Dance, and dance, and dance, and dance. To be stuck in an eternal dance is to be damned by the gods above and the demons below. To be cursed is to be damned by the gods above and the demons below.

 

Shirong, Shirong Shirong Shirong Shirong.

 

Is this the secret?

 

Ulan loved riddles when he was a kid. He loved finding things out, and he absolutely loved figuring out mysteries, and that was what thrilled him in these tales he read. He always wanted to find out what was going on behind the scenes, and he also wanted to figure it out on his own.

 

This was something where he wished the answer would’ve just been handed to him like knights are given swords the day they are appointed their position. It would’ve made it so much easier.

 

The Tale of The Dancer and His Knight. Why didn’t it click before? Why did it just graze his mind? Why was Ulan so dense  at that moment? He’s always been able to figure out mysteries in short amounts of time. So why, why was it today that made it take so long?

 

Why didn’t it click the moment he found out Shirong was a dancer, and Shohei a knight?

 

It was a love story of star-crossed lovers, played in ballad form that was popular in Elyve that made its way over to the Xevia region.

 

Ulan knew why he felt that Shohei’s name was familiar, and not just because they belonged to the same Battalion.

 

It was because he subconsciously remembered hearing Shohei’s name in the ballad as it played.

 

Ulan felt so euphoric that he finally figured out the mysteries plaguing his mind.

 

Yet, this was the time he shouldn’t be euphoric. If Shirong’s birthday was in 4 days, that meant that they had little time left.

 

So many mysteries.

 

Ulan still wanted to figure out the similarities of the two other tales of Elyve and Cecilia. Maybe they’d have some similarities, but now he wanted to know if Shirong and Shohei’s story had any similarities with the other two.

 

“Shirong!”

 

Ulan stopped in his tracks, hearing Shohei’s voice. He let out the breath he was holding, and followed where he had heard the voice. Ulan ran down the hallways and turned a few corners.

 

Yet when he came into view, he wasn’t expecting to see Erlat there as well.

 

“Shohei!” Ulan spoke up, and quickly found his place beside Shohei, “What happened? Is he alright?”

 

Right in front of him lay the scene of Shirong laying down, seemingly unconscious, with Erlat holding her hand out to prevent anyone else from coming any closer. Shohei was hesitantly keeping his distance, and his eyes seemed to be fixating on Shirong in its entirety.

 

4 days. In 4 days, it’ll be his 18th birthday.

 

In 4 days will be the day that Shirong…

 

Ulan didn’t want to think about it.

 

“Your highness,” Shohei replied, taking a few glances back at Shirong before looking towards Ulan fully.

 

With that, Erlat was checking Shirong’s pulses and for any injuries.

 

“I… I don’t know what happened to him.”

 

Ulan nodded.

 

Suddenly, Erlat spoke up, “There’s something wrong with his internal structure. Can… is it okay if I take him back to the Medical Ward?”

 

Seeing Shirong completely unconscious and in this state, Ulan was curious. He wasn’t any medical professional, but… this just added another mystery to solve right after solving one.

 

He had so many things he was wondering about all at the same time.

 

Some were more important than others. Despite this case being the last one to pop up, it was one of the more serious ones.

 

Shirong…

 

“Please,” Shohei spoke softly, almost like he was pleading, “whatever it takes. Please…”

 

Ulan had never heard Shohei so distraught.

 

And looking at Shohei, he noticed how the two of them were at eye level. Three years ago, Ulan had been slightly shorter. Shohei definitely wasn’t short either, yet it still felt weird to be looking at someone at eye level when the last time you saw them was when you had to look up to actually look them in the eyes.

 

Ulan had changed, but so had everyone else.

 

He was three years behind.

 

Ulan simply turned his head down.

 

Just a simple height change had reminded him that he had changed, and everyone else has changed. Engel changed, Shohei changed, his mother… his mother changed.

 

The only thing that hasn’t changed was the past.

 

The only thing that can be preserved were events that already happened.

 

It was simply the rule of life; once it was done it couldn’t be changed. The only thing that can be changed is the future, but no one knows what the events in the future were.

 

Therefore, one could only live in the present.

 

Erlat carefully did a second check upon Shirong’s unconscious body, before standing up. “One of you stay behind, and the other come with me to get a stretcher from the ward.”

 

Ulan nodded, and Shohei seemed hesitant.

 

Yet, he simply kneeled down next to Shirong. “I’ll stay with him.”

 

“Alright,” Erlat nodded, looking behind Ulan, “I hope your highness doesn’t mind helping me out?”

 

Ulan shook his head. “Not at all. If I don’t care about others, what kind of prince am I?”

 

What a contradictory statement.

 

Ulan had been selfish days prior. He had been only thinking of himself, and he could care less about others.

 

Simply, because everything was ruined. His whole life was in disarray. Ulan thought that nothing could save him from the tortuous existence of life he had, unable to escape.

 

But Engel appeared again.

 

Engel, Engel. Out of all people, Engel.

 

Something.

 

Something, something had to be figured out about that bastard.

 

I’ll be the one to do so.

 

***

 

“Great news! Shirong is recovering nicely!”

 

Those six words striked joy in Shohei’s heart, and what once a worried exterior suddenly became a beaming smile.

 

Ulan nodded with a smile. 

 

“Can I see him?” Shohei asked almost immediately, and almost looked like a beaming puppy.

 

Erlat chuckled softly, “Of course you can. Keep the questions to a minimum though.”

 

Shohei said nothing, only quickly entering the door to the room Shirong was in and Ulan swore he practically broke down in tears.

 

Though, Ulan couldn’t blame him.

 

I’d be the same.

 

The more Ulan thought, the more he realized he was sympathizing more with others instead of thinking of just himself.

 

Days ago, Ulan would have been different.

 

But that was the past, and today can be changed. The only thing that can be changed is the present, and what happens in the present affects the future.

 

Shirong… Shirong…

 

Ulan shook his head.

 

“Your highness,” Erlat spoke softly, standing right next to Ulan.

 

Ulan simply turned his head. “Mn?”

 

There was a silent pause for a moment, the two of them staring at each other.

 

Ulan was able to get a look at Erlat’s own features too.

 

She was clearly of Xevian descent, having tan skin and long black hair that was tied up with a white hairpiece tying it into a ponytail. Erlat was on the shorter side too, and wore light leather robes with a satchel crossbody full of different medicinal herbs that Ulan recognized from when they first met.

 

“Sorry,” Erlat said with a soft smile, “There was this note left for you.”

 

Ulan was confused, until Erlat handed him a folded up piece of paper.

 

“I found it sticking out of Shirong’s sleeve,” Erlat ended her speech there, politely handing the note with both hands to Ulan.

 

Confusion.

 

Utter confusion.

 

Curiosity.

 

Nevertheless, Ulan opened up the note to read its contents. Once it was fully opened, he looked around to make sure nobody was looking at him.

 

His mother and Shohei were inside the room Shirong was laying in, while Erlat had begun to monitor other patients and direct other physicians on where they need to be and what they need to do.

 

Ulan simply found a place away from peering eyes in the room, and started reading.

 

Schatz, I am writing this to tell you that you won’t be seeing me for two more days. Today is the 10th day of the second month, so I will see you on the 12th. This is the day Cecilia challenged Xevia for a duel. I know you’re a great fighter and great commander, so I’ll be disappointed if you lose.

I just want to tell you that your main enemy will be the commander for Cecilia’s army. He’ll be the one who first raises Cecilia’s Sunset Flag. His name is Sicily, but I know him as Sil… your only luck to defeat him is brute forcing your way through it. None of your attacks will work on him. I’ve tried, and no magic abilities hurt him. This is the same for Bituin as well. No magic ability, no matter how strong, will hurt them. They are immune to the magic of your realm.

Trust me.

Trust me, Schatz.

I’ll be there. I’ll be there to finish him off. I’ll be there to help.

Please, Schatz, don’t get hurt while I’m away, okay?

I’ll arrive. I’ll protect you when I do.

 

Just don’t die. If, you even can die.

 

***

 

Ulan walked to his room, holding the note in his hand and clutching on the linen cloak he wore over his head. It was originally Engel’s, and it was the one Engel wore when he first saw him.

 

What a fucking bastard. What an absolute asshole.

 

“What the hell is wrong with him?!” Ulan hissed, closing the door behind him and roughly placing the note on his desk. “I helped him, I fucking helped him, and he runs off, leaving an injured Shirong?!”

 

What a bastard!

 

Ulan couldn’t believe it. He should have never saved Engel. He should have never, never gone back to rescue him.

 

He hated. Hated so much. He hated how his kind act was taken advantage of.

 

Ulan angrily picked up the note again, rereading it again.

 

I’ll arrive. I’ll protect you when I do.

 

I’ll arrive…

 

…I’ll protect you when I do.

 

Rereading that line, Ulan’s blood was boiling. “‘Just don’t die. If, you even can die.’ Fucking b–!”

 

Ulan stopped mid sentence, his eyes catching something new he didn’t see before.

 

A drawing. A fucking small drawing at that. Yet, Ulan saw it. He stood up, picked the letter up, and squinted his eyes.

 

“What the fuck…” Ulan muttered under his breath. He didn’t know what this symbol was. No, not even what it was for. He scoffed. “Sending me secret messages I don’t even fucking know. Idiot. Bastard. Fucking asshole.”

 

Next to that image was a small text. Ulan couldn’t read it no matter how much he squinted, so he got up, and walked towards one of the shelves in his room.

 

“Tch,” Ulan clicked his tongue as he reached up and grabbed a monocle, taking the cloth encased next to it to clean the monocle off as well, “This thing hasn’t been touched for three years…”

 

Ulan noticed the fact he’s changed and that he’s older now. Once again, he noticed the change in how far he had to reach up.

 

He was changing; everyone was changing. Everyone and everything. Nothing was the same anymore.

 

Still, Ulan cleaned off the monocle and took the letter into his hands again, fixing the monocle onto his left eye.

 

There, he read the message.

 

Wrath; Sil.

 

Sil.

 

Sil, Sicily, Sil, Sicily. Ulan simply let out a sigh.

 

The image next to the two words was an image of a skull, and flames of fire behind it. 

 

Ulan assumed the fire was symbolic of rage, or, wrath.

 

Wrath.

 

Ulan chuckled softly. “This ‘Sil’... Engel, do you want to hinder me or do you want to help me?”

 

He genuinely had no idea.

 

Ulan sighed as he placed the letter down on his desk, furrowing his eyebrows.

 

He walked over to his shelf, and took out two books from it.

 

Titled: Cecilia’s Dining Hall and Elyve’s Lost Voice.

 

Doing this, Ulan placed them onto his desk next to the letter.

 

“I think it’s time we do some searching, right?”

 

***

 

Ulan had spent around three hours skimming and reading these two tales again. Yet, he was only able to find one significant similarity, which wasn’t even a part of the story.

 

It was the same skull on the letter Engel had given him, except they were different.

 

The skull on the letter depicted fire behind the skull, but the skull inside the last page of Cecilia’s Dining Hall depicted a skull surrounded by drinking bottles and piles of food. It was befitting of the story: Ulan enjoyed reading this actual story from around two thousand years ago again.

 

The skull on Elyve’s Lost Voice was different as well, the skull being surrounded by hearts. Ulan hated that tale, and he couldn’t believe something like that was a real event.

 

“Poor Zhilan,” Ulan muttered under his breath as he looked down at the cover of the book. It was clearly old, and it was a translation from the Elyven language to the common spoken language, so some details might have been changed.

 

The characters— no, people, in these tales depicted something, but Ulan knew one thing.

 

Sicily, Cecilia’s Commander, was a demon.

 

Alice, of Cecilia’s Dining Hall, was a demon.

 

Baihu, of Elyve’s Lost Voice, was also a demon.

 

They all portrayed negative emotions or acts.

 

Wrath; Sil.

 

The only reason he could put this together was because of Engel’s letter.

 

Ulan sneered, “Engel, you’re such an asshole but also such a great help.”

 

Negative emotions, acts, or thoughts. That’s what these three had in common. What Ulan couldn’t piece together was the negative connotation that Bituin represented.

 

She faked her illness, but Ulan had no idea why. He didn’t know what the motive was, nor did he have any idea what these seven demons Engel mentioned represent. He knew three, but he didn’t know the other four.

 

Cecilia’s Dining Hall was focused more on the story of Alice and Hortensia. Hortensia was Alice’s servant, and was in charge of serving Alice’s meals.

 

Elyve’s Lost Voice on the other hand was focused on the story following Zhilan and Baihu. Zhilan was a mute brothel worker, and the rest… Ulan didn’t want to talk about it

 

Though, really, wouldn’t it be better to read those tales on someone's own time?

 

Tales are meant to tell a story, with made up characters or maybe with real people with real events. That’s what these tales are.

 

Real events with real people, written down to preserve for thousands of more years. Ulan had these copies of the books for years, and this wasn’t his first time rereading these stories.

 

At least, in this world they are.

 

By rereading the stories, Ulan uncovered messages in the images and text that he had not seen beforehand.

 

And how it fascinated Ulan’s curious eyes to know these hidden details he wouldn’t have known about before if he hadn’t reread the story, looking for all these details.

 

Yet, he still remembered what would happen two days from now. Cecilia and Xevia’s first battle with each other in a millenium.

 

He sighed, looking up at his ceiling almost like he was lost in thought, longing.

 

“If I die today, then my journey stops.”

 

Ulan simply spoke to himself, and he smiled slightly.

 

Like, he had just figured out something he’d been trying to learn for the past week.

 

He felt overjoyed. Out of this world. As if he transcended, he’d be disappointed.

 

“If my journey stops, then so does yours,” Ulan said once more, looking back down, and his eyes caught the note.

 

Engel.

 

There’s a reason for everything to exist and for everything to happen.

 

If there's a reason, then there is a purpose.

 

If there’s a reason he’s still alive, he still serves a purpose.

 

Though, Ulan started laughing to himself.

 

“Who am I kidding?”

 

A hand swiped to grab the paper quickly, clenching tightly at it.

 

“There's a reason. Don’t you hide it from me.”

 

An urge to throw this letter and burn it entered Ulan’s thoughts.

 

It wasn’t fair.

 

Why would it be fair?

 

Nothing has been fair. Nothing at all. Nothing, nothing at all has been fair.

 

It’s not fair, not fair, not fair.

 

Why?

 

Why?

 

If everything happens for a reason, then what was his reason?!

 

What was the reason he had to suffer for so long?!

 

It just wasn’t fair.

 

It isn’t fair.

 

Ulan hated Engel, that was a given fact. Engel crushed his life right in front of Ulan, all for Ulan to see.

 

How his life was easily shattered in a matter of seconds.

 

Yet, Engel did not hate Ulan.

 

It didn’t make sense. If Engel didn’t hate the Crown Prince, why would he kill and frame it all on Ulan, making him fall to the lowest of the low?

 

Something is in the shadows.

 

Ulan stood up, and went to open his curtain to look outside, only to see a glimpse of white hair running off into the endless Xevian forest.

 

Ulan’s eyes narrowed, because the figure stopped in its tracks for a moment to look straight up at him.

 

What greeted Ulan was a smile, but it was different this time.

 

This smile was soft, and genuine.