Compass

Most wanted! Most wanted! Most— Heh! Hahaha! Of course, I want him! I want him in the depths of my bowels! On my sister's grave, I swear I shall devour him whole! And I shall savor every moment!

Geyser

____

After a while, they made it to the throne room.

Troan stood before a large double door with a unique carving and paint job.

At first glance, it looked like a small hill under a sky of pastel blue. But upon closer inspection it gave one the immersive feeling of standing on a cliff, looking down at the vast sea.

The familial sight brought Troan a rush of sensations: relief, regret, loss—apprehension.

A hand rested on his shoulder, and Troan glanced back.

"You good, boss?" Wriggler asked with a slight smile, a spark of interest in his eyes.

Troan took in a deep breath and looked back at the door.

"I will be."

The guards opened the doors and it didn't creak or groan in response.

Instead, there was the sound of rushing waters, like the sound heard upon falling into a lake or of being under a waterfall.

Troan knew it was intentional; an effect applied by runic inscriptions that manipulated sound. So he walked in unbothered. But Wriggler was like a child discovering a new playground, his eyes roamed the place in a bid to seek out how it worked.

However, he saw nothing, for the ink with which these runes were created contained an expensive reagent that rendered it invisible.

Upon entering, they noticed the salty taste of the air in the throne room, along with the barely noticeable yet distinct burnt, slightly acrid smell of runic inscriptions being used for extended periods.

Within the throne room, four massive pillars stood on each side. Though there were no torches to be seen, no windows to be found, the place was well-ventilated and well-lit; the pastel blue walls and floor seemed to emit a soft glow.

Amidst all this, the most iconic feature within the throne room was the massive, lifelike sculpture that stretched all across the walls. It was a striking depiction of a sea serpent.

Its serpentine body seemed to wade in and out of the walls, across the entire chamber behind the pillars, ending finally with its head above the throne. It had two large mesmerizing red gems for eyes, and Its mouth was open, revealing numerous teeth.

The realistic sculpture instilled a faint feeling of dread upon all who gazed upon it, keeping one always on their toes as they faced the throne.

A grand throne of silver stood underneath the head, elevated on a flight of stairs that raised the fore section of the throne room. It was ornately decorated with sparkling gems of blue, green, and yellow hues.

It was the Sea King's throne—the seat of the one who ruled the seas.

The doors came to a close, and soon, it was just the two of them.

Crunch!

Wriggler bit an apple.

"Well," He began. "I was never one for ruling kingdoms, but I could certainly get used to a place like this. Look's like a geil location to build a harem if you ask me, or rule the world—could be both." He remarked, speaking through mouthfuls of apple.

Troan stepped forward, ignoring Wriggler's statement. His eyes were focused on the Sea King's throne.

Clack!

A step.

Clack!

Another step, and there was a flash in his mind.

For a moment, his father's form appeared on the throne.

He stopped and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them again, the seat was empty.

"..."

Tentatively, he took another step and it happened again. Only this time there was a little boy standing before the man on the throne.

Troan felt as though he had suddenly walked into a dream—a hazy moment in time. Yet, he was vaguely aware of Wriggler's yapping.

Curious, he kept approaching the figures, his steps slowing as he drew closer.

"How could you do this, Father!? Even while knowing the consequences!" The little boy yelled with a deep-seated bitterness in his tone.

"Have you decided to side with the Imperials? House Regista can't protect us! They are sufficiently occupied with the desert races!"

The boy ran a hand through his hair looking pale and distressed.

"Davor is untenable! We'll be driven out of the mainland when ATAN comes marching! Isolated between two hostile continents! Because you were too greedy for gold!"

A brief silence followed, during which the man stirred slightly on the throne, his long black hair falling to the side. Then he spoke.

"Are you scared boy?" His voice was deep and calm; a stark contrast to the boy's near-panic shrieks.

"Do not make this about me, Father!" The boy stamped a foot on the floor in fury. "This is more serious than it ever has been! You have set the stage for a war the likes of which this continent has likely never seen! Brother against brother, sister against sister! Meanwhile, the true enemy grows ever stronger!"

The boy stopped to breathe, looking like he was about to faint. But he pushed on regardless.

"While you may believe that we will be safe on the Isle of Man. I'll have you know that we shall be first on the chopping block when the Navethian celestials are finally ready for Luen! And believe me, Father! We will be utterly on our own! With no allies and no support from the mainland!"

The man let out a tired sigh and looked at the boy. He seemed about to say something, but he smirked and began laughing instead.

After a short while, he calmed down and said. "I thought they called you the Prodigious Prince. Surely, you will find a way to deal with the aftermath when I am gone."

A small smirk settled on the man's face.

The boy stood erect, hands clenched in fury.

"I shall indeed rectify this because I am capable. But you! You are no king! You—are no Father either! I wonder if the same blood flows through our veins!"

The king's face reddened at the boy's statement. Then he rose to his feet and leaped across the chamber. Landing with a heavy thud before the boy, utterly dwarfing him in size.

"Good wonder," He said, bending down to the boy's height. "I also wonder, too, boy. I wonder—if you are even human."

The man didn't look furious; rather, there was genuine curiosity in his gaze.

The little boy seemed confused at the question.

"Of course I am!" Then he shook his head and said. "Look, Father! Today is my tenth birthday, and I have come of age to steer the kingdom's affairs! The only way I can save House Seasult is if you abdicate, now."

The man grunted lightly with an amused smirk, then he scratched the burnt side of his face thoughtfully

"So even you can't rectify this... if it passes this point, interesting." He mused aloud.

His hands then reached toward a golden necklace on the boy's neck, and he gently caressed the golden-coiled sea serpent on the chain.

"The jewel of the crown heir... A truly remarkable yet flimsy little thing." His gaze momentarily met the boy's. "You see, boy. I am not abdicating anytime soon. If you prove incapable of even saving my House after I am gone—then I no longer have use for you."

His grip on the necklace tightened.

"You are hereby charged with treason. I am sure House Ages will be a suitable home for you—if you can survive, that is."

The boy's eyes widened in disbelief. "What are yo—"

"Better I give this to my 'real' son instead."

He whispered before tugging the serpent loose.

The gold chains delinked, spraying into the air like shattered stars before falling to the floor.

Ta ta ta!

A sudden sound startled Troan out of the reverie and he looked back to see Wriggler scrambling about, trying to catch the green beads bouncing about everywhere.

"Damn! Jigi's gonna kill me. How did the thread come loose?!"

Troan turned and looked back to the place his younger self had stood before the late king, but now the area was empty.

He sighed.

Wriggler quickly picked beads up and poured them into his pocket. Then he walked toward Troan, coming to a stop next to him.

"I noticed you staring for a moment there." He said as his gaze scanned the room, coming to a stop on the throne.

"Ah! Yes. This all should have been yours, right? It's a question you don't want to hear, I know. But how do you feel now, standing before a throne stolen from you?"

Troan threw him an annoyed glance.

"Haven't you seen enough of me being emotional today?"

"What can I say? It's a rare occasion, so why not? You are always stoic, calm, or indifferent, I want to see you cry or something. There's a reason Frozen calls you a golem, you know? But it's your choice, boss." Wriggler said, giving a half-shrug.

Troan huffed in resignation and looked at the throne with uncertainty in his eyes.

"Relief." He stated. "I feel relief, mostly. House Seasult has many problems, problems I cannot solve while seated on that throne. But as a Lord of Avalon... Well, that changes things."

"Hmm," Wriggler tilted his head in thought. "So you aren't going to fight for the throne?"

"Fight?"

Troan threw him a questioning glance.

"Slay your stepbrother! Reclaim the throne through bloodshed!"

Wriggler chuckled shaking his head, looking morbidly amused at how ridiculous it sounded to him.

Troan frowned, "You are joking, right? You always said you knew me."

"I jest, of course." Wriggler waved flippantly.

Then his expression turned solemnly thoughtful.

"You would never harm family, even if your life counted on it... You would only harm yourself."

He stated with a rueful light in his eyes, his words heavy with ancient emotions.

Troan watched him with an unreadable expression.

"It can be frustrating sometimes, but I doubt you'll understand," Wriggler said softly, looking to the floor with glazed eyes.

But then he raised his hands and smacked his cheeks. Immediately, the dour mood disappeared, instantly replaced by a spirited aura.

"Alright! So what're you gonna do now? Wait around and play angel for some sleeping god-king within a mountain?" Wriggler quipped.

Troan chuckled dryly, but soon the mirth faded away.

"I need to see my mother first. There are important matters we must discuss—credible information only she can provide me. Only then can I truly begin charting my course." He said, as his gaze went up toward the wide ceiling.

Painted on it was a massive map of Yahn.

'...Only then can I begin my plans." He thought with an icy determination in his eyes.