Chapter 12 – Nightmare (2)

  Jacob leaned against the polished carriage window, his breath fogging the glass as he gazed out at the shifting landscape of Bravehearth. His fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the sill. Quick, uneven beats that mirrored the anticipation stirring in his chest. The capital had always dazzled him, and today was no different. The thought of visiting Castor again filled him with a boyish excitement he couldn’t conceal.

  “How much longer?” he groaned, drawing out the question as he turned to Belemir, his guardian and the family knight.

  Belemir chuckled softly, the lines in his weathered face creasing into a familiar smile. He reached out and tousled Jacob’s hair with the fondness of a father figure. “As impatient as ever, I see. The palace isn’t next door, lad it’s a whole district away. You know that.”

  Jacob let out a dramatic sigh but didn’t argue. The truth was that the palace, an enormous fortress carved from the bone of a fallen god, or so the legends claimed was situated far beyond the noble district of Marvshire, deep within the beating heart of Bravehearth, where only the royals dared to tread.

  After several more minutes of Jacob’s grumbling, the carriage finally slowed before a massive, gilded gate. Two knights in brilliant white armor approached, the sunlight gleaming off their helmets. One of them spotted Jacob’s head poking out the window and smiled warmly.

  “Well, well, young Master Jacob,” the knight called. “Off to see the prince again, are we?”

  Jacob grinned wide and nodded so fiercely his glasses nearly slid off. “Yes, Mark!”

  The second knight laughed and turned toward the gate, raising his voice. “Open up! The Skydrid heir’s here to visit the Fifth Prince!”

  The golden gates parted with a low, majestic groan, revealing a cobbled path flanked by flowering trees and lamplights that curved gently toward the palace entrance. Statues of ancient kings and long-dead heroes dotted the landscape, half-shrouded in the shade of trees whose leaves shimmered green and violet under the afternoon sun.

  As the carriage rolled forward, Jacob leaned out and waved enthusiastically. “Bye, Mark! Bye, Jack!”

  “Be good, Jacob!” one of them called back with a chuckle.

  The moment the carriage reached the palace steps, Jacob flung the door open and leapt out before Belemir could stop him. “See you later!” he shouted over his shoulder, not slowing as he ran full-tilt toward the ornate front doors.

  Belemir didn’t follow. Palace rules were strict non-noble retainers were forbidden past the main entrance unless summoned. So he simply waved back, eyes fond, before settling into the seat again to wait.

  Jacob skidded to a halt before the guards at the entrance. One of them, a tall, stoic young man with neatly combed blonde hair and clad in flawless white armour, glanced down without a word. He reached into a leather satchel and retrieved a small metallic device lined with blue runes. Pressing a button, he raised it to his mouth and spoke in a monotone voice.

  “Prince Castor, Jacob has arrived.”

  Jacob waited without speaking. He was used to this part.

  Moments later, the heavy palace doors creaked open and before Jacob could move, something slammed into him with enough force to knock him clean off his feet.

  He hit the marble floor with a grunt, blinking in surprise only to see a familiar, grinning face above his own.

  “Jacob! You’re late! Elly’s already been here for over an hour!”

  Castor's voice was light with accusation, but there was no real bite to it.

  Jacob laughed and scratched the back of his head. “Sorry! I kind of… lost track of time.”

  Castor stood and extended a hand. Jacob took it, and with a pull, was hauled to his feet. He brushed the dust from his shirt and gave his friend a sheepish smile.

  Prince Castor, only eight years old like Jacob, looked the part of nobility in every way. His golden hair, tied back into a tight ponytail, glinted under the palace light, and his features, sharp yet still childlike were composed with a kind of quiet pride. His dark green eyes sparkled with mischief, but his posture remained regal. There was something about him, even at this age, that demanded attention.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Together, they made their way through the marble halls, winding past painted murals and rows of towering statues, their steps echoing faintly beneath the grand archways. Jacob struggled to remember the way, they passed so many identical doors and corridors that he always lost track. Castor, on the other hand, never once hesitated.

  Eventually, they arrived at a wide, open archway that led into a sunlit garden. The roof had been replaced by transparent glass that allowed sunlight to pour in from above, casting golden streaks across the grass.

  Bushes, small trees, and fragrant flower beds were scattered throughout the space. At the centre stood a white gazebo, within which sat a girl watching koi swim in a nearby pond.

  She turned and raised a hand when she spotted them. “Jacob! What took you so long?”

  Elaine Hathlin, Elly as most liked to call her, stood and crossed her arms, a smile tugging at her lips.

  Jacob waved and quickened his pace. “I was with Lucas,” he called back. “He made me late!”

  Elly rolled her eyes playfully. “Always someone else’s fault with you.”

  She was a small girl, just a little shorter than the boys, with shoulder-length brown hair and round, black eyes. Her cheeks were a little chubby, and her clothes though well-made lacked the stiff formality of noble fashion. Unlike Castor and Jacob, who had been trained in etiquette from the moment they could walk, Elly was warm, relaxed, and completely herself.

  She came from the Hathlin family, wealthy merchants whose influence reached every corner of the kingdom, strong enough to rival even some nobles. Thanks to their close ties to the royal family, Elly had grown up around Castor and Jacob, and the three of them had been nearly inseparable since they were toddlers.

  Jacob plopped down beside her in the gazebo. “So… Castor told me you’ve decided to become a mage. Is that true?”

  Elly giggled and nodded. “Of course! You two can go off and be knights if you want. I’ll be the elegant mage laughing at your clumsy swordplay from a distance.”

  Castor made a mock-offended sound. “Hey! There’s nothing wrong with being a knight. Right, Jacob?”

  Jacob nodded on instinct but said nothing. Elly’s words stirred something in him.

  “Why don’t you become a mage too, Jacob?” Elly asked, nudging his arm. “We could train together.”

  He hesitated.

  In truth, he didn’t want to be a knight not really. His frame was too thin, his grip too weak. Swordplay exhausted him, and no matter how hard he trained, he always fell behind. What he loved were books particularly those about rune theory, lost civilizations, and the philosophies of power. He wanted to be a scholar. But that wasn’t something he could admit easily. Not when his father, a staunch traditionalist, expected all his sons to take up the sword. Lucas had already disappointed him by becoming a mage. Jacob wanted to prove himself different.

  He forced a smile. “Let’s talk about something else. Castor’s birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

  Elly clapped her hands together. “That’s right! I nearly forgot, I haven’t even gotten a gift yet!”

  Castor leaned back in his chair and adopted a serious tone. “Actually, I’ve thought a lot about this. For my birthday…” He paused dramatically, making sure they were listening. “I want a sword. And a set of armour. Father still won’t let me have any.”

  Elly punched him lightly in the gut. “That’s it? I thought you were about to tell us something important.”

  Castor winced and rubbed his stomach. “It is important. I’m tired of wooden practice swords.”

  “Why won’t your father give you one?” Jacob asked, genuinely curious.

  “He says I should focus on royal studies. Politics, law, economics. All that boring stuff.” He crossed his arms. “But I’m not going to be king. One of my older brothers will take the throne. So why bother?”

  Jacob sighed. That sounded exactly like Castor, he was notorious for escaping study sessions and skipping lessons. There were entire rumours about his daring getaways, and Jacob had witnessed several firsthand.

  “You should just study more,” Elly muttered.

  “It might get me killed,” Castor replied seriously. “If I spend my time memorizing treaties instead of learning to fight, what happens if I’m attacked one day? Knowledge won’t save me.”

  Jacob rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”

  Before Castor could launch into another lecture, a servant stepped into the gazebo and bowed respectfully. “Young Master Jacob, the Third Prince Samuel has requested a short meeting.”

  Jacob sat upright. “About what?”

  “He wishes for you to deliver a gift to your brother.”

  That surprised him. “Alright… I’ll go.”

  He gave Castor and Elly a half-wave and followed the servant through the palace. They stopped before a tall, oaken door. When it opened, Jacob froze.

  It was a massive library, easily the largest he’d ever seen. Shelves upon shelves reached to the vaulted ceiling, and every single one was brimming with books. Candles burned softly in glass sconces along the walls, casting a golden glow. Staff members in blue and white uniforms moved briskly through the aisles.

  At a wide table near the back sat Prince Samuel, a book in hand, his expression calm and welcoming.

  “Ah, Jacob. Good, you’re here.” He held out the book he’d been reading. “Give this to Lucas. It’s a gift, a rare piece on rune theory. I believe he’ll appreciate it.”

  Jacob stepped forward, took the book, and bowed politely. He glanced at the cover and blinked.

  My Thoughts on Immortality, by Akashic.

  Jacob was watching the dream like a ghost, he couldn’t interfere, couldn’t change anything, he could only watch. His breath was ragged, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. He stood there in silence watching his dream self-accept the book from Samuel. He shook his head and laughed, but the sound was hollow, jagged. It cracked halfway through and turned into something darker.

  “Hahaha… immortality, oh immortality… what a fool I was.”

  His voice dropped, trembling with venom and grief. Then he screamed.

  “DAMN YOU, SAMUEL! DAMN YOU, AKASHIC!”

  He tore at his tunic, ripping the fabric, his bloodshot eyes brimming with pain and rage.

  “DAMN YOU, JACOB! YOU BASTARD WHO KILLED YOUR OWN BROTHER!”