Once upon a time, in a world much like ours yet completely different, there lived a pair of siblings. Prince and Princess, they belonged to a larger noble family that ruled over an impossibly vast kingdom. Each of their parents ruled over exactly one half and, thus, the siblings were heirs to it all.

Their father, the King, ruled over such a large expanse that his children soon rose to prominence. Each was assigned a duchy within the great kingdom to assist him, learning to lead and command in their father's image. As their kingdom grew in prosperity, so did its population, and the home of their youth might as well have been a barren wasteland compared to the booming crowds of their later years.

It was not only the general populace that grew. The royal family grew, too, and the youngest sibling became particularly notable. Like many youngest children, his birthright was meagre, and he spent most of his time as a wandering knight-captain, fascinated by battle where his elder siblings tended to matters of state.

Left to his own devices, the youngest brother did mostly as he pleased. The King had little interest in his son's day to day, and was thus left without any way to predict what was to come. The errant son strayed to far away lands, where he consorted with foreign rulers strange and bizarre. Feeling few ties to his homeland, he eagerly learned their most barbarous customs, their most depraved rituals. It was not long before he was unrecognisable even to his own family.

The King, of course, eventually learned of what had become of the youngest. Never expecting much from his brutish son, he disowned him and left him to wander the world on his own, thus solving the problem without having to harm his own blood. The elder siblings were relieved, of course, never too fond of their strange brother.

One could certainly tell a story about this wandering brother, and we can all imagine a world where he becomes a valiant hero, can we not? And yet, this is not that story, and it was not his punishment that was the cruellest part of this tale.

Many years later, the King fell ill. There was nothing to be done for him, in truth, but no one wished to give up on the wise ruler. No one, that is, except for the errant brother. It was a surprise to everyone when the brother murdered the sleeping King, but of course the peasants and lesser nobles never learned of it. The King died in his sleep, so it was said, and on his deathbed he named the youngest, once-despised son as his heir.

It was preposterous, and the Prince and Princess from the beginning of our tale immediately knew so. The kingdom was rightfully theirs, and yet their youngest brother had usurped it with murder, honeyed words, and a pretty face. It would have hurt if their father appointed one of the elder siblings as the sole heir, but it would at least have been reasonable - they hadn't been disowned just years prior. With the masses tricked, however, they could do little to act overtly.

Banished to their own duchies, the siblings grew ever lonelier. Their remaining family lost the will to fight and simply accepted the youngest as their ruler. The Prince and Princess, close as they were, were each other's only ally.

The Princess was, at the very least, patient. She knew that they could not act brashly. The Prince, on the other hand, was more vulnerable to his temper. So it was that he rode off alone, one night, to learn more about their youngest brother. Perhaps he had some weakness that could be exploited, or perhaps he used some dark magics to attain what he did. The Prince was ready even to learn those, if necessary.

Leaving his duchy behind, the Prince arrived at a backwards outpost following a trail of clues. Finally close to making some progress, he was instead ambushed by the youngest's royal guard. A desperate battle ensued, and the Prince escaped, but only temporarily.

It wasn't long before he was captured. Not by a guard like he had just defeated, but by a monstrous, alien creature under the youngest's command. No amount of martial prowess did him any good and any attempts to reason were quickly ignored. He fought, and fought, and fought, but it was pointless. He collapsed in exhaustion, prepared to meet his own death.

Subdued by the monster, his morbid fate seemed clear. Yet, he was simply wrapped in chains and dragged away. Perhaps to avoid further upheaval, perhaps out of a shred of caring still left in the youngest's heart, the Prince was spared death and instead given a fate not much better: he was sentenced with no trial to be locked inside an inescapable prison for the rest of his life.

Far away, his sister shed silent, hidden tears for him.

Penned by My hand on the 11th of Glacian, in the year 816 AF.