Chapter Text
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Deep within a magical forest of pale oak trees stands a tall tower, spiraling high into the sky. Inside that tower is a prince, trapped by an evil fire-breathing dragon for years. Many have tried to save the poor prince, but between the cursed forest and the vicious dragon, none have lived to tell the tale.
“Until now,” Thomas mutters to himself, sarcastically mimicking Lord Fluixon's grand declaration when he doomed his most loyal knight to this quest. Really, if this is the thanks he gets for his years of unwavering loyalty to his liege and best friend, maybe he should consider early retirement.
He can only do that, though, when he gets his winnings from Snowbird and Rotation. And all he has to do to get those winnings is to go through this forest, slay a dragon, and rescue one of the two princes of Tricolour, all in the span of a single week. Easy.
. . . He really should be banned from making drunken bets in the future, especially when his wages are at stake. Thomas sighs, before steeling himself to finally enter the magical forest in front of him.
Except . . . the forest looks different from what Flux told him. He frowns at the dark oak trees jutting high, the branches far from his reach. There's a deer hiding behind a tree trunk watching him warily, and a couple of rabbits hop past quickly as a fox chases them down, leaving tiny footprints in the melting snow. He's no mage, but he assumed a magical cursed forest would be more . . . special than this.
He takes another look at the map Prince Saparata had given him when he did his courtesy call the other day. There's Tricolour to the right, the large kingdom taking up most of the parchment's space. To the left, a straight shot past a small village is the tower where Saps' brother is said to be, the tiny gray spot surrounded by the white of pale oak trees. There should be no other forests in the area at all.
He looks back up at the very dark trunks of the sprawling forest in front of him. Perhaps the magical part is its ability to switch colors at its leisure? How odd. But there's absolutely no way Thomas got lost when he walked in one singular direction the entire time, so he wraps his cloak tighter, takes his sword out and cautiously enters.
It takes him about thirty minutes to conclude that aside from the change in color, the forest is truly just a regular forest, no magical creatures in sight. Strange, and a bit disappointing to be honest. He was looking forward to facing down something magical so he could beat Gotoga at their monthly bragging sessions. The tower exists, though, visible above the trees as he gets closer, so at least he still has a dragon to look forward to.
When he breaks through the treeline, Thomas takes a moment to behold the sights. There's the tall tower made of cobblestone, with a large window at the very top. The tower is surrounded by a moat, with a long, rickety bridge stretched across it leading to the large doorway of the structure. Inside the moat, however, isn't water. It's not even lava, like Snowbird had insisted would be there. It must have been liquid at some point, whatever it is, because digging a moat and then filling it with what looks like obsidian is a really questionable choice to make. The surface is smooth and black and - he confirms by throwing a pebble down at it - very solid. He'd probably break his legs if he fell from the bridge, but otherwise the moat seems to pose no threat to anyone.
He makes his way past the creaking bridge slowly, careful to watch his step while also keeping an eye on the sky, in case the dragon comes swooping in. At this point, however, he's starting to have doubts about whether or not a dragon even lives here. Or a prince, for that matter. Because when he reaches the tower, the first thing he spots is a long chain with one end tethered firmly to the ground, and the other ending in a giant collar. A giant collar snapped in half, with no dragon in sight.
The second thing he notices, as he pushes open the doors to the tower, is that the place looks completely abandoned. A thick layer of dust on every visible surface, cold ash covering the remnants of a campfire, old bones of animals piled up in a corner, and footprints long faded away on the ground.
Nobody's been here for a long time.
Despite the unease settling in his gut, Thomas continues forward, up the spiraling staircase he spots in the corner. Did he get the wrong location? There can't be that many towers in forests out there. Has someone already slain the dragon and saved the prince? They would've reported it to the kingdom for some type of reward already if they had, wouldn't they? So if this is the right tower, and nobody has announced any successful prince retrieval schemes, then the prince should be right around . . .
Thomas stops in the doorway of the topmost room. In front of him, wearing a small crown in his white hair and staring at himself in a handheld mirror, is a very pale man. The silk dress shirt he dons is a light shade of purple, a stark contrast to the dark red of his cape. Prince Micro, Thomas immediately thinks, and immediately doubts. The room he's in is bare but clean, not a single speck of dust in sight, so it's clearly lived-in. Yet his presence contradicts everything Thomas has seen downstairs.
The man tilts the mirror, and when Thomas appears on the reflection he gasps in surprise, dropping the object. The mirror shatters into a million pieces. He looks at the mess of glass shards sadly.
“That's the only mirror I had left.”
Thomas coughs into his fist awkwardly. “Um, sorry about that. Are you . . . Prince Micro? Of Tricolour?”
The man's bright blue eyes bear into him, a contemplative look on his face. After a long moment, the corners of his lips twitch up, one end a bit higher than the other, into a small smile.
“I do own that name, yes.”
An inkling of . . . something . . . starts to take root in the depths of his mind. Nothing concrete, but something Thomas consciously decides to put to the side for the time being. Introspection can wait when he's alone again. “I'm supposed to save you from a dragon. Except the dragon seems to be missing.”
The prince shrugs. “Dragons take breaks once in a while, too.”
“Right. So I guess I'm here to . . . walk you out?”
“Wow, my very own knight in shining armor.” Prince Micro chuckles. He seems earnest enough, if not for the tilt of his smile. It’s not mocking, though. More . . . amused.
Thomas bows, hand over his chest before he extends it towards the prince.
“Shall we?”
Prince Micro takes his hand, stepping over the broken shards without a second look and proceeds to quietly follow Thomas down the staircase. He doesn't say another word until they cross the creaking bridge, at which point he asks. “May I- . . . What's your name?”
Thomas raises an eyebrow at the aborted question but doesn’t comment. “Thomas. I’m a knight from Luminara serving under Lord Fluixon.”
“A lord from another kingdom sent his knight to save me? What for?”
What for, indeed. Thomas tries to hide a grimace at the memory. “To better relations between our two nations,” he answers, the practiced answer rolling smoothly over his tongue.
The prince hums skeptically, but doesn't say anything further, which Thomas is grateful for. Instead he squints down at the ground, carefully testing his step as he puts his boot down on the grass, wiggling it side to side. Thomas furrows his brows at the action. He did the same earlier, when they reached the bottom of the stairs. And again, when they stepped on the wooden planks of the bridge. He looked just as fascinated everytime. Is he . . . checking the texture of the ground? Through his shoes?
Thomas patiently waits for Prince Micro to continue walking, although internally he's faced with a small dilemma. Where exactly does he walk relative to the prince? Normally he's supposed to be a few steps behind royalty, but the prince doesn't seem like he knows or particularly cares which direction they should go. Thomas could lead, but then he runs the risk of losing sight of the prince. Walking right beside him is his best bet as far as he can tell, as long as Prince Micro doesn't take offense to it.
The prince grabs at his sleeve, making the choice for Thomas as he tugs him off the path and points into the woods excitedly. “Let's go to the flower field over there, I haven't seen one in ages!”
Thomas hesitates, eyeing the orange sky above. “It'll get dark soon, Prince Micro. We need to head for the village now if we want to make it to an inn.”
“What's the rush?” The prince shrugs carelessly. “Five years is a long time. What's one more day?”
Well, he’s right about that. Although the main concern is where they’ll take shelter once night falls. Prince Micro tugs him forward again, and this time Thomas follows without resistance.
The prince is wearing a small smile the entire time, one that slowly disappears when they reach the clearing past the treeline. He looks around, from one end of the field to the other, presumably for a spot of color that Thomas expected would be missing at this point in time.
“Where are the flowers?”
“It's still the tail-end of winter, prince. Might take a couple more weeks for them to pop up.”
“But . . .” Prince Micro frowns, his brows furrowed in confusion. “It’s a magical area. The flowers are supposed to be here forever. Why . . . ?”
A magical forest without magic, and now a magical flower field with the same problem. Thomas thinks about their predicament. “Maybe something happened that lifted the magical curse in the area?” he guesses. That seems to be the only logical explanation.
“. . . oh. Right.”
He looks back at the prince, alarmed at the sudden dejected tone. Any happiness there was on his face is now gone, replaced with complete misery. The prince is hugging himself as he stares at the empty field with a forlorn gaze, blue eyes shiny.
Thomas doesn't know what exactly he said that was wrong, but he wants to kick himself for putting that expression on the prince. He frantically sifts through his pack for something that could distract the prince and make him stop looking so sad, but the only things he has are a couple of tools, a sleeping roll, coins, and his handkerchief. Nothing even remotely close to what Prince Micro wants. Unless . . .
A memory comes to mind, of Gray making simple figurines from square cuts of parchment and teaching him how to do the same when they were younger. He takes a seat on a nearby boulder, drawing the prince's attention as he lays his orange handkerchief on his lap. Thomas hopes his muscle memory won't fail him.
It takes him a few fumbles before he gets into the rhythm of folding, despite the challenge the soft cloth provides. In any other situation, the ridiculousness of what he's doing would stop Thomas from continuing to embarrass himself. But out here, in the privacy of open nature, with the pressure of navigating politics nowhere in sight and the only eyes on him are those of a sad prince, Thomas is free to do what he wants. And what he wants right now is to cheer a prince up.
When he finishes, Thomas presents the artificial orange lotus to the prince. It's not perfect by any means, the petals weighed down by their own mass and looking much flatter than any real lotus in existence. But by the wonder in Prince Micro's eyes as he delicately takes the flower in his hands, one would think Thomas had gifted him a star straight from the night sky.
“You're . . . giving this to me?” The prince whispers.
“Yeah.” Thomas clears his throat awkwardly. He can feel his cheeks heating up as the awareness of what he did now hits him. “Sorry, I don't have any pins to keep it from unfolding, but I can re-fold it anytime if you’d still want me to.”
Prince Micro gives him a huge smile, one that takes the breath from his lungs. His smile is uneven, the tilt more prominent the wider his grin is, and if Thomas takes the time to count he knows there are more teeth than normal visible in the gesture. But he doesn't, because he's too busy admiring the most beautiful smile he's ever been gifted.
“Thank you, Thomas. I'll treasure this always.”
He looks away, feeling quite bashful at the prince's sincerity, which is how he notices just how far the sun has dipped past the horizon. Thomas can see a cave in the distance, so he leads Prince Micro to it and leaves him bundled up in the sleeping roll he brought while he searches for firewood. There's plenty to be found lying on the forest floor, although how flammable they turn out to be is up for debate. By a stroke of luck, he even manages to catch a wild rabbit that peeked out of its den far too early.
When he returns, he has to pause at the scene that greets him. There’s a crackling fire already in the middle of the cave. The fire is burning on a single stick, nowhere near enough fuel to sustain the unnatural blue flames. And right behind it is Prince Micro, his brilliant blue eyes glowing much more brightly than the fire in front of him.
The inkling of suspicion in his mind grows into something more well-defined. Thomas slowly approaches the blue flames, sticking his slightly damp firewood close. He watches the flames spread easily, and without looking up, he comments, “You know, your older brother, Prince Saparata, is very worried about you.”
“Oh?” The prince hums in interest. “Well, we'll be seeing him soon, so he won't have to worry for long.”
Thomas nods in agreement, his lips twitching into a smile. He sits down by the campfire, his back to the flames and to the prince, and takes out his knife, sliding it under the rabbit's skin. It takes him a while, mainly because Prince Micro keeps trying to peek over his shoulder to watch him work. The bloody display of skinning animals is work not meant for royal eyes, but the prince is making it hard for Thomas to follow the usual rules.
“Why are you doing that?” Prince Micro asks. He had decided to get up from his previous seat to sit right in front of Thomas to get a better view at his handiwork.
Thomas gives up trying to hide the carcass. “I can't cook this with all the fur in the way. Plus the pelt has other uses.”
“Oh, no, I get that. I mean why are you using that little knife to remove the skin? It seems inefficient.”
“Do you have a better suggestion?” Thomas asks, one eyebrow raised.
Prince Micro puts his hand out towards the rabbit, wiggling his fingers expectantly. Thomas hesitates, because if letting royalty see one skinning a dead rabbit is bad, what more is putting an entire carcass in their bare hands? Eventually though he concedes, handing over the half-skinned animal.
The prince looks over the rabbit, turning it over and over in his hands. What he's planning to do, Thomas can't even guess. Prince Micro holds up the carcass above him, the dangling flap of its skin hanging loosely below it. He opens his mouth, revealing two rows of abnormally sharp teeth . . .
. . . then proceeds to chomp on the skin flap and tear off the rest of the rabbit's skin in one vicious tug.
Thomas stares at the prince and his bloody mouth. He knows he has a choice to make. He can confront the issue now, or he can do it later. The problem is that he's only relying on a hunch, albeit a strong one, with no actual proof. Furthermore, if he does confront the issue now and he turns out to be correct, what happens after?
If he does it later, he'll at least have someone else on his side. He'd risk bringing the issue to the kingdom, but, well, Tricolour isn't even his kingdom, is it? He thinks about Saps, about how the prince had so rudely mentioned betting against Flux that Thomas would get burned to a crisp by the dragon, and he chuckles.
“What is it?” Prince Micro asks. The blood drips down his chin and onto his purple dress shirt.
Thomas shakes his head, smirking. “Nothing. Just thought of something funny, that’s all.”
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When they arrive at Tricolour the next day, they are met with little fanfare. The prince gets curious looks from children, likely because of his outfit if the way they keep pointing at his crown is any indication. To the adults, however, it’s as if he’s not even visible. Thomas frowns to himself at the observation.
How long has it been again since the prince was locked up in that tower? It couldn’t have been that long, not when Thomas has vague memories of seeing another pale royal hanging out quietly in the castle gardens back when he was a child playing tag with Saps and Flux. For that matter, even if the masses of Tricolour don’t recognize him, shouldn’t the fact that Prince Micro resembles their beloved Crown Prince Saparata be enough to turn at least some heads around?
Things are a little different when they reach the castle. The servants and knights don’t recognize the prince either, but when Thomas informs them of his identity, they’re quickly ushered towards the dining area where the royal family is having lunch.
On the way, they pass by a large painting in the intersection of hallways. The painting depicts the royal family: the king and Saps are standing together, while the queen and Princess Jophiel are sitting in front. And, although there’s a space by the king’s left for another person . . . there’s no one else.
It’s the same painting Thomas saw during his courtesy call a few days ago, but at the time he gave it no thought beyond a passing curiosity. Now, given the context of what happened outside, the curiosity flares up brighter, mixed in with unease. Why does it seem like Prince Micro’s existence has been wiped away from everyone’s memories? The royal family remembers him, or at least Saps does, because they’re the ones offering a reward for his rescue from the tower. But then why is he not in the royal painting?
The doors to the dining area swing open, and Thomas pushes his thoughts aside for now. A servant bows then murmurs something to the table, which elicits some gasps. He sees Saps get up, accidentally knocking his chair back in his haste but paying it no mind as he quickly approaches them. Thomas bows in his presence as he’s supposed to.
“Micro? Is that really you?”
“Of course. I can't believe my own older brother doesn't recognize me,” Prince Micro replies lightly. Thomas bites back a smirk. Got him.
“. . . What did you just call me?”
There’s complete silence in the room, so silent that one could hear a pin drop. His companion, notably, doesn’t say another word, but Thomas can sense his confusion. Thomas straightens up from his bow to see Saps - the younger twin brother of Prince Micro - with a stricken look on his face. His gaze darts towards the knight.
“Thomas. Who the hell is this?”
Thomas doesn’t get the chance to reply before he’s interrupted by laughter. It’s a boisterous, otherworldly, bone-chilling sound that freezes everyone in place. Like three different laughs mixing into a horrible cacophony: one part disbelief, one part amusement, and one part rage. He turns, and he sees blazing blue eyes and sharp teeth directed right at him.
Even as it sends shivers down his spine, Thomas can't help but think how it's the most enchanting sound he's ever heard.
----
“. . . achoo." Micro sneezes, dropping the jar of spices on the counter. Behind him, Neptune laughs.
“Dude, you call that a sneeze? I've heard kittens sneeze with more volume than that!”
“They teach you to sneeze like that in etiquette classes?” Banana snorts. “The things royalty get up to, I swear.”
Micro makes a rude gesture in their direction, not even deigning to answer that. The door to the basement opens, and Panzer peeks out from the opening. “You got the goods, Micro? The next batch is nearly done.”
“Yeah, hold on.” Micro gathers the jar in his arms again and heads for the basement. Right before he enters, he looks out through the open window, the salty breeze from the sea wafting in as always. Was someone talking about him just now?
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