DREAM: Rebirth across Time

A New Leaf

After a brief hesitation, Steven stepped over the last step and sank into the throne of kings.

He felt weak.

He had the impression that all the kings before him were watching him.

Ascot lowered his gaze. "Keep this sensation in mind that there is no reward in the throne because it is a chore."

Steven took some time to respond. 

He was too preoccupied attempting to suppress the unexpected, overwhelming feelings that were about to come out. 

Ascot waved his hand sharply to interrupt him. "Steven, you can never escape your past. It will come after you and try to engulf you if you lack the knowledge to defend yourself."

Like lashes on his skin, the words hurt. 

They were true, though. 

The harsh truth of the guy he had been was palpable to Steven.

The prince, once so full of promise, is now weak and self-destructive.

Steven stood suddenly, overcome with emotion. "Then instruct me, assist me in making amends."

The King became a little softer. 

Something flickered in his eyes, something fragile. 

However, it disappeared as swiftly.

Ascot remarked in a softer tone, "Steven, I have insulated you from the repercussions of your own carelessness. I would not keep doing it."

He inhaled deeply, and his voice had a subdued strength when he spoke again. "I will not be there to protect you forever. I am going to end up dead one day."

With the words weighing heavily on him, Steven swallowed hard.

With a touch on his shoulder, Ascot took a step closer. "If you really intend to change and become the man you ought to have been, then show me that you are capable of making death less likely to approach you."

He continued. "Leave your mark on the world."

Steven was humbled in front of King Ascot. "I won't fail, father."

The King didn't comment. 

His eyes were filled with a silent tempest of uncertainty, optimism, and a sense of agony that only a father could conceal under irony.

He just observed. 

Steven felt the pressure of what looked like a hand behind his arm as he whirled and left.

He groaned softly as the throne chamber doors closed behind him, and Steven drew a trembling breath. 

He had moist palms. 

He could still feel his heart pounding against his ribs.

"We survived, didn't we?" a deep, laughing voice asked.

The ever-shrewd royal guard, Clinton, was standing with his arms crossed when Steven looked up. 

His posture eased, but his gaze remained piercing.

Clinton mocked him by giving him a gentle elbow push, saying, "You are perspiring like a butcher's apprentice. His Majesty fed you what? Soup with regrets?"

Partly relieved, Steven laughed. "Something more substantial. Roasting shame with a dash of truth."

Then Clinton chuckled. "That seems like a royal favorite."

Steven accelerated in embarrassment. "The library is necessary."

"Ah, learning at last that books don't taste like wine?" Clinton made a call to him.

Steven kept his eyes forward. It would be too costly for him to lose steam.

He halted abruptly when he rounded a corridor.

In the corridor, Prince Ramsey stood with his fingers crossed and a disgruntled look on his face. He had a tall, broad-shouldered build and exuded confidence in his abilities.

"Okay, okay. If it is not the ghost of past indulgence," Ramsey murmured as he moved forward. "Did Father reprimand you into acting like you were important again?"

With his blood simmering, Steven straightened. "Brother, it is better to emerge from the ruins than to curse the blackness."

Ramsey raised one eyebrow. "Ashes? You flatter yourselves. Steven, you were not even a fire. Like a damp candle, more."

Steven answered, "Somehow, this 'wet candle' still continues to ignite a spark in his heart."

Ramsey tightened his jaw at that. "Father puts up with you because he feels bad about you. And nothing else. Instead of representing his pride, you are a representation of his failure."

"Still, here I am, basking in his affection," Steven remarked.

Ramsey grinned, tense and menacing. "Enjoy it while you can."

He turned and disappeared through the passageway as quickly and precisely as a blade being withdrawn after a missed blow.

Steven let out a tense breath. He steadied his breath and moved gently, but the dizziness struck suddenly.

Under his boots, the floor appeared to wobble, and his eyesight skewed sideways.

"All right," he mumbled, putting his palm to the wall. "Not going to the library today. The poison and the wine will most likely need five years to completely recover."

He pivoted and stumbled to the rooms, resembling a drunken knight fleeing an unseen conflict. As soon as he entered, he fell into the closest cushion with a gasp so theatrical.

"Downloading a video game version isn't comparable to the assimilation of memories," he said, massaging his temple. "It's more like getting hit by a thousand past experiences all at once."

Breathing, he crossed both feet and slipped to the floor.

His eyes were closed.

Ache. 

Regret.

Time went by. 

And after that—well?

Slowly, Steven breathes. 

He relaxed his muscles. 

Unconsciously, his back straightened.

Stretching like a cat, he opened his eyes. 

His features broke into a foolish smile. "Hey! I'm no longer feeling like throwing up. Making progress!"

His gaze shifted to the desk and came to a halt.

And there it was. 

A neatly folded letter was on the gleaming surface. 

The seal was stamped in rich crimson wax and featured a snarling snake wrapped around a crossed sword.

The edges of the parchment were worn and slightly crinkled as if it had been watching and waiting.

Curiosity was sparked, and Steven blinked. "Let it be spicy, please."

With his fingers grazing the wax, he picked up the letter. 

It was unnervingly warm on the crest.

For an instant, he simply gazed at it. 

The family crest evoked something in his jumbled recollections.

He snapped open the seal.

His eyes were pierced by the letter's opening phrase.

Before he could continue reading, though— knock knock.

Steven jerked his head in the direction of the sound.

There was a gentle rustle of skirts, followed by a gentle voice from beyond the door.

A maid called out, "Your Highness, the royal family is waiting in the dining room."

After clearing his throat, he gathered his thoughts. "I understand. I will arrive soon.

He stood, releasing the last of the strain. 

After giving himself a short bath, he went to the elaborate armoire. He was now dressed in princely regalia.

He looked in the mirror and grinned to himself. "Well, damn," he muttered. 

Shadows of murmurs trailed him as he traveled.