Valen couldn't see anything around him. He called out for his teammates but the darkness had swallowed everything. It was like suddenly, all the life was sucked out of the world and he was alone.
And as he moved about in the void, he realized he couldn't remember where he was or what he was doing. He had been with others and found himself suddenly alone. But the details were becoming fuzzy.
Who had he been with? Why was he there? And where was he to begin with? There was only the darkness and the strange leftover sensation of something clutched in his palm.
Valens breath began to quicken, and the darkness grew hot around him, closing in on all sides. And when the air began to burn, he struggled to breathe. Before he knew what was happening, he was crumbled up in a tight ball, on his back.
Then, like a light from the heavens, a hatch opened. His mother's face, young and irritated, gazed back at him.
"Victoria!" She scolded, turning her face away from him. "You are twelve years old now! You can't keep shoving your siblings into a box!"
"But the game is Grave Robber mother!" She cried out. "We asked him if he wanted to play first!"
"And has he ever played before?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Valens mother pulled him out of the toy box and set him in his sister's bed, proceeding to scold his two older sisters. Then, a voice shattered the silence and squeezed all the breath out of Valen's lungs.
"What is the meaning of this?" The King's voice boomed.
Their father.
Everyone in the room straightened at his presence.
Even at this young age, Valen felt the wild paralysis his aura struck in others. He felt the pure dominion of his fathers energy, and it was devastating.
"The boy is almost a decade old, Vallora," he spoke to the Queen. "At some point he must learn to fight his own battles. That is the moral code of Wildburn and he must learn it well if he is to inherit the throne."
The King of Wildburn spoke to his wife, but his eyes never left Valen's. His face, older than even his mother, was carved in harsh lines, more stress induced than age. His jaw set, and his posture straight and at attention. But Valen couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from his fathers'. Those cold blue eyes that radiated not even a teaspoon of the warmth his mother had.
"Put him back," the King commanded, maintaining eye contact with him.
Vallora's eyes widened, and she whispered, "what?"
The King's gaze never wavered. He did not face his wife when he spoke, nor flinch when he gave the order. He simply stared into Valens eyes and even at just ten, he knew what his father didn't say aloud…
Weakness had no place in Wildburn.
Valen gazed back at his fathers cruel stare and realized he was reliving a memory. He could not remember where he'd been or how old he was. But he knew one thing.
This moment had already passed.
Suddenly, the scene before him dissipated into smoke and darkness, swirling, and mixing into the air around him and above in a violent wind that howled in his ears.
Valen found himself standing on his own in the darkness, the winds jerking him in circles. He tried to find some grasp on reality but every time he thought he saw something in front of him, his mind warped. The smoke attacked him in harsh gusts, biting into him like tiny grains of sand.
He shut his eyes hard, using his arms to brace himself against the wind.
And suddenly, the wind stopped and the world opened for him once more.
Valen found himself gazing into a dinner plate.
His head snapped up, and he looked around the room in a frantic attempt to anchor himself to reality. Across from him sat his sisters and mother. His mother headed the table, directly across from him. On either side of her sat his youngest sister, Vienna and the oldest, Victoria. Further down the table sat Vivian, the second born, Vanessa, the fifth born, and Veruca, the fourth and closest in age to him.
They sat there, at peace, as if they hadn't moved an inch. As if he hadn't just woken up in that spot. And the longer he sat there, gazing at them, Valen couldn't seem to remember where he'd been before the world went dark. Still, something about all of this felt wrong.
He analyzed each of his sisters, but their ages felt right, though he could not remember how old he was. They chattered amongst themselves calmly at the dinner table, as if nothing had happened and he wasn't in a panic.
Veruca glanced at Valen, and shot him a quick grin before she went back to eating. They were the closest of all the siblings. He remembered that.
Valen swallowed his panic, nearly on the verge of calming down, when suddenly —
BOOM!
Adrenaline shot through Valen the moment he heard it.
He'd heard the sound enough to know it by heart.
Canons.
Valen stood, instantly. He dashed toward the window to get a full view of the scene.
And it was madness.
An army without flags was about to breach the castle walls. The bannerless army clearly overwhelmed their own.
Valen had to move. Fast.
"Mother!" He cried, turning back toward the table. "You have to get the girls and go to the cellar!"
But she just sat there, cutting her steak as if she hadn't even heard him. His oldest sister, Victoria, sat beside her and turned her head just slightly. They shared a side glance, mirroring each others' smirk.
Valen stared at them, wide eyed. He didn't understand why they were so calm. He didn't understand why they refused to listen.
"Why are you just sitting there!?" He yelled, approaching the table.
He gripped his younger sister, Veruca, by the shoulders and turned her fast in her chair. She blinked at him, startled, but her demeanor was eerily calm.
Another cannon fired in the distance and within seconds, crashed through the hallway window, just outside the room. Valen could hear the enemies cheering grow louder as they pushed their way through the gates.
"What is wrong with you all!?" He screamed, his eyes pleading with his younger sister. "Why won't you move!?"
Valen dropped to his knees in defeat, his face buried in his hands. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to make them move. He couldn't haul each of them individually to the tunnels beneath the cellar. They would never make it. Choosing who to forcefully take first would be like choosing a favorite.
As his mind spun, Valen's breathing grew ragged and panicked. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to save them. But more than that awful feeling, something more desperate twisted deep within. An urge so selfish and evil that screamed at him, begging him to move.
The urge to leave them behind.
And save himself.
Veruca's startled expression turned into one of serene joy, her full lips thinned in a wide, unhurried smile as she gazed at her brother.
Valen looked up, meeting his sister's gaze. She had grown so much since they were children, though she was the shortest out of all of his adult siblings. Her long black hair was twisted in a long braid that draped across one shoulder. Her eyes were deep shades of brown and green — like the spirit of the earth had kissed her eyes at birth.
"It's because we trust you, Valen," she said, finally.
Valen's heart dropped like bricks into his gut.
"Why would we need to move," Victoria added, "when we have you to protect us?"
He looked around the table, each of his sisters and family members staring at him expectantly, and terrifyingly calm. There was no way he could beat an army single handedly. They believed in him. Stupidly, they trusted him. As if he were some hero and not just someone unluckily enough to be born a Prince.
As he stared at them, he wracked his mind for a way to get them out of that blasted room.
And that's when it hit him.
His father.
He could make them move.
But then, his heart tightened with the memory. Valen could not rely on his father. He remembered the King and the way he lay sickly in bed.
His father was ill.
He had been for some time.
The Kingdom.
His family.
And everyone's lives.
All of it was up to Valen now.
Then, like a malevolent omen, deep-voiced yelling and the incessant sound of pounding on the dining hall doors made its way to Valen's ears. The army had made it and his time was up.
His mother and sisters stood suddenly, their calm facades faltering at the chaos beyond the door.
"You're going to protect us, right?" Vivian, the second born, cried out.
"Stop them, Valen!" Vanessa exclaimed, the fifth born.
As the enemy brought hammers down on his family's door, and with no way out, Valen watched his mother and all of his sisters scramble to the other side of the room. They stared at him, nervous, expectant and hopeful.
They trusted him.
And that trust they placed so wholeheartedly was enough to bring a man to his knees. He turned, a sword mysteriously appearing in his hands.
Where did this come from? He asked himself, gazing at the sword. Wasn't I just eating with my family? When did I pick up a sword?
Valen calmly gazed at the sword in his hands as an axe edge pierced through the wooden double doors.
I was eating dinner but…I don't feel like I've eaten at all.
Then, instant flashes of memory flooded his mind in reverse. The sandy winds that whipped his face. The smoke and darkness. The memory of his childhood. His fear of his father. His fear of being trapped in the box.
They were only slight flashes but it was enough.
This isn't right, he thought, his breath heavy. I wasn't eating I was…
He tried to grasp the memory of before, but all he could remember was the darkness and the feeling of someone else's hand in his. He was gripping something — not a sword, but a hand.
The sounds around him grew louder and more frantic, as if the memory was struggling to keep its grip on his mind. Valen couldn't remember all of it, as the sounds around him began to bend his will.
"Save us Valen!" Veruca cried as an enemy fist broke through the door further.
Valen blinked at the sound of her voice — something in its edge was off.
Of all his sisters, he was closest with Veruca. He remembered that. He wondered why he couldn't remember details but he remembered that. Valen anchored himself on that fact.
We are close…
We are close because…because…
And then another memory flashed in his mind.
Veruca — younger than him and the smallest of his adult siblings — but fierce as a lioness.
Veruca, who stood between him and the hand of their father.
Veruca, with her laugh that sounded like freedom.
Veruca who would rather stand beside him than behind him.
In that moment, realization spread through him. He knew this wasn't real, but another, more haunting realization came to mind.
This might not have been real but he had no idea how to escape. And as savage enemies barred down the door to his home, Valen had no choice but to stand and fight.
He gripped his sword in his hand. As the last pounding hammer came down on the handle, the double doors blasted wide open and Valen stood to protect this illusion before him.
Real or not, he refused to see anything bad happen to his beloved family.