LOSING to Arstol didn’t matter anymore – for the Glassfield prince who was nearly losing his city.
Xandur was losing the last thing that made him Protector and Prince, with what Prince Celson of West Stongate had hinted.
So, there on the ground where he’d just crashed to on that frosty morning, he felt emptied and vain; he felt used and voided.
Yes, Xandur felt so low. And lower, in fact, than all bastards he’d encountered at the battles to win them.
But still sorrow and pain became too weak a looking glass to reflect the noble’s thoughts and feelings.
For Xandur felt utterly lost and done with… as he was neither a noble heirsen nor a rotten bastard now.
The old noble crawled over to the furniture set at the other side of that chamber right then. He thought to cry out to the Father-King for mercy, and turn back into his gracious arms.
He thought to plead him to welcome him back. Even if he’d be made the least in his glorious kingdom.
Yes, Xandur thought to beg that much.
OUT & FREE 1ST NOV!
But then the old heirsen stopped himself a moment. He reasoned that turning to the Father-King still seemed too early.
Particularly now that he’d got one last option he hadn’t tried out yet.
‘No, I’ve got an option I haven’t even used!’ he blurted with a thrill in his voice.
‘And I can’t possibly give up if I’ve not tried every quarter,’ he reasoned enthusiastically.
The prince paused for a moment of consideration.
‘Well if it fails,’ he resumed – ‘if it fails at all, then I’ve got no reason why I wouldn’t turn to the Father for help.
‘So I’m going to try out my last card: I will go meet Dalleon in Waterfort and make a new bargain.
‘Prince Dalleon cannot deny me now; no he cannot!’ he said, jolting up to his feet.
Suddenly, the chamber doors swung wide open. And it let in a broad beam of light, along with beautiful snowflakes and ice crystals.
Then a figure strode inside and Xandur glared at him, wondering who the stranger was.
The stranger spoke up and his voice was bold and clear.
‘Xandur Protector of Olde Glassfield,’ he called.
Xandur looked little closer and he saw it was Arstol Prince of Highland North.
The Glassfield prince trembled in his feet as his guest strutted in. He shuddered and stammered to get words coming.
‘What… what brings you here?! What brings you to Olde Glassfield?!’ he stuttered.
Then he looked to the doors and found it bolted shut. Yet he didn’t remember seeing his guest close it after him.
Prince Arstol replied in that instant. ‘I am here for Olde Glassfield. I have come to take my city back.’
Xandur was baffled beyond thought. His hurried through his next words in an anxious voice.
‘What? What are you saying? What d’ you mean?’
Arstol lowered himself in a comfortable seat. ‘There isn’t many left here with the pure crystal in their garment. And that only saddens me,’ he began.
‘The armour of crystal glass is now tainted on almost everybody in Olde Glassfield, because you their protector have gone in the way of error.’
He paused a moment, and then said, ‘That is why I am here, Prince Xandur of Olde Glassfield. I am here to take the city for myself.’
Xandur shuddered terribly and ran to his giant blade, the Father’s sword.
He drew out the large, glowing sword from its sheath and came running back.
He wielded the blade in a ferocious wave as he charged back towards a seated Arstol.
‘How dare you covet Olde Glassfield, huh?!’ he yelled as he scrabbled about. ‘How dare you want to take my city? How dare you, Arstol?!’
But Prince Arstol was quiet and still. He didn’t reply a word.
OUT & FREE 1ST NOV!
As the Glassfield prince ran back and aimed his sword towards the seated guest, the blade suddenly caught some intense fire, and it burned ferociously.
Right then the steel melted with intense heat. And Xandur threw it down in dread. He staggered back immediately and crashed to the ground broken.
‘Who… who are you?! You are not Arstol… you only took his form! Just who are you, my Lord?!’
Then Prince Xandur cried so hard, but his guest didn’t say a word in response.
He cried and groaned in a lot of distress; but there was no answer from the seated one.
Now the Glassfield noble realised it must be the Father-King in front of him now. He realised his guest was only taking Arstol’s form and appearance.
Then Prince Xandur raised his protest again, lamenting bitterly in his stance.
‘Is it too much to ask, Father and King? It is too much to ask for honour and glory?
‘Is it too much for me to design my right shoulder when it cracked up ugly? And what is so wrong in designing the left side too… when I have already designed the other one?’
He punched the ground with a big blow. ‘I am a prince and protector!’ he blurted. ‘I couldn’t have coloured only one shoulder and left the other!
‘I couldn’t have used colouring elements inferior to gold like just any heirsen. Or what else could I have done to help it, Father?!’
He looked in the Father’s face to mark any sign of agreement there, but there was no reaction to everything he was saying.
Xandur charged on regardless.
‘Talk of that submissive bow to Dalleon – how could I have helped bowing, when the prince was so great and deserving?!
‘Ah, what is so wrong in the things I have done, Father? Everyone’s the same everywhere… including bastards?
‘What is so special in what I have done, Father and King?!’
Now Xandur was at loss for any more words to prove himself right. And he just bowed his head and moaned softly.
OUT & FREE 1ST NOV!
A small quiet wrapped up the whole chamber, and Xandur’s grumbles now seemed to echo back in his inner ears in that moment of stillness.
Every word was like a sword aimed at the prince himself. They were like shadows of his past pointing menacingly in his face.
The Father-King rose up to his feet now. And he walked towards the exit.
Xandur sprang to his feet and hurried to take hold of the Father’s hand.
‘Where will I go from here, if you take away my princehood and take away my city?’ he asked nervously.
The Father turned about and answered.
‘You will fade out of the kingdom of all noble heirsens. You will phase out into unending doom in a place beneath the terrains of bastards… there in the crust of the Black Pit.’
Xandur crashed to the ground in utter dread.
He gasped. ‘Have mercy on me, I plead! Have mercy on me, please!’
But the Father looked down and shook his head.
‘Not after the gates of mercy have been shut closed!’
With that, he walked out through the bolted door – a mist of light and snow carting him away from there.
Then Xandur cried out in an intense agony, a burning stream of tears coursing down his reddened eyes.
He cried many tears lamenting wasted graces and squandered chances. Then suddenly everything started turning gory black in front of him.
His crystal body started to painfully crumble into filthy smithereens.
Yet the old heirsen could feel his whole being, in spite of the fact that he was disintegrating into splinters of crystal sands.
Thus the fallen prince faded out into nothingness, there in the heirsen world.
And he reappeared a doomed being in the crust of a cursed pit.
For in the glorious world of all heirsens, the battleground of a fallen warrior could become his dungeon and grave.
For if, after they have escaped the pollutions of the world through the knowledge of the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, they are again entangled in them and overcome, the latter end is worse for them than the beginning.
For it would have been better for them not to have known the way of righteousness, than having known it, to turn from the holy commandment delivered to them.
2ND PETER 2. 20 – 21
And until next time again, peace.
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