The Last Whisperer

15 | Big Bad Faeries~

Present Day

Sol Innis - Fourth Realm

Sidor marched down the dais as if he were walking into a battlefield, carrying a wooden box between his hands. His metallic boots, knee-gear, and armor clinked as he walked to his queen with a chest full of pride. Behind him, a yellow cape trailed, flowing lightly as he took each careful step. The time has finally come.

Sunrays entered the throne room through the glass ceiling. At the end of the dais, a bronze throne that was shaped like the sun stood, where a pale-haired queen wearing a silver gown sat, a crown bedecked with jewels atop her head. She had her elbows placed on both armrests; fingers entwined together in front of her chest. Her face was known to be an eternal, luscious beauty—but today, it was a face of deadly vigor.

Sidor kneeled on one knee before his queen, head bowed down. Queen Amessi—the queen of the Fae people for the last 500 years—looked down on her minion with a pressuring gait. She didn't move—not even an inch.

"I suppose you already know what I called you here for." Queen Amessi's voice was lower-pitched and resonated with hundreds of years of passionate cruelty. Today marks the special day.

"Yes, My Queen. I have brought with me what you requested." He gently laid down the box he was carrying onto the red carpet. "The hands of the last remaining Whisperer can be found inside."

The box was made of dark wood—a black latch kept it sealed to the rest of the world. Queen Amessi eyed it down for a long time, saying nothing. Seeing this made her rethink of bad memories.

"Open it," ordered the Queen. This box was kept hidden in the deepest treasury under Sol Innis, buried under the skulls of their enemies. Queen Amessi hadn't seen it for hundreds of years—she didn't like being reminded of her failures.

Sidor did as she told. He released the latch and pulled up the lid. It creaked open. Inside, the box was lined in red velvet.

Inside, were two human hands.

"I sense that she is back, just from looking at those." The Queen was referring to the hands. It was twitching—longing for it to be connected to the rest of its body. It was rotten and withered and it smelled like a corpse. But it was not dead.

Sidor closed the box when he noticed the silent rage the Queen had felt. Her eyes were wide black pools of emotionless pits. Nobody would dare to stare at those for too long for they would get sucked into eternal submission. Mesmerizing.

She spoke once more. "I will give you your first assignment, First General Sidor. You will not return to this realm until you have succeeded."

Sidor bowed his head, his pale-blue frosty tips falling to his eyes. "I am truly honored, My Queen. Whatever it is you wish, I will gladly fulfill and give them to you. You have my sacred word."

The Queen remained expressionless. It was a servant giving his heart and soul to his Queen, and a Queen taking it in her grasps. "Good. Then your assignment will be..."

Slowly, the Queen stood up graciously from her bronze throne and took the steps down from the dais, until her silver heels were right in front of the wooden box. She stood still, poised, and ethereal.

"Your assignment will be," she put her heels on top of the wooden box, then crushed it down and squished the withered hands under her feet. The muscle on her jaw ticked—the only human expression she gave.

"Your assignment is to crush the Third Realm completely," she finally finished. "And to kill the last Whisperer."

Sidor once again bowed his head to his Queen. "Very well."

•••

Iveneterra - Third Realm

Lazardo woke up from his sleep with a startling gasp.

He sat up straight as he clutched his chest through the thin fabric of his nightwear. He heaved—grasped for air to fill in his lungs. Pools of sweat dripped down to his shirt from his temples, his back, and his chest. He glistened from it.

I just had...—he breathed—...a hellish dream.

He felt something inside his chest—something cold and heavy. It felt like a burden and it made him feel the anxiety of having realized that he existed in the world. He massaged his chest, knocked on it twice to calm himself down before he finally stopped shaking.

His mind was a mass of questions. What was that dream? He dreamt of a golden palace. A queen sat on a throne and a servant knelt down before her. They had pointy ears and eyes as black as the pit of the deepest trenches. They looked unnatural to Lazardo. He had never seen such beautiful, such frightening creatures in his entire life.

Although he had seen them, he didn't hear a lick of word that they had spoken. The dream was silent—muted to his ears. But it still shook his bones to the core.

He meticulously swung his feet to the edge of the bed. He got on two feet, holding onto his nightstand for support. It was dark and it was raining a storm outside, rain tip-tapping on the windows. He used the wall as a support as he aimed to leave the room.

He passed a circular mirror that hung on his wall. He ignored it, at first. But then as if sensing something, he froze. He retreated a few steps. Very slowly, he faced his reflection.

And he saw himself.

His heart lurched as he stared at himself. He forgot how to breath.

Staring at himself, was him. Except his eyes were a pair of pure milky white. His irises were gone.

He quaked and lost the strength to carry himself and slid down the wall.

He stayed on the floor for the rest of the night.

Then he wondered if he was going blind.

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