Creative Corner

I will add more places that this will be available :) (aka tumblr, possibly webtoons as a canvas, wordpress/blog, etc)

I will edit the story as time goes on! right now i'm just gettin hyped to actually finish this story ovo;;

pinglist: @pitohui @Dragongirl00100 @seasalted

A man stands over a large, tattered map. He slams a dagger in the middle, shaking the table as he coughs. Tears slide out of his eyes, and a framed image drops from his hands, and the glass shatters on impact. The image is of a beautiful woman with a face framed by sheets of straight, black hair. Her eyes are angled in a way that light barely reflects off of them, rendering them unreadable and mysterious. Her hands are nimble and thin, unlike the coarse fingers that had dropped her. A knight bursts into the room, trailing blood and breathing heavily.
“Your Majesty!” he shouts between ragged breaths. “A group of four assassins are coming up the tower as we speak. What are your orders?”
The king casts an outraged glance at the knight, scoffing. He looks down one more time at the frame and collects himself before he asks quietly, “Where are Cynthia and Rex?” The knight lowers his head.
“Rex is in his room. Cynthia is taking a stroll with her servant in the palace gardens-”
At that, the king bursts into rage. With a clean slice of his sword, the knight’s armored head pops cleanly off his shoulders, and the king kicks his body away.
“Useless,” he mutters. “Absolutely useless.” He narrows his eyes, and directs his gaze towards the window, overlooking a vast expanse of green His daughter is somewhere down there, most likely dead. Her hands stilled, and her life stripped away because she was left with inadequate protection, and in irresponsible hands. He shakes his head, and sighs. Cynthia was his only reminder of her.

The dream started with blurs of green and blue; the palace gardens, wrapping me in its soft grasp. I spread my arms, and closed my eyes, letting the air be my guide. I breathed in, out. In, out, and my feet safely greeted the soft, freshly-cut grass below. The sound of buzzing filled the air as bees the size of my palm circled around me, their mindless chatters lost to the wind, and I laughed. They swarmed past, knocking me to the ground, and creating a cloud of black dust as large as the sun. I reached a hand out to clear the darkness, coughing. I pushed myself to my feet, and took an unsteady step forward as my eyes adjusted to the brightness.
A small voice chimed behind him, “You’re late!”
Almost tripping in haste, my eyes fell on a small squirrel about the size of a peanut staring up at me.
“You are late,” it repeated. I blinked, and the squirrel smiled at him, its strangely human teeth protruding from its small mouth.
“What?” I stammered, and the squirrel repeated its words. I stared at the squirrel for a long time. Its smile just got bigger, and when I blinked, the squirrel was gone. I shook my head. This is all a dream, I repeated, and stood. A small voice kept chittering in my head, but I ignored it. I looked back to the landscape that greeted me; the browns and golds of wheat fields was far from the flowering greenery that I expected. I reached my hand out to touch one of the stalks, but it bent away. I flinched in surprise and drew my hand back. The field seemed almost alive, as if the wheat stalks were the fur of some large beast. The ground rumbled as a sharp pain jolted me to a disjointed reality.
My eyes met the curious gaze of my little sister as she jumped playfully around the bed.
“Big brother! Big brother! Have you forgotten? Today’s the new king’s coronation!” she squealed, throwing my covers onto the floor before running out. I rubbed ,y head in confusion, pausing for a second before headlines of the forty-fourth queen’s murder came through my head. I sighed. The forty-fourth queen, the late Hamara, was a fair king in my humble opinion. But I didn’t have time to dwell in sadness. After all, the replacement of rulers was God’s way of telling the Commonwealth that it was time to move on.
The all but distant sounds of my name being called from the hallway jerked me from my daydreams. Quickly throwing on whatever was in reach, I walked out, mentally rolling my eyes at my parents’ disapproving gaze. I jolted as my father’s hefty hand came to a rest on my shoulder.
“Larazus,” he started, before cutting off with a furrowed brow. He paused, before taking a deep breath and continuing.
“The crown king has requested your presence as a... ‘knight of honor.’”
My father squinted, as if thinking why such a scrawny, inexperienced child was chosen. I folded my arms, and stared back at him as I tried not to cringe under his gaze.
“Well?” he asked, after shifting his hand off my shoulder. “Aren’t you going to go prepare?”
I blinked, confused at what he meant until I realized I was still wearing absolutely nothing a “knight of honor” would wear, so I saluted smartly (which earned me a glare), and shuffled out of the villa. I could hear my dad voicing his complaints to the rest of the family as I made my way over to the stables. The stable boy bowed respectfully as I passed by, and automatically turned my gaze to the only horse I would ride. The tan stallion that I had spent years training butted his head against the side of his pen as I approaced. I smiled subconciously, but quickly pushed it down as my father came in.
“I want him suited up and ready in thirty minutes,” he shouted, and the stable boy flinched. I made a mental note to apologize to the boy after my father left.
In no time, I was decked in full body armor that was several times too big in the sweltering summer heat, mounted on a horse that had obviously been awakened too early. Perhaps father had thought I was too skinny, and figured big armor would make me look better to the other knights. I scoffed, and my steed mirrored my disgust.
“S- sir,” the boy stuttered, handing me the reigns to the horse. “I- I’m sorry for taking so long. Here is your steed, the L- lord will be waiting outside.” I reached down and handed him a small medallion -- one that I had won years ago at the Academy -- and clasped his hands around it.
“No need to worry, I’ll deal with my father,” I said, trying to be as reassuring as possible. I swung up and mounted the stallion before he could give it back, and turned around to give him a brave smile when I was at the stable entrance. He mustered a small smile before scampering into the darkness.
The via was already filled with citizens of the Commonwealth who were all flocking to the same destination: Principia Regil, the palace of God. Where God spoke to the rulers of Nera, and struck them down when their time came.
I did my best to alert everyone around me of my prescence unlike the other knights, who pushed people out of the way by rudely trampling over them. I bit my tongue, holding back the urge to tell them to stop. There was no rush; the ceremony wasn’t set to happen for an hour. But they were several years older than I was, decades older even. With years of experience on me, and servitude under multiple kings, I was in no place to tell them anything.
After all, I was a child in their eyes.
I was barely nineteen, and probably only called to be a “knight of honor” due to the honors I held in swordsmanship. I had only just graduated a few months ago, albeit being the youngest (which warranted me some attention). But it would be disrespecful to order around those who were older than me; my father would disapprove, and I was sure the new king would too. So I averted my eyes as an older knight ran over a screaming child, and held back tears as the child fell to the ground, bloodied and unconcious. I resolved to keep my eyes on the white clouds that floated across the picture-perfect blue sky. If I counted them, I could keep my mind off of the horrific scene that was unfolding.
And, finally, after what seemed like an eternity in Hell, I stood at the base of the towering castle, where the coronation festivities were set to take place in thirty minutes. I had managed to avoid the crowd for the most part. But, as I watched in disbelief, the knights that appeared after me were grinning and covered in blood. My stomach churned as I looked away.
Did they find this fun? Harming innocent civilians just because they could. But I guess this was reality. The armor of the knights that trickled in just seemed to get redder and redder.
So I urged my horse to go as far away as possible from the others, and stood there quietly, waiting, peering into the castle walls where the young king (who was rumored to be only a few years older than he) was to appear.
The new king’s name was Jericho. We had been friends during my stint at the Academy, though not close. He had never been a knight; he disappeared soon after he graduated as a young prodigy. My father had said that he joined a Guild shortly after, but I knew Jericho preferred solitude. If I hadn’t reached out first, it was certain that we would have never talked. I breathed in, then out. Ten minutes before I would see my friend again. Ten minutes before I saw how much he changed, and who would be filling the shoes of Hamara.
And after a few minutes, the chatter surrounding me quieted, and the entire Commonweelath held its breath as the new king stepped out. He was mounted, on a the whitest mare that I had even seen, and a gasp rippled through the assembled crowd.
As per tradition, rulers would come out on foot to show that they were ready to bear the weight of their citizens, and themselves.
But the forty-fifth king Jericho came mounted and adorned with so much gold and silver that he shimmered with an unnatural light. He dismounted on the platform, and a masked man led the mare away. He bowed deeply, and I caught a glimpse of his face when he looked up. The king was frighteningly pale, but he had eyes dark with determination and something else that I couldn’t quite make out. The knight to Jericho’s right dismounted, and stood besides him with a wreath of golden leaves, and Queen Hamara’s sword.
“Today,” he began, in a rumbling, deep voice, “We mourn the loss of our king Hamara.”
A collective gasp came up from the crowd. The mention of past kings had been strictly forbidden to prevent the Commonwealth from remaining stagnant in a memory. But perhaps this king would break tradition; he had come mounted, so it perhaps was proper to recognize the predecessor he arguably murdered.
I strained my neck, trying to catch Jericho’s reaction, but his face remained placid (if not slightly annoyed) as he stared ahead blankly. After letting the commotion die down, the knight continued.
“Hamara was indeed, a great king. Under his rule, we have prospered. By military strength, or by our welfare, the Commonwealth owes a great deal to him.”
The knight paused, glancing slightly at Jericho, as if to gauge his reaction. There was none.
“Let us take a moment of silence to mourn, before we move on as we have always done.”
I shifteed uncomfortably in the deafning silence. Mothers shushed their children, and the other knights stared into the sky. Even nature seemed to respect their greef.
Then, Jericho grabbed the sord of a nearby knight, swung it cleanly in ann arc above his head, and showered the crowd in a spray of blood. The knight that honored Hamara fell over the edge into a shocked crowd, dead.
Heartbeats passed before the first scream erupted from the crowd, and they scattered like dust in the wind, some trampling others in an attempt to escape from the dead body in the square.
Jericho calmly watched, wiping the sword with his tunic before handing it back to the knight, who accepted it without a word. At last, the new king spoke.
“Now that that’s over, I will accept my crown.”
He scanned the knights assembled, and his pointed finger fell upon me, out of the twenty or so more experienced, more stoic, and better choices.
“You. Do the honors and crown me,” he ordered, quiet and strict. And soon, I had a large, heavy, jewel-studded crown in his hand. I dismounted with much difficulty, and made my way over to where Jericho was kneeling, ready to accept the crown. With shaking hands, I placed the crown on the my friend’s head, who rose without applause. Jericho’s cold gaze passed over me, and I looked down, praying that he wouldn’t recognize me through the armor. Without a word, Jericho turned away, mounted his horse, and rode back into the palace.
After a period of silence, an older knight dismounted, and gently guided me back to my horse.
“Happens to us all, boy. Death is only natural,” the knight noted gruffly, before leaving me to mount my horse, and ride home in silence.

pinglist: (updated chapter 1) @pitohui @Dragongirl00100 @seasalted

I walk home. In absolutely no hurry to get scolded by Father, I carefully lead my steed down the backstreets. I came here often when I was younger, playing on the steep, stone walls that separated each cottage. The stones are cracked now; they had borne the weight of summer storms and heavy winds for far too long. The children playing in the street stop to watch me, a knight in full armor smelling the flowers along the road. One even waves, making me smile and wave back. Things haven’t changed after all. I could even bring back some of the flowers to Mother.
I snap out of my daydreams as someone calls for their children to come home. The streets are no longer safe. I pay no attention. Though the armor I wore significantly reduced how much I can move, it also provided significant protection against attackers.
“Sir, why are you here?” I hear a voice say softly, and I turn to see a man standing in the doorway of a small cottage, his children peeking from behind him. Confused, I turn to look at him.
“What?” I respond, baffled. “I’m walking my horse home.”
I mentally slap myself. What a stupid thing to say.
“We’ve paid our taxes to the crown, sir. I am sorry to say that I do not have any more to give,” he continues, bowing respectfully to me. “Take whatever you need, just please do not harm my children.”
“W- what?” I repeat. “I’m sorry, but I’m just passing through.”
I point down the street. “I live that way, and, uh, wanted to survey some areas before going home.”
The man furrows his eyebrows.
“Sir, if you have come here for something, take it. Please drop your act.”
I blink. Act? Why would I act?
“Um, I’m just going to pass through. I’m sorry for causing you confusion mister. I’m not much of a knight,” I said hurriedly, mounting my horse. “I’ll be off now, have a nice day.”
I nod my head politely before he could say anything else, and ride towards the main via.

The dead knight’s body is still here, his head still nowhere to be found. I cringe away; I had taken that route specifically to avoid this scene, but something kept drawing me back. He at least deserves a burial. So I steel my nerves, and approach the body, holding my breath to avoid the stench.
I can feel someone’s eyes on me.
Looking up, I see Jericho’s cold eyes, as he sits on the platform, dangling his legs off the edge. Stripped of the refinery and gold, he looks like a boy who grew up too fast. With drooping shoulders and messy hair, he looks like a lost child. He speaks before I could look away.
“What are you doing, Laz?” he murmurs. I stand back up, stepping away from the body before I draw a breath.
“Jeri, he at least deserves a burial,” I say, and he blinks, surprised, before standing up.
“Was I too harsh?” he asks. His voice is thick with regret. “I can’t even find the head. I just -- Hamara wasn’t at all what he made her out to be. She- just look at the state of everyone. The street you came from. Just look at the fear, Laz. They were scared of you. They’re scared of everyone. They’re probably now scared of me.”
“May I come up?” I request, taking off my helmet. “And may I take off this armor, it’s too heavy.”
Jericho smiles, and I took that as an answer in the affirmative. So I strip the metal away, and tie my horse’s reins to a post. While I make my way up, he speaks again.
“If I start abusing the Commonwealth, I want you to take my place. I mean, challenge me. Er, you know. I think you could win,” he muses, and sits back down, crossing his legs. I glance at him.
“What did Hamara do?” I question softly, as I sit down next to him. “Father had always praised her.”
He scoffs loudly, before clearing his throat.
“Laz, do I need to explain? Just walk the streets more and you’ll see,” he says. “Just pay attention. I know you’re a kind soul.”
I hum in response.
“Kind?” I reply after a brief pause. “How does kindness have to do with the situation on hand?”
To this, Jericho shakes his head.
“Go home, friend. I’ll send for you if I need help,” he sighs, and stands up. “I’ll see you soon.”
I watch him go, and leap off of the platform after his shadow disappears into the castle. I untie the stallion, and start home.

Remnants of what the knights had done could still be seen. A mother, calling for her child, catches sight of me, and trips over her swollen feet to get to me before dropping down to her knees.
“Sir, please. Please help. My son ran off to watch the coronation, and he hasn’t come home. He’s only ten, sir. He’s so young, and he may have gotten lost, sir. I am so sorry for bothering you sir, but please. He’s only ten,” she wheezes, lowering her head down to the cobble. “Or at least help me pray. Maybe God will bring him back. Please sir, help me save my son.”
I kneel, and reach a hand out to help her up, to which she immediately recoils.
“Ma’am-”
“I don’t need your pity!” she screams, scrambling backwards. “I just need your help!”
“Ma’am, I need you to calm down,” I try, keeping my voice low. “I can’t help you unless you calm down.”
Her head snaps in my direction.
“Then I don’t need your help. Hamara’s death is just the beginning.”
With that, she limps away, leaving me to contemplate what just happened.

My father’s stern face greets me as I walk through the doorway. But where I expect to see anger, I see a soft kindness that was strange, but welcome. He opens his arms, and I cave into the embrace. How long had it been since I last hugged him? A few years, at least. I think of the last time I laughed with him, when I was a child atop his shoulders pretending I could fly. I can hear my mother and sister’s lively chatter in the kitchen. Since when had we become so serious?
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Much happened today that we were all unprepared for.”
I shrug helplessly as I try to count the number of people I watched die. The knight, the small child, the people I had turned a blind eye to, who were crushed under the feet of the other knights. I want to believe Jericho. So much so that my head hurt thinking about it, but I can’t shake the feeling that he is hiding something.
“I know the king,” I blurt. “He was in my Academy classes, he’s a... friend.”
He pauses, and his eyes lose the brief warmth they held.
“...friend,” he repeats cautiously. “Your ‘friend’ killed a friend of mine.”
I blink. “Your... friend?”
“Knight Izaiah was a great friend of mine. Hamara’s right hand man; he would have died for her, and I guess he did,” he says wistfully. “I just wish that he got a burial. A proper one. That new king just left his body there.”
Jericho’s words echo back to me. Was I too harsh? I just nod along. Is father being too harsh? I jump when his fist slams against the wall.
“Damn kings think they can get away with anything. There’s no consequence for death anymore,” he shouts, and the house falls silent. “Actions have their consequences. They always do.”
I think back to the child. Consequences, did their actions have consequences? That child’s mother must be in so much grief. But I didn’t dare bring it up.
“Go to your room, Larazus. Your mother will call you down for dinner soon. Think about what I’ve said.”
With that, he turns away, and trudges to his study, leaving me to stand there in shock once again. I feel a tug at my sleeve, and I look down at the batter-covered fingers of my sister.
“Lars, please help mama and I,” she demands, and points to the kitchen. I kneel down and take her hands.
“No, Jojo, papa’s told me to go to my room for a bit,” I say in response, trying my best to give her a smile. Her eyes widen.
“But you’re an old man now! Papa can’t tell you what to do anymore! Papa never tells me what to do! He just tells me to listen to mama.” I choke trying to laugh.
“That’s because you’re still young Jo,” I mutter as she looks at me with a confused expression.
“I’m eight! I’m eight!” she shouts, wriggling in my arms. “I’m old too!” I laugh -- a real one -- and her mouth cracks into a toothy smile.
“Yay, you still work!” she says excitedly, and smears batter over my nose. “Now will you help us?”
I shake my head and stand up.
“Sorry, I gotta do some stuff first, I’ll try to help later okay?”
Her shoulders droop. She says nothing as she wanders back to the kitchen. I watch her go, and a twinge of guilt ricochets through my heart as I make my way to my room.
Think about it, my father had said. But what is there to think of? Who am I to believe? I know both Jericho and Father were sincere. But Father lets loyalty cloud his judgement, and Jericho could have changed. I want to scream in frustration, but I hold it in as I open the door and fall face-first onto my bed. Ah, sweet softness of pillows and blankets. How nice it is to be back in my room, away from all the disasters of the outside. I breathe in, taking in the scent of freshly washed sheets. They smell like freshly cut grass, I think. I look out the window to the square shrubs that had been cut by the garden caretaker this morning. I had seen them on my way out of the stable. I sigh and sit up. There is no point wallowing in confusion. I stand up, stretching, and I hear my name being called from the kitchen. Joan, no doubt, wants me to help with the bread. So I yell, “Coming!” and open the door, expelling my worries with an exhale. I smile as my little sister comes running up to me with open arms, and I will myself to remain ignorant for at least a little while longer. I will smile, and I will laugh like nothing is wrong. If only life was as easy as hiding behind a mask.

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update: first chapter changed to present tense, will update post later
@pitohui @Dragongirl00100 @seasalted