The kingdom of Syphus was small when set against the sprawling expanse of Alkaraz, yet its strength was measured not in acres of land but in steel and spirit. Its armies, forged in discipline and faith, stood unmatched across the continent, their loyalty bound not just to king or crown but to God himself. For Syphus was the birthplace of the first and greatest Sant, a land sanctified and made formidable by divine favor. At its dawn rose Arambara Elechior Edouard Vicksburg D'Syphus, the first king chosen by God's own mighty hand. His victories were so absolute, his faith so unshakable, that even centuries later his name carried a weight that no successor had never surpassed. To oppose Syphus was to invite ruin, and history recorded no survivor foolish enough to try. Thus, kings and emperors alike sought alliance rather than conflict, bowing to reverence, fear, or both.
That same divine light now spilled across the land as the afternoon sun slipped from behind a veil of white clouds. Its golden rays painted the meadows and fields in brilliance, the world itself seeming to glow with quiet abundance. Tall trees lined the road like proud guardians, their branches teeming with chattering birds whose wings flashed with every hue of the rainbow. Beyond the trees stretched farmlands that seemed to breathe life itself. Farmers tilled the soil with an energy so joyful it made even the sweat rolling down their faces look noble, their laughter mingling with the sound of tools striking earth. Women in broad straw hats wandered the fields with baskets heavy with fruits and vegetables, their chatter bubbling with good humor. The sight moved Fatima so deeply that her eyes blurred with tears. She had never known such a place existed within her own homeland. Palace walls and watchful guards had shielded her from these simple, radiant joys. Why have I never thought to make hats like theirs for myself and the girls? she wondered, biting back a laugh.
"My word! I shall never wash my eyes again, for they have been blessed by heaven itself." one maid declared in theatrical awe, her head poking dangerously far out of the carriage window. "The rumors are true," sighed another, clutching her chest. "Syphus is truly a prosperous land. Just look at those emerald pastures, and the wheat fields glowing as though the sun itself had kissed them." "Magnificent indeed," another agreed, and the three sighed in unison like lovesick poets. "Back inside, this instant!" Miss Bettie barked from another window, shaking a fist in the air. "Or have you a death wish to topple the carriage over?" The warning sent the maids scrambling back inside, save for two. Sarah and Kathy remained stuck, their limbs tangled in a flailing knot of skirts and elbows.
"Uh-oh," Sarah groaned, her upper body draped over Kathy. "We might have a problem." Their panic turned into giggles as Fatima and the others crowded behind them, pulling at their dresses and arms. Yet no amount of tugging could free them. "Again! On the count of three," Fatima shouted, wrapping her arms around Sarah's legs with all the seriousness of a general at war. "One, two, heave!" Alas! The effort ended in wheezes and shrieks, the two maids stubbornly jammed in place. "It's no use." Kathy gasped, red-faced and breathless. Then, with the full despair of one meeting her doom, she wailed "My bosoms are wedged against the window!" The words echoed into the wilderness outside the window as the carriage erupted in laughter. For the first time in her life, the princess felt not like a bird inside a cage surrounded by quills and scrolls, but simply a girl among friends, caught in the wonderful absurdity of life.
**
Irrys swept down the mahogany staircase of the royal palace like a queen already enthroned, her silken gown whispering against the polished wood. Every step carried the weight of command, and every flick of her gaze reminded the servants who truly held power here. Her heart quickened, not from nerves, but from the intoxicating rush of anticipation. "The Alkaraz delegation has crossed the border and is headed straight for the capital, your highness," murmured John, her newest aide, bowing his head low as he followed her closely. His voice quavered, as if fearful his words alone might displease her.
A cruel smile tugged at Irrys' lips. Excellent. They arrived sooner than expected. That gives me more time to bend their little prince to my will. I shall ensure he does not leave this palace unmarked. No man can resist my charms when I decide he is mine, and I will decide the fate of Alkaraz itself through him. She thought, raising a confident eyebrow. "Instruct the kitchens to prepare a feast worthy of kings. Spare no expense and see that his servants are honored as nobles." Her aide faltered. "Pardon, Princess? Wouldn't that be," Her voice cracked like a whip. "Silence, John, and do as I command, or I'll see your tongue nailed to the palace gates as a warning to others who forget their place."
The boy's eyes widened, his face blanched, and Irrys savored the silence that followed. Pathetic. These weaklings shrink beneath a glare, yet they presume to serve me. Fools the lot of them, unworthy even to kneel at my feet. She moved toward the tall windows, staring out at the horizon as though it already belonged to her. "What news of Bassup prison? Has my father returned?" She asked, her tone clipped and devoid of emotion. "They should be on their way back by now, your highness. I shall deliver word once they enter the palace gates." "See that you do." She dismissed him with a flick of her hand, her eyes never leaving the window. He bowed hastily and fled, leaving her alone in the cavernous hall.
Twice she had reached for the throne, and twice it had been snatched away by fate, by cowards, by incompetence. But no longer. This time, she would tighten her grip until every rival choked on her shadow. Her smile grew sharper, her reflection in the glass darkening with her thoughts. I shall burn the weakness out of this kingdom, cut away all who dare oppose me in the process. And when the throne is mine at last, the entire world will either kneel before me or bleed their way into submission.
**
Emperor Exzavier reclined in his chair with a weary sigh, rubbing the stiffness from his neck after a day of discussing trade terms with the merchant representatives. The weight of the day clung to him like a heavy cloak, every muscle in his body aching with the burden of command. He had half a mind to retire early, the softness of his bedsheets calling out to him when a frantic voice cut through his daze. "Your Majesty!" his secretary cried out to him, scurrying forward with small but hurried steps. In his hand was a narrow envelope, its paper unmarked, bearing only a seal the emperor did not recognize. He took it, sparing an inquisitive glance at his secretary then turned it over, and broke it open. His eyes scanned the first line and then he burst into laughter. The booming sound startled the secretary and the knights standing nearby. They exchanged puzzled glances, uncertain whether their sovereign had suddenly taken leave of his senses. Yet the emperor only shook his head, still chuckling.
'Oi! Admiral Mockingbird! How are you coping with my absence these days?' "This takes me way back," he sighed, his voice softened by nostalgia. The letter had unlocked a memory, bright and foolish in its innocence. Back when he and Dominique Kartier were nothing more than children, running wild through corridors and courtyards. "How about Captain Fish?" Dominique proposed with mischievous delight. "Do I smell fishy to you?" the young prince roared in indignation, fists clenched as he stubbornly stomped his foot. Being the older of the two, he always had the last word, yet somehow Dominique's wit often managed to outmatch his temper.
"Hmm." Dominique hummed pensively, his finger tapping his chubby cheek. "Captain Idiot?" He added, tilting his head and grinning as if he had uncovered some great truth. "That's just crossing the line, Dominique!" the prince shouted, chasing him across the courtyard as Dominique ran around in circles, laughing like a fox that had stolen a hen. "Wait! Did you hear that, your highness?" Dominique gasped, abruptly halting his steps to listen. The young prince, instantly recognizing the familiar noise, scowled and said, "It's only a mockingbird. Likely the one that perches at my window every night just to shriek its ear bleeding song to disturb my sleep. It is very annoying." Dominique's face lit with triumph. "Perfect! Your secret name shall be Admiral Mockingbird! Doesn't it sound grand, your highness?" He said with a clap.
The prince groaned in frustration, protesting with all the fury his young pride could muster, but no matter how he argued, Dominique only laughed and repeated the name until their play date was over. He remembered wanting nothing more than to clamp the boy's mouth shut if not for the watchful eyes of his mother, who stood smiling from a balcony above, chatting the day away with Dominique's own. "And my pet name shall be Fluffy Lion!" Dominique suddenly announced, puffing his chest with pride, though the gap from his missing baby teeth gave him a ridiculous grin. Exzavier doubled over in laughter. "Suddenly I'm not so upset about mine anymore. Fluffy Lion. I'll never let you live that down." He said between chuckles.
The two were quite the odd pair, one stubborn, and the other playful and irreverent. However, like young sprouts, their friendship grew wild and strong, rooted in the fertile soil of childhood mischief. The emperor's smile faded slightly as his eyes returned to the present, to the letter in his hands. The words that followed were no longer playful. 'Admiral, it would appear that the wolf was indeed the culprit behind the doe's misfortune. What's more is that the young mockingbird is heading to the wolf's den with her in tow. At this rate, I fear she will yet again fall prey to the wolf's fierce fangs.'