Final Moments

Prince Anu’s spirit stepped through the invisible portal and floated back into the stiff body lying in bed. Warmth spread through his limbs once again, and he slowly opened his eyes to find an unfamiliar face at his bedside.

“Your Highness has finally woken up,” the nursemaid said, putting down her crochet needle.

Anu settled his nerves. “Where is my aide?” he asked, despite the lingering discomfort of having been out of his body for too long.

“Good that Your Highness should ask,” the nursemaid answered, a faint smile curling her lips. “Why don’t we go pay him a visit together?”

Before Anu could respond, the woman stood up and rang a golden bell to summon the servants. Upon entering, they hauled him—still in his nightclothes—straight into his wheelchair and began pushing the wooden carriage out of the bedchamber. Two guards stationed at the door bent down on either side to carry him down the staircase.

They passed the palace’s golden gates, then pushed him further out through the gardens toward the square beyond. A suffocating cloak of fear clawed at Anu’s chest. “Where are we going?” he demanded.

“You’ll know in a minute,” the nurse said sweetly, keeping pace with the guards.

From a distance, Anu caught sight of Seena, his back heaving in uneven rhythms. He called out to his cousin, but Seena didn’t answer. Instead, Seena broke into a run down toward the pier. The pit in Anu’s stomach deepened, though he maintained a facade of calm. Servants and nobles alike within the castle were no better than vultures; a single moment of weakness could cost him dearly.

The guards arrived at the square and stepped back. Anu squinted against the blinding glare of the sun. In the center of the square, a body hung limply from the pillory. Fresh blood coated the ground beneath it, and a few feet away lay a discarded flogging whip. Who did my father execute this time? he wondered.

He wheeled himself closer to the body. His breath caught as realization struck.

One moment he was in his wheelchair; the next, he was on the ground. Whether his spirit had been severed or he remained inside his flesh, Anu no longer knew. Everything around him simply collapsed into black.

“Anu, stop!”

“You must cease this at once!”

“I am begging you to stop!”

The voices came from far away, vaguely familiar. Perhaps it’s Ran.

“That’s enough.”

“You are going to kill us all...” the voice pleaded, sounding almost resigned.

It was Ran. In his current state, Anu didn’t care. None of it mattered anymore. He only hoped his best friend would make it quick.

In answer to his prayer, Ran’s blade descended, severing Anu’s head from his neck with one swift cut.

-

Within the Ether

In the afterlife, departed souls crossed the River Lethe aboard gondolas. Each boat carried two occupants: the soul of the recently deceased and, standing beside it, its guiding spirit.

Shrouded in thick fog, the river stretched endlessly into the dark. Yet beneath the vessel, the water shimmered with sparkling orbs that glittered like countless stars in the deep.

Spirits flickered around him, their forms gliding through the air. He was gliding among them, hearing their thoughts echo in his mind—and the topic of their discussion was him.

“Another one,” blurted a formless specter.

“The second one in such a short span of time,” another mused in response.

Anu wondered if they realized he could hear them.

“What do you think his powers are?”

“Is the Guiding Saint here yet?”

“What should we do with him?”

“Just leave him be until the Saint arrives.”

“He seems dark,” a timid little specter quivered.

It reminded Anu of his own form when he had first learned to step outside his body. He, too, had been nothing more than a foolish little ball of light back then.

The specter inched closer, reaching out with silver tendons, only to recoil in sudden revulsion. It turned to its companions. “His energy isn’t right. He might corrupt the river!”

Ahead of them, more spirits were arriving, escorted by resident spirit guides. The souls of the dead were easily recognizable by the agony etched onto their faces. By contrast, the higher-ranking heralds possessed defined bodies draped in shadowy white robes, their faces blank canvases of pure light. It was impossible to tell whether they had once been men or women, or if they had ever been human at all.

Perhaps they were once just little specks of light, too, Anu thought, watching the little menace approach him again, only to flinch as if stung.

“Truly, it’s terrible,” it continued to whine. “Was he sent here by mistake?”

“We do not make mistakes here,” another chastised. “Be patient. The Saint will arrive shortly.”

“Do you think he will be sent to the Lower Realms?”

“What are the Lower Realms?” Anu interrupted.

The phantoms around him froze instantly. Then, a vast expanse of distance materialized between them in a snap.

“He can hear us!” the little thing wailed.

“Hush,” its companions echoed in unison.

Anu did not have to dwell on them for long. Out of the eternal darkness, a glowing portal rippled open much like the ones he used to conjure on the mortal plane. Through it stepped a giant of a woman with long white hair cascading to her toes and skin as dark as the night sky. Unlike the others, her face was not featureless; it bore fine wrinkles and warm smile lines.

The woman shrank in scale until she stood directly before him. “You cannot see their faces here, but you will in the Higher Realm,” she said kindly, resting a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Are you the Queen of this place?” he asked in awe.

“Royalty is a invention of mortals; humans create castes to distinguish themselves. Up here, we are all one and the same.”

“How is it that I can see your face, but not theirs?” Anu challenged.

She laughed, her voice reverberating through the night as the submerged orbs sparkled brighter in response. “Because I am tasked with guiding ascended spirits like you into the Higher Realms,” she said with a wink. “Whereas their task is merely to herald souls into their next life.”

She lowered her hand and extended an open palm toward him. “Come. You are among your own kind now.”

“What about Ash? Is he there, too?” Anu asked, his hand reflexively reaching for hers. Warmth spread through his form, washing away whatever remnants of unease had settled into his core. He felt lighter, almost at peace.

Her brow furrowed with sympathy. “Your companion is a mortal,” she said softly. “He has already crossed the river.”

Anu’s hand snapped back as if struck by lightning. The warmth instantly evaporated, leaving a void where the volatile, chaotic energy within his spirit threatened to flare up once more.

“You carry more power than any human ought to possess,” the Saint warned, her tone firm yet filled with pity. “You no longer belong on the mortal plane. You belong up here, with us.”

He caught a faint trace of melancholy in her voice.

“I belong wherever he is,” Anu answered.

Some Years Ago,

*“Whoever claimed that people are born equal is a lying sack of shit,*” Tala read dramatically from the little journal in her clutch.

And clutching it she was, because Taylor was trying hard to snatch it out of her grasp, and failing miserably to do so.

“Give it back,” Taylor whined, exasperated. But his efforts did little to deter his older sister. She was four years older and four heads taller; even standing on his tippy-toes, he could barely reach the extent of her arms.

Tala giggled, flaunting the journal above his head. “Aren’t you a little too young to be going through a cynical phase, little Gray?” she teased.

Taylor pouted, ceasing his attempts at reclaiming his property. Tala cringed; she knew what was coming. “Okay, okay, I’ll give it back,” she appeased.

Too little, too late. Taylor was already running to their mom and wailing. “Mo-ooom,” he yelled, loud enough to turn heads at the nearby stalls.

Their mom was in the middle of speaking to a customer. She gave the woman an apologetic look and the two of them a seething one that promised retribution once back home.

“Nasty little snitch,” Tala muttered, and he stuck out his tongue at her.

“Tala, quit torturing the little one and get over here,” a curly-haired sixteen-year-old interjected. This was Madonna, his sister’s best friend and comrade in making his life harder than it needed to be.

Fortunately, Tala threw the journal at him and sashayed away with her disaster twin. He breathed a sigh of relief; she would’ve pulled his ears off had she read what he had to say about them.

Left to his own devices, Taylor walked across the stalls, mindlessly perusing the items on display. It was an assortment of knickknacks: firefly fridge magnets, firefly caps, firefly brooches, and firefly everything. The people of Runan really loved their fireflies.

They had little else to show off otherwise. The more he thought about it, the grimmer he felt. Some people in the world, some areas, were blessed more than others. In those areas, for those people, magic ran abundant. Their festivals were a thing of dreams. The kind, for a village kid like himself, you could only see on a screen.

Here, all they had was a hundred-year-old legend about fireflies that guided the Patroness of Runan to safety from an enemy attack. The legend lives on, but the fireflies are going extinct.

As if spurred by his train of thought, a firefly blinked ahead at the edge of the forest. Then a second, and a third. His eyes widened in shock.

Within the forest, countless fireflies blinked. He turned around, speaking to no one in particular. “Do you see that?” he asked.

An auntie at the stall wiped away a bead of sweat. “What is it, little Gray?”

“Auntie, do you see that?” Gray gushed the words out, pointing at the forest.

The auntie looked in the direction he was pointing, but there was nothing to see. “See what?” she asked, confused.

Gray looked ahead, dumbfounded. He was sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. He stepped forward toward the trees; he was only going to take a look, that was all.

He steeled his nerves and took one step after the other. He might have no impressive magic of his own, but legend makers do not stay back, they take initiative. Yes, that’s exactly what he was going to do. Take initiative.

Taylor felt a little scared. He wanted to follow the fireflies, but he wasn’t stupid. This was how kids got abducted in movies. Villainous witches tricked their prey into the depths of the forest to butcher them for a sacrifice.

Ironically, this made him calm down. Damn it, if there were any villainous witches in Runan, he was almost willing to be their first sacrifice just to spark a little action in this tedious little town. He giggled at his foolishness, walking the path more at ease.

The fireflies blinked once again further ahead, hovering still in midair. The more he watched, the wider his confusion grew. They weren’t fireflies at all. “What the hell?” he whispered.

He took a tentative step toward the little buggers, careful not to scare them away. However, the little wisps of light did not scatter; in fact, they drew closer to him.

Taylor rubbed his eyes, questioning his sanity. Up ahead, he heard muffled cursing and groaning. The wisps of light drifted in the direction of the sound, and he followed in their wake.

They floated through the trees toward the swamp, settling above a steep ridge where the groaning could be heard more clearly. Looking down from above, Gray saw a boy his age with muddied hands trying to climb up the slope.

The soil, rotten with decay, was giving way beneath his feet, and he couldn’t find a foothold. Taylor bent down and grabbed his arm, only to be met by a pair of hazel eyes on the prettiest face he had ever seen. He almost lost his balance, and the boy flailed beneath him, dragging him toward the mud.

“Careful!” Taylor squealed, digging his fingers into the soil to maintain his grip.

Knees on the ground, both arms stretched taut, he hauled the boy up over the edge and onto the muddied ground beside him.

The boy was panting, his face flushed. “Thank you,” he choked out.

“How did you fall down there!” Taylor asked, wiping his grimy hands against the fabric of his corduroys.

“I don’t know,” the boy cringed, the flush in his cheeks deepening. “My mom is going to kill me,” he grumbled, looking down at the state of his clothes.

“A little overdressed, are we?” Taylor teased, taking in the boy next to him.

“It’s proper attire for the function,” he answered.

Taylor was struck speechless. Suit and tie for the Firefly Festival? He couldn’t help but giggle. “Sure, the Queen of Runan will be most impressed by your polished shoes,” Taylor joked, staring down at the boy's muddy, yet clearly expensive boots.

“Oh, no, we’re not meeting the Queen for another week,” the boy answered seriously. “I’ve never heard anyone call her the Queen of Runan before. Is that a local thing?”

Taylor chuckled. “Did you hit your head during that fall?” he asked, inching closer to check if there were any bumps on the boy’s head. “What’s your name, anyway?”

The boy looked at him strangely. “You don’t know who I am?” he asked, skeptical.

“Am I supposed to?” Taylor countered, quirking an eyebrow.

“You can call me Adri,” he said.

“Okay, Adri. You can call me Gray.”

-

The stalls stood unattended in the village square. Festive decorations hung limply from the poles, and the lanterns remained unlit. People were huddled together, offering reassuring words and bringing out homemade food, but the display of community did not ease Tala’s mind. She was to blame for this.

If only she were a better older sister. If she weren’t always in such a rush to run off with her friends. If she had paid better attention, if she had kept him close, none of this would have happened. He was only eleven years old, his twelfth birthday a month away. What if he didn’t come back? The last thing she had said to him was nasty little snitch.

Oh God.

She felt her blood pressure drop; a panic attack was closing in. Madonna knelt in front of her, squeezing her hands. “Breathe, Tala. We’re going to find him,” she assured her.

Are they, though? Another search party had canvassed the woods last night, and so far, there was still no sign of little Gray.

“What if we don’t?” Tala choked out.

“Not an option,” Madonna said, shaking her head. “He’ll turn up.”

Tala’s mom was questioning poor old Auntie again. She was the last person to see Gray before he disappeared, and she had already relayed her story multiple times since he’d vanished. “He said he saw something in the woods, but then I got a customer. I didn’t keep an eye on him, this is all my fault,” the old woman grimaced at the memory.

The search dogs hovered around the edge of the forest. He must have been there, but if his scent ended at the treeline, maybe someone had abducted him. Nearby, the chief constable was having a hushed conversation with their dad, speculating about bringing in a larger search team from the city. Tala felt like she might throw up.

“You’ve been out here all night, and it’s getting dark again. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” the police sergeant suggested to their mother.

She snapped something harsh back, making the officer recoil and turn to his partner with a shrug.

It had been almost twenty-four hours already. The likelihood of finding him tonight was slimming with every tick of the clock.

Then everything happened all at once. Someone screamed, “He’s here!” and the villagers rushed toward the commotion. Her mother sprang from where she was crouched on the ground, tears streaming down her face.

Little Gray ran up to them, looking confused. All the fighting spirit drained straight out of her dad’s body as he collapsed to the ground.

Tala felt her face, it was soaked, snot gushing from her nose, but she didn’t care. She ran straight for the little devil.

Fall Semester

Lillie’s eyes kept swimming with unshed tears. She sniffed, rubbing at her nose and blinking her lashes furiously. Axel would have found it adorable on any other day, but not when she was grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping away at his hair, far too close to his ear for comfort.

“Mom,” he whined. “You’re going to cut me.”

“Sit still, you’ll be fine.” Lillie ignored her son’s pleading and resumed her hazardous snipping and sniffing. She looked at her son’s reflection in the mirror, pride bubbling in her chest.

“Oh, you,” she cried, cradling his face with one plump hand, while rearranging loose strands of auburn hair with the other.

“Mom, come on,” he said, freeing his chin from her grip. “You’re acting like this is the last time you’re going to see me.”

She slapped the back of his head, lightly. “Don’t say that. Oh, don’t make those jokes, I hate them,” she pouted.

“Everything is going to be okay, I promise,” he said, trying to sound adult and mature and definitely dependable enough to be living alone with you know who, in the big city.

The look on his mom’s face showed anything but reassurance at his words. “Well, are you finally gonna do it?” she asked out of nowhere.

Axel’s cheeks flushed a shade darker than his hair. “Do what?” He feigned ignorance.

“Ask that boy out,” his mother groaned, exasperated. “You’ve been pining over him all through high school. Just rip the Band-Aid off and get it over with,” Lillie advised.

Axel grimaced at the direction of this conversation. His family had been egging him on for years. But they didn’t know Jules like he did. It just wasn’t the right time.

“At least let me have some peace of mind on this front,” his mother continued, guilt-tripping him with her droopy puppy eyes.

He waved her away. “Shouldn’t you finish packing?” he evaded, getting up to fold one of her discarded shirts on the couch. Honestly, between the two of them, who was the adult and who was more immature, here?

“Always in a hurry to get rid of me,” Lillie pouted again.

Axel brushed off some loose hairs on his clothes and then stuffed her shirt into the open suitcase. “I’m not trying to get rid of you,” he said, frustrated.

“I just think you should get it over with. You know, rip the Band-Aid,” he teased. She threw a towel at him.

*

The fraternity house buzzed with energy. You could hear electric tunes roaring out of the booming sound system from all the way down the street. But no one in Black City complained, for this was typical every first week of each Fall Semester at the Royal College.

With new students passing admissions every fall, old students welcomed them in “Orientation Week” the way they knew best; that being loud music and booze.

Neon lights washed over the drunk teenagers in alternating hues of green and purple. In their hands, they carried red plastic cups filled to the brim with punch. The content consisting of an amalgamation of different alcoholic beverages mixed together to create a rather disgusting concoction.

Axel Saint John downed his cup in one go, his face contorting as the liquid sloshed down his throat. He had actually made it into the Royal College. The first in his family to do so. A feat he would not have been able to manage on his own without grueling study sessions chaperoned by the one and only—

“Dude, take it easy,” Julian Perfection Fields hiccuped, laughing as he patted Axel’s back.

Axel’s’s body jolted awake at the contact, the alcohol steeling his nerves. His eyes met Jules’, and he leaned in, inching slowly closer to his lips. Julian did not back away, as promising a sign as any.

Axel could smell the lingering scent of his aftershave. He swallowed hard. He was really doing this. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Right on cue, an asshole came running down the stairs, bumping into his shoulder and making Ax spill his drink all over Jules’ white shirt.

Heat rushed up his cheeks. Just like that, the moment was broken.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Axel cursed, looking around to find napkins or anything that could fix the mess he’d created. If only there were napkins to clear away his piling mortification.

Jules was laughing, unperturbed. His hiccups increased as he wheezed for breath. Axel pouted like a spoiled child. “This isn’t funny,” he whined, his voice coming out a whimper.

Julian still heard him over the noise. His eyes softened, and his lips creased into a genuine smile, one of those smiles that were reserved only for Axel. It was partly why he had fallen head over heels for him, and here he was, after three years of push-and-pull, ready to make a move, only for everything to go catastrophically awry.

Julian extended a hand, and Axel reflexively took it. “Come on,” he said, dragging the two of them up the stairs and toward the bathroom. There was a bit of a line, and they stood there waiting their turn, hands still intertwined. Axel’s pulse quickened; maybe all wasn’t lost just yet.

Eventually, they made it to the bathroom. Axel suddenly felt very hot. The fluorescent light did little to ease his anxiety, and whatever the hell was in that punch was not helping with the increasing butterflies in his tummy. He closed the toilet lid and perched on top as if it were a royal seat, trying his best to steady his nerves.

Julian unbuttoned his shirt, and Axel immediately averted his gaze. He was acting like a little schoolgirl, but that was prone to happen when you were about to either enter the most important relationship of your life, or otherwise jeopardize the most important friendship in your life.

“You okay?” Julian’s voice broke through Axel’s internal struggle, and his eyes landed again on the culprit.

“Y-eah,” he answered, but the word came out slurred. He cringed internally.

Julian was leaning shirtless against the sink, his eyes fixed on Axel’s face. A small smile played on his lips, and Axel had the inkling his so-called best friend knew exactly what he was doing to him.

“Are you done cleaning your shirt?” Axel puffed out the question, trying to look anywhere but Jules’ face. His eyes ventured toward his pecs and he decided those weren’t safe territory either. After much deliberation, he decided to look at the floor. White tiles, dirty shoe prints, wait, is that vomit?... Gross. But safe. He’ll just keep his eyes fixed on the tiles. Tiles are safe.

Safe up until a pair of sneakers came into view. Jules’ scent hit his nostrils, and his shadow loomed over him. Axel kept his head down. This was not safe. Was it too late to abort the mission?

Julian’s fingers lingered near his face, slowly reaching to trace a line down his neck. Axel involuntarily shuddered.

“I think that punch is getting to you,” Julian teased. His fingers did not cease their movement. They trailed his jaw, sliding down his chin, and lifting Axel’s face up to meet his eyes.

“I think you’re getting to me,” Axel blurted. Julian’s hand froze for a second, but Axel gripped it, pulling him down before he started overthinking. In one swift motion, Julian was sitting in his lap. Neither one of them moved. The seconds stretching into what felt like eternity.

Axel kept his eyes fixed on Julian, the emotion in them pleading, as if to say, Now is the time to put an end to this, all you have to do is push me away.

But Julian leaned in and kissed him instead.