I. Beginnings

"Reality grew from the carcasses of an infinity of might-have-beens."

It was a cold morning and it was wet.

The sound of the rain made for a chilly hymn as it fell against the roof. There were plumes of wispy breathes that escaped the young prince's lips as he stood next to the cold window, the bitter feeling of icy air kissing at his cheeks. There was a sense of dread lingering with the dampness and it made him stand straighter. His father was dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

However this was not the only thing that had caused Logan grief. It sat on the table, carefully wrapped up in the color of royal blue silk, and it was a perplexing thing. He had found it upon his latest expedition and he knew from the moment his eyes lay upon it that it was a most curious thing that had meant to be found. It was white adorned with red and gold, carefully crafted and preserved well. It was old, clearly, and it made for an even greater find. However that was just it: it was too remarkable to have just been laying there.

The prince made sure to keep his find a secret, or at least until he knew more about it. He had no time to take care of it though as within the days that had followed after its discovery he would return to his home to be at his father's side as he passed. With Albion's last greatest hero upon his death bed the need of a prince's attention was much greater than placed somewhere in an old book.

For now though he had a few moments to himself. He chose to spend it in his room as it was quiet and his thoughts needed to be collected. The prince could feel that his father's remaining time was short and his sister needed all that she could get. His sister, his lovely sister. She was a gentle thing, too pure for this world.

Shifting slightly the dark eyes moved from the bleak horizon of steam and steel towards the desk in which that peculiar thing lay. Logan was still, his gaze unwavering, and in that moment time itself slowed to a drawing halt. Even from beneath the brilliant blue he could see it and imagine it with crystal clear precision. It beckoned him closer, dared him to touch it, but he was smart and knew better than to give into temptation. Grace before subsistence, after all.

But then it was like a moth denying itself the grace of a flame. Without a conscious thought his body inched forward all the while as his eyes looked nowhere else. He could imagine that moment he found it as if it had just played out. A troll lay dead in the grass, the grotesque thing vanquished by his own hand, and with the summer wind the smell of its dark blood hot and heavy in the air. He hated those things and promised that all would be killed for safe travels. And it was by pure luck that he had seen that mask laying there glistening beneath the sun.

It was obviously no ordinary mask.

From behind his back his hand had reached outward, slowly but careful as if it were a trap. It was odd to imagine but there was a certain feeling behind it. He could almost feel the silk beneath his fingertips before a light knock at the door had made the room seem hollow.

"You may enter." The prince answered while quickly tossing a few papers overtop of it to conceal it. As he turned around the door creaked open, the sight of hazel eyes catching his own. The soldier stared at him for a brief moment before being promoted to speak.

"Forgive the intrusion, your majesty," he said while moving from the doorway. "But you are requested by the princess to be at the king's side."

Though vague and uttered softly the prince knew that it was time. Logan nodded and quickly followed the soldier as he escorted him to his father's chambers. The walk was quick, quiet, and those that they had passed drew their eyes away. It was a sad day for them all as the greatest ruler Albion had ever seen was being called away from them for ever.

There was a vague thought as the two padded through the hallway. When it was to be the time of his own passing would there be so many who had grieved? Or would there be cheers of happiness? From the time of his childhood to the days of the present there were always these questions that had lingered. Walter would sometimes tell him that a king was shaped by his actions and though with good intent they would sometimes be wrong. Admittedly this had scared him but they were very real questions nonetheless. And perhaps that is why he had returned to troll hunting at the time of the news of his father's sickness, maybe he wasn't ready to finally get an answer to that question.

But then just like that they were there.

The guard departed swiftly leaving Logan to enter alone. He reached upward, twisted the handle slowly, and as he opened the door it was if he had opened the door to a forgotten realm. There was a stillness to the air that had reminded him of his mother's funeral many years back. Except that day the room had been filled with white roses and the poor openly weeped for what had been lost. Admittedly he preferred this nothingness but that didn't mean it felt strange. If anything it felt gut-wrenchingly surreal, almost as if it were a dream.

Regardless Logan had wandered in and from afar he could see his sister nestled upon the large bed. In her hand was their father's and though she appeared prim and proper he could tell that she was a mess. Logan had to resist the urge to reach outward and lose himself in the dark curls that had framed her swollen eyes. That would be for later when they both could grieve together.

The sound of the rain seemed louder here. Logan stood still as he watched his father, his lips in a hard line as he stared. He didn't wish to disturb this silence.

"They say there isn't much time left," he heard after a few moments of rain-induced quiet. "in a few moments our father will find peace with our mother."

"He deserves that much, sister. He had been suffering for a long time." Logan added softly as he watched his father breath shallowly. The king had been sick for a while now, the doctors unsure of the true cause, but with the months that had passed he had worsened gradually. The prince didn't like to see such a strong man so weak and had turned away. There was just something about seeing one's idol dying that could cause a very unsettling feeling of reality to worm it's way into one's heart. It made Logan twitch and resist the urge to walk away in this very instant.

"You would think that knowing it was coming would make it easier, that it would somehow prepare you." the princess spoke softly while standing upward and placing herself closer to the king by kneeling upon the floor at his side. Her dark eyes were careful not to look away, not even for a moment, and softly her free fingers grazed the dying king's cheek. "And yet it doesn't, not even close."

Logan was quiet and only watched. She rested her head upon the bed, her fingers tightly laced in her father's as he struggled to hold onto what little life he had left. It made Logan feel weak and in consequence forced himself to wander forward to be with them. That was the least he could do.

However there was a moment in which the sound of strained breaths came to a halt. The sound of the rain was louder than ever and for a moment the two siblings stared into the void. Before them the last hero slowly succumbed to his sickness leaving two children behind. There was a silence that lingered like a specter watching from afar. It made it's bitter presence known and Logan could feel his own breathing begin to slow.

The princess leaned forward into the bed to cover her tears while Logan only continued to stare. He reached outward and gently touched her hair in hopes of staying her sadness and though his kind actions were much welcome the prince felt like a statue. Many people had claimed him to be too serious for his own good, his sister often one of them whenever she teased him, but where she embraced her feelings and wept he turned and fled to the back corners of his mind. Sometimes he felt more like a coward struggling for air in a world made of water. Sometimes he hated being royalty and more than that he feared it.

And in this instant he had become to new ruler of Albion and had inherited all that his father left behind. Though he could feel chaos set in it's claws all he could think about was that mask that lay so tightly bound upon his desk. There was something about it that had spoken to him, something that called to him, and though cautious he needed more time with it. It made him feel almost safe whenever he let his thoughts return to it and it was almost alarming.

But for now he would just listen to his sister weep and feel the chill of the cold winter morning set in. His fingers brushed the dark of her hair away as he stood frozen in time. Soon he would find Walter to tell him of the news that Albion was now free to cry over the loss of their king.