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1. Emperor Rorschach
Lars only has a distant memory of what his cousin was like before they went down their respective paths.A small, perhaps too small for his age, boy with black hair and innocent red eyes. Lars remembers how his baby cousin, at the delicate age of eight years old, had the social capabilities of a rock . “Do you like marbles?” Lars tries asking, lifting the bag of marbles in his hand. Lars himself cared not for playing with marbles— he’d much rather be practicing his swordsmanship but because he was weakened by the Frigid Pestilence, he wasn’t allowed to do any strenuous activities.The eight-year-old Ayn had just stared at Lars flatly before replying with a rather unfriendly:
“No.”
And that was that. Ayn escaped to god knows where, while Lars was left standing alone in the hallway with a bag of marbles dangling in the air.Admittedly, it didn’t help with how Lars’s first impression of Ayn. The child of a lazy, no-good emperor— cold and uncaring. That was how he first saw Ayn. That said, Lars couldn’t bring himself to hate Ayn.At least his baby cousin was upfront with his thoughts, unlike the countless nobles whispering amongst themselves when they thought nobody was listening.But Lars was. He was always listening; he wanted to know about the situation with the glacial butterflies; he wanted to know what that damned emperor is doing in response to the glacial butterflies.(A whole load of nothing, he’ll later find out.)It’s a little sickening, walking through the halls and hearing the walls whisper about the queen’s child. The young prince. “Lacking masculinity,” they say, to which Lars scoffs and rolls his eyes.Lars occasionally saw the young prince practicing his swordsmanship under the moonlight. The young prince snaps back at the nobles when he overhears them, rolling his eyes derisively as he comments on their inability to properly wield a sword.He thinks that Ayn’s bluntness is refreshing. And the more he observes the young prince, the more he’d like to befriend him.They have similar interests, after all, in swords.Perhaps, in another world, they could be close brothers who often cross swords and exchange playful, taunting words as they test each other’s swordsmanship. Perhaps they could’ve played around as young boys do at the peak of their childhood. Sparks could fly, and sand would get kicked up as the two of them come to a standstill with crossed blades…But, well—Fate is never kind.Lars throws Ayn into the palace’s prisons and looks down at the fallen prince with a sneer. He exaggerates his cocky laughter, a laugh that’s much too loud to be a genuine one. He puts away any pity he feels for the boy and Lars plays his role as the tyrant.He gives the boy a chance.Lars knows what sort of feelings this will foster within the young prince, but he thinks it’s necessary. After all, the fewer people who miss Lars once he’s gone, the better. This is the mentality he takes as he continues parading around as a debauched tyrant, tarnishing his own reputation and sowing discontent within the people of the Imperial City.Emperor Rorschach walks away from the dingy, all-gray prison cell with his hands stained in hideous crimson.Lars lets Ayn scheme.It’s good for his younger cousin to build up a reliable army, one that trusts and has faith in the true future emperor. By the time Ayn is ready to take Lars down, Lars will already be gone and they will have been transported to a new world.So he focuses his attention on the zisurru.The otherworlder wakes up in the cage that Archmage Clayden sets up, disoriented and lost. She looks at him with a fierceness that almost catches him off guard, for she looks at him with the disdain of someone who has met him before.(The fire in her eyes of a cool colour reminds him of his cousin’s.)But, he thinks, this is their first meeting.She becomes rather dull quickly after. She responds to him curtly with a carefully levelled tone reminiscent of the nobles Lars has to deal with on a daily basis.And then they returned to the palace together— when the Otherworlder had left with a blonde mage.A suspicion forms.So he decides to do a little bit of poking around.“Isn’t she simply ravishing?” he grins, looking over to the Otherworlder briefly before looking at the shadow-cloaked man before him. “Are you fond of her as well?”“I harbour no such intentions.”Lars almost rolls his eyes. Quick and straight to the point. Ayn gives him nothing to work with— but it’s fine. Lars doesn’t need much to work with anyway.It’s clear as day to Lars that the two of them have some sort of unseen connection with each other. Later, when he returns to his chambers, he mulls over this.The Otheworlder is a sacrifice for the Descendence Ritual.His gaze trails over to the drawer containing a certain ornately decorated Faberge Egg. Lars’s confident smirk drops into a more natural, tired slight frown. With a quiet sigh, he starts reaching out for the drawer— before withdrawing his hand.She is not his to covet.(She never was. He doesn’t know when, but early on she had created an inseparable bond with his cousin.)And she will be taken by the hands of fate; there is no happy ending for him, for her. The world demands a worthy sacrifice— Lars and Clarence have spent all of this time painstakingly finding one.…But when they catch glimpses of the two, overhears the hushed murmurings of palace servants, he can’t help but feel pity.He sees the way the stoic Inquisitor’s eyes soften at the sight of the Otherworlder.The way the two of them will brush against each other, the lightest of touches, and glance at each other before looking away nonchalantly.The pleased smile on the Otherworlder’s face as she comes to breakfast in a dress he doesn’t recall leaving in her closet— and the way the young prince looks away to hide an incredibly faint smile.They’re so obvious it hurts.However, this can’t continue; the more the young prince becomes attached to the sacrifice, the messier things will be. So he tries to separate the two—“Ayn,” he calls out one day. “Let’s talk.”The room has just been emptied, a meeting having had just been adjourned. Though the leader of the Inquisitors had been nowhere in sight during the meeting, Ayn stepped forth from the shadows.The young Inquisitor says nothing, merely keeping his head bowed.“Do you like her?”Ayn maintains a subservient air. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re referring to.”Lars sighs exaggeratedly, leaning against the throne he’s seated upon. The throne was stained with the blood of this young boy’s parents.“Don’t play dumb,” he says with a lackadaisical wave of his hand. “It seems my cousin and lovely bride are getting along rather well.”“We’re only—”“Ah-ah-ah. You’ve already run through this routine of ‘I don’t care for him, I don’t for her,’ before,” Lars comments. “I’m not interested in hearing a rehash of it. That’s terribly boring, don’t you think?”Ayn remains silent.So Lars changes his angle.“Seeing as the two of you are both rather tight-knit, how about I have you be the one to do the honours during the Descendence Ritual?”A bluff. If everything goes according to plan, Ayn will be nowhere near the Imperial City on the day of the transcendence ritual. But the young prince knows not of this, of everything Lars has meticulously planned out over the years.“Oh? What’s wrong, dearest cousin? You’ve gone rather silent…”The emperor’s breath stops temporarily when he sees Ayn’s expression. It flashes by for a fraction of a second but one that embeds itself into Lars’s memory.A crackling, all-consuming flame. The culmination of years and years of hatred. Lars saw a frighteningly determined glare, one that almost made Lars feel like a child again. Lars realizes that, if he’s not careful at this very moment, he will be swallowed whole by the rampaging fire that is the vengeful prince.At that moment, he recalls the expression on the late queen’s face in her final moments as she fearlessly plunged the blade into her heart.“...She will die,” Lars says simply. “You understand this, do you not?”The Inquisitor’s head lowers, cloaking his expression in shadows. However, Lars doesn’t miss the subtle way Ayn’s fists clench.“I know.”Lars sighs, quietly dismissing his cousin from the throne room. And as he watches Ayn’s cloak flutter behind him, he can’t help but mourn—
In another world, perhaps I could’ve given them my blessings.
2. Ms.
Singer
The land above is fraught with an eternal cold. There is no mercy for anybody— women, men, children, elderly…Natural disaster discriminates against nobody, after all.And the emperor cares little for his people. He leaves them out in the cold, hugging their loved ones desperately as they try to ward away the inevitable frost.She has seen many die on the streets. People she used to laugh and drink with, people she used to chat with during the springtime as they did laundry together. The lovely, elderly lady that Ms. Singer often talked to on days off died a lonely death in the cobbled path in front of her house. Nobody cared for the elderly.Nobody bothered to reach out to someone already at death’s doorstep.There was no point, after all.(The frozen, tearful expression on the elderly lady’s face haunts Ms. Singer to this day. She tells herself that she has to protect herself but, really, how does this make her any better than the monsters spreading death throughout the previously lively streets? She watches as people around her die, hiding herself away from her own family in a meagre attempt to stall.)(She will never forget the day she watched as her beloved was frozen, taken by the hauntingly beautiful butterflies plaguing the streets. She will never forget the feeling of the ice shards in her hands as she bangs her fists against the frozen land in agony, screaming for the world to bring her husband back.)Her saviour comes in the form of a black cloak. He resembles the grim reaper, looking down at her through the shadows of his hood as she holds her child with trembling arms.“Bring them to the cave,” the young inquisitor had commanded coldly.And she had thought that was the end. But—But the man dressed like death had brought her hope.The cave, ratcave as they call it, was startlingly warm. Though she could no longer see the blue skies, she could live long enough to whisper “Good morning,” to her son another day.Godheim’s crown prince. The one who had saved her and her son, and all of those that the others above would’ve ignored.“Ms. Singer?”A kind, melodic voice snaps Ms. Singer out of her thoughts. The older woman laughs sheepishly, letting go of the younger girl’s hands that she had grabbed a few seconds ago.“I’m sorry, dear,” the woman apologizes. “I didn’t mean to zone out on you there. I’d like to thank you, again.”Humbly, the Goddess shakes her head with a small smile. Gentler, warmer hands reach back to hold Ms. Singer’s wrinkled ones. “And I will always say: it isn’t me that you should thank. Ayn is the one spearheading all of this…”“In that case, allow me to thank you for being there,” Ms. Singer says kindly. “For being the person that the boss can go to when there is nobody else.”It is well-known that the crown prince’s family was mercilessly slaughtered as the current emperor took the crown. That the kind prince— who had given many people an opportunity to live once more with their loved ones— had nobody to care for him.Until the Goddess arrived.Ms. Singer has observed the two of them from afar in passing. Each time, they stick close together and share warmth. Ms. Singer sees the ways the boss’s eyes soften around the edges whenever looking at the Goddess and she is reminded of her late husband.She sincerely wishes that the two of them will not be separated the way she had to separate from her late husband. Their love is a pure one; clumsily built, perhaps, but steadfast.The old woman thinks it’s rather touching that such a romance was able to bloom despite the harsh winters above.“I hope that you can remain with him,” Ms. Singer says a little selfishly. The Goddess was summoned from another world, Ms. Singer knows, but she quietly wants to see them laugh and see a more natural winter. To see the next winter— one not fraught with terror and death but rather innocent laughter and fluffy snow. To witness countless springs within Godheim, together.Before the Goddess can reply, however, something catches her attention.Ms. Singer watches as the Goddess turns around upon detecting something. She sees the Goddess’s face light up when she sees something… or someone.“Ayn,” the Goddess says warmly. The Goddess nods towards Ms. Singer, to which she replies with a smile, before making her way to the cloaked man.And though they do not embrace each other, nor do they share a kiss upon seeing each other, Ms. Singer sees the way the boss gazes at the Goddess with the affection of a lover. Please, Ms. Singer silently prays. May these two be able to enjoy Spring with the other by their side.
3. Anderson
Anderson has known the crown prince since he was a child. He entered the palace at a young age, acting as the late queen’s guard. The young prince and queen were practically inseparable early on, so it was only natural that Anderson would see a lot of the crown prince.And he watches as the crown prince enters the Inquisitors at the fragile age of fifteen. Too old to be a child, too young to be an adult. An adolescent thrown into a whirlpool of violence and betrayal, drowning in an endless pool of bloodshed.He watches as the crown prince quickly rises through the ranks, disposing of any targets that the emperor has noted down with frightening efficiency.The crown prince’s swordsmanship is unparalleled.(Anderson sees the way the crown prince lingers around the corpse, quietly bleeding out. An unreadable expression rests on the crown prince’s face and a stormy look clouds brilliant red eyes.)Anderson was loyal to Queen Feina. And now, he is loyal to her child— the crown prince, Ayn.He quietly observes the crown prince. Anderson is far too awkward to provide any comfort to the battered prince. Anderson isn’t gentle and nor is he particularly good with emotions.But he can provide Ayn with his undying loyalty.As an Inquisitor, it stands that Anderson needs to be alert to his surroundings. He listens closely to his surroundings, pays attention to the smallest of details. As a result, Anderson thinks that he has a fairly decent grasp on the young prince and his tells…“In the case that this happens, then we could take these paths,” the Goddess says.The prince’s response is near-immediate. “I agree. We can also make use of these tunnels to more quickly redirect…”It’s clear that the two of them are in the middle of discussing future plans. The two of them share this trait— the willingness to take action as soon as possible, working hard towards their shared goal. He sees the tenacity within the prince and the Goddess. A fearsome duo indeed, he thinks.Anderson hesitates for a moment, hovering by the door with a meagre tray of food in his hands. They’re clearly busy but it wouldn’t do anybody any good, either, if they didn’t eat.In any case, they can simply continue discussing their plans after eating.So Anderson raises one hand to knock on the door to signal his arrival—Quiet laughter.Mid-air, his hand freezes. He’s been with the young prince for many years but he can’t recall the last time he’s heard the young prince laugh so innocently.There’s hushed murmuring behind the door that Anderson cannot make out. He doesn’t try to, either. This is a moment between two lovers and one of the few that they’re allowed before they go out to confront the Rebellion.The young prince does not have many good things in life.Anderson has seen the young prince throw away his humanity. Has seen the young prince turn himself into a monster that can cut down any and all enemies of the current emperor. All for the sake of the prince’s revenge.Revenge is an ugly cycle; one that the prince has found himself stuck within.Anderson, for the longest time, didn’t know how to help the young prince. But the Goddess…He hears a hushed whisper.“I lo…”“Shh,” the Goddess interrupts gently. “Tell me after. Promise you’ll tell me after we succeed.”…Anderson quietly wonders what the appropriate course of action to take would be. With each passing minute, the scraps of food on the tray grow colder while the two key figures in their plans grow hungrier.But now is… I shouldn’t delay any longer, he decides. So, he raises a hand and raps on the door with two resounding knocks.The people within the room fall silent. Quickly, the door opens and Anderson is greeted by the Goddess.(Further back, he sees the young prince scowling a little. Anderson chooses to ignore this.)“Anderson,” she says warmly. “What’s up?”“I’m here with food,” he says. “The others from the ratcave scrounged up what they could.”“Oh, I couldn’t…”That’s when the prince finally approaches the door, peering over the Goddess’s shoulder. The young prince, the leader of the Inquisitors, looks at Anderson.“The others have eaten?”“Yes, sir.”“And you?”“I have also eaten my fill.”“If everybody has eaten, then it’s fine,” the young prince concludes. He takes the tray from Anderson and nods stiffly. Anderson bows his head slightly as he hides a smile. “I will take my leave now.”And as the Inquisitor leaves, he can’t help but laugh quietly to himself as he recalls the red tint in the young prince’s ears.
The Goddess, His Lover
The Painter laces her fingers together with Ayn’s as they lay side by side on the bed. She cannot see him too clearly, with the kerosene lamp flickering on and off, but she can feel him.His hands are rough and callused from years of fighting. His hands are on the colder side but she doesn’t particularly mind.After all, she has enough warmth to share.Ayn, of course, notices her shifting. The Painter listens quietly as Ayn moves, blankets rustling as he does so.“Still anxious?” he asks simply.
Filled with uncertainty, without a clear beginning or end.
The Painter suddenly remembers thinking this about her relationship with Ayn. But even though there is no clear beginning or end, even though the future is uncertain and there is no guarantee that they will succeed…“No,” she whispers into the night. “Not with you by my side.”The Painter has seen him paranoid, unable to believe that anybody would ever willingly follow him. She has seen him in softer moments with her dress in his lap and a needle in hand. They have butted heads and have made promises to each other under the moonlight.Promises that the Painter intends to keep.A quiet, fond chuckle from her side. Ayn’s hands held hers tightly.“We will see spring,” he says. Ayn says it as a matter of fact. “Godheim will finally see an end to this eternal winter…”She hums in response.“Yes,” she agrees. “And maybe you can tell me more about yourself afterwards. Without the threat of glacial butterflies at every corner.”“I’d like that,” he says eventually, almost fragile, as his hold on her hand tightens. “And you can tell me about yourself and your world, too.”The world is silent in this moment for the two of them. Perhaps it’s the world’s courtesy, allowing the two of them to spend one more peaceful night before jumping into the thick of things. The Painter takes this silence and cherishes it. A rare moment where nobody is screaming in fear as disaster strikes, where she does not hear the sound of mages casting spells.It’s just the two of them, their quiet breaths matching up.Ayn and herself.Herself and Ayn.The crown prince and his lover.