Princeling of Immortals

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. The air turned crisp and frost draped trees. The boy saw then, the truth of the world. There was a breech. There. In the middle of the cluster of trees facing the street. Through it, beings unlike any other, crossed into the mortal realm, causing mayham to ensue. They were violent and scared, as if they had just witnessed the collapse of their own world.

In the midst of all the chaos, the boy stood, watching, until gleaming obsidian eyes bored into him.

His skin prickled.

Towering over trees with flame-like hair, was a being whose presence alone inspired awe. He had skin as white as snow, coursed with lines like cracked desert earth. Those who had preceded his crossing, who had been running scared with violence, cowered before him. It was as if he was a king. As if he was their maker. Fascinated, the boy moved forward, his eyes on the giant who began to morph before his eyes. Adjusting his appearance to face the mortal realm, his skin shifted to a light ivory shade while his hair lost their flame.

Once the boy stood close enough, the being dropped one knee to have a better look at him.

"You could see me," he stated in a language that was not of the mortal world, his voice reaching like a frightening echo. It reminded the boy of the sound of trees knocking against windows on dark stormy nights. "Yet you aren't afraid... How old are you?"

As he returnedf his gaze, the boy understood that the being wasn't expecting him to respond. He was simply releasing his thoughts in the space between them.

"I'm 10 years old," he answered nonetheless.

A facial expression that must have never crossed the being's face before, turned his features into what could be best described as shock.

"Aren't you human?" the being asked in the same foreign language.

"Yes."

"Fascinating."

Ironically, the boy found that his interest in the being was waning. Thus he looked around, his eyes roaming over the creatures continously pouring out of the breech, before he looked over the other side of the street where mortals ran for their lives.

Perhaps it was time he returned home.

"Child," the being called, drawing the boy's attention back to him. "Are your progenitors alive?"

"... I live with the nuns at the church over the hill."

"An orphan."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Probably."

"Would you care to come with me, then?"

The request gave him pause. As he looked upon the bodies laid across the street, the boy remembered something his dying mother whispered to him once. Something the nuns often spoke about.

"Are you a bad person?"

That seemed to give the being pause.

"How does one define a bad person?" he asked.

"If you persecute the innocent, you're a bad person. If you terrorize and brutalize those who have done nothing against you, you're a bad person."

The being slowly rose back to size as he quietly observed him for a while.

Then he spoke.

"It sounds as though you believe death not to be acceptable."

The boy shrugged.

"Death is death. What I believe is that it shouldn't be taken lightly."

The being smiled.

"As the Ruler of All Immortal Beings, I only take lives when warranted. Like that of the woman your people called Queen, as she betrayed her own kind before she came to hide in your realm."

Processing the being's words, along with its hidden truths, the boy felt a chill down his spine.

"What would happen, if I come with you?"

"You will, of course, be my son."

"What does it mean... to be your son?"

"It means I will raise you to be an extension of myself. Though you will be freer than anyone in any world, you will also be a fighter of the chaos that is to come. As my son, you are to be the princeling of immortals."