He could not remember much. Only that a void opened within the inky darkness, and before too long, he felt a sticky warm liquid on his face. When he finally peeled open his eyes, Jean was leaning against him, her red hair in a dishevelled heap about her pretty face.

“Jean…” he tried to call out, but it only came out as a mumble.

She looked so frail and fragile when she looked at him, her eyes quavering with fear and pain. She opened her mouth to say something, but her voice would not yield.

“I love you,” he whispered to her, and she barely managed a weak smile. Slowly, she laid her head onto his chest, and her eyes fell shut.

There was a spreading pool of warmth on his stomach, and he feared the worst. Glancing up, he confirmed his suspicion. Mandeera’s blood splattered scythe hung momentarily in the air before crashing down onto the cobbles. The man himself followed a second later.

“Jean!” Julian cried and rushed over to the fallen girl. Through blurred eyes, Liszt could only feel the immense sorrow that was welling within him. He was too weak to cry, too weak to speak, too weak to even show his sadness.

“Jean!” Julian clutched the girl to him, trying to stamp the blood that was issuing from her wound. Already, a pool had begun to form beneath Liszt, and it was growing cold. Then, he realized there was a small item pressed into his hands. Moving his finger slightly, he could feel that it was a ring of some sort. But it was no ordinary ring, for he knew it too well. It was the Divine Tear. Watching Julian weep over his dying sister, Liszt summoned the last of his strength and wore the ring. Immediately, the world faded from view.

“Of ages past, and ages yet to come, the lands will continually see the ravages of man, the struggles for power, the fight of fame. Pray tell, what is your will?” a disembodied voice resounded in his head.

“I only wish for Jean to be alive and happy.”

“A wish for others is unprecedented for one who holds the tear holds the world.” The voice continued. “Pray tell, what drives your will?”

“Love. And I will pray any price for her recovery.”

“You intrigue me so, stranger. Pray tell, your name bearer of the tear.”

“Liszt Wayne.”

“Pray tell, your name, bearer of the tear.”

Liszt felt strength seeping out of him, but he pressed on.

“I said Liszt Wayne. Son of Ferdenand Wayne.”

“That is not your name, bearer of the ring. Pray tell, your name.”

Liszt was stunned. That was the only name that he knew since he could remember. He knew that he had another name before the king adopted him as a son, but what was it, he could not say.

“A name that is not a name, but a mask worn over a mask. A life that is not a life, but one that is path for the weary to thread. A traveller of time and distance, but of no destination. Young one, you have suffered.”

“But that does not matter anymore!” Liszt said. “What is important now is Jean!”

“And why does it hearten you to see her smile?”

“Because I love her!”

“Pray tell, what is love?”

“How am I supposed to answer that? Love is beyond all words. Love cannot be described! Please, restore Jean!”

“And what will you pay for that?”

“My life if that is what it cost.”

“Apt, but the Tear requires no life. The Divine does not will it such.”

“Anything! I will pay anything!”

“Blood for blood, thus it will be.”

Suddenly, Liszt felt really weak and nearly collapsed.

“The Bearer of the Tear is the Bearer of the Seal. Intriguing,” he heard the voice say. “What about Jean!”

“If the Bearer of the Seal wills it, it will be done.”

Liszt heaved a sigh. Finally, he felt a little more at ease.

“Thus the Tear has spoken” and the world faded to black.

He woke up in a familiar room. Sunlight was streaming in gently from the double doors that led to the balcony. A light breeze was blowing into the room, the air heavy with the scents of the flowering gardens below. Liszt sighed dejectedly. Of all places, it has to boil down to this.

“Forgive me, my Prince, but I had to do this to protect myself.” Liszt looked to the other corner of the room to see a relaxed Wine in an armchair. The agent’s left hand was cradled in a sling, and his right swirled the contents of a delicate wineglass.

“Wine…” he groaned and tried to sit up. The agent observed the prince, but did not move from his seat.

“It would be for your best interest to remain as you are, Your Highness.”

“Why?” Liszt croaked. His throat felt parched and uncomfortable.

“Your Highness has forgotten that should your Highness desert the throne, my admission to the royal cellars is no longer valid.”

Liszt shook his head slightly. His bones ached and his muscles felt detached from his body.

“Of course.” Wine said, as though he was reading the prince’s mind. “What is there to life if one does not take care of oneself? I cannot possibly jeopardize my happiness for your whims, your Highness.”

Liszt remained silent. Of all places, he was back here. Back home, where he felt like a prisoner, bounded by the countless eyes that roamed the palace grounds. Getting away from the palace again was not going to be an easy task.

“The king is approaching. Best be prepared, your Highness.” Wine said and drained the wineglass. Taking the bottle with him, he gave the prince a wink, and left the bedroom.

Liszt could only sigh once more. He did not want to see the king again.

Julian was crying when he tended to Jean’s wounds. The man who had protected Jean regained consciousness and walked over to the fallen magician. As if to confirm the man’s death, he slid what remained of his knife across Mandeera’s throat. Only then, he came over to the sobbing doctor.

“My sympathies, good doctor,” he said softly. Without a further word, he slumped Liszt over his shoulder and disappeared in a bright flash of light.

Julian could not find what was wrong with Jean’s but the bleeding refused to stop. It was as though the girl’s body was being controlled by some otherworldly agent. Even his abilities were failing.

Silently, he scooped his sister from the slick cobbles and proceeded home. Behind laid the groaning and moaning field of Spartans. And at his feet, the cold body of Caroline Spartan.

All in one day. The two people that he loved. All in one day.

All for one man.

Julian wailed in frustration.

“You look unhappy to see me,” King Wayne II sat beside his son. For days now, dark circles hung beneath his eyes. He had found no rest in the comforts of his room while his son laid broken in another. His hand was trembling with emotions when he patted Liszt’s pallid hand.

“Why would you not say a word, my son? Why would you leave the palace without a word? Why would you leave me with a word, my son?” The king’s weary eyes looked ever the pitiful to Liszt, but he knew better. The tears that came down the old man’s wrinkled face was no more than an elaborate act.

Liszt looked away and his eyes fell onto the king’s personal butler, Eldrick. It was the man’s predecessor – Patrique, who happened to be Eldrick’s brother – who stood by the king’s side as he killed Liszt’s parents. No. He was wrong. The tear had said that that was not his name.

“Your Highness, his Majesty has fallen to great chasms of despairs for your sake. Please, for once, listen to what his Majesty has to say.” Eldrick pleaded Liszt.

“I am but a tool to recover your lost treasure,” Liszt croaked. “Am I not?”

Wayne II fell back as if he was given a slap. Liszt felt a little victorious.

“My son… My son…” Wayne II cried. “How could you think that way? I have never had that intention.”

“I know your secrets, Ferdinand.” Liszt said, taking a deep breath. His throat was hurting for the strain, but he had to say what he had kept within for years. “I am not your son.”

“Your Highness!” Eldrick gaped.

Wayne II could only stare at his son in shock and disbelief. The tears came in great waves and the king was soon overwhelmed by a heart-wrenching sob that became a wrecking cough.

“Your Highness! His Majesty has always treated you as his son and will always do!” Eldrick said as he helped the failing king.

“The blue blood runs not in my veins…”

“Your Highness! I should not be saying this but, you are wrong! His Majesty’s blood flows within your veins!”

“Eldrick…” Wayne II’s breathing was laboured as he heaved. “It’s true.”

“Your Majesty! You should try not to speak now!”

But Wayne II waved a hand. His body still convulsing with grief, he said.

“It’s true that you are not birthed to me, Liszt. But you have always been and will always be my son!”

“Only until the Divine Tear has been returned.”

“No…no…no… I never had that intention…”

“I was birthed to the White Magician Arait, and you,” Liszt felt the anger raging within him. “Out of greed, slaughtered my parents and adopted me to reclaim the Tear that my true father had sealed away from all hands.”

“Liszt… Liszt…” Wayne II shook his head as he cried. “Why made you think this way.”

“My life can be controlled by you, but never my thoughts, Ferdinand.”

Wayne II fell into sobs. His son was no more than a stranger that hated him to the core. Why? How? There were countless questions in his mind, but he knew that he will have no answers.

“Do you really wish to leave the throne behind? To leave me behind?” Wayne II asked in silent sobs. Eldrick was stunned.

“Return my true name and thus we are done.” Liszt said emotionlessly.

“Clancy… Clancy Whiteheart…” Wayne II broke down again but recovered almost immediately. Gathering his strength, he got to his feet.

“Liszt… you brought the most joy to my life, yet you hurt me the most. But even then, I will not stop you from reaching your goals. Even if you wish not to believe it, I will always be your father. And thus so, I will let you go. For you are my son.”

“Your Majesty!”

Liszt looked away from Wayne. He felt his anger being wilted away by the sadness in his heart. Although he was angry at the king for the things he had done, but still, he had not wished for such sadness. But things that were done were done. There was no turning back now.

Wayne II sniffled. “Eldrick, announce to the kingdom that the prince has passed away due to severe injuries suffered from the battle. And thus, prince Liszt is no more.”

Every step he took was painful, but he took it anyway. It was time to let Liszt go, it was time to say goodbye. He did not want to, but he knew it would come someday, somehow.

“Goodbye Liszt. Remember that you will always have a place in my heart.”

“Your Majesty!” Eldrick protested.

“Eldrick, a father has to learn when to let his son go. And now, the time is ripe for the fledging to leave the nest.” He said and left the room.

The butler glanced back towards the reclining Liszt for a moment, before following the grieving king.

Finally, he was alone. And he was free. His joints hurt but he could manage to move in this state.

Softly he whispered.

“Thank you, Father.”

And a tear trickled down his cheek.

Three days later, the kingdom mourned for the loss of Prince Liszt Wayne. The funeral procession was solemn but lofty, as befit the prince. King Ferdinand Wayne II lead the main procession, wrecked with grief and illness. It was said that his physicians had given him but a few months to live.

For two days, the funeral march went on, from the capital of Dimanche, to the port city of Zetapol. And there, into the raging river Revior, the glided coffin was set to float towards the sea. The king, before the watchful eyes of his subjects, collapsed under grief and had to be bedridden for the rest of the month.

Knowing his days were ending, the king composed his will, encompassing the various relatives and nobles of the kingdom. And in a great forum conducted by the king himself, he appointed his younger sister, Princess Corpelia, regent of the kingdom. Barely a week later, the king followed his son’s footsteps into the realms of death.

Rumours spread that before the prince died, the corpse of the defector Duke Fredrico was found on the docks of Zetapol. Beside him laid a woman, only known as the Poison Ivy of the North; who was the sister to the most infamous bandit of the lands - Leo Spartan. How were the two connected, was anyone’s guess.

There was however, another burden on the smallfolks’ minds. The reputable Doctor Herd, who was known to cure any ailments without the trappings of a normal doctor, was missing. He was said to be in Zetapol, the last anyone saw him. But it was said that he and his sister disappeared one stormy night, leaving their belongings behind. Rumours had it that the doctor was somehow involved with the death of the Duke and the woman, but nothing substantial had surfaced.

The kingdom has thus, lost two great beacons. One, the prince, who was the light of the kingdom; the other, the good doctor, who was the light of the people. Bunaph has indeed plunge into darker times.

He felt groggy when he woke. The smell of wood smoke filled his nostrils, triggering a fit of coughing. His eyes cleared and he found himself in a small wooden cottage. It was bare, but still acceptable.

He remembered that he had left the palace when the funeral march had left the city. It was weird, watching his own funeral, but then again, it was not his. It was Liszt Wayne’s. He looked at the ring around his finger. It felt cold and lifeless. He had forgotten to take it off at the palace, but it did not matter now. Ferdinand was to give the ring to Liszt Wayne, except that he was dead now.

There came a fragrant waft of herbs and he turned to see a girl enter the doorway. He could not believe his eyes. All at once, the world fell away and he could only see the girl in the doorway.

“Are you feeling better…” she barely finished her sentence when he leapt from his bed and held her in a strong embrace. She was stunned beyond words. Why was he holding her like so? Did he mistake her for a lover?

“Sir…”

“Jean…” he cried.

Just then, a man came through the door and gave the couple a glance before setting a tray onto a wooden table.

“Doctor,” the girl was close to tears. “Who is he?”

The man pulled himself away from the girl, his happiness melting to disbelief at her tears of fright.

The doctor looked at him and said. “Get away from Charmaine. She is a patient as well. She lost her memory.”

He stared at the man. For how long he stood there, staring at him, he did not know. Only that the girl called Charmaine wriggled out of his grasp and went to the doctor’s side.

“Who is he doctor?” her voice was quavering.

The man looked at his patient and said. “I don’t know. I found him in the woods, half starved and possibly on the brink of death. Only a fool of a man would let himself deteriorate like he did. Who are you, stranger?”

He looked at the girl and tried to smile.

“Clancy. Clancy Whiteheart.”

“Well, Mr Clancy, I do hope that you will be more gentle to the people who desire to help you.”

“I am sorry.” He said. “I lost myself there.”

“It’s alright,” Charmaine said, giving a small smile. “You were gentle with me.”

The doctor was obviously unhappy with the girl’s revelation.

“Do I remain you of somebody you loved?” she ventured.

Clancy smiled brightly. “Yes. You look like her very much.”

Charmaine smiled and twirled around, her red hair swirling after her.

“And you loved her a lot?’

“Yes. I loved her more than the world itself.”

And the girl giggled. The doctor could only sigh as he left the room.

(I will be writing a sequel which picks up the story two years after the events of Magenta Tear. Please stay tuned. Only forgive me for I cannot update as often I had been doing for this story.)