“What is this pce?” Stroke screamed out. “Death, friends, what is happening to me?” The prince’s head ached, throbbing, memories flooding him of everything he’d done. “Fuck… Bianca? What did I do, what have I done? I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I didn’t mean to. The voices… they’re gone, silent.” He felt calmer. “Runaya’s voice. I wanted to make a better world for her. Please forgive me, Bianca. If there is time to save you, I will.” He kept on speaking as if they could hear him. “Godwin. I have love for you too… you’ll always be my big brother, but I can’t give you the God Arm. I need it. It’s the only way to get her back. The fox—gods, is she okay? Tell me she is fine. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.” The prince broke down in tears, pressing his palms to his wet eyes, repeating that same sentence. “Gods, forgive me.” He choked on tears. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.” Through his tear-blurred vision, he saw a door of dark oak in the distance. No walls, no frame, no knob, just a handleless door against the endless expanse of pure white, and the faint sound of music, from fiddle and harp, drifting from the other side and beckoning the prince to come closer.

  Finally, a break from that storm, Stroke thought. The rain and those dragons were starting to drive me mad.

  He slowly opened the door, stepping into a dim brothel filled with smoke, slow music, and plenty of vines growing in the many cracks of the faded red walls. Then the cambions came, both woman and man, half-naked in loose bck silk, some carrying ptters of wine cups and others carrying more exotic services, teasing the other demons with kisses as they rexed into their chairs, sitting in their ps, massaging their shoulders.

  Stroke shielded his eyes. He turned quickly, reaching for the door he came from, finding it had vanished. I won’t look at another, even if it’s some kind of hallucination, he thought. How do I escape a pce if I can’t use my eyes to find the exit?

  “Prince stroke,” a soothing voice whispered into his ear. “Right this way, please.”

  He peaked through his fingers. A small cambion in commoner’s clothes took his hand and guided him to a pce free from the other works. She sat the prince on a bed of red feathers, lighting many candles scattered on the walls.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” Stroke said, still covering his eyes. “I’d never come to a pce like this, ever. How do I get out?”

  “You get out when I say you can.”

  Aleirica sat in a red-leather chair in the corner, legs crossed, wearing a full set of Van guard armour. She gave the prince a smirk and stood, brushing her fingers across his jaw as she walked from one side of the bed to the other.

  “You’ve been naughty, Prince Stroke,” she tutted. “A city in fear of the one they saw as a hero… a lover turned evil, a prince turned vilin, a protector turned destroyer.”

  “I’m not a bad person,” he snapped. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to do any of that. How dare you think that of me?”

  “How else am I supposed to see it?”

  Aleirica removed her armour one piece at a time, slowly, her face and body changing to Runaya’s, even the voice dripped to the sweet tone he knew. When down to her garments, she removed them slowly too, leaving her only in a loose cloth protecting her breasts and upper legs. She joined the prince on the bed, brushing her cheek against his shoulder, then falling snug into his p, pushing her body up to the prince’s and locking eyes.

  Stroke was… confused. His hands yearned to touch her, but he knew deep in his soul that it wasn’t the woman he loved. That girl would never undress in such a way, never look at him with such lust with the brown eyes he loved so much.

  “You’re not her,” Stroke growled. “Get off me.”

  “I could be,” she whispered in his ear. “Don’t you want me to be her? I can search your memories, recreate her, give you a life with her inside your own head.”

  Stroke’s body rexed at the thought, he sunk his head into her neck, breathing slowly.

  Aleirica pyed with his blue curls, kissing his temple. “Good boy,” she said. “Let me in. Let’s see what there is.”

  Stroke’s eyes snapped open. “No.” He grabbed the pretender’s waist and threw her off, pinning her quick to the wall. His eyes were soft as he choked the appearance of his one and only love, but he knew it must be done. “You are not her.”

  The door smmed open and the room filled with naked demons. They seized Stroke by his limbs. He fought them off well, but in the mind of Aleirica, he had no power—they wrapped their tails around his throat, dragging him to his knees.

  “Should’ve came easy,” she said in Runaya’s voice. “Breaking an unwilling mind is always hard on the both of us.”

  “Get away from me!” he screamed. “Don’t touch me!”

  She pressed a thumb between Stroke’s eyes.

  The brothel cracked away into fragments, like a painting, sucked into the expanse of the Void, leaving only Aleirica, who now had her own appearance, returning to her hellish robes. She smirked at the emptiness, then clicked her fingers.

  She saw the memories through the eyes of the prince, and what she witnessed made her heart feel heavy like steel. The first she came across was of him and Runaya, running in a meadow of daisies and dandelions, long grass, vibrant green and a bzing sun. Bunnies and bees danced around them, and both the souls were ughing as they chased each other for hours.

  The second she found wasn’t as happy. Stroke sat atop one of the many bell towers of Keep Bcksteel, a light rain soaking him. He watched into the window of his father, Godric Van, seeing how dozens of whores swarmed him on his bed. None were his mother, of course, and she felt the prince’s anger in her own soul.

  His mother, Aleirica thought. What memories does he have of her, I wonder?

  She searched for his earliest memory. The prince, for some odd reason, remembered being born. After twelve long hours of painful bour, Faith Van gave birth to her third and final son. Godric was not present, but the nurses had sent Killian Entrail to find him.

  Faith ordered the nurses to leave. “But my queen, you are still bleeding,” one said. “I must stop the bleeding.”

  “I bled worse with Godwin and Harren. Leave me with my son, just a moment alone before my husband comes. I will never get this chance again.”

  They left quickly, delivering the birthed prince to her arms, wrapped in a bck cloth. She leaned up in her bed of white feathers, the plumes red from her bleeding. She was exhausted, sweaty, her eyes donning purple rings of tiredness. The queen took deep inhales, gathering the feather sheet under her armpits to cover herself for when Godric inevitably arrived and ruined the moment. She tidied up her scruffy her, tucking the wet strands behind her ears, pressing her lips into a smile of genuine joy.

  Stroke’s eyes blinked open, looking at his mother, uncrying.

  “Oh… just like Harren.” She admired the prince’s hair. “The second in so many millennia to not have the sunny-golden strands of the great Van blood. I never knew I could be so lucky. Welcome to the world, my beautiful boy… what to name you?”

  She heard the heavy footsteps of her husband growing closer, his booming voice ordering the guards to step aside.

  “Look at you, gorgeous,” she said, savouring the final moment she would have alone with her final son. “My st piece of art… hm, if I am the brush, then I think I shall call you… Stroke… how does that sound, little one?” She tickled his chin. “It suits you perfectly.”

  Aleirica decided that if there was a way to break the mind of Prince Stroke Van, it would be have something to do with Faith Van, the mother who he seemed to remember so vividly. She at first considered Runaya, but seeing his reaction to her taking her form while at the brother of demons, she decided it was the wrong path.

  She searched for more and found many—a calm night of both Prince Stroke and Princess Runaya hugging Faith’s waist as she read them gentle stories to guide them to sleep—many sessions where the queen taught her youngest son to read and write, complimenting Runaya’s delicate and pretty handwriting, while never scolding Stroke for being heavy-handed and blocky with his letters—a harsh moment where Godric, his father, beat him senseless for climbing the towers of the keep, and a ter memory of the prince ignoring this order, seeing the king strike his own mother for suggesting he should allow his son to climb the keep as much as he liked.

  Aleirica followed the memory of Godric, finding the moment where Prince Stroke first uncovered his gifts, knocking down his father in a violent training match.

  She then found a memory that seemed desperate to be seen, not one that she sought out.

  Faith and Stroke sat in a flowered courtyard. She had him sat between her legs, still a boy, not yet a man, but not young enough to be underestimated. She brushed his hair, humming him a song, then dropped the brush with a sigh after the servants cleared the courtyard at her command.

  “Mother?” Stroke squeaked. “Did I do something wrong?”

  She kissed his freckled cheek. “Not at all, I promise.”

  “Then why did you stop?”

  “You’re getting big now,” she said, pinching his cheek. “Soon you won’t be able to fit in my p. Soon, you will take my pce, and Runaya will take your pce.”

  Stroke blushed, hiding a smile.

  “In many years you will be a man, and I don’t want you to grow without knowing where you come from. This is my greatest secret, do you think you can keep it?”

  Stroke nodded.

  “I come from Dastane,” she whispered with a wink. “I once sat on the Council of Fate. I married your father in hopes we could open the borders between the nations, but I lost that task when you were born, and I devoted my time to raising my three beautiful boys.”

  “Will we ever go to Dastane?” Stroke said, filled with joy. “If I have Dastane blood, can we go? Please, mother, I hear it’s such a wonderful nation.”

  Her eyes grew sadder. “No.” She kissed his forehead. “Godric would never permit the opening of the borders… but…” She shook her head lightly. “My little boy, you are young, but are you certain Runaya is the girl you will marry?”

  “I am.”

  “Then you should sneak away,” she whispered. “When you are a man, and she is ready, you should leave for Dastane, sail across the Nature’s Cut and live in Wyverngde. It’s a beautiful city, for a beautiful boy, and Runaya would love it.”

  Stroke thought about his father, remembering the countless times he’d seen him strike her. “What about you? Wouldn’t you come with me?”

  “I have to stay here,” she said. “Your brothers need me. It will break my heart to see you go so far away, but you will be happy.” She kissed his forehead again. “Listen, my boy, if you do ever go outside these city walls… people will try to take Runaya from you, bad people, and even if you stay here… people of your own blood could try to take her too.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “Your brothers,” she said, pained by her own words. “Godwin has your father’s hair, but my kindness. He is lost. I can see it. In Dastane, we help those misguided, never judging the how or why they came to be that way… he can be a good brother to you… I’m sorry, you are too young, I shouldn’t be talking to you like this.”

  “No, please,” Stroke said firmly. “I understand. I want to help.”

  “Well… Harren is the opposite… he has my hair, but the temper of your father. I wish he was like you, kind and caring. He was my happy boy, once. I don’t know where I failed as mother.”

  “I bme father,” Stroke said.

  Faith didn’t agree, but also never denied. “Your grandfather was a gentle man. It pained me to say Godfrey drag through the halls after he lost his wife when your father was born. He confided in me once before he passed, apologising.” She hugged Stroke’s head. “But all of this was worth it. The gods have given me you, Godwin, and Harren, if I can break through that wall. I love you, my little paint brush. This canvas is yours now. You are precious, too adorable for this horrible world. I love you so much.”

  The memory ended and a voice cut through Aleirica’s searching.

  “Get out of my head!” Stroke screamed. “Get out! Get out!”

  The memory shattered like gss and revealed the Void. The emptiness became a forest, and Stroke attacked the demon from behind, pushing her against a tree.

  “You think I am some pything?” Stroke hissed. “That my mind is some chest to unearth and explore? You stay out of my memories, they are not yours!”

  “Let the demon go, Stroke,” Death said. He stood with crossed arms. “I’ve seen this forest before. I thought this was unique to my mind, but I suppose not.”

  “Why are you here?” Stroke yelled. “Are you a memory? What have you done to me?”

  “Release the girl and I’ll expin.”

  Stroke released Aleirica.

  “I entered your mind with her,” Death began. “I have no shame in saying the intent was to subdue you and conquer your mind, make you a husk, cut your head off while you were stunned. You were so occupied with her that you didn’t notice me in here.”

  “And what did you find? Are you satisfied?”

  Death gestured far away. In the distance, the young prince saw Runaya, taken hostage by a shadowy creature of the Dark Void. It covered her mouth, dragging her away.

  “Runaya!” Stroke yelled. “I’m coming!”

  “What are you—” Aleirica began.

  “Trust me,” Death said. “His mind is unbreakable from both of our methods. Just watch.”

  Stroke was stopped from getting closer. He ran head-first into an invisible barrier, a gssy twang echoing across the forest. He put a fist to it, striking it. “Let her go!” he shouted. “Who do you think you are to put your hands on her?”

  “We can give you her back,” the shadowy creature hissed. “The path of death is long and winded… we brought her soul to yours, in your mind. You must break the gss if you want her.”

  He saw how her mouth was covered. “You’re the one who spoke through the Sentinels?”

  “Maybe,” it said. “But her soul is true. You want her, take her. Break the gss, set me free.”

  Stroke pressed a palm to the gss. He pulled back a fist, ready, but then a chain wrapped around the creature’s neck, pulling her off Runaya—Death, having dealt with the barrier of gss before, knew how to sneak around it. He ripped the head off the creature with his bare hands, expining to Stroke that the barrier is easily passable if he enters with a calm mind.

  And so, Stroke did. He couldn’t find the words to say, and neither could Runaya—she was in a white dress of linen, her favourite to wear, before Mara ruined the colour by taking it for her own garments. They both ughed lightly, tearing up, then hugged tight. The prince fell to his knees.

  “What have I done?” he whimpered. “I’ve… I’ve done horrible things to the city, my love.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “But this is a horrible world. In a kinder universe, we are flowers. In a harsher one, we are two ravens eating carcasses to survive. Every universe, you and I, my handsome boy, we will always find each other, just like now.”

  “What do I do? What should I do next?”

  Runaya gave a look to Death and Aleirica, smiling at both. She hugged Stroke’s head to her belly, rubbing his hair. Her smile turned to a frown, and she spoke slowly.

  “You could love again,” she suggested. “I wouldn’t condemn you for it. I will wait for you, no matter what you do. My heart still yearns to see you happy, and if that means sharing a bed with another so you don’t have lonely nights of tears, I would never shame you for seeking the warmth of another.”

  “Oh, my love,” Stroke said softly. “There is no world where I would choose another. The cost of loving you was never being able to love again, and I would pay the price in every lifetime. In life and in death, I am yours, always.”

  Silence.

  “I am yours,” Stroke repeated. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel so angry.”

  He melted into her soft hands as she took his head’s weight. Just a boy, that’s all he was. He rexed his shoulders, calmed. Her touch was all that mattered in that moment, the savouring of the memory. The shape of her hand, exactly how he remembered. The way she rubbed his cheek with her thumb, the way he could trust her to hold his head, the way she would pull him closer, the way she would stroke his hair in all the pces she knew made him feel safe… he was home, only for a moment.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she promised. She tilted his head up and pecked his nose with a kiss. “The world has been so unkind to my kind boy.”

  “I’ve killed so many. What do you want me to do? If you want me to let them kill me so I can be with you, I will. I want to be with you.”

  “I am right here, in your soul,” she said. “And I’ll stay here.”

  “He’s going to kill the whole city,” Death cut in. “All I’ve heard from others is how kind you were, are you going to let him do that?”

  “Death,” Runaya whispered. “You seem a good man, all things considered… thank you for bringing him to me… you are right. I want to tell him to surrender to you, to give you the God Arm, to let himself be executed to be with me… but why must I? Those people shunned me, mocked me. I tried to live a selfless life, but this world is not built for that. Make our world, Stroke. Get up. Get up.”

  “Anything for you,” Stroke said. “I love you.”