22.| The Future Through Your Eyes

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 cut scene. . .

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As the scene unfolds with a digital haze, the title cuts through the void: "The Future Through Your Eyes" A loading bar appears as we delve deeper into Prince Raynard's perspective.

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The darkness cloaking the throne room slowly dissipated like smoke. The Hellfire throne, object of Prince Raynard's deepest desires, was broken in half. Wisps of fog slithered across the floor where his father had stood moments before.

"Keeper Zy?" Raynard's voice echoed in the cavernous chamber, his gaze sweeping over the tall arched windows, their glass frames broken where the jagged pieces left behind looked like monstrous teeth in the glow of the red moon that draped in the sky beyond.

Silence answered his call.

What madness is this? Raynard mused. Wasn't this meant to be a vision?

A whisper, barely audible, drifted from the gaping large doors that led to the throne room. "Raynard..." it called, beckoning him forward. The prince's hand instinctively found the familiar weight of his sword hilt.

No guards stood on either side like they always had to assure his father and any royal member of the family was safe.

With measured steps, Raynard ventured into the hallways. His attention was immediately seized by the enormous map adorning the wall. Shock widened his eyes as he took in the altered landscape before him. The borders of the great daemon cities had metastasized, bleeding across the realm like an unstoppable plague. Only a small pocket remained untouched, marked ominously with a giant 'X'.

"Is this... our future?" Raynard murmured, tracing the new boundaries with trembling fingers. "Have we truly conquered all?"

The implications sent his mind reeling. Where did he stand in this new order? Had he ascended to power, or did his father still rule this transformed world?

The whisper called again, pulling Raynard from his reverie. He pressed on, drawn towards the palace grounds.

As he stepped outside, he looked up at the sky above—churned angry crimson, periodically split by savage bolts of lightning. 

Awaiting in the courtyard were rows upon rows of spikes jutted from the earth, each one crowned with a trophy. The mutilated bodies of dark priests, their faces unrecognizable, were impaled upon these makeshift pikes. Empty eye sockets stared accusingly, tongueless mouths frozen in eternal screams.

"My prince," Keeper Zy's voice slithered through the air, and Raynard whirled to face him. Those milky white eyes, windows to all that was, is, and could be, bored into the prince's soul. "What you witness is but one thread in the web of possibility."

Raynard's jaw worked silently for a moment before he found his voice. "Whose thread is this? Is this the end result of my father's scheming?"

"The gifts I bear defy simple explanation," Keeper Zy explained, his hands—now skeletal in this realm of visions—intertwining like pale spider's legs. "The interpretation falls to you alone."

"Then show me more," Prince Raynard demanded, his gaze drawn to the bloated, bleeding moon as droplets of crimson began to fall from the sky. "I must see the path that led to this."

With a gesture, Keeper Zy clawed at the very fabric of reality. Time itself bent to his will, the blood rain reversing its course, streaming upward in defiance of nature. Even the droplets that had caressed Raynard's face retreated, leaving his skin dry but crawling with unease.

The dance accelerated—moon and sun chasing each other across the sky in a dizzying waltz. Seasons blurred together, a kaleidoscope of growth and decay that left Raynard's head spinning. Just as he feared he might lose himself in the whirlwind of time, everything ground to a sudden, jarring halt.

Before him stood a young man, barely more than eighteen, with golden hair that caught the sunlight. But it was the angry, mottled scar tissue consuming half his face that drew the eye—a map of pain etched in flesh.

The youth stood upon a weathered wooden platform, a Punisher auctioneer's harsh cries cutting through the air.

A smirk tugged at Raynard's lips as he surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings. "Is this him? The one we seek?" He knew they were somewhere in the free cities, though the exact location eluded him.

"This boy," Keeper Zy's whisper seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, his skeletal hand settling on Raynard's shoulder with surprising weight, "holds within him the power to either crush the Daemon kingdom... or elevate it beyond our wildest imaginings."

Raynard scoffed, eyeing the scarred youth with disdain. "He looks pathetic. Is this truly the face my father fears? He seems more likely to crumble under a stern gaze than wield any real power."

Keeper Zy's grip tightened, his voice taking on an edge sharp enough to draw blood. "Have my teachings fallen on deaf ears, my prince? It is not the roaring lion you must fear, but the silent serpent. True power often lies coiled beneath the most unassuming exteriors, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Underestimate this boy at your peril, for the mightiest infernos are often sparked by the smallest of embers."

The weight of Keeper Zy's words settled over Raynard like a shroud. He gazed at the scarred boy with new eyes, searching for any hint of the cataclysmic potential that apparently lurked beneath that fragile exterior. 

"But only dark priests have the power to truly harm us," Raynard countered. "And even then, the older the Daemon, the more powerful we become. Dark Priest Corvus was the only one to ever kill a member of the great houses—and he hardly walked away unscathed."

Keeper Zy's milky eyes darted back and forth, tracking invisible threads of fate that only he could perceive. "This boy... he isn't from here. He's something... other."

A grin spread across Prince Raynard's face, the challenge igniting a fire in his eyes. "And with him, I'll overthrow my father?"

The words had barely left his lips when the vision before him fractured, reality splintering into a kaleidoscope of possibilities. 

Raynard saw himself on his knees, a monstrous sword carved protruding from his chest. Black ichor, thick as tar, oozed from his eyes, nose, and mouth. The image flickered, replaced by the golden-haired boy, his eyes now twin pools of crimson that mirrored the blood moon above.

King Zyres was falling from a window. Raynard's brother's anguished screams tore through the air. And there, upon the throne, sat Isis—his stepmother—her face split by a grin that spoke of triumph and madness.

The visions collapsed, and Raynard found himself back in the throne room, howling in agony as he clutched at his chest. To his horror, he realized he was on his knees before his father, weakness laid bare for all to see.

"How unfortunate," King Zyres' voice cut through Raynard's pain, dripping with disdain. "I had hoped you'd die. Instead, I'm forced to witness the depths of your disappointment."

The king rose from his obsidian throne, his tall 6'7" frame encased in dark armor that seemed to devour the candlelight. With deliberate steps, he approached Raynard, one massive hand wrapping around his son's throat.

"Disappointment?" Raynard wheezed through clenched teeth, defiance burning in his eyes. "No. Your favorite son is the true disappointment. Always drunk, making the kingdom laugh at your expense. Ever since mother died, you've been dragging us all down to join her. I see no king before me. I see a walking—" 

The grip tightened, but Raynard pressed on, his words a raspy whisper. "I see a walking tombstone."

Just then, Keeper Zy's voice cut through the tension. "A messenger approaches, bearing news of Prince Aragorn."

As if summoned by the words, the throne room doors burst open. A breathless messenger stumbled in, eyes wide with urgency. "My king, your son has disrespected Commander Mavros!"

A wicked laugh bubbled up from Raynard's throat, even as his father's grip threatened to crush his windpipe. "There we go," he choked out, a manic gleam in his eyes. "Right on time for your little fucking disappointment."