios. In the pillars and hedge-style maze next to the garden, a large group of the palace servant’s children played together. A farmhand working on a part of the garden watched over the frolicking children, a sweaty and tired look over his face.

Landon approached. “Watching the kiddos? They remind me of Jerome.” Clearly this was an attempt at humor, but Caspian glanced at him with a blank expression.

“Jerome is a hired cook.”

Landon sighed while Thomson coughed.

Caspian turned to the window. “The tree is balder.”

“It’s getting old, losing some leaves. But that’s still beautiful in its own way.”

As Thomson left, Caspian held a hand out. “The latest on Prophet’s Land, Landon.”

Poring over pages while he ate was a treasured routine of his since the age of 13. Landon, knowing this, already had the book sitting on a table. He handed it to him, then fetched the cart holding his meal, which he uncovered and set up for him. A potato beef stew with cabbage and salt sauce, a cinnamon cream pie, and sparkling mint tea with crystal ice. Jerome had done an excellent job with the choices. He did not care if the array seemed like commoner’s food, for they were some of his favorite dishes intended to replenish energy.

“Sherynn hasn’t read this one yet, so I would like to caution you to be wary of spoiling her this evening, Your Highness.”

He nodded. Sherynn, his family’s electrifying prophet for the past three decades, was his evening dinner guest and appointment. She had been employed by King Hamin, the ruling king before their previous one, for her powerfully accurate magic and devotion as a close friend to the royal family. She not only observed and shared her prophetic visions of future events and outcomes to help guide governing and war efforts, but she also acted as a private counselor for the family. He always accepted the counseling, knowing that they were a family tradition during the appointments, as well as being part of her nature. After he became a soldier, she shared visions about the military with him.

“I will leave you to your meal.” Landon bowed at the waist. “Please inform me if you are going to the library or study afterward.”

“Stay,” Caspian said as he began to read. “Sit.”

Landon halted in his tracks, then stood by the door. “Then I will. But I prefer to stand.”

The book, the tenth addition in its series, followed the true period of events and legacies of Lord Urane, the third ruling prophet of an isolated island in the northeastern coast known as Prophet’s Land. Throughout the series, Caspian discovered some embellishments and discrepancies in missing time, where definite significant events would have taken place, but overall it seemed to be consistent and true in most areas, according to the written and verbal testimonies of descendants of its early ancestors passed down to future generations, including Sherynn’s. He found the tales to be fascinating in his research of the origin and mechanism of the unique magic called electrical prophecy.

As soon as some semblance of a long business vacation was possible, he intended to visit their island with much research and knowledge at his disposal. He hoped to invite its ruling class to sign with the International Union of Peace, in a time of lasting peace under his reign. It was a way to further unify the eastern region—most of which were already in the I.U.P. at present. Within the union, a war or invasion with the purpose of colonization or terrorism was not permitted under any circumstances. If an enemy attacked any one nation, their allies would join hands and eliminate the threat. He was working to actualize more policies, contractual terms, and acts in the union to better the maintenance of peace, but it proved quite difficult with nobility clashes, family disputes, and opposing intermixed eastern island cultures at every peacemaking communal meeting.

Lord Urane was the most famous and popular of the rulers in the island’s history, being knowledgeable, generous, and quite the prodigy since young. While women swooned over him, he was almost too disinterested and choosy, believing romance to be a waste of energy. Only one managed to capture his heart; the fort’s future staff heard confirmation from his advisory chief that he had only ever been with two women, physically and emotionally. In the early years of his reign, he sought the hand of a woman, his first love, who was not keen to marry him because of her dream pursuits, but he was so dogged and good to her and her admiring family that she finally gave in one year later. They married on the promise that she was allowed to be with someone else in an open marriage, an acceptable pledge among nobility, if she ever fell in love. She grew fond of him over the years—enough to praise him whenever possible, like an adored pet or child.

In the throes of blissful passion and infatuation, he saw intense prophecies and visions of events happening to people on his land that were so vivid and accurate as to pull in many clientele with extravagant rolles²[2] Money in the form of dollar bills. 100 rolles is about $10.00 in USD currency. to spend. With increasing wealth, success, and popularity, tourists enmasse from neighboring countries arrived in a surge to buy his coveted services, however tough and infrequent they were. The island was secluded and crowded with a sparse town population and abundant traditions and rules strictly adhered to by everyone. The one rule that aggrieved paying tourists most was the restriction of how many individuals were allowed to come on the island in one day: a punitive amount of 100. In droves of 160 waiting tourists each day, with increasing numbers as time went on, other free-willed islands were cramped with occupied inn and hotel rooms. On every boat and bridge, 100 visitors packed the interiors, eager to get their business over with after all the waiting.

A voice speaking to the air broke his concentration. “Please forgive me as I know you don’t like to be disrupted from your reading,” Landon said, “but your pie and tea will grow stale. Is the story that engrossing?”

“Compelling, yes. I can’t tear away.” He swallowed a forkful of pie before adding, “I wish I was there.”

“Who is it about this time?”

“Lord Urane, the third prophet. He was the most famous and talented of the first dozen rulers. None has been as regaled as highly and often as him.”

“I don’t remember him. I don’t remember much of history, though, so all I know about their country are tidbits that Sherynn told me in recent years. Why is he so famous?”

Caspian set down the fork and glanced at him. “His magic, I suppose. So far I learned that his visions were highly specific and accurate, enough that tourists came in by the hundreds every day for the course of two years, seeking out his services.” He sipped his tea and continued, “I am sure there is more to learn about why he became so famous and successful. There must be a few events he was known for. I haven’t read far yet. I still have 500 pages to go.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it.”

The next time Caspian became aware of his surroundings was when he tried to take another sip of his tea, only for air to meet his lips.

“A refill, Prince Caspian?” Landon asked, a finger on his buzzer.

When he nodded, Landon pressed the buzzer and requested a refill pitcher of the tea, and Thomson entered three minutes later. He refilled Caspian’s glass, then rolled the finished cart away. On his way, he handed a bottle to Landon.

At the door, he turned and asked, “Is there anything else, Your Highness?”

Caspian glanced at the closet door.

Thomson said, “I will iron press your outfit for your evening engagement closer to 4 o’clock, Your Highness. Which outfit would you prefer?”

“You may choose.”

Thomson bowed and left.

Caspian washed up in the bathroom. When he reemerged to Landon downing his drink, he said, “I will go to the study.”

Landon opened the door for him. Caspian strode down the hall towards the middle of the palace interior, where the west grand staircase was. The walls and thin window frames on the left were stark white, with aquamarine doors on the right side, and shiny glass display cases with various family gemstones, blue, gold, and white flowers, and artwork interspersed between each door. 

As he passed, one doorway was open, revealing a roomful of servants hard at work, and servants passing in the hallway stopped to bow to him. Some of the trainees saw the others bowing, so they hastened to do the same, ignorant of Caspian’s position without the cloak. He scanned them, only recognizing a few.

“We’ve had to employ more servants recently,” Landon said, noticing Caspian’s line of sight. “Many of the west seniors retired due to stress from the workload and few helping hands. Some men were aging as well.”

Caspian wished that he could reduce the amount of work to maintain the upkeep, or at least that he could give them more appreciation for their hard work and loyalty. The staff had decent pay, beautiful lodging and residences, medical insurance, unlimited supplies and tools, and satisfying meals. Once in a while, he or the queen would throw a lavish buffet or banquet for the staff, who were allowed to invite as many outside friends and family as they wished, or bonus pay on the holidays and special occasions. Still, he wondered if that was enough for the amount of day and night labor. Landon had assured him numerous times that it was.

Caspian stopped at the last door of the hall by the entrance to the west staircase lobby, then glanced at him.

“Are you curious about His Royal Highness, the first prince?” Landon asked, smirking, to which Caspian nodded. “His Royal Highness is the same as usual. Tries to assist Her Majesty and accompanies her as much as he can, but you know him; has his own daily activities, projects, he calls them. He stays far away from the war zones.”

First Prince Maene, Caspian’s older brother, was skilled in hand-to-hand combat and technical strength, but he lacked magical aptitude. Whether or not he had it, it was his opinion, but widely understood, that mingling with the military or commoners was beneath him. He preferred to throw himself into political matters, pushing governing choices and acts, and creating proposals based on his opinions—rather than be one to elect on another person’s ideas or plans. Often he clashed with their mother and Caspian, never to be on the same wavelength as one so opinionated and stubborn as him.

Before they could enter the room, a rapid clicking of heels descended on them, putting Caspian on the alert immediately. He knew those footsteps; he had heard them in the palace corridors for many years. Turning, he allowed long arms and a lithe body to crash against him.

“Caenan, you’re finally here!” exclaimed a familiar woman. She had long pale blond hair coiffed tightly behind her head, sharp teal blue eyes, and small, austere features that had never changed in the years he had known her. She wore black stockings, a knee-length black skirt, white heels, and an aquamarine-colored blazer over a white shirt. A small sapphire necklace adorned her neck. Formal working attire. She was grinning and brimming with energy. “It’s been, what, three weeks since you came to the palace?”

“Hello, Yune,” he said. “I had no knowledge of your visit. Are you visiting mother?”

She pulled back to look at him. “Of course. I heard you were coming as well. I’m so glad you got out of that hellhole intact. Keep it up or I’ll seriously follow you to the grave.”

Yune was Caspian’s royal teacher from when he was the age of five to 15, until he had left to train in the military. In contrast to her sometimes desperate need for emotional connection and affection, she was wise and studious, being one of the top rated private teachers of high paying noble families in the Kold district. Her work results landed her an official position as royal teacher to the royal family’s youngsters over 10 years ago. Second Prince Hallen had also been her student as she tutored them in the same room during their youth.

She, with the help of her secretary, had taught him on many subjects such as mathematics, biology, literature, foreign language, and social and political history. Political and kingdom history were more centralized and specialized as a course in the military, compared to her brief, downplayed lessons. Worship studies, which most of high nobility knew of, and magic education were the two fields of academia that she could not pass on to him. Members of the royal family had personal crystallizing magic knights that educated and trained them if they had the crystallizing talent. For most, there was much self study and individual practice involved in it.

When she backed off, a whiff of her airy perfume flowing in the air, her secretary bowed at the waist. With straight jet black hair flowing down to just his nape and chin, hazel eyes, brown skin, a forest green vest with clover shaped buttons, and suit and coat, he looked like a dashing Chariotian. He was a quiet, serious, and dedicated man, said by those who thought of him to be an unimpressionable workaholic who did not say much and only made eye contact when he had to. He followed Yune everywhere she went, both to assist in her tutoring work and protect her, and consolidated most of the assignments and tests for her almost daily.

She grabbed Nikolai by the shoulder, smiling. “Nikolai, isn’t it such a relief that we live to fight yet another majestic day and our beloved Caenan is unharmed?”

Nikolai nodded once, somber as ever. “Yes. We are glad you are well, Your Highness.”

“You’re going to have awful days ahead dealing with the aftermath of this recent abysmal disaster. I can only imagine the unimaginable horrors you face. I wish you’d resign, but I know such words fall on deaf ears,” she said, moving from Nikolai to pinch Caspian on the arm. “Only the Lord knows how much Esme and Landon worry over you. Right, Landon?”

Landon punctuated the statement with several nods and a deep, heavy sigh. She cackled. “You must be so exasperated with all of us reminding you every time we see you, but that’s how important your life is. Landon always talks about you. You are our best hope for a brighter future when you become king. I know it.”

“Yes,” Caspian said, “but I have the gift to crystallize. I will use it.”

She glanced at his book. “You’ve a book. Which one is it?”

He showed her.

“Prophet’s Land, the Tenth.” She smiled. “I believe that one focuses on Lord Urane. He is a famous one. Gosh, there’s so much to tell about their country, despite being so small. It’s finally his turn, is it? I’ll leave you alone now, but we have to catch up and sit down for a meal, when you aren’t so busy.”

“I am always busy,” he said. “Are you going into the study as well?”

“Yes, after you.” As they walked inside and stopped by the first door, she said, “I just came to grab something. Enjoy your book, little Caenan. Let’s discuss it next time.”

Caspian nodded and strode to the furthest private reading room at the end of the hallway, which was his preferred room. In the study, he would be less likely to give into distractions, or for visitors who knew him to drop by and bother him about one thing or another. By moving to the study, his presence at the palace was also further broadcasted.

Each reading room on the west side second floor had the same layout of four filled bookshelves, a high window, and a desk and chair. The only one that was different was the room Caspian used, which was the largest one. On the opposite wall, there was a single large window overlooking an icy courtyard connected by an outdoor corridor to several different rooms. Caspian, at 6 feet, 1 inch, was barely tall enough to see out of the bottom of the window. Six bookshelves sat against three walls, and two desks and chairs sat in the center of the room. When he entered, he proceeded to pull the furthest chair to the window and sat, while Landon locked the door and pulled it shut as he remained outside. He left Caspian alone inside the study, taking the time to read his own book or newspaper.

At a quarter to three in the afternoon, Caspian requested his tea from earlier. Later, Thomson knocked and spoke through the door, “Your Highness, I have the tea.”

Once Thomson brought the pitcher and glass of tea to the desk, set them on a coaster, and left, Caspian returned to the book. In two hours he had only gone through 99 pages, many of which were littered with sticky notes and annotations. The beginning was always the backstory of the main subject, and it dragged on for quite a while. Not that he minded.

Lord Urane was generous and detailed in his sharing of prophecies, whether or not they were directly related to the requests of the patron. He said everything he could to each of his patrons, respecting the value of their time and expenses in going to see him, and even followed up with a few specific ones afterward, when another vision was related to them. It was no exaggeration to say that glowing testimonies about their ruling prophet flew off the shelves, and worshippers lost more and more of their traditional god-fearing respect and manners. Many succumbed to desperation and pleas, and fervent prayers abound when they had been neglected before his time. At their visionary appointments, his two predecessors needed only their chief with them. It was risky and dangerous to manipulate electricity with multiple people around. While prophets thrived on electricity and lightning, despite its known effects of changing some’s brain chemistry, the ungifted were vulnerable and could be injured or even killed, if nearby and hit. Yet, due to an increase in popularity, security tightened up at the fort and Urane was surrounded on three sides even during his appointments.

Buying a vision from the ruling prophet was not cheap compared to civilian prophets, but the accuracy and specificity of their prophecies, as well as the fame of the ruler, made them the most popular. Traditional rules held that worshippers brought in a well-used cup from their homes, filled it with silver dust—imported from the island of Ilon, said to be the purest land—from one of the ruling prophet’s many fort temples, and knelt in prayer over it at the entrance of the appointment chamber, before the eyes of the patron seeking his prophecy. Prophets received their prayers and worshipping directly. They may sprinkle the sand themselves, or drink herbal tea, with imported crystal ice inside, brought to them as an offering.

Only then was the patron allowed inside, and must bow his head to the prophet as the silver dust was sprinkled on the floor between them. It symbolized an earthly offering to the moon, therefore meshing their worlds and granting access to the prophet who would seek and communicate with the moon. As ordinary mortals were unable to see visions or speak with those on the moon, they could only worship the moon for the prophet’s gift of vision, and use it to work towards their better self or find security.

The traditions, rituals, and small visionary ceremonies may be man made, but multiple testimonies from prophets all over proved the existence of a transcendent being sent as flashing images in all visions—always as brief as one or two seconds. Prophets assumed them to be transcendent automatically for their brevity and unique look, and related to the moon for the moon-shaped accessory on their person. Some described them as a womanly figure, with a human female body shape, wearing a short robe, gown, or dress. She had either pure yellow or silver skin, incredibly long hair, and wore different clothes in various colors, as if each prophet saw her on different days. Over time, some began to claim seeing a feminine man, with long silver hair and silver skin, a flat chest, and a tall, slender body. Propheters, the island’s citizens, named the woman Venness, the Prophetian word for ‘moon goddess’, and the man Vennen, the Prophetian word for ‘moon god’.

Myths, of course, spread by starry-eyed romantics had said both a woman and man existed, and that they were immortal lovers living on one of the moons. For those that believed in the couple version, the man’s name was Vennedin, a play on the words for ‘moon lover’. While the woman symbolized hope and optimism, the man represented glory and change, for he was needed in case the woman’s shared prophecy was a dark and gloomy one. He would be there to help change such a shadowy, foreboding future. Or so the interpreting staff of ruling prophets, who had to believe in the couple version due to sightings of both over the centuries, would have their patrons believe.

Back on the topic of Urane. Only two years into his marriage, Urane experienced sudden visions that were brief, and which caused headaches and heartaches. When he received brief and headache-inducing visions, without the help of electricity or lightning, it meant they involved him. Images and scenes of a strange woman walking flashed across his mind, flitting through without apparent meaning. The feeling and confusion of the experience left him uneasy, but he did not confide in anyone. The second vision showed him sitting on a chair of a familiar bedside, being his own bed, head bowed in something of a lonely pose. That was all; his vision did not blur, his eyes unmoving from the scene of himself sitting there, from where he looked at a high angle. It remained for moments longer before fading, and he returned to concerned gazes of the entire chief staff and servants around him.

“A vision?” Droi, his private advisory chief of many years, inquired, brows furrowed. He had recognized the dazed look on Urane’s face. “You didn’t seem to be electrified.”

Urane lowered his head. “Yes. It is about me, but I don’t understand it.”

He was distraught and baffled. He set down his pen and stared at Droi, sensing the question that was coming.

“What happened?”

“It’s me sitting in a chair, by my own bed. My head was cowed in my hands. I saw nothing else. Nothing!” He sighed. “Why would I not be in my bed instead? Why sit there facing it, unless someone else is in it?”

Droi mumbled, “What if there is? Your wife, or somebody else?” He asked, “How was the mood like? How did you look?”

“Same as usual, casual lounge attire. I seemed…” He waved a hand, searching for a word. “Gloomy. But it was still just the top of my purple head.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.” Droi smiled, touching his shoulder. “You’re not gloomy at all. Let’s not concern ourselves over what we don’t understand. Not until you learn more.”

Urane did not press him for more advice, but he was not reassured. With good reason, because there was another ominous vision the next day. His wife was struggling to sit up in bed, looking thin, frail, and wan, while a woman in a nurse’s uniform rushed to her aid. Her future sickness had to be about her throat disease, which had plagued her since she was young, being both recurrent and incurable. A result of genetics in her family. And she looked worse than ever before: ashen features, drooping eyelids, lost weight, trembling hands, wispy hair.

For weeks, Urane was plagued by undesirable images of his wife—his work activity slipped, his mind was stressed and burdened, his visions blurry or not appearing at all, except for those about himself, his wife, and a strange woman. Him anxious and depressed, throwing pillows and paper and chairs every which way. His wife trying to lift her shaky inkbrush, but failing to sketch anything solid; she had never failed to ink during their married life. Her trying to sip broth through a straw, and wincing in pain as she swallowed.

Gradually, less and less customers requested an appointment, some canceling altogether or not showing up, and a decline in Propheters worshipping traditions and temple visits became noticeable. It was the worst time for so many to stop praying, to stop believing in him or their god, because he needed them now more than ever. That was Droi’s thought. Urane only wallowed away, ruminating over his nightmares. At first, he tried to lavish attention and love on his doomed wife, wanting to make more memories and change their fate while he still could, but he was too anxious and pushy, striving only to irritate her. She was not yet sick. Later he built a wall around himself, to better contain his heart and prepare himself for a life without her, almost not even acknowledging her presence or existence in the fort.

It was not easy to think of life without her when he used to believe they had many years to be together. In truth, he had grown dependent on his feelings of passion to encourage his magic of lightning prophecy, which fueled his confidence and ego all around. Now that it was going the opposite direction, he grew despondent in both power and passion. He was not accustomed to feeling low on magic power, and civilians were not used to their ruling prophet being weak.

However, when Urane took on the mantle of prophet, he had sworn an oath. His chief, and all of the staff who represented him, would never allow him to forget it.

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Footnotes:
[1] The equivalent of a hawk bird on Earth. In the Kingdom of Crystal, they have aqua blue feathers with white streaks and tail ends, and long, skinny feathers. Some of their colors are changed in other islands/countries due to mixed genes. Their eye vision is one of the sharpest and farthest in the bird class.

[2] Money in the form of dollar bills. 100 rolles is about $10.00 in USD currency.