Twiddling with a pocket watch in his quarters, the red-haired nobleman raised his head at the knock on his chamber door.
"Come in."
Ferstaus gave his consent as the door was opened, revealing a young woman with a navy-blue bob cut as she walked in, bowing forward before closing the door behind her.
"Lord Ferstaus."
By her clothing, she wasn't a noblewoman or a traditional maiden as her body was protected by a layer of translucent chainmail that ran her light, leather attire suited for flexibility.
"Sit, Hayaka."
Gesturing with his hand, the makeup-wearing nobleman guided the soft-spoken woman to the chair in front of his work desk.
As she sat down silently, the lord set the thin tools he used to fiddle with the pocket watch down, facing the woman.
"Did you find anything?"
Nodding her head slowly, Hayaka answered, "…It's likely they're making a move on Jinyue."
Hearing this concise answer, Ferstaus looked down for a bit as if conversing with his own thoughts, nodding his own head a few times to himself.
"Mm, that is troublesome…yes, problematic."
"Lord Ferstaus?"
"It's as I suspected. Jinyue is a kingdom without any allies; the only connection they have is with the already secluded Akitein, but even then, they don't have a proper alliance in place. You know what that means, right, Hayaka?"
Ferstaus looked up at the woman with his gilded irises as she fell silent for a moment before answering with a subtle nod.
"...Jinyue is open to being invaded without any retaliation from other kingdoms."
"That's right. Though that's always been the case, yet no other kingdoms have dared to make a move onto the golden fields of Jinyue--there is an easy answer: fear. Jinyue is the only kingdom that properly coexists with its deities, and those deities are considered part of its daunting military force. I doubt even Mastorn could come out of a war with that kingdom unscathed."
Speaking while keeping his hand against his chin, Ferstaus smiled with that sly, suave aura that constantly hung around him as the woman remained impartial to speaking.
"Hayaka."
"Yes, Lord Ferstaus?"
"I'd like you to observe the two guilds that're taking on this mission in Jinyue; Reid and the Sky Dragon Conglomerate. Bring as many from the Quandary Alliance as you need; keep me updated with this."
Ferstaus ordered as he reached over to the silver pocket watch he had been tinkering with, handing it over to the soft-spoken woman, who looked at the seemingly ordinary device with a glint of confusion.
"Understood...Lord Ferstaus, what is this device, if I may ask?"
"It's a Route Log, it's directly connected to the one I have," Ferstaus explained as he showed the copy he possessed, hanging as a necklace beneath his coat, "with that, we can keep in touch, no matter the distance."
"Understood."
Without any further delay, this time when Hayaka bowed down, she vanished without a trace--an intentional usage of stealthy, swift magic that Ferstaus knew of as he smiled to himself.
Looking up at his ceiling that held an outlook of the stars, the red-haired, eccentric nobleman pondered to himself.
"Belmon, let's see how you handle some of our best, I wonder. This will be my declaration of war to you, Ubel."
Ferstaus muttered to the stars as he closed his mystical pocket watch with an expression that fell to taut seriousness.
In the royal keep, a domain untouched by maledictions and war, the residence of the family belonging to the crown and throne itself, one such absolute darkness encroached upon it.
Entering the front gates of the immaculate keep, the sentinels of the illustrious palace bowed to the fair-faced man who strolled through its gilded walls, decorated with history.
Wearing a spotless, wrinkle-free suit of a seraphic-white complexion with golden feathers accenting his shoulders, the man in his youth bearing such graceful, lengthy locks that took on a golden radiance, was clearly one that belonged to the royal domain.
Behind him followed only one person; a man dressed in sleek, crimson armor with a greatsword strapped to his back, exhibiting faded, gray locks that ran in tandem with his scruffy beard. It was clear he was not a knight of Mastorn by such armor.
As he approached the large, studded doors that were guarded by towering knights, they bowed all the same to him, greeting him in unison, "Welcome back, Prince Barnabas."
"A pleasure to be back."
The prince replied as his lively, emerald irises looked up to the gargantuan sentinels, who stepped aside, parting the dense gates that separated those outside of it from the true pinnacle of Mastorn.
Entering the throne room that separated itself from the realm of lower classes, Prince Barnabas and his companions were alone in the vast, exuberant space.
"I guess Father is taking his rest today."
Prince Barnabas' words came with no response from his crimson-armored companion as he turned to the man who remained silent, calling his name, "Arv?"
Snapping back into focus, the middle-aged, rugged man chuckled, ruffling his own locks as he looked at the prince.
"Sorry, Prince. I just spaced out for a moment there."
"It's quite alright; we've been traveling for days on end--it's understandable. I was hoping at least Getrude would be here to welcome my return, unfortunate."
The prince frowned a bit as he continued onward through the throne room as Arv followed behind him, headed towards the corridor leading to the royal chambers.
"She is a busy woman, your sister, I mean."
"Yes, I am aware...it's just a shame. She is royalty; I admire her dedication to knighthood, but she needn't work herself to the bone. I get it, I do--Father is a troublesome man. It's been the same ever since she was little; she recognized that corruption and vowed to vanquish it. I can't think of many who can turn their childhood promises into reality, against such odds, no less."
Prince Barnabas spoke as his eyes held a somber shade while he traversed the corridor heavily decorated with paintings, inhabiting luxurious furniture while his unknown companion followed him.
"Do you agree with her?"
"...In some ways, yes. I just don't agree with the way she is planning to do things. Getrude is an amazing woman, but she lacks tact in situations like these. It is obvious she plans to use outside means to forcibly usurp the throne, using the knights under her command; that is a troublesome method, indeed."
As the prince spoke, Arv remained silent as they traversed the lengthy corridor, ascending a flight of pearlescent, marble stairs before Prince Barnabas exhaled his thoughts.
"I can't say for certain if she plans to kill Father, but despite how much he has sunk into the depths of darkness...I simply can't agree with killing family. I must get her to see my way of doing things, at any cost. If I intend to be the next head of this family, and ruler of Mastorn, I must protect the Aerosyndale line as best as I can, Getrude."
Prince Barnabas whispered his last words as he clenched his fist, clad in a silken, verdant glove as soft as a feathery cloud.
"I'll need you by my side to accomplish such outlandish dreams, Arv."
Turning back to the crimson-armored man as they stopped in front of a chamber door, Prince Barnabas gave the man a warm smile before opening the door inlaid with emerald accents into its burgundy, wood form.
"You can count on me."
Arv gave a simple nod to the illustrious prince as he followed the royal man into his chamber. Though it was still marked with high-class exuberance, it was rather modest for one on the path to inheriting the kingdom of Maston itself; there were little antiques occupying Prince Barnabas' private chamber, but instead many maps were sprawled out on his desk, accompanied by dozens of unorderly books.
As they were both now in the secluded room, Arv gently closed the door behind himself, peeking through the small gap between the door and its threshold for any passing by staff of the royal keep before sealing it shut.
"How embarrassing; excuse the mess, I guess I did tell the maids to stay out. It'd be troublesome if something was found that shouldn't be. Ah, you're probably wanting your payment, aren't you? I'll gather it right now."
Prince Barnabas laughed lightly as he fixed the clutter, reaching over to search for his stash of holy coins--though Arv, the crimson-clad man, steadily and quietly approached the busy prince from behind.
Finding the sack that was visibly filled with exuberant coins, Prince Barnabas smiled as he retrieved it.
"Found it, here you--"
Before he could turn to face the mercenary, a heat caused him to fall to a still as a sharpness followed; that same heat radiated from his gut, spreading throughout the rest of his body as he slowly brought his gaze down.
His speckless, white suit had begun shifting into a shade of crimson as the end of a blade was sticking out from his abdomen.
"Arv…?"
Prince Barnabas sputtered out the name of the man as he felt the burning, perplexing warmth throb intensely as the sound of his own liquid, crimson essence rained down upon the carpet.
"Why…? Arv, Why?! We...we were going to change it! Together!...Was it money? Did Ajax pay you?!"
Shock turned to anger as the realization of betrayal and death churned tears from the prince's eyes.
Arv's expression contorted, twisting into an ear-to-ear smile that bathed in depravity as his olive-eyes shifted to a vermilion tint.
"You're slow on the uptake, aren't you, prince?"
"...What?!"
As Prince Barnabas turned to face the man who betrayed him, the malicious man retrieved the blade embedded in the prince's body, sliding it out as he kicked the royal to the ground, knocking him against the desk as papers fluttered in the air.
Prince Barnabas winced as he caressed his wound, feeling the fountain of hot liquid rush against his palm as his entire upper body became dyed in red. It was only when looking up at the man who did this that he realized the error of his thoughts.
There wasn't a sword held in the man's hand, but instead it was his hand itself that took the form of a blade--transfigured into the shape of the visceral instrument of cutting.
"...You're not Arv…"
"Bingo."
Saying this with a taunting tone, the man who bore the face of the prince's trusted comrade shifted in appearance; his skin twisted, spiraling and meshing as he changed shape--even his armor seemed only to be an extension of his twisted illusion.
"Thesan: Dawn's Returnal…!"
Prince Barnabas held his hand above his wound as his incantation reeled in a warm light that pressed against his crimson-stained flesh.
Even while performing this action, the mysterious assailant didn't seem to do anything but watch with a smile. However, the prince realized why no action was taken; nothing was happening to his wound—only more of his blood continued to seep out.
It's not…closing? The prince thought.
"Hate to break it to you, but wounds inflicted by me aren't reversible."
"...Who are you?"
The prince asked as he watched the uncanny sight of his assailant transforming his entire body before taking the shape of a pale-skinned man with lengthy, maroon locks that ran down his back like corrupted vines.
Letting the question sink in, the mysterious assailant, shrouded in enigma, smiled as the crimson armor he once wore in his previous form was replaced with a full-body, sable bodysuit that was protected with silver-leather and wrappings.
"It doesn't do you much good to know now, does it? But, I suppose I can do you one kindness--after all, I just put a hole straight through your gut!"
The youthful-looking man cackled with laughter as his hand-blade returned to the normal shape of a human appendage, brushing his imposing locks back as his vermilion eyes settled on the floored, bleeding out prince.
"Renata. But, most people just call me Leviathan."
Introducing himself as he knelt down in front of the prince who turned pale from the loss of a heavy amount of blood, the enigmatic killer transformed once more before Prince Barnabas' eyes.
Illustrious golden locks, emerald eyes, and a face as fair and handsome as they come--it was an appearance the prince recognized well.
It was himself; staring back at him with a twisted expression that churned his hot, bleeding gut with disgust and horror.
"From now on, I guess I'll be called "Barnabas", though."
There was something else to it; the prince realized this as he saw the warped version of himself--it wasn't just his shape copied, but it felt stolen, ripped from his weak, blood-stained hands.
His own memories began to fade from his mind and his consciousness felt fleeting more than ever; weakness spread throughout his body as the one claiming his own name watched with his smile still present.
"You feel it, don't you? That's my authority, "Envy", at work. It's terrible, isn't it? Feeling each part of yourself be stripped away, little by little, to the smallest, minute detail. Everything that belonged to you: your appearance, memories, abilities--they're all mine now. You're nothing; you'll fade away as a hollow wisp, unguided, without a home. Goodbye, nameless nobody."
By this point, all the prince could do was listen as his own voice abandoned him, finding its new home in the abhorrent mirror of himself that taunted him.
...I see. "Envy"...he must be from...the lost kingdom. Why? Why did they come after me? Did I fly too close to the Sun? Or am I simply another piece of the puzzle?...Ah, my mind is fuzzy. I'm forgetting their faces...my family, my friends...my name. Getrude...Getrude--even as I repeat your name, my dear sister, I feel its meaning slipping away...I can feel it; he's tugging on my very consciousness, claiming it for himself...I'm helpless to it. I can't even die...as myself...how cruel.
Who am I?...Where am I?
It's lonely here, the nameless one thought.
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