The Shadows of the Four Realms [BOOK TWO]

CHAPTER 3 - Of Memories

"So, you are telling me, that with this..." the boy whispered the next words, with a gulp, "...that with this dark magic, one can do anything?"

"Anything under the sun, yes." The other boy beamed, confidently.

"Are you going to master it?"

"We are going to master it, brother."

"Um... perhaps..."

"We would be a great team, just you see." The silver-eyed boy smiled affectionately, ruffling the other's golden hair.

One thing led to another, then to arm-wrestling, their limbs entangled on the rug, a vase knocked down off a table—and they laughed identically.

But the room around them changed. Iron bars. Stony walls. Damp cold air. Deadly silence. Blood pooling on the floor.

Just like that he was all alone...

***

Nova was dreaming again.

This time at least, he didn't wake up with a jolt. Progress?

With eyes wide open and breathing frantic, he stared at the golden latticed-ceiling. The soft ivory quilt around his bare chest. Real. A hand reached to the stack of books on his nightstand. Real.

A cold breeze blew through the window, ruffling the baroque curtains. Silvery moonlight leaked in, like it used to through the high windows in one of the many dungeons, he had been tossed in and out for what had seemed to be an eternity. The night sky cradling the moon entranced him and he got off the bed.

Serene tangy air brushed across his face. Real. The window sill, the curtains. Real. The island's seashore, roars of the blue waves, palm trees swaying in a soft rhythm. Real.

Pain seared through his veins all of a sudden and he cursed aloud. These powers were supposed to be a gift, weren't they? But they crawled through him as if they knew they were trapped inside the wrong body, still adjusting even after two whole months. Time and again, reminding the 'Conqueror' of the horror said and done. He banged a fist on the wall beside the window and stood immobile for many a moment.

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just breathe, damn it.

Dragging a hand down his face, he sat on the sill and stared at the autumn moon, at the stars decked around the navy-blue sky. It seemed like a lifetime ago, the freedom he owned to even stargaze.

Nova had forgotten how a spring breeze played in one's hair, how home looked, where he was born and spent the whole of his three and twenty years, apart from the seven spent in the Autumn Realm's training school. But he would never go back there. Everything was fresh in his head – his chamber, his workroom, his study, mother's music room, father's orchards, brother's—

They were all gone. And it was just him now. With a crown as heavy as the chains he was now free of.

Another cold breeze blew and his skin didn't mind. Every Realm, every season was suitable for his body now, he supposed. Nothing affected him. Nothing was going to affect him. Maybe he wasn't alive—

Okay, that's damn depressing for one night, Nova.

Tomorrow, then.

Same place, same time. Different nightmare.

He went back to sleep.

***

Autumn Realm's capital had the best training institution – The School of Terraskee where almost all the royals, aspiring warriors, soldiers-in-making from all the world—except, of course, the Summer Realm—got trained. Some of Nova's best years were spent in the training years—the best seven years or five, really. And when post-battle, Una had asked him to accompany her to her island, while Doran healed in the Alchemical care, he knew not how to thank her.