It happened in a flash. My dark deed was done before I could blink. It was bright, partially blinded every pair of eyes that bore witness. It was loud, created a shockwave that ripped through the stadium before echoing back into my own ears. It had a glow of heavenly light; its call was booming thunder. It tore from my outstretched hand like an otherworldly spear, divided reality in the way it looked, in the way it sounded. It split my reality in the way it felt.


    The surge of power, the buzz in my fingertips. The sensation of fire in my veins. The thought that, if only for a moment, I wielded the power of the forlorn skies in my hand. A truly surreal feeling, and when that bolt of lightning lunged from my hand like an alabaster viper, screaming forward faster than any blade or flame could hope to match, my young mind flooded with ecstasy.


    In a flash, it was over. In a fleeting moment of brilliant light, all that remained was rumbling thunder and thousands of collective voices silenced in an instant. So many faces that surrounded me in the stands, so many expressions of shock and awe. The falling snow seemed to slow; the howling wind died down. It all went still, I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if the world itself stopped spinning.


    Utter silence.


    With heaving breaths, my eyes slowly trailed the snow-covered arena floor ahead, following the path of scorch marks and scrapped Scales until they rest upon a figure dead ahead of me.


    A boy, no older than I was, who stood a little under twelve paces away, facing me with gleaming sword in hand. His amethyst eyes and chromium hair marked him as Sallem, and the broader body frame and shining Titanium armor Scales also played to this fact. He was my opponent, and for the entire duel up to that point, he was all set expressions and slight grins.


    But his eyes were wide then, mouth partly open like he wanted to say something. As if one last word was held on the tip of his tongue. Previous frustration finally being sated made a smile of my own spread across my face. It felt good to finally wipe that smug countenance of his away.


    I come to dread that moment, to curse my younger self for ever being so careless, ever being so clueless. I didn’t know it, but I killed the boy. I didn’t realize it, but I killed my future. I knew nothing of curses, nothing of ancient laws or omitted legends. I was but a sheltered prince, spoiled rotten and given nothing except love and care the whole twelve years of my now tarnished life.


    So, what was my first thought? What was the first thing to cross my mind after I just sealed my fate to be a Curse, be a byword; become one of the most infamous beings in the known two Continents? It was simple.


    I win.


    But then the Sallem boy stumbles back a couple of steps, and the thoughts of victory and glory crack in my mind. I drop my grin, and it’s as if my own reality takes on a darker hue. The boy isn’t trying to speak; he’s trying to breathe. Mouth opening and closing like he’s gasping for air.


    He isn’t making noise; it’s like he’s in a void.


    The crowd that watches, the audience of nearly a quarter of the kingdom, do indeed have expressions of shock, but there is no awe amongst them. Only horror, resentment, and a growing, seething rage.


    I begin to feel something well up in my two hearts, fear and guilt like I’ve never felt before grips at my Core. I’ve done something wrong, something terribly, horribly wrong.


    The Sallem boy looks down; my widening eyes follow. Amongst the glistening metallic skin that covers his chest, leaking smoke and MANA alike, is a gaping hole. Its edges charred black, neighboring armor plates partially melted and twisted away.


    I can see the adjacent arena wall through that hole.


    The boy collapses, dead before he hits the ground. I no longer revel in the silence, I fear it. I draw my hand back, staring at it as if it has betrayed me. Thoughts of wanting to disappear, to undo my dark deed, they assault me. Standing under so many hostile expressions, I felt I’ve just created a pit of snakes.


    Somehow, through the panic and growing stress, I knew I’ve broken something that could never be mended.


    The silence lasts only a second longer, before a single noise breaks the volatile peace. A scream. Like a spell breaking, the stadium erupts, and sounds of fear and horror emit from every mouth.


    “Kill it!” Roars one voice.


    “Kill the Cursed!” Echoes another.


    The majority of the crowd moves in a flood of panic; Piran, Sallem, and Mallanm alike, all scrambling over one another to escape. But few in the stands run for me, black and silver colored Scales quickly conforming over their bodies from the glowing outlets on their appendages. Soon, Fabricated swords, axes, and spears appear in the Sallems’ hands, and wicked black claws and flames spout from the Pirans’.


    I’m paralyzed in fear, watching with a blank expression as wolves seemingly appear from the sheep, growling and grouping together as they make a mad rush for my head.


    I can’t take back what I’ve done. I know it.


    Nobody will forgive, nobody will forget. I can feel it.


    The voices of anger stay my feet, the danger I face makes me feel so small. That sense of heavenly power feels all but foolish now. I would come to learn Charlie’s Curse is nothing to be taken lightly, and as I found out that day, my own people would turn on me in a matter of seconds because of it.


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    Eldest Heir? Future Monarch of this Kingdom? Would my people ever accept for me to be fitting of such titles?


    The sickle shaped blade that arcs for my neck answers that question well enough.


    With a wave of heat, flames of a familiar color engulfs the Sallem soldier in front of me; he disappears behind a wall of curling light. His muffled roar of fury attacks my ears, before a knotted yet stern hand grabs me by the shoulder, tugging me back before the burning sword takes my head.


    Revinen, a Piran General, and staunchest ally of my parents, puts himself between me and the incoming assailants, his fiery yellow eyes resting underneath the steep arched brows of his signature scowl. He doesn’t say a word. He never even looks at me. His stance is stone cold; nearly amber colored flames spouting from his free hand.


    My savior.


    He’s joined by others, all of them donning their Scales and standing firm. They’re the devout members of the royal guard. I recognize many of them, others I do not. But it seems they’ve chosen their side, though none dare stand as close to me as Revinen does.


    The mob of assailants slow their charge, and in a drastic show of creed, the two sides face each other off. I can hear my two hearts thundering in my ears. My legs feel like they’re about to give out. I’m twelve, I’m supposed to be capable at this age. If I’m old enough to think, then I’m old enough to fight.


    But I find my hands clasped on Revinen’s arm like my life depended on it.


    My defenders slowly back away; those who want me dead advance. In the rolling thunder of screams and shouts, sunset colors of fire illuminate everyone; fresh weapons and armor glint like polished crystal. Hardened veterans stare each other down; hands twitching for a fight.


    My meager duel seems so far away.


    Eyes that glow like the moon rest within the voids of enclosed visors, each pair colored in a range of violet, yellow, and blood red. Some flick their illuminated eyes to me, watching me like how hungry predators watch their helpless prey in the night.


    It scares me. The cries because of my actions terrify me. But what I’m afraid of most, is myself. Despite it all, I keep glancing back at the boy, who’s been forgotten amongst the chaos. His violet eyes still wide, face contorted in pain and anguish. The hole through his body matches his dead pupils; they all stare right at me.


    I feel tears well up, making my vision blurry. I killed him, I’m a murderer. The screams of terror, they’re because of me. I’m a monster. My right hand isn’t able to close, it hooks over Revinen’s arm more than grips it. The lightning did something to my hand. I can’t move my fingers; I can’t let go. It makes me shake, as my actions weigh down heavily on my shoulders.


    Just what am I?


    The standoff is broken when my father, King Titan of the Helsone Kingdom, slams down with a loud thump between the stagnated parties, kicking up a cloud of snow that washes over all of us.


    He rises to his monstrous height, his signature spear that looks like a trident already forming in his large hands. In the falling snow and flickering firelight, his face is contorted in primal rage, teeth bared under an expression pierced by fierce violet eyes. With a voice that sounds like rolling thunder, he faces my assailants with the posture of a retired warmonger.


    “DON’T. YOU DARE. LAY A HAND ON MY BOY!!!” He bellows.


    He strikes the closest opposing warrior with his spear’s shaft, exuding his weight into the blow. It is like he swung a hammer. The Piran goes down hard, his crystalline Scales cracking where he was struck.


    My father roars his battle cry, and that’s the moment when the kingdom began to splinter.


    Three Sallems lunge at my father, while two Pirans unleash their fire for his head. Two of father’s sworn guards back him up, taking the five on without a moment of hesitation. It doesn’t take long for noises of shearing metal, roaring flames, and shuffling feet to fill my ears, when both sides collapse in on each other.


    Revinen turns, snatching me up and bolting. Blades and flames snap at me from all directions, heat and sparks scald my skin. Revinen weaves through the melee, swinging me about in his arms to keep my life from being snuffed out. He makes a beeline for one of the stadium’s many exits, narrowly dodging a Piran fireball that chases his heels.


    The flaming black orb careens by, exploding in a concussive blast as it collides with the arena wall. The noise stings my ears, burning shards prick me all over. Revinen doesn’t slow his pace. He runs through the fire, speaking in his cold, hard voice.


    “Come. We must leave this kingdom immediately.”


    My mind is slow to react, it’s all happening so fast. I find myself staring at my right hand, frozen open as if it were eternally trying to clutch something.


    “I-,” I stutter. “B-But.”


    When words fail me, I go silent. Echoes of combat nip at Revinen’s heels, shouts for my death follow close behind. But the voices drown out the deeper into the dark tunnel we go.


    Panicked crowds are fleeing every which way when we exit the stadium; it looks as if the entire kingdom is falling apart. Many see me, most immediately turn back the way they came. Some stop, their noses crinkled and eyes fierce. But they take one look at Revinen, and they change their minds.


    Through the streets we go, meeting no resistance in the dark of the approaching twilight. Soon, even the noises of the stadium go quiet, and with it, any chance of knowing the fate of my father and family disappear. I feel tears roll down my face. They sting more than I thought they could.


    It’s all my fault.


    I’m carried off, secreted away before those that intend me harm know any better. It happens quickly, the entire event lasted only a few minutes. My memory of that day is clear, every second etched into my mind and turned to stone.


    Much too real; it still gives me shivers six years later.


    All crystal, except when I was taken, put into hiding for my own safety. Those scarce hours are muddled, blurry as if only an afterthought. I feel I’ve started to forget the reason why, but my younger self knows.


    As I was saved from the mess I’ve made, feeling the sting of tears streaming down my cheeks, I was deep in thought. That scream, the first noise to reach my ears after I realized what I’ve done. It came from the monarch’s box. It was distorted by its own echo, yet it was indistinguishable.


    It was my mother’s scream, when she saw her son become what everyone will know him as from that day on. A Cursed. A Spawn of Charlie.


    A Monster…