The morning began for Morgan when the bells chimed at dawn, their resonating tones echoing through the stillness of the early hour. At the sound, Morgan's eyes shot open, wide with panic. Was that the dawn bell? Oh crap, he was supposed to be up already. He had meant to wake a while ago, actually… Oh my God. How was he already so late? He groaned as he sat up, the cool floor sending a shiver through him. Why was he on the floor? His back ached, and his muscles felt as sore as the day was long. How could this have happened?
He had a vague recollection of the previous night, memories swirling like autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind. Fragments of pain, the thrill of triumph crackling in the air danced at the edges of his mind. Well, at least he was well-rested, he told himself as he sat up, his palm pressed against the base of his spine, as if holding his muscles would somehow ease their pain. He pushed himself up off the floor, his body protesting as he stumbled slightly before finding his balance.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he straightened his back and arched it, trying to stretch the aches and pains away. To the surprise of literally no one, that did absolutely nothing to help. He moved on to rolling his shoulders, each crack echoing in the silence, and trying to pry open his sore, scratchy eyes. His gaze drifted to his bedside table, searching for his water bottle, but instead, his eyes landed on the dark purple, almost black bead that sat next to it. Right, the pearl. That's why he was on the floor last night.
As the memories rushed back to him like a wave crashing onto the shore, he looked down at his hands. The dark purple veins that had been littering his fingers just last night were now gone. Had that been a dream? Was that just a figment of his imagination? The thought sent a twinge of pain through his head, a reminder of the strange events that had occurred. Now was not the time for those thoughts, he told himself firmly. He needed to get started on his morning routine before the day slipped away.
With a deep breath, he pushed up from the bed, his head spinning as he did so. He grabbed the water bottle off the bedside table and took a long swig, the cool liquid refreshing against his dry throat. Shuffling over to his dresser, he pulled out his everyday fatigues—the same uniform he wore every day, a royal blue t-shirt and cargo pants. He tossed them on the bed before grabbing his towel and heading to the showers, where no one else was, of course. It was already late in the knight's books.
He thought it best to try to rush through this. Setting his towel down on the hook next to the shower stall, he stepped in, his shower slides slapping against the tiles and sending water droplets flying behind him as he turned on the shower. The cold temperature was expected, yet it still did a lot to wake him up. Thank the ancients that it also worked wonders to ease the headache that had settled in. As the cold water hit his skin, the heat in his face dissipated, the ache that had throbbed in his head faded, and his dark hair flattened, sticking to his face and skin. The cold water also loosened all the tightness in his spine from falling asleep on the floor.
After a while under the cold water, it clicked that he didn't have the luxury of a longer shower today; he was already late. Too late. He needed to finish washing up and getting ready. So once again, he cast the subspace spell. Oh, the great wonder that is that spell. As he chanted the words, slipping from his lips ever so slightly lighter, the spell circle at his palm glowed a tad bit brighter. Could this—no, it was just his brain playing tricks on him. Surely it had nothing to do with the aether cleansing… surely. Tossing the thought from his mind, he quickly reached into the misty rift of his subspace, his palm wrapping around the plastic bottle, the familiar shape solidifying in his mind. He pulled out his hand, reaching back in for his washcloth, pouring some soap onto the rag before putting the bottle back into the rift, closing the spell before returning to wash himself.
As he finished and reached for the towel, he dried his hair before drying the rest of his body, the cloth fibers dragging against his skin over his neck, chest, and arms. Were his arms a bit bigger, or was that just in his head? His skin almost seemed to glow today. Well, he supposed those few extra hours of sleep did him some good. But that wasn't his current concern. Right now, he needed to get back to his room to change. So that's what he did, taking the short walk back to his room before closing the door behind him.
Quickly, he pulled on his clothes, slipping on a pair of black socks before pulling on his boots and tying them neatly. Now to run a hand through his hair. He suppose letting it air dry today is the way to go. After all this, he rushed over to the cafeteria, half-jogging on the way to get there on time. It was only 7 AM; not too late, he supposed.
As he entered, the sound of the door scraped louder than he had thought it would. The cafeteria bustled with activity, the aroma of breakfast filling the air. As he stepped fully into the room, he noticed there were fewer people today. Maybe he was a bit later than he thought. He walked to the line, or where it usually would be. He picked up a tray and walked over to be served his breakfast.
He got a bowl of oatmeal, a nice piece of toast—still warm with the help of basic magic—bacon strips for some good old protein, an apple, and some nice warm herbal tea. A good and filling breakfast, as always. He walked over to a seat in the rows of benches, sitting in a random chair near the corner of the room. He set down his tray and ate as fast as he could, the food still warm as it was scarfed down. He needed to catch up on all the morning schedule he missed. Five minutes passed as he berated himself for sleeping in.
He scraped his bowl clean at the dish lineup and set his clean tray on the conveyor belt leading into the kitchen to be washed. He washed his hands at the sink near the door before heading off through said door. He needed to go to the library. He needed to check something he thought he saw in a manual the other day.
On the path, he walked over to the castle, the grand structure looming ahead of him like a majestic guardian. He would need to go to the gym for a bit longer later; workouts could wait for a moment. By the Ancients, did he love the leniency the king and queen allowed him for overseeing his training and progress. As he walked the path to the castle, the gravel crunched under his feet, a comforting sound.
He reached the castle door, placing his wrist to the scanner. The aether flowed through to the screen and scanner, and the system recognized him. One of the big wooden doors opened for him, and in Morgan went, his footsteps echoing down the halls like whispers of ancient secrets. The sound of boots hitting marble always seemed to make him cringe at the thought that he really shouldn't be there in the first place, yet he felt a strange sense of belonging in these hallowed halls.
He walked past the king's study and down the series of turns and stairs he had grown familiar with over the last few days, leading him to the same extravagant library doors as always. He again placed his wrist to the scanner for it to recognize his aether. Once recognition happened and confirmed he was granted access, the doors unlocked again.
This time, as he stepped into the room, he felt it again—the storm. Ancients above, the storm was about to start again. He couldn't tell why, but he felt it—the danger. It loomed in the air like a thick fog, wrapping around him, suffocating yet exhilarating. He had no idea why, but it was coming. He was really just in the eye of the storm. No, it was only his mind playing tricks on him. It couldn't be. The prince was too busy these days to bother him. It was just his mind again. Come on, Morgan, calm down. Get it together, he told himself as he walked further into the library, up the stairs, and to the familiar space that was, the aether cleansing technique, section.
The same place where he had read all the manuals for the past few days. As soon as he walked down the rows of books, he reached the end where he had found the manual he needed. He reached up to grab the manual: Aether Pearl: An In-Depth Technique. The book he felt he needed in that moment. He pulled it off the shelf and remembered the manual he had in his subspace that he needed to return anyway.
So he cast the spell, reaching into the misty tear, visualizing the manual in his head as it materialized in his palm within the space. Pulling it out, he closed the subspace and placed it back on the shelf where it belonged. Right now, the Aether Pearl Technique manual was all he needed. He looked down at it in his hand and turned back in the direction he came.
As he did, he made the mistake of looking up from his book and was startled by the storm himself—the golden-haired devil. His heart spiked for a second, almost feeling as though it fell to his stomach. He flailed his arms for a moment, just a split second, as he jumped. Alex was leaning against the end of a bookshelf at one of the exits of the row, that wry smile on his face as he looked at Morgan. Boy, did Morgan miss that smile, like a kid misses the doctor's office.
His heart slowed back to a normal pace as he placed the manual over his heart, as if holding the organ in his chest to prevent it from beating out of his ribcage. At the same time, Alex let out a chuckle. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you much. Just wanted to come see you before you miss me too much. Can't deny my favorite pastime of annoying you for too long. You might forget me if I do, and we can't have that now, can we?" he spoke, his voice filling the air, the dark and teenage lilt still so childish yet resonating with a deep tone.
He pushed off the shelf, standing tall. The morning light, not quite reaching this corner of the library, cast a blurry shadow of him on the ground.
"Hello, your highness," Morgan spoke, straightening his posture to stand tall. "It surely has been a short while. Only two weeks, really," he said. Was two weeks really that long of a time for the prince? Well, it didn't feel like enough time to Morgan at all.
"Oh, come on, Morgan. I thought we got over this hurdle already. Call me Alex. You've done it once; you can do it again," Alex said, walking closer. "But that aside, I must say it's rather unsurprising to not see you at the festival. You don't really seem like the type to enjoy that sort of thing. Rather a bore you are, not enjoying many fun things is your thing, really." He teased, the playful glint in his eyes making Morgan's heart race.
"Funny…" Morgan said, his face as straight as ever. He soon spoke again, "What festival are you talking about exactly, your highness?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the thought.
"The Festival of Veils, of course," Alex replied, the excitement in his voice palpable.
Of course. How could he have forgotten the date? It only happens once a year. Everyone hides behind masks and glamours, dancing, feasting, pretending they're someone else for a while. No titles, no duties. Morgan blinked once, slowly, feeling a wave of regret wash over him.
"The Night of Deception?" he asked, his tone even as he walked backward, as if trying to slip away from the conversation.
"Well, your highness, I do have a lot to do, as I'm sure you do as well, with the preparations to be king in a few years, are you not?" he spoke as he slipped out of the row of books, the prince walking closer and stopping just at the end of the bookshelf once again. Stepping into the row next to it, Morgan flipped open the manual in his hand.
Alex looked at him through the gaps between the books that separated them, his blue and brown heterochromic eyes piercing through straight into Morgan's brown ones. "A night of freedom," Alex corrected, tilting his head, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "And even a prince deserves some time to have fun, don't you think?" he challenged. "Tell me, Morgan—if no one knows who we are, will you finally let yourself have fun with me?"
Morgan pushed off, stepping away as he flipped through pages in the manual, searching for what he had seen just two weeks ago. Scanning a page, then moving on, he kept to his row, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex pacing the opposite aisle, mirroring his movements with deliberate laziness. Every few steps, a gap between shelves revealed a flash of golden hair, a smirk, and eyes that lingered far too long.
Morgan flipped a page. The silence stretched just long enough to make Alex's smirk falter. But then Morgan's lips twitched—barely, but enough.
"I suspect you'll keep asking until I say yes," he murmured, a reluctant smile creeping onto his face.
Alex's laugh was soft, victorious. "Exactly."
"And if I simply keep denying the request? I am a very patient kind, as you are sure," Morgan asked, that familiar teasing lilt returning to his tone. He traced the lines absently with his finger, but his attention kept snagging on that voice drifting between shelves. Then Alex's tone shifted, sharper than before.
"Regardless, it isn't optional." He stepped into the gap, leaning against the end of a shelf, folding his arms with a look of determination. "The prince of Stormhold is going to the festival, and he requires a guard. I've chosen you, Morgan Nyxarios."
Morgan closed the manual slowly, his brows lifting in surprise. "An order, then?"
Alex's smirk softened into something unreadable. "Exactly that," he said, his eyes focused on Morgan, tracing his features and posture. The weight of the moment settled heavily between them, a tension that crackled in the air. Morgan's jaw tightened, but he breathed a sigh, feeling a mixture of frustration and excitement.
Chanting the subspace spell again, deciding it wasn't worth losing his job to simply deny the prince, he slipped the new manual into his subspace before closing it once more. He then set his gaze on Alex, who wore an expression of triumph that both annoyed and amused him.
"Then if you wish it, your highness, let's go to the festival before all the fun you wish to partake in comes to an end," he said, walking closer to him and stopping just a few steps from the prince, who now had a victorious grin on his face. God, did Morgan hate that grin.