"Lysander, my son."
King Alexander Tredio Artorius bent down, stroking the young prince's head. Lysander was drenched in sweat, gripping his practice saber while a wooden chestplate hung. loosely from his neck by a fraying string."I see you've been training with old Snake Eyes" Alexander said warmly. "Has he been teaching you the sword well?"
Lysander pouted at that.
"Yes, Father… but I don't like the saber, the sickle, or the khopesh... I like your sword...I like greatswords!" he stomped his foot, kicking his training saber away. "Why can't I learn to wield a blade like you, Father?!"
Alexander sighed, picking up the discarded saber. "It's not about fighting like me...son. No one else can fight like me, I'm me!" he chuckled, swinging the saber carelessly, looking rather terrible with it for a king.
Lysander laughed. "You're doing it wrong, Father!" he reached out, guiding his father's hands, showing him how to properly swing, step, defend, and counter. Alexander watched in awe as his twelve year old son moved with the blade like a dancer, already better than he had ever been.
"See, son?" Alexander said, gently catching the blade between his fingers, startling Lysander. "It's not about fighting like me. It's about fighting to your own strengths"
Lysander let his sword fall to his side, staring at the ground. "What's wrong?" Alexander asked, kneeling and placing a hand on Lysander's shoulder. "It's just…" Lysander hesitated. "I don't want to be strong like Snake Eyes… or strong in a way that just fits me" He looked up at his father. His eyes burned with hues of red and gold, while Alexander's shone pure and radiant—twin suns staring back at him.
"I want…" Lysander swallowed.
"I want to be strong like you"
Lysander sits up in a dark room, his vision cloudy. He can't make out anything except two small red lights on the upper corners of the wall in front of him.
He rubs his eyes, then his cheeks, feeling something stuck to his skin. He pulls at a string-like material, finding a patch attached to his face. He yanks both off, then finds more patches along his arms and tears those away too.
"Where am I?" he mutters to himself.
Is this some type of base? An infirmary? Is Father here? Snake Eyes? Juliette? His thoughts spiral as he brushes strands of his long white hair from his face, tucking them behind his ear as he looks around.
He looks down, noticing the medical gown and underwear he's been dressed in. He feels uncomfortable, but doesn't remove them—he needs to find his clothes first
The bed beneath him is strange. Not the plush ashwood beds of home, nor the korn wood beds of military infirmaries. This one is metal, topped with a soft mattress, glowing markings protruding faintly from its surface.
Panic sets in as he takes in the room.
Glowing boxes. Glowing squares and circles.
Symbols he doesn't recognize.
He reaches out frantically, touching everything in reach, until his hand presses against something unfamiliar.
A loud beeping erupts.
He flinches.
"W-what's that?! A trumpet?! An attack?!"
He scrambles into the corner of the room, hugging his knees as marching footsteps echo from beyond the walls. His breathing grows erratic, his eyes darting wildly across the room.
Then the wall in front of him begins to part
Like one of the secret entrances in the castle.
But those stone passages were loud, grinding as they shifted apart. This wall moves flawlessly, silently, as if the white surface simply vanishes and reveals a void beyond.
Sergeant Weaver Greywolf steps through the opening in all his hairy, hulking glory.
"Calm down, son. We aren't here to hurt you" he raises his hands to show they're unarmed
Lysander doesn't understand a word. He shouts back in a language none of them recognize.
"Who are you?! Where is my father?! My mother?! Juliette?! Snake Eyes?! WHAT have you done to them!" he points accusingly at the massive grey-haired man, but Greywolf only frowns.
"Shit, Clarissa, what language is that?" he glances to the engineer beside him. A holographic screen and keyboard project from Clarissa's bracelet. "I-I don't know, Sarge! But we can implant the Sol Lucen communication seal on him, if he could just hold still..." she pulls a small silver ring from her pouch, the Sol Lucen emblem engraved into its surface.
Greywolf suddenly appears behind the boy, locking him in place. Lysander thrashes, but the size difference is overwhelming. Greywolf looms over him, massive enough to seem like he might swallow him whole.
"Are you sure we should?" Clarissa whispers, hesitating as she steps closer she looks at the boy's face—too young. Barely the age of her younger sister. Soft features. Dim red-gold eyes. Thin pink lips. Messy white hair sticking out in every direction.
"Just do it! It'll serve us better if he talks!"
Greywolf grips the boy by the neck with one hand, forcing his head back and exposing his forehead.
"Do it. Now!"
Lysander keeps shouting as Clarissa presses the ring against his forehead. Mana drains from it slowly, and into the kid's forehead before she pulls it away and stumbles back.
His tongue twists unnaturally. Strange sounds spill from his mouth as he struggles to shape unfamiliar words.
"L-luh... l... let..." he chokes out.
"Let?" Greywolf tilts his head, still restraining him.
Lysander looks up.
His red-gold pupils bloom with strange markings.
Greywolf's instincts scream.
"John! Clarissa! Run!"
Too late.
"Let go"
The glass in the room shatters.
Greywolf is hurled backward through the concrete wall, leaving a hole perfectly shaped like him. Guards are thrown off their feet. Sparks explode from the monitoring machines strapped to Lysander's body as the room dies around him.
He looks around almost curiously at the dead lights and shattered shapes.
Markings begin to flicker down his right arm—swords etched in glowing lines.
"Summon, Rose Weaver"
He extends his hand.
A khopesh materializes from nothing. Brown leather wraps the handle, while the iron blade gleasms under the dim light. Rose engravings flood with mana, glowing red and casting faint light across the ruined room.
"Who... are you...?" his voice is shaky, as he asks.
"Where... am I...?" he looks at John, who was knocked down by the impact, looking at the boy with eyes full of fear.
He steps forward, pointing the blade at Clarissa.