The King slowly tapped his fingers at his desk deep within his castle—a place he usually relaxed with wine in the past, even inviting his favorite hidden blade to gossip, knowing all was safe in her presence.
That was a more pleasant memory, one he often relived alongside his regrets of how he treated his son and the other...
Scanning the letters once more, he tired of reading them and tossed them to the side, rubbing his eyes.
How did so many know about him and the fairies? That was a hidden past he thought long buried.
Yet three different people wrote him about his involvement. Discreetly, not directly accusing, but still addressed in such a way as if he had the answers and they were not openly challenging him but still saying: we know. It's your fault. Now fix it.
One letter was Tanya's his former hidden blade. Even with her memories still lost, she knew somewhat about what he did—vaguely, but enough. Her letter was kind, pleading to help the fairies' plight.
Before the memory loss, Tanya had known the full truth. She did not approve, and he always secretly believed it was part of what pushed her further away from him. Now she'd forgotten the details, forgotten her own involvement, but some part of her still knew. Still cared enough to ask him to make it right.
He stared at her signature, then carefully smoothed the letter he'd crumpled in his fist.
The other two letters were more formal. One from an old adventuring party member he'd helped settle in a new village—now a mayor seeking help for his nephew. The other letter was from the blessed child, Wolf, that the other two letters mentioned beside the fairies and the main culpirt in trying to undo his past mistake..
He was the master alchemist that ended the weakness curse his own court alchemists had failed for years to stop. And blessed with balance mana, all thought the weakest power.
The King read Wolf's letter again.
"The fairies came to me asking for help. They say I'm their Elder, though I don't understand why. They're dying, and I don't know how to save them. I'm told you might have information about their nature. Anything you could share would help."
No accusations. No demands. Just a plea for help from someone trying to save the very beings the King had helped destroy.
He reached for his quill, preparing to write dismissive replies. His past would remain buried with his shame. That was that.
But the edge hovered over the papper refusing to move.
The fairies lived.
That shouldn't be possible… Every report, every search over the years—nothing.
And now three sources claimed they'd returned at once. Trusting humans to save them.when it was a human that killed them…
The quill trembled in his hand.
He set it down and reached instead for the wine.
*****
The prince fidgeted at the table as a feast was presented—the same overdone display of wealth he was accustomed to. The smells of the food were divine, but right now he had no appetite. He wanted answers.
He watched the head of the table where his father sat beside his mother—a rare sight. They were happily gossiping while servants set fresh plates, trying to remain invisible as they danced around the king and queen talking.
Normally, such family dinners were rare. His father handled military affairs and major decisions in solitude or brief formal meals. His mother strengthened ties and directed influence through her own circles. The prince shadowed both as training, but rarely did they all sit together like this.
Rylan had planned to confront his father in the study, or between his trade talks, and seek to speak in private. But halfway to the study, a servant had stopped him—he was being summoned to a rare family dinner. The King was already at dinner with the Queen, a family event to bond over.
So he waited to confront his father and sat at the feast he cared little for, pushing food around his plate, trying not to think about Leena's letter folded in his pocket while his mother made small talk over roasted pheasant.
His mother finally noticed his distracted swirling of food when he did not reply to her question—one he did not hear asked. "Rylan, dear, you've barely touched your meal. Are you unwell?"
"Just thinking, Mother."
"About what, dear? The galleon contract? It is a minor affair, I assure you."
Blinking, he recalled that was about setting up a new shop or some trade deal he wasn't too sure about. He shook his head as he glanced at his father, who was also half-listening, seeming to enjoy his meal.
"No, Mother. I was thinking about how to help a friend."
The King's knife paused against his plate. Just for a moment.
Everyone knew the prince had trouble making friends, so it was odd he would mention one here. But the mother seemed to smile and see it as good fortune and proof her child was growing into a fine man, where the father saw it as a ill-timed omen.
Rylan set down his fork, only half-noticing their reaction as he nervously addressed his own concern. "Father, I wish to speak with you. It's about how to help my friend."
"Speak freely, son. Nothing you say here will be repeated unless you fear gossip from your mother." The king had a bit of mirth in his voice as the queen slapped him gently, happy the family was well.
Rylan breathed in and out slowly but spoke clearly. "My friend's village has fairies return, and her brother is working on a solution, but they need help. The letter I recivced says you can help, and I want to help them."
His mother looked between them, her smile fading. "Fairies? I thought they were extinct. No one's seen them in ages, not since I was a child. I think I saw one once..."
"I agree, Mother. I assumed they were gone and never thought twice about it, so I was surprised when my friend responded in a way that suggested Father knew something, but I don't know how." Rylan said softly, still watching his father. He went on: "As I said, my friend's brother is trying to save them. He was told you might have information that could help."
"Madam, I heard the rumors but have not been able to verify it. There is a town, supposedly, where they glow like blue fireflies," one of the nearby servants interrupted the talk to assure the queen the rumors held some truth.
The Queen was overjoyed at the idea they could be getting fairies again. She looked between her husband and son, surprised they did not share her joy, and sensing tension. The king sighed, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and stood.
"Very well, son. In my study."
The king walked over to the queen and gently kissed her cheek, assuring her the meeting would be informal and he just wanted to spend some time with his son since they'd all been so busy. He promised to make time for her later.
The queen was not happy the meal was suddenly cut short, but was used to these things happening and forcing things to end abrupt and went to attend her own needs, knowing royal duty always required sacrifices.
The study door closed behind the king and his son with a heavy finality. The King moved to his desk, where the three letters still lay scattered. He didn't sit. Instead, he reached to a side shelf near the desk, opened a bottle of rare wine, and poured. He turned to face his son, tilted the glass toward the prince, who shook his head. So the king drank alone, watching his son.
The prince was always used to his father being aloof. The stern face felt off to see as his father spoke calmly but clearly.
"How did you hear about the fairies?"
Rylan pulled Leena's letter from his pocket. “As I said ealier father. The friend I mentioned before wrote to me. Asking for help."
"The hero from the village." The king said slowly, eyes never wavering from his son. "The one you... had difficulties with."
Heat crept up Rylan's neck. "Yes... I hoped to work things out with her, so I wrote her and she wrote back." Rylan was unsure how to explain how that made her a friend, but figured it was getting off topic and focused on his task. "Her brother is the alchemist—Wolf. The fairies came to him seeking help, and he doesn't know how to help them."
"And she thought I would?" The king's voice was more distant and cold—a side of his father he'd never known.
"She heard rumors. And I trust her honor and insight." Rylan met his father's gaze. "That you're involved and you did something with fairies. Years ago."
The King was quiet for a long moment, studying his son. "Bold of you to accuse your father with no proof—nothing but a letter, and a random person word, whom, was not thier.”
The prince lowered his head, unsure what to say, and jerked in surprise when his father spoke once more. "Why do you care, even if it was true?"
"Because she asked me to help."
"That's not a worthy answer. You could have ignored her letter. Written back saying you knew nothing. Why risk the kingdom and your father for something that could be nothing but slander—or worse, something that ends in worse things?"
Rylan took a breath. "Because I want to prove I'm worthy of her trust. Because I failed her before by demanding, and this is my chance to make it right. Because..." He hesitated. "Because even if you did do something, I believe you would want to redeem yourself. Like me."
Something flickered in his father's expression. Not quite approval. Maybe... understanding.
"How far are you willing to go for that truth, son?"
The question hung heavy in the air. Rylan heard the warning beneath it—the implication that some truths carried weight that could crush you.
"As far as I must," he said quietly. "You trained me for war, and I doubt this truth would lead to that."
The King turned away, moving to the window. "So you'd pursue that truth even if it destroys our family? Even if it threatens this kingdom?"
Rylan needed time to find his voice as his father stared beyond, outside. "Father, what—"
"Answer the question."
He thought of Leena's letter. The fairies trusting Wolf. The desperation in his friend's plea for help. And that secret...
"I would do what's right," he said finally. "Whatever the cost. The... same I'm sure you expect of me."
The King laughed—a bitter, hollow sound. "What's right. That's what I thought I was doing, too, son. When I made a weapon of you and her..."
The King turned back to face him. "You want to know what I did with the fairies? Fine. But first, you need to understand I did not know then what I know now."
"Meaning?"
"Not all dungeons, but a few—the old dungeons—had old texts of scholars seeking to remember the past and record the world before the gods reset everything."
He paused, swirling his wine. "Magic was unbound. Magic levels did not exist. All had power—human and beast alike."
"Yet with that power, son, the beastkin warred with us and each other. It was only in time, and many tragedies later, that we united against a greater threat."
"True, this is old text, and even my father's time knew little of this other than what was written. But having those beastkin on our border, with other nations having their own ancient texts—everyone knew that at one time, blood was shed. And it could happen again."
"So with that knowledge, I did what I had to, to make my own weapon. And I found the answer with the fairies."
The king spoke softly as the prince listened. "I had them hunted—pure mana things, I thought. We drained them. Killed all we found to do what we must to make a secret weapon." The words came flat, emotionless. "I thought I was protecting the kingdom from a potential war with beastkin, or with ancient monsters, with anyone who might threaten us. The fairies, I assumed at the time. were pure mana—a resource. So I used them."
"They always seemed to respawn at first. Always more to hunt, till there wasn't."
Rylan felt lost. He'd never seen the fairies, but he did not think they'd been mindless things worth hunting for power. The gods did not make such things outside dungeons. He frowned, watching his father.
"Father, what was this secret weapon? How come you never told me?"
The king smiled with no warmth. "You, son, were the weapon. Or at least the first of them."
"..." Rylan watched but had no words as his father explained slowly his story.
"I believed they were just mana sprites—as I said before, just something born of the land. Constructs that would reform like monsters do in dungeons. I was wrong." The King's voice cracked slightly. "By the time I learned to care they were real—sentient, aware—it was too late. The second project was already done. The second weapon was already created. And the faires were gone.”
Rylan watched his father, lost and confused. His story made no sense and seemed to jump around.
"You said I was the weapon made by them? Yet there was a second?" Rylan sank into a chair, his legs suddenly weak. "How many did you... and how was I used?"
"Enough of them that I thought they were all gone. Extinct." The King gestured at the letters on his desk. "That's why these letters bewildered me. They shouldn't exist anymore. My actions made certain of that."
"Made certain—" Anger flared in Rylan's chest. "You deliberately hunted a magical race to extinction? And you never answered what you did to me."
The King set down his glass and met his son's eyes. "You were born with Level 3 water magic. Respectable, but not exceptional. Not enough to guarantee your survival if war came." His voice grew quieter. "So I... improved you."
"Improved?" Rylan's voice was hollow.
"Fairy mana. Small doses. Fed to you over years when you were young—you probably don't remember. You were so small." The King gestured vaguely. "It raised you to Level 4. Made you stronger. Gave you a better chance."
Rylan stared at his hands. Every achievement. Every victory. Every moment of pride in his Level 4 water magic—all of it built on the deaths of beings he'd never known existed.
"How many?" His voice cracked.
"For you? A dozen, maybe less. Spread over years—"
"A dozen." Rylan laughed bitterly, the sound broken. "A dozen lives. Just to make me a little stronger."
"You were my son. I would have used a hundred more if it meant keeping you alive."
"But I didn't ask for that!" The words burst out before he could stop them. "I never asked you to kill for me!"
The King's expression hardened. "No. You were a child. But I'm a king. And a father. I did what I believed I had to do. For you. Fr the kingdom”
Rylan sank back into the chair, head in his hands. "Everything I am... it's built on their deaths."
"No." The King's voice was firm. "You made yourself who you are. The power I gave you was just a foundation. What you built on it—that's yours."
But Rylan wasn't sure he believed that anymore.
The silence stretched between them before the King continued. "It was distilling them as mana—it enhanced you, raised your water mana power beyond Level 3. Yet I feared you'd need more, and I did not wish to risk you in time. So I made the other with even more power."
The king watched the prince's face of disbelief as he returned to the letters.
"I did it for your future! This kingdom! I told you I read the old texts—the eons of wars with monsters and beastkin. They've stayed peaceful for years now, yes, but at any time their old ways, or ancient monsters, could return. There could always be a war. I prepared for that."
"Why not trust, Father?"
"I do now," the king said, casually pouring more wine. "This was a past deed I've done. With you, I now tread lightly. Yet then, I tried to forge a weapon and it worked. I am proud of that."
Rylan watched his father as he went on. "But I regretted I used my son as an experiment to forge the weapon. So I made a second, deadlier weapon as a fail-safe, as I needed one to be more powerful than you. So powerful nobody could make you fight or hurt you—that was my desire. That was also my fatal mistake, as it just ended up with weapons made for war, and no war."
The king shook his head as he related the tale. "Yet as the years passed with blades waiting for the beasts to come, it was just me that was the beast."
"If you did change," Rylan said carefully, watching his father, "and regret the man you were, Father, then prove it by helping. We can avoid more misunderstanding by trusting people versus demanding or assuming all wish to harm us."
"You sound very certain of that." The king said, mildly amused, proud his son became so bold versus being meek and doing what he was told.
"I am. Because I learned from my own mistakes." Rylan thought of Leena, of the letter in his pocket. "Hiding your failures doesn't make them go away, Father. It just makes them fester. But owning them? Trying to fix them? That's how you earn trust back and avoid wars instead of starting them."
The prince waited before sighing and speaking more since his father said nothing, just watching. "Father, maybe that's why the beastkin you fear chose peace. They knew where that power would lead, even as they were blessed with it."
The King was quiet for a long time. Then he moved to his desk and pulled out a worn journal—old, stained, filled with notes in cramped handwriting.
"This is everything I learned during the project from my alchemist. And about the fairies. It a journal of the notes from then.” He held it out. "If your friend truly needs you... this might help."
Rylan took the journal carefully, unsure if he really understood. "Are you sure you want to give this to me? You know who I will give it to."
"You're right. About the truth coming out eventually." The King's smile was sad. "And I've spent years trying to bury my past. Maybe... maybe it's time I tried to fix it instead."
"Thank you, Father. I will remain discreet and ask them to do the same. Even if word spreads to the beastkin, I'm sure they will listen and understand."
"Don't thank me yet, son. We don't know how this will end." The King studied his son—really looked at him, maybe for the first time in years. "You've changed, son. The boy you were not long ago wouldn't have cared about any of this."
"I wanted to change... to be better, Father. That's why."
A ghost of a smile. "Learned from your friend, I presume? She must be quite remarkable."
"She is." Rylan tucked the journal carefully into his coat. "I'm going to write to her tonight. Tell her what I've learned before sending it and the journal tommorw. And Father?"
"Yes?"
"Whatever happens... I'll make sure she knows you helped. That you tried to make it right."
The King shook his head. "I made my choice. I don't regret that. I just wish I chose better. I kept preparing for an end that would be war instead of being like the beastkin and seeking peace."
"Maybe. But at least you're trying to be better." Rylan moved toward the door, then paused. "For what it's worth... I still believe in you."
"Just... try to do better than I did," the king said in a low voice, not wishing to see his son look upon him.
"I will. I promise."
It was a finality and a new beginning for Rylan. He felt hope, but at the same time, something remained unanswered. "Father, you said the second project—a second weapon? But I never heard what it was...?"
"Who it was," the king replied calmly.
"Who?" Rylan repeated, unsure.
"Yes. Who. She was an orphan, no name. The other weapon. She's treated well, I assure you—I'm not that merciless. But still, she's trapped. Her power is too much for anything less than keeping her... contained."
Rylan did not want to end it there, but he felt that was a matter for a later time. For now, he needed to get this information to Leena and hopefully it ended there, as he could later work out who this second weapon was.
*****
Later, alone in his room, the prince worked to finally remove the servants that noticed the shift in his mood, giving them pause and an endless desire to ease his burden. Even Yarla hid among the shadows, wishing to help, till he assured them it was a matter with a friend he needed to address and was ill-equipped at handling it.
That was the trick they finally bought, all assuming it was melodrama from an anxiety-filled prince. As he was now alone to write the letter and examine the book to mail with it.
The book was cruel—not in its making, but in how detached it handled the process. Reading it, he could see how they were seen as constructs, and being made of pure mana did make it easier to dismiss their existence.
He did not agree, but could see if you were willfully ignorant enough, it could work.
Section Four, Test 23:
The breaking down of subjects remains easy. Distilling the mana remains effortless. The issue is applying it to the new body.
Section Seven, Test 3:
Small doses of applied mana enhance the user's capacity. Caution if using too much.
The prince kept skimming, hoping to glean something concrete versus just a "how to kill and use fairies" book.
Section Nineteen, Theory Three:
Subjects once in abundance appear more rare. Believe their birth is tied to land, but cannot reproduce result.
Section Nineteen, Theory Seven:
Fairy shells exist among the subjects, yet unknown why. Tests show them having mana but no apparent worth. Futher testing were handled by another and went nowhere,
No matter what he read, it was all gibberish and magical theories, or how they applied the mana stolen to subjects. Flipping to near the end of the book was more a desperate thing than believing he'd get an answer.
Section Forty: Closing Thoughts
We were wrong about the fairies. I regret my part in these experiments. I sought mana as payment, power as reward. After what I helped create, I want no payment beyond my simple shop.
They never spoke, no matter how many we processed. So it was a surprise when they finally did.
I don't think they feel pain the same way we do. Or maybe they were too traumatized by what we'd done to react until the end.
Subject Two became unstable near the remaining fairies. The event happened too quickly to document properly. She stabilized afterward, but not in any way we intended. She became a shell for endless power. A weapon of lightning.
The rest of the page was torn out. Whatever Tommy had written next, he'd removed before leaving the project.
And that was it. It ended abruptly and spoke a little of the second weapon—the orphan—but nothing more.
The prince hoped Wolf was smarter than him and could handle reading it for more answers. If not, this was just a dark confession that his family was crueler than he knew.
He penned a letter to Leena, hoping for the best.
Hero Leena,
I hope this letter finds you well, though I fear the news I bring will not.
I spoke with my father. What I learned... I cannot justify. The book I'm sending contains his research on fairies—how they work, some stuff about shells, also contains truths I wish I'd never read.
My family hunted them. Drained them. Used them to create weapons. One of those weapons was me—I was enhanced to Level 4 through their mana. The other still lives here, trapped by power she never asked for.
I'm sending everything my father has. I cannot undo what was done, but perhaps Wolf can use this knowledge to save what's left.
I understand if you wish to end our correspondence. I would not blame you. But please—tell your brother I'm sorry we laid this burden on him. And that I hope this helps.
Whatever happens, I'll try to do better than those who came before me.
— Rylan
He wasn't sure how it would end, but at least he was on a path to making it right.
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It was a restless sleep, and the prince awoke early. None were surprised to see him wandering so early, as he had a habit of liking to train at random times due to needing less sleep.
What did surprise them was when he spoke, seeking information about the hidden weapon. Most looked confused, unsure what he was saying, till Yarla formed from the shadows and assured them she would handle the prince's request.
The prince asked if she knew about the orphan, and Yarla confessed she knew of her but not personally, beyond knowing she was well cared for and allowed her own small section to live in.
When the prince pressed, she relented easily enough, though cautioning him to be mindful of what he said. Regardless of how she looked, she was still a weapon.
The prince expected to be led deep underground into the darkest corner, hiding their shame. He was surprised when they entered the back courtyard—a place he'd trained countless times as a youth and a grown man.
Among the back wall, there was a small section. He'd assumed it was a guard tower and maybe a barracks, yet when they entered, it was more a little home?
The place was nearly barren save for random decorations—a small kitchen, living room, and stairs leading up to the tower and balcony he'd seen. He assumed that may be her room.
From where he stood at the base of the stairs, he could glimpse the upper room. Shelves and shelves of books. More books than furniture.
"Are you well? Can you meet us here? If not, we can return later since it a bit ealry.” Yarla spoke to the air, near the stairs upwards the prince felt bad as they had just barged in. And ealry in morning
Yarla saw the discomfort in the prince and smiled to assure him before speaking. "She is a weapon, Prince, and is used to servants being near, like you. We promised her privacy with the tower as long as she accepts we keep an eye on her and may call her anytime.”
The prince nodded slightly, still not liking it, when he heard a low voice from above. "I'll be there. One moment."
Slowly descending the stairs was a tall, slender girl—maybe sixteen—with long silver hair that seemed to shimmer with contained energy. Her eyes glowed faintly with mana, like power barely held in check. She wore a simple silk robe, thin and practical, but what drew Rylan's attention were the restraints.
Twin bracers on her wrists, thick and engraved with earth mana gems that pulsed with a soft green light. The gems were spinning—slowly, almost hypnotically, humming with quiet energy. Matching anklets on her feet did the same.
She noticed his stare and glanced down at them, almost self-conscious.
She watched the prince and nodded as he did the same.
"What are those bracers for?" Rylan asked, unable to help himself. "Are they... chains in disguise?"
The girl looked confused, almost hurt by the suggestion. Yarla answered before she could. "No, my lord. They help control her power. Without them, even a small surge could level a city block. She needs them to manage the flow."
The prince stared, then laughed nervously, assuming a joke was told. But watching their expressions—the girl's quiet acceptance, Yarla's seriousness—he realized they were not joking at all. "You're serious?"
"Weapon, my lord. Remember?"
The girl flinched slightly at the word—just a tiny recoil, a brief tightening around her glowing eyes—but her voice was steady when she spoke.
"They help me release the power safely. Slowly. So it doesn't build up too much." She held up her wrist, and the gems spun slightly faster. Tiny sparks danced between the stones, crackling softly before dissipating into the air. "I've gotten used to them. They're not so bad."
Not so bad. Rylan looked at the spinning gems, the faint glow in her eyes that never dimmed, the isolated tower.
"And you're well cared for?" he asked, though part of him feared the answer.
Before Yarla could answer, the girl nodded. "As long as I'm here when they need me, I can live freely. I have my books, my space. It's... peaceful."
Peaceful. Alone in a tower with only books for company, bracers constantly spinning to bleed off power she never asked for, waiting to be called upon like a tool in storage.
"I see," Rylan said quietly. Then, before he could stop himself: "Do those also help you move? The ones on your ankles?"
A small, shy smile crossed her face—the first real expression he'd seen from her. "They do. When I need to."
"Can you show me?"
She hesitated, glancing at Yarla, who nodded permission.
Then she moved.
Not walked—moved. A blur of motion that left afterimages of light trailing behind her. She was at the window, then back beside Yarla, as if she'd never left. The anklets spun faster, sparks dancing around her feet as they bled off the excess energy from the movement.
"Lightning fast," Yarla said dryly. "Quite literal in her case."
The girl looked embarrassed by the display, the bracers and anklets all spinning faster now, working to manage the surge. "I don't do it often. It uses more power, makes the discharge bigger afterward. But it's... useful. When they need me to be."
When they need me to be. Like a weapon kept sheathed until drawn.
Rylan felt something tighten in his chest. "What's your name?"
She blinked, surprised by the question. “No name am a orphan.”
"Did you choose that?" rylan felt this was the crulest thing….
A pause. A flicker of something—maybe uncertainty, maybe the echo of a choice made long ago. “Don’t need one. Am a weapon.” A small shrug. "Better than just a orphan.”
"I..." Rylan struggled for words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I just—I wanted to meet you. To know that you were... that you're real."
"I'm real," she said simply, as if that was the easiest question to answer. "And you're the Prince."
"I am." He took a breath. "Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. I promise I'll return. When I have better news."
She tilted her head, curious. "Better news about what?"
He hesitated. He couldn't tell her. Not yet. Not until he understood more, not until Wolf had answers.
"Just... something I'm working on. To help people."
"Oh." She nodded, accepting this without question. "That's good. Helping people is good."
The simplicity of it, the quiet acceptance—it made everything worse somehow.
As Yarla led him back toward the entrance, Rylan glanced back once. The girl was already ascending the stairs, back to her tower, her books, her solitude. The bracers and anklets still spun, still hummed, never resting.
Content.
Or at least, she thought she was.
Outside, in the courtyard he'd trained in a thousand times, Rylan stopped and looked back at the small tower tucked against the wall.
She'd been there all along. Living quietly in his shadow, a weapon waiting to be drawn so he could remain safe. So he could be free.
While she remained caged.
"Yarla," he said quietly. "Make sure she has everything she needs. Anything she asks for—books, comforts, whatever."
"Of course, my lord."
"And..." He swallowed. “I don’t care if she has no name…. Don't call her a weapon. Not when I'm around. Please."
Yarla studied him for a moment, then nodded. "As you wish Lord."
Rylan watch the sky wishing the parcel swift travles. Wolf would find answers. He had to. Because the girl with no name deserved more than spinning bracers and an empty tower.
She deserved to be free. And one day to proudly say her name….not as a weapon.
And he would do everything in his power to help her find that freedom—even if she didn't know yet that she wanted it.81Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQ0suq6oUqe
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