Chapter Text
Phainon couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t hear his footsteps or the flurry of his cloak or the beat of his heart. It was like a gun had been shot somewhere in his mind, and now his thoughts were birds scattering into the wind.
He hadn’t asked for permission. He hadn’t told his guards. After that last god-forsaken meeting, he’d just sprinted out the gates, praying to every god he knew that no one would follow him.
After the first five minutes, he’d completely lost track of where he was. After ten, the streets started to blur. It was only after fifteen, by which his entire body was screaming at him to breathe, when he stopped.
Not a single guard in sight.
Sweat trickled down his face, but he didn’t dare to take off his hood. It would be a waste to send the public into a frenzy after all he’d done to throw off his guards. The streets of lower Okhema were not bright, bustling marketplaces that tourists frequented, but there were enough people around. Enough to recognize the prince of the kingdom.
On better days, he’d come wandering with his personal bodyguard, Mydei. On worse ones, they’d be accompanied by guards that everyone would sniff out by the third alley.
But today…
Phainon finally continued along the cracked streets, slipping into the shadows. As he walked, he avoided the passersby the same way he avoided the thoughts in his mind: easily. It was not so much a question of getting lost, but rather, getting grounded. Everything was so much more real here than at the palace. Death at the palace was a sheet over a body and the pretense of grief. Death in the streets was the stench of sickness and the hum of flies over a rotting corpse.
He didn’t even realise how far his mind had slipped from his body when he was pulled back by an interruption.
A rather small interruption.
“Mister, you dropped sumfink.” came the tiny voice of a little boy; he couldn’t have been older than twelve. When he stared up at Phainon, it was with eyes too bright for the world he lived in.
Phainon glanced down at the calloused hands held before him. A pin stared back at him, its dappled pattern of sapphires and rubies glistening in the pale light. He didn’t even remember donning it that morning, but it must’ve fallen off in his rush.
“Mister?”
“You can keep it.” He had no idea where he’d even gotten that little trinket, but it was worth much more to this boy than it ever would to him. “Bring it to your parents.”
But the boy frowned. “Did ya curse it?”
“What? no—“
“Mael?”
A voice sliced through the quiet moment that had formed. Phainon looked up, but what he saw wasn’t quite what he’d expected. The man in front of him had a calm air about him, despite his furrowed brow. His thin figure was that of someone who used their wits to survive these parts in lieu of their body. But neither of those qualities struck Phainon quite as much as the striking look in the singular eye he left uncovered.
For a second, Phainon wondered if the man recognized him.
Even with his face hidden under the cloak, the man seemed to gaze directly at Phainon, as if he had both the ability and the permission to search his soul.
“Teacher!”
The boy — Mael — broke whatever tension was hovering in the air, and both of them turned to look at him.
“I was just returnin’ this mister's piece of treasure to him.” Mael held up the pin. “But he told me I could have it.”
“Did he now?”
The man turned to Phainon again, a million unanswerable questions swimming in his gaze.
“Is it cursed, Teacher?”
“I didn’t—”
“No.”
Phainon’s argument died in his throat. The strange man’s gaze was now on the pin; the intensity of his stare almost as if he were trying to commit it to memory.
“You’d better give it to your mother,” he finally said. “Tell her I’ve checked it.”
“Are you gonna do another story today, Teacher?” asked Mael, slipping it carefully into a pouch Phainon hadn’t even noticed. “Lacy and the others wanted to hear one.”
“I will.” The teacher’s tone softened. “Why don’t you run ahead? I’ll be right behind you.”
“A’ight!”
And with that, Mael scrambled down the road. It was only after he rounded the corner that the so-called teacher finally turned to face Phainon again.
“Would you like to join us?”
…
That wasn’t quite what Phainon had been expecting to hear.
“Pardon?”
“It isn’t much, but there’s tea and biscuits for anyone who comes and listens to my tales. The children quite like it, actually. I sometimes suspect they are only coming for the snacks.”
Phainon understood every single word individually, but the specific string that was being spoken out loud didn’t quite seem to stick in his brain. It was worse when he considered the context. This man he didn’t know apparently told stories to children in lower Okhema and was now inviting him, Phainon, to listen in.
Phainon didn’t know how long it was that he stood there, staring at this peculiar man. Perhaps it was a minute, or perhaps it was five. All he knew then was that this man, with his second-hand clothes and his singular eye, was not at all how he appeared to be.
The prince in disguise saying someone isn’t how they appear to be? Pot, kettle, Phainon. No one is how they appear, really. Especially not at the palace. Especially not today—
“I’ll go.”
A look of something indecipherable crossed the teacher’s face, but it faded after a moment, replaced only by a half-smile.
“Walk swiftly.”
“Wait—” Phainon strolled after the other man as he turned and walked down the way Mael had gone. “Tell me your name.”
The man didn’t hesitate. “Why?”
“Huh?” Phainon managed to huff out a dry laugh. “What will I call you then?”
“Why is there any need to refer to me by anything at all?”
“Well—”
But something clicked in his head before he could continue. It almost made him laugh again. This man, this teacher , did not want him to answer simply. The neutral inflection. The phrasing. He wanted a real answer. Perhaps this was a test, or a game, or a whim. It didn’t matter, for Phainon was determined to best him at it. Or at least, meet his expectations.
Phainon took a moment to think about his answer.
“A name sets apart a person from a role or an expectation,” he started slowly, “A name humanizes that which is not inherently human, and to take away a name is to dehumanize someone. There is no need to refer to you by anything, but I’d like to, because I’d like to allow you to be human.”
When he finished speaking, the teacher stopped walking.
He looked at Phainon, really looked, like there was nothing quite as fascinating in that moment. Once again, Phainon wondered if he was reading the words etched into his soul.
“An acceptable answer.”
Phainon let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.
They walked on in silence for a few more moments, when the man spoke once again.
“Some of the children call me Teacher Naxy.”
Naxy?!
It was a surprisingly… cute name, for someone who seemed so sharp in more ways than one. But Phainon didn’t miss his wording. The children called him that; whether it was his actual name or not was not specified, though Phainon suspected the latter.
“And yours?”
“Huh?”
“Your name.”
Phainon paused.
“… Snowy.”
“Oh.”
Phainon could’ve sworn he saw Naxy’s lips curve up. It was a nickname his governor gave him when he was younger, when he still felt like a boy and not a prince. No one had used it for years now. He didn’t know why it came to him so suddenly.
Naxy and Snowy.
A pair of strange names for a pair of strange people. Phainon supposed it worked.
“We’re here.”
Naxy stopped at a bungalow that looked like it had been abandoned for far too long. The windows had all been patched up with wooden boards, and Phainon could see a hole in the roof.
“Is this your home?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.
Naxy blinked. “No.”
That only sprouted more questions in his mind, but he kept his mouth shut. This was a revelation, even if he didn’t fully grasp it just yet, like he was being let in on a secret. It didn’t feel quite right to talk.
To Phainon’s surprise, the door had been left unlocked and Naxy simply pushed it open. Muted giggling filled the air around them as they stepped into what used to be the foyer. Naxy led them through the halls, the floorboards creaking under every other step, until finally, they reached the source of the sound.
The atmosphere was different in this room, to say the least.
The room had the markings of a kitchen someone had transformed into a living area. There were cushions and blankets and moth-eaten rugs strewn across the floor, illuminated by sunlight streaming from the windows. The countertops by the sink were littered with books and bottles, with the occasional paraffin lamp. From the ceiling hung more lamps, presumably for the night, but also feathers, shiny rocks, and shards of stained glass all tied together in sparkling strings.
It looked lived in, like someone cared to stay.
The giggling stopped when they walked in. Four children were strewn across the pillows, their smiles warped into surprise and, in some, fear. Mael was there, sitting between two girls and another boy, surprise painted on his face like a third drama mask.
“But you said I can have it!” the poor boy cried, jumping up on his feet.
Phainon had been about to say something to wave away their confusion, but Mael’s words made him freeze.
What kind of response was that?
“You can have it, Mael,” Naxy walked to the kitchen side of the room as if everyone was not frozen with varying degrees of shock. “This is Mister Snowy. He will be joining us today.”
The children all looked at each other. Phainon envied the way they seemingly communicated without using words. It made him feel even more like an intruder, disrupting the natural calm and safety of this place. And from the glares they were giving him, the children certainly thought that way as well.
He decided to inch over to Naxy instead, who seemed completely unbothered by the situation. He simply opened an overhead cupboard and pulled out a small jar of tea leaves.
Phainon didn’t hesitate. “I feel like your children would rather I wasn’t here.”
“They are not my children.”
Naxy threw some leaves in a kettle and set out six teacups.
“Ah. Well, I’m still intruding, aren’t I? I don’t want to make the kids uncomfortable.”
“Nonsense. You are my guest.” He paused. “Unless, you’d rather be somewhere else?”
It was a rather direct choice of words in a rather direct conversation. In court, they wouldn’t have been accepted, but here, they didn’t seem quite so rude or harsh. They were spoken as simple facts, like the speaker couldn’t afford sugar for his words.
“No, no. I’d like to stay— I just—” All those public speaking lessons and Phainon still couldn’t string a sentence together. “Will the kids be okay with this?”
“What part of ‘you are my guest’ is not clear to you?” Naxy let out a sigh, but it had lost its edge “The children won’t be an issue. They’ll come around.”
“If you’re sure—”
“But—” his voice had dropped to a low whisper, but it silenced Phainon all the same “—if they cause trouble for you. If they say things, or take things, tell me and let me handle it. Don’t handle it yourself.”
“Of course! Why would I—”
“Some people are less kind than you.”
The next moment would have been silent if not for the kettle.
“Children, come get your tea.”
They scrambled over to Naxy and took a cup each. The boy that wasn’t Mael also took a half-eaten box of biscuits.
Naxy nudged a cup in Phainon’s direction. “It’s not the best tea…” His voice was a little hesitant. If Phainon didn’t know better, he might’ve called it shy.
“That’s fine!” Phainon took a sip as if to prove his point. It certainly wasn’t the imported teas sourced from some land most people hadn’t even heard of that the palace liked to stock. But it wasn’t bad. At the very least, it was warm and real and here . At that moment, as he matched Naxy’s stare, that was all that mattered.
“Teacher Naxy! What story are you telling us today?”
The little girl’s voice broke both of them from their momentary reverie. The tea in her cup sloshed precariously, threatening to spill as she bounced around with excitement.
“Patience, Lacy,” answered Naxy, walking over to the pillows.
Everyone seemed to have a place, a spot. They all sat down on various pillows and snuggled under blankets with Naxy sitting cross-legged in the middle.
“Well?” The teacher looked up at him like it was obvious where he ought to sit.
“Where should I—”
“Is your name really Snowy?”
The girl who wasn’t Lacy pouted as she spoke. It would’ve concerned Phainon if it didn’t simply make her look like a slightly inconvenienced cat.
“No way. Snowy is a sucky name,” chimed Lacy.
The other boy joined in. “It’s like a name my parents would give to a dog.”
They all erupted into laughter. All of them except Mael, who kept glancing between Phainon and his friends with a conflicted expression.
Phainon chuckled, if a bit hesitantly. He really shouldn’t be encouraging bullying, but they didn’t seem that malicious. Besides, he was the one intruding—
“Tsk.”
The sound Naxy made was soft, barely reproachful, but it silenced everyone all the same. Phainon wondered how he’d learn to command a room like that; how he was seemingly able to make the entire room hold its breath. It was a skill every noble tried to learn, yet few truly mastered.
“Mister Snowy here is my guest, and I would expect you all to welcome him politely.” The corners of Naxy’s mouth twitched. “Keep your thoughts about his name choices to yourself, even if they are true.”
“Hey wait a second.” Phainon spoke with indignation, even as a smile creeped on his face.
The children started giggling again, and this time, Phainon joined in wholeheartedly. Something broke, then. Tension, perhaps. But no one cared about its absence, not when an unexpected serenity settled in its wake.
“If you’ve finished,” said Naxy once they’d calmed down, “introduce yourselves to Mister Snowy. We can start with you, Lacy.”
Lacy smirked and stared Phainon directly in the eyes. “I’m Lacy! And you better not do anything weird ‘cause I’m watching ya!”
“Pleasure to meet you, Lacy.”
“Ugh, you’re so fancy. Kay, it’s your turn Angie.”
The other girl gave her friend an unimpressed look that, again, reminded Phainon of a cat. “Okay. My name’s Angie. You just missed my birthday.”
“It was last week,” whispered Lacy as if she was letting Phainon in on something conspiratorial.
“Oh, a belated happy birthday to you then.”
Naxy turned to the other boy. “Cor?”
The boy — Cor — froze. He was the smallest of the bunch and looked the youngest too. He hadn’t yet lost all the baby fat on his cheeks.
“Um,” he started, his voice coming out small. All the confidence he had earlier seemed to have vanished. “I’m Cor.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Cor.”
The boy only nodded and turned to Mael, who was staring at Phainon.
“You know my name,” was all he said.
“Yeah, I do. And—” Phainon remembered the boy’s words from earlier. “I meant it when I said you can have that pin. I don’t go back on my word.”
“Okay.” Mael still didn’t take his eyes off Phainon.
Phainon finally decided to take a seat and settled for a blue pillow between the teacher himself and Lacy. Again, it wasn’t palace standards of quality, but he still found himself liking it more than the tasseled pillows he was used to.
Naxy nodded at Phainon’s choice of seating and turned to his audience. “Well, now that we’re acquainted—”
“Are you gonna keep that hood on all the time?”
It was Mael who spoke.
He was still staring at Phainon, and now that he’d spoken, everyone else turned to look at him as well.
Phainon sucked in his breath. He didn’t want to ruin this by being recognized. Who knew how familiar these kids were with the prince’s face? He could never tell. He’d met children who were just so excited to meet him, but also seen those who barely knew his name.
And even if the children didn’t recognize him, Naxy surely would. He’d already stared at Phainon a few times, enough to have suspicions.
“Well…”
His eyes caught Naxy’s and it took him a fraction of a second to understand one thing.
There was no one to help him out of this one now.
Naxy stayed silent, instead filling the void with his curious stare. He looked at Phainon like he was studying an never-before-solved equation. A question danced in his eyes, waiting patiently for its answers to be revealed.
What will you do now?
Phainon exhaled.
He took off his hood.
“Huh, guess that’s why you’re called Snowy.”
Angie’s voice cut through the collective breath everyone had been holding and everyone came back to themselves all at once.
“Your hair really is white!” said Lacy.
Cor tilted his head, as if to get a better angle. “Thought it was grey.”
Mael simply nodded along to his friends’ words, a sort of satisfaction on his face.
Phainon smiled. No sign of recognition. Or if they did recognize him, they didn’t mention it, and that was good enough for him. He turned to Naxy, who was still looking at him, and—
“You oughtn't hide a handsome face like that away.”
It was whispered, spoken in a tone Phainon wasn’t sure was meant for anyone’s ears. He’d barely caught it, but it made his face go warm nonetheless. It was strange. He’d heard similar words plenty of times before, and yet this time it felt different. Special.
“Well,” said Naxy, like the words had never left his mouth. Like they’d never existed . “I suppose that’s settled then.”
Phainon’s mind was frankly still somewhere between “handsome” and “face”, and he was no longer quite sure he hadn’t hallucinated it all. He was glad for the fact that everyone was now preoccupied with the story. Someone would’ve definitely noticed the flush on his cheeks otherwise.
“Once upon a time, there was a princess who ruled a faraway land,” began Naxy. “Everyone knew her as the princess of flowers, who grew fields upon fields of the prettiest flowers in the land.”
Phainon leaned into his pillow and closed his eyes, letting images bloom in his mind.
“She liked to read and write, so she became very clever. Many people admired her and wished for her hand in marriage, but she was interested in none of them. She decided she wanted to be queen on her own.
“The princess also had a twin sister, whom she loved very much. As children, they were inseparable. One day, they went for a walk together in the forest. Alas, this was no ordinary forest. It soon became clear that they had wandered into a magical forest.
“Now, would anyone like to suggest what they’d find in a magical forest?”
Phainon’s eyes fluttered open. He watched as the children’s hands shot up one by one, and with a nod from Naxy, they spoke.
“Unicorns!”
“Fairies and wood nymphs, because they live in trees.”
“Can there be water nymphs too? Like, in the rivers, ‘cause forests have rivers too right?”
“I bet they’ll find witches.”
Naxy raised his eyebrows at the last suggestion — Mael’s — and nodded. “Every creature you’ve all named does exist in this forest—” cue cheers from the children “—but witches are especially important to this story.”
“The princesses journeyed deeper into the forest, looking to spot nymphs or unicorns along the way. As they went on, they lost track of time and the forest around them grew dark. The friendly trees and soft foliage they had walked through now seemed dark and filled with sharp edges. But were the princesses scared?”
A chorus of “no”s and “nope”s rang out as they all replied to the teacher. Phainon couldn’t help but smile at this. It was a lot livelier than the storytelling sessions he’d previously attended. Instead of just listening quietly, here, everyone was involved. He was starting to see why everyone had seemed so excited.
“Right. Princesses are certainly very brave. They decided they were going to head back, so that no one would worry about them. Unfortunately, they met a strange person on the way back. At first, they were unsure who it was. But once they got closer, the light of their lanterns illuminated the area enough for them to realize that they had come face to face with a?”
“Ugly witch!” answered Mael, beating all the others.
Naxy pressed his lips together for a moment. “Yes, the princesses met a witch. Now, not all witches are ugly or, in fact, evil. Many witches can be good people who simply wield magic, and what you look like certainly isn’t involved in whether you are a good person or not. A beautiful person can be evil, and someone who you might think is ugly can be a good person.”
“But a lot of the time, if you’re a good person, it does show,” said Phainon. He’d spoken quietly, more to himself than anything, but Naxy turned to look at him.
“Would you like to elaborate on what you just said, Snowy?”
Naxy addressed Phainon like he would any child sitting there, but his eyes said more. They weren’t challenging per se, but they were asking. Eternally asking. Asking for more. More of Phainon. More of his words and his knowledge and whatever else he had in him to give. Naxy had the eyes of a teacher and a scholar, and he demanded nothing less than everything from everyone he wished to study.
“Ah, well…” Phainon scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly. “I just think that when you’re good and kind to others, it shows on your person. A nice person's smile is different from a bad person's smile. It’s just… different. I’m not sure I know how to explain it.”
“I think he’s right,” Cor said quietly. “Nice people have a good smile.”
Naxy cocked his head to the side. “An interesting observation indeed. Point well made.”
His eyes flitted to Phainon’s for just a moment.
“I agree with both of you,” he said, a little quieter than before. “I will change my statement. Although appearances can be deceiving, there are still ways you can notice someone’s true nature, granted you are experienced and observant enough.”
“How much experience does it take?” asked Angie.
It’s not “how much”, though, is it? It’s what. What experience does it take?
…
A betrayal.
“Hmph.” Naxy raised his eyebrows. “It takes a lot of experience. Some people never even reach that point, so for all of you who are still young, you’d better keep your guard up still. Don’t forget what I’ve taught you.”
“Yes, Teacher!” rang their voices in unison.
“Let’s continue with the story.” Naxy took a sip of his tea. “Pay attention, there’s still a lot left.”
Phainon leaned back again, but this time he kept his eyes on Naxy. He watched the way his hands moved with his voice, his entire body flowing to the same rhythm. Whoever he was, he truly fit the role of a teacher. His demeanor embodied something greater than himself. Something larger than life. Like the spirit of philosophy itself flowed through his veins.
Phainon had never quite met a teacher like him.
“Though the witch the princesses encountered had shimmering golden hair and eyes that glittered like jewels, her heart was rotten to the core. The princesses were clever enough to see through her looks and distrusted her immediately. Unfortunately, the witch spotted them before they could get away.
“‘You are trespassing on my land,’ declared the wicked witch. And for no other reason than her own fickle mood, she cursed the princess’s sister and turned her into a dragon.”
“What!?”
“No way!”
“They didn’t even do nothing!”
A princess with a cursed twin…
What a funny coincidence. It sounds just like her.
“The dragon, no longer in control of her own body, took to the skies. She could not control her own powers, and went into a wild rampage. The dragon terrorized the land with her flames and her strength, no longer able to tell apart the innocent citizens she once loved from the hunters. The king and queen were very distraught about this situation, but they surely could not kill their own daughter.
“They finally decided they had to send troops to fend her off, at least until they could find the wicked witch who cursed her. They had forty five soldiers in a company and sent six companies at first. Who would like to tell me how many soldiers were sent in total?”
Phainon had been about to take a sip of tea, but he paused as the cup was mere inches from his mouth. He’d never sat through something like this before. His own arithmetic lessons were on paper, timed and tidy.
The first hand that shot up was Angie’s, but she beat the others by just a fraction of a second.
“Two hundred seventy.”
“Correct. Unfortunately, out of the soldiers sent, forty percent were too injured to continue and had to be sent back. How many remained?”
Cor answered this time. “Hundred sixty-two.”
This continued on for a while, each of them taking their turns answering the various questions Naxy shot at them. Phainon was well aware of the fact that he was now gaping at all of them, but he was too impressed to care. They were still quite young, but all of them answered like seasoned scholars.
And in the middle of it all was the teacher, the conductor, the master of the room. Naxy weaved his questions into a battle scene that left them on the edge of their seats. It felt like the kids’ own challenge, keeping up with the momentum of the story. When someone got a question wrong, he corrected gently, and proposed what they might have done wrong. The kids accepted their mistakes with far more maturity than three-quarters of the royal court.
It was a perfectly cultivated learning environment. It could only have been crafted by someone who truly understood how to teach. Someone who cared to try.
He deserves to rule a kingdom.
After a while, Naxy seemed pleased with everyone. He smiled ever so slightly before continuing on with the story proper.
“One day, the princess got wind of a wizard king in a faraway land. He was rumored to have great magic and had cured many curses. Emboldened by this discovery, the princess travelled for ten nights and ten days through many strange new lands. There were mist-soaked forests and scorching deserts. Skyscraping peaks and thick jungle, she made her way through them all.
“Eventually, she reached the wizard king’s land and made her way to his castle. It was a dazzling structure, made of marble and gold. This made the princess worry that her offerings would not be enough for a king so wealthy. But she was a brave princess who loved her sister and her kingdom, so she went anyway. When she went in—”
“She’s making a mistake. Kings in palaces of gold can’t be trusted.”
Phainon hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but everyone turned to him anyway. Most notably was the unimpressed look Naxy gave him.
“Children, would you like to inform our guest what the number one rule around here is?”
“Never interrupt the Teacher! Silence is golden!”
Phainon’s face warmed in embarrassment at their unified statement. “I didn’t mean to interrupt! I was thinking out loud. It was a little too loud, I guess.”
He usually had better control over his mouth. It was one of the first lessons he had to learn as a prince. Something about this place and how relaxed it all was rather threw him off his game.
As the blush on his cheeks was still fading, Naxy leaned in closer to him. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to ask which transgression he’d committed now. But before a word could leave his mouth, a lithe finger flicked across his forehead.
“Ow!”
The children burst into giggles at this and Phainon joined them after a beat. It hadn’t even been painful, and the smirk on the teacher’s face made Phainon laugh harder.
“Everyone gets one eventually!” cried Lacy. “That’s what you get for interrupting Teacher!”
Naxy nodded. “The second rule is that any statement put forth must be backed with logic and reason.” He turned his head to the side. “Tell me, Snowy, why do you say our noble princess is making a mistake?”
The room immediately quieted, as if to give Phainon center stage for his answer.
“Oh,” was Phainon’s ever-eloquent starter. “Well, the king’s palace is made of gold and marble, isn’t it? I just feel like someone who builds something like that isn’t going to have their subjects’ best interests at heart.”
Or anyone else’s, for that matter.
“That’s very true.” Naxy nodded. “When our princess went to talk to this wizard king, it turned out he was a cruel man. He was very powerful, but he wasn’t interested in any of her offerings, and he wasn’t willing to do anything without proper payment.”
“That ain’t very nice,” said Mael, the others nodding along to his words. “It’s not even her fault her sister’s cursed.”
“Many people in the world aren’t nice, like the witch and the king,” added Phainon. “Which is why we all have to work hard and make the world better by being nice people.”
“I want to be a nice person,” Cor whispered. “If I were the king I’d help her.”
“Unfortunately, the king was not as nice as all of you. He would not help her easily.”
Naxy leaned in closer to the middle before continuing, as if he were about to tell an important secret. The children — and in turn, Phainon — did the same. When they were all huddled in close, Naxy spoke again.
“The wizard king gave the princess a proposition. He would undo the curse the witch put on her sister and allow her to become human again if, and only if, she married his son, the prince.”
Phainon’s mouth went dry.
He believed in fate. It was more than likely that he was now being punished, in a way, for having run out — run away, more like, even if it was temporary — like that. He was being punished via a story that was far too similar to his own. This was fate’s way of telling him that he could not escape, no matter how hard he tried. Fate would always be there, wouldn’t it? It was here now, in the story that just happened to mirror his life far too well.
Then, his eyes met Naxy’s and he wondered if it was even a coincidence at all.
“The wizard king gave the princess three days to make her decision. If she could not decide by then, he would send her back and never accept her in his palace again.”
Naxy leaned back. “What would you do if you were the princess? You may discuss.”
The children sprang into action, like they’d done this countless times before.
Lacy led the discussion. “She can’t just give up her whole life, right? That’s crazy!”
“She’s gotta. The dragon is killing people too.” Mael shot back. “It’s not just ‘bout her sister.”
“My sisters are annoying,” added Cor, “but I don’t think I want them to be dragons.”
“Even if it means you get married to someone you’ve never met? She doesn’t even get to be queen! That’s her whole dream!”
“She’ll be queen when the wizard king dies. She’s getting married to the prince.”
“It’s not her kingdom. It’s not the same.”
“That’s true.”
“What do you mean that’s true?! It’s still people. She should care about all people equally.”
Phainon turned his attention from the kids to Naxy for a moment. He was watching the debate with an almost bored demeanor, but Phainon could tell he was listening closely. Even so, it didn’t take long before he caught onto his gaze and turned to meet his eyes.
And—
Phainon couldn’t even begin to describe Naxy’s eyes.
Perhaps they were like jewels from the deepest mines of faraway lands, reflecting light in a hundred thousand ways. Perhaps they were like a stream trickling over a bed of colorful pebbles, gentle and patient. Perhaps they were like a hawk’s eyes that missed nothing, even in a moment of rest. Perhaps they were all of those or none of those or simply something that was as wholly unique as the person they belonged to.
Phainon really, truly wanted to tell him everything then. To ask him. To beg this strange man he’d never met if he’d made the right choice. If everything was going to be okay. If his life could one day be another story to be told, where everyone ended up with a happy ending anyways, even if it seemed unlikely.
“Do you have anything to add, Snowy?”
His voice was softer, almost whispered between the words of the children. He was asking him and him alone, like his answer mattered personally.
“Teacher…”
He said the moniker like a prayer to a god he used to believe in.
“Does the prince even love the princess?”
The words sounded like a confession uttered in a place where the sun couldn’t reach. An admission of something that was not quite guilt. A plea, perhaps.
“What do you think?”
Something broke in Phainon.
Because in his story, he did not love that princess he’d agreed to marry. He hadn’t even met her. He saw her face in the portraits they’d sent him and heard of her character through the flowery words ambassadors spoke. She was That Princess. That girl. That person he was supposed to have fallen in love with the second he saw her face, because that would’ve made things so much easier for everyone else, wouldn’t it?
He wanted to rip the story from the teacher’s hands and reweave its threads one by one. He wanted to wrench the despair from its words. It was almost disgusting, how well it matched up with his sad yet still sickeningly privileged life. In the story, the princess didn’t want to marry the prince. She was doing this for her twin, for her kingdom , not for herself.
But Phainon just blinked and smiled.
“If the prince were someone who truly loved her, at least she would be safe and cared for, no? She might even end up in a happy relationship in the end. That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Do you really think that is a likely possibility in this situation?”
Naxy’s tone was not harsh or sharp, but his words cut through Phainon’s facade all the same.
“Anything’s possible in a story, isn’t it? ” He glanced to the side. The children were still caught up in their own discussion.
“I asked if it was likely. Do answer my question properly.”
Phainon hesitated, arranging and rearranging the words in his head to make sure they sounded right. “I’m sure a case can probably be made here that it’s unlikely the wicked king’s son is operating on purely innocent motives. But I want to wish for a happy ending for this story. I’d like to give the prince a chance. Not everyone is defined by their parents.”
“Aye.”
Mael’s voice made Phainon break eye contact with Naxy and instead turn to meet the stares of the children. Evidently, their discussion had finished.
“I mean, I know plenty of nice kids with rusty parents.”
From the look in Mael’s eyes Phainon felt like he more than knew kids like that, but he didn’t pry. He understood his point; he respected it, and that was enough.
“You didn’t tell us about the prince,” continued Mael, turning to Naxy. “Can you tell us so we can discuss again?”
The teacher shook his head. “I’d like you all to make your decisions as if you were in the princess’s shoes, with the same information she has. She doesn’t know if the prince actually likes her.”
Hah. Phainon did not know whether his bride-to-be actually liked him either.
Fate really was cruel.
CUCKOO! CUCKOO!
Without warning, a clock Phainon hadn’t even noticed burst into a whirl of noise and movements. Instead of a single cuckoo bird, a myriad of wooden creatures sprang from the rickety thing. They were obviously hand-carved and hand-painted, seeing as one of the unicorns was horribly round. In fact, the entire thing must’ve been handmade with how mismatched its components seemed to be. Frankly, it was a miracle the clock wasn’t falling apart with how its components shook and rattled.
The children seemed half delighted with the display yet also disappointed. A few of them groaned at the sound and looked pleadingly at Naxy.
“Would you look at the time,” said Naxy, walking over to the clock. He reached around the side and fiddled with some mechanism until the clock shut itself in once again. “You’d all better run along now. We will continue the story tomorrow.”
With a soft smile on his face, he looked back at the children’s not-quite-subtle disappointment. “You did ask for more time to discuss, no?”
Mael was the first one to stand up, but instead of walking out, he looked at Phainon.
“Is Mister Snowy gonna be here tomorrow?”
Phainon shook his head. He couldn’t possibly pull a stunt like this twice in a row. “Probably not, sorry. I might come back another day though!”
He really did want to come back to see these kids again. They seemed bright and fun and all so unique. Getting to know them would no doubt be interesting, and he might be able to learn things to help improve the lives of the ordinary people living in the kingdom.
Then, Phainon caught Naxy’s eye. Of course, there was also the teacher. He was certainly a very interesting individual. Phainon had never met such a teacher that was as skilled nor as kind as he. Sure, his words had edges, but they were never sharp enough to really cut. Phainon was sure that getting to know him better would be good for the kingdom. Perhaps he could even invite him to court one day.
They all walked out to the foyer where the children said their goodbyes, promising to come early tomorrow for their story. Phainon and Naxy watched from the doorway as they all ran down the street, standing there in silence until they’d all disappeared from view.
Phainon slipped his hands into his pockets. Surely it was time for him to go as well. Mydei would certainly give him some words on slipping out completely unattended, and there would only be more words the longer he spent away.
He remembered the way back, but he would have to go in through the back gates. Though, they were probably locked by now. It was lucky he had a spare key right here in his pocke—
Eh??? Where’s the key?
He dug his fingers into his pockets, but alas, there was no key anywhere. It must’ve fallen out sometime during the story, because he was sure he had it when he was walking through the streets with Naxy.
“Something wrong?” asked Naxy, evidently having noticed Phainon’s slight distress.
“I think I lost something back in the other room,” said Phainon, walking back.
“What is it?” Naxy’s footsteps sounded behind him. “Tell me so I can help look for it.”
Once they were back in the room, Phainon beelined for the pillows. “It’s a key. All black, a little rusty. I might need it to get home.”
“I see.”
He heard shuffling behind him and Naxy appeared beside him, rearranging the pillows and various soft bundles so they could see the floor beneath.
They spent a good ten minutes looking around the areas where Phainon could’ve dropped it, but it was to no avail. His key did not show up anywhere.
With a sigh, Phainon leaned on the countertops by the sink. “Well, it’s not impossible to go home if I’ve lost it I suppose.”
He was already thinking of other gates he could be let into, though that would then become a whole hassle of where he’d been and what he was doing, and he would’ve preferred to really avoid that whole spiel.
“Maybe it’s a sign I should just stay out here.” Phainon said it as a joke, but the words came out drier than he intended. Thoughts of the situation he would inevitably face surfaced in his mind again. It felt like a constant lurking monster that could not be outrun.
The story certainly didn’t help either.
“Teacher?”
Naxy looked up at the mention of his name.
“How does your story end?”
Even though it was a fairly innocent question, Phainon felt like he’d accidentally asked something more. Naxy had completely frozen and his gaze was far away, as if he was contemplating, not what to answer Phainon but rather if he ought to answer at all.
“I mean—” Phainon started to backtrack. “I’m just curious. After all, I won’t be here tomorrow to hear you tell the rest of the story.”
Naxy walked closer to Phainon.
“It has no ending.”
Phainon’s eyebrows flew up in shock. “What do you mean?”
“Yet.” Naxy was only a few steps away from him now. “It has no ending yet .”
“Wait— Do you just think of everything on the fly?”
The puff of air Naxy let out was almost a snort. “No, of course not.”
“Are you waiting for the kids to decide and then incorporate it into the story?”
“Not quite.”
“Then what—”
“Do you see all the decorations hanging from the ceiling?”
Phainon followed Naxy’s gaze and took in all the strange objects once again. There were shells and pieces of glistening glass, but also shards of broken mirrors and remnants of porcelain. Some were even complete windchimes that jingled occasionally, or dream catchers with billowing feathers.
They stood there together for a moment, utterly silent.
Then,
“Every little thing here is wholly unique. They are all irreplaceable, impossible to recreate. Some of them are simpler. The shells, for example, do not reflect or scatter any light the way the glass shards do. This does not mean they have less value, the source of their value is simply different. The shells hold age and history. They have most likely spent years getting here, while the glass may as well be from a bottle of gin discarded on the street the other week.
“These objects all represent a story. They all have a tale of their own that may have lasted far longer than yours or mine. Here, I am merely a collector of these stories. I am a short period of time in their long, long lives. I cannot control where they have been, what they have seen, nor where they will go next.
“Ultimately, stories are a force of their own. A mere storyteller has neither the right nor the ability to write their fates. They breathe with life and beat to their own rhythm. Some stories end quickly and predictably, while some hide twists and turns. They all have their own path to walk, and I cannot dictate that path for them. I am the relayer, the mouthpiece, the voice for these stories, but I am not their writer.”
The teacher turned to Phainon in that small moment and looked into his eyes like they had already belonged to him.
“Only a hero gets to write stories.”
Something warm and choked settled in Phainon’s throat.
“Are you not a hero as well?”
“I have already told you, I am a storyteller.”
Phainon’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You are a hero to those children.”
Naxy blinked slowly, like he had expected a different reply. His lips parted just slightly, then closed again. Phainon let him mull over his words, for he himself could not think of anything eloquent enough to say in that deafening silence.
“This story I’ve just told,” said Naxy after a heartbeat, “belongs to a hero. The characters in the story will play out the story on their own according to the natural progression of the world. It is only after this is logically completed that I will be able to continue sharing the story. Its ending will write itself.”
With courage he did not have, Phainon asked the last question that had been hovering on the tip of his tongue ever since the story began.
“Are we still talking about a fictional story?”
The strange man in the strange room looked back at Phainon like he’d asked for the entire sky.
“Does a truly fictional story even exist?”
Without breaking eye contact, Naxy slipped something from his pocket. The movement was liquid, infinitesimally small. It took only a blink and then he was holding his hand out, palm open.
“Is this yours?”
Phainon knew what it was before he even saw it. Somehow, he almost expected it.
“You found it then?” he asked as he stared down at his missing key. It looked so innocent, sitting there in the middle of Naxy’s hand.
Naxy only raised his eyebrows in response. Not quite a yes. Not quite a no.
Phainon didn’t think of what it meant, then. The next few seconds — or perhaps minutes — became blurred into something like a dream. There was the key in his hands. The tinkling sound of wind chimes and shells and glass. The soft evening light. A chaste kiss on the back of someone’s hand? A farewell.
There were boots on cobbled stone. A key in a pocket. The feeling of being followed. Being watched. A key in the lock. A gate opening. Closing. Home. Home? Home.
In the safety of palace grounds, Phainon threw back his hood. He had already known Mydei had been trailing him back the moment he stepped back onto the main street. The atmosphere always shifted when Mydei was looking for him. He could feel that watchful pair of eyes on his back, always.
What he didn’t know was when he would be confronted.
“Deliverer.”
It was a stupid nickname that stuck from when they were children. Mydei never used it in the presence of other people.
“Deliverer.”
Phainon kept walking.
He heard a sigh behind him, and he almost felt bad. But this. Taking a little jab at Mydei. This felt normal. Phainon wanted normal right now.
“At least take off your cloak before you go inside.”
Phainon stopped. He paused, then slid off his disguise. Mydei’s arm was already next to his, waiting to take the cloak. Phainon gave it to him, only because he knew this was helping Mydei more than him. He wasn’t naive. He knew Mydei also got flack whenever Phainon stepped a toe out of line.
As the cloak slid from one hand to the next, a clattering noise sounded. Then, there was a key on the ground.
Phainon didn’t pick it up. He just stood there, staring at it, the way he stared at it when it was in the teacher’s hand. He thought of sea shells and stories and coffee in a cup.
“Mydei,” he said without looking up, “did I make the right decision?”
“You know I can’t answer that question for you.”
On a night like this, even the stars showed up in their best. The sky outside was blanketed by sparkling pinpricks of white and adorned by the moon’s sly smile. There was not a cloud to be seen, leaving the dappled canvas out for all to admire.
But no matter how clear the night was, the grand ballroom of the palace was the champion in radiance tonight. Its golden light could be seen seeping through its tall windows and draping over the palace’s walls. Every chandelier had been polished so that its diamonds shone as if cut anew. You could almost smell the scent of scrubbing if only fresh flowers didn’t hang from every pillar, coating the room with their aroma.
It was a night to remember. A perfect night.
But on the highest balcony overlooking the ballroom, Phainon didn’t feel so perfect.
It was only minutes now until his bride-to-be walked through those doors. Seconds , even. Of course, he’d seen her pictures, and of course, he’d heard all about her through ambassadors and trusted friends and who knows where else. He knew she was nice and kind and lovely and so many more wonderful things.
But none of those things helped soothe the growing feeling of unease in his stomach.
He twisted the end fabric of his right glove in his fingers. He was fidgeting again. He knew that. Mydei, who was standing in the shadows behind him, also knew that. But perhaps tonight Mydei had decided to be kinder for once, for he did not acknowledge Phainon’s little nervous tic.
He was about to say something to Mydei, perhaps to shatter the tension, when—
“Announcing Her Royal Highness, Princess Castorice of Styxia!”
Trumpets sounded, and the room parted as the doors opened. Every hair on Phainon’s arms were standing up as he watched the procession glide onto the ballroom floors.
There she was.
Right at the front was the princess. She was dressed most magnificently in a gown of soft purple. The fabric swayed with her every step, its layers moving as if they were the wings of a butterfly. At least he knew the ambassadors got one thing right. She certainly wasn’t unattractive.
A few more names were announced, including Princess Polyxia, Castorice’s very own twin sister, but Phainon didn’t hear them. He didn’t hear or see anything except the princess. His bride . His ruin. He heard nothing but the pounding of his blood in his ears— until the very last person walked into the room.
Phainon would later think that he was glad he hadn’t decided to have a glass of wine earlier. It would’ve most certainly slipped from his hands then, and then he would get a scolding from Aglaea for ruining his lovely clothes. Shattering a glass on the highest balcony would also cause a scene, and then Mydei would be the one scolding him for being careless.
But he couldn’t really help it. His entire body froze when the last person walked in, because he was—
“And finally, announcing Lord Anaxagoras of the Grove of Epiphany.”
Naxy.