WARNING: This is an mpreg story! Yes, a little weird but some people can't help themselves at all. Just a little depth on this though, I'm just poking around for fun. I do like to go really in depth with my stories when I get going, and I hope this will be one of them. Other than that, enjoy and feel free to do whatever you want to do.
The thought of daemons. The very thought of monsters coming into your lands, snatching away babes in the middle of the night and killing everything else in sight. Once, all the kingdoms were completely ravaged by them and brought to their knees.
Kingdoms rose and fell to these beasts of the darkness, very few foundations lasting more than a century. Two remained throughout the test of time on key principles of their own. The kingdom of the larger continent, raised their warriors to be smart and forward thinking. They built machines and technology to help combat the darkness and keep their cities and towns safe at night.
The kingdom to the east, off the continent and the isles held true to an older power than even themselves. Their bloodline of royalty bestowed with an angelic power from the heavens above. Should their lands look as if they were to fall in despair to the creatures, all that was needed was the blood line of their kings to stand mighty and unleash their own inner light. The peace was kept and the two kingdoms looked to prosper from each other in their relations.
As time went however, it appeared ever more and more that the isles were not intent to last as they had with the bloodline over looking them. It had thinned, considerably. Periods of history had brought about grief, and so the bloodline went slim to the relatives, not as true as it was hoped. The kingdom, as it was now appeared at its knees. It's only resolve, its neighbors.
The current kings, Markus of the continent and Roso of the isles, had drawn up a meeting for the future plans to sustain their people without one or another. Whilst a young king already with a young child of his own, was gravely ill and seemed to be the last to carry the light of his name and blood.
It was agreed, that on the eighteenth birthday of his son, whether alpha or omega, that they would wed their children to secure their future. Kings hands shook that day to which Roso passed away not many months after.
The widow and single child that he had left behind, were well taken care of by the kingdom of the content. As Markus had agreed. Technology beyond the beliefs of some of the lands people was brought in over years and the night never seemed as dark again. As time passed however, two children were raised, assured that their future destiny was assured for them, regardless of the paths they wanted to take.
Light had always regretted this evening. In the back of his mind, he had always known it would come. Even if over time it never felt real. That it all felt like a dream – or some joke. He sat very cautiously, taking note of his surroundings. For it would be the last time.
The young prince had been raised very delicately. He was small and slender, almost childlike in his adulthood. Locks as white as bone, yet thick and long they were kept in stylish flares that tucked from his head in a uncaring way. Pale skin adorned him, the isles favouring poor weather. Yet his eyes, of the lightest azures carried with him the depth beyond his land and where his true ties landed.
At this moment, he took in his childhood room. The space was modest, as far as a kingdom went. The king line of the isles had never been about grandeur, but rather the overseers to ensure the land functioned and the people had society. Still. It was his room. His home. No matter what had happened to his family over past few years. Or what little remained of it.
He had received a very neat and plainly wrote letter from his guardian the very morning, instructing him what would befall the day after and what he should expect. It had outlined that, with nothing in the isles but the people that were about to fall under a new kingdom, there was nothing to return for. That everything he treasured should be taken along and that the new life that awaited for him on a new sunrise should be taken with an embrace. Plainly written, until the end.
The guardian had served his farther before him and could no doubt face what was to happen. He'd always been quite stoic and silent the last year or so, it was not beyond him to allow this to be his farewell.
The prince had done as instructed. Though it felt like not a lot was coming with him. So he sat, in the room thinking of when he was a child. When his beloved mother would sit at the edge of his bed and read bedtime stories to him. Or when his father, whilst very young at the time, would come in and watch him play with his toys and very occasional, hand over one that he had carved and made himself. The fruit of those memories were of course coming with him. He could never sit on this very bed again, look into the room and picture the past so clearly that it felt as if it were real. Felt as if they were here.
As he sat, thinking of what was to be left behind, a slow and creeping thought raised on him. It dawned on him where he would be travelling to tomorrow – what he would be expected to do – what would happen – more so realising that he was not necessarily princely. Knowing nothing of what he was to join without choice, felt the largest of hearts in his throat. It was hard to sallow and hard to think. Yet, after some time he would regain himself on his bed and his panic would begin to calm.
''For the isles,'' he whispered to himself, in a very gentle voice.
Awake at sunrise, the day had dawned. He'd heard the lofty sound of the hair being hammered from some distance not to long ago. Even if he had been asleep, it wasn't hard to miss as it grew closer to the hold of his home.
The hum grew as he readied, dressing in a shirt, etched and sown with trinket markings of his people. To take with him of course to the new land. Like much of his wardrobe, it did not meet his slenderness yet still held an air of fitting to his figure and name-hood. When all was said and done, with boots and cloak to go with his wardrobe for the travel ahead, he lived and breathed the last remnants of the bloodline of light itself.
There was a knock at the door.
''Come in,'' he called, surprised to have a visit.
The door opened hesitantly, an old serve wife peaking around the door, ''may I enter, young prince?''
Light's look fell, the silence in the room was all that the old woman needed to know, ''of course Miss Tum.''
''I'm afraid,'' she began, closing the door behind her, ''that my husband is far to beside himself to see you off properly. He said he had wrote you a note.''
''In a fashion,'' the prince replied quietly as the old woman came to him and embraced him.
''To have you go – after all that's happened – just about breaks both our hearts,'' she said sternly to stop herself from weeping like an old maid. ''I'd wish you a happy birthday. Rather I think luck is more needed than anything else for your new home.''
''Thank you,'' he spoke softly, embracing along with the old woman.
Complete silence rested between them comfortably for a few minutes. Not a single tear was shed between the two of them. After all, they had known of this day for so long, this was as prepared as they could be.
''Now,'' the old maid said, grabbing the princes hand and holding it firmly for farewell, ''are you already for them to come take your things?''
Light nodded, with a deep breath.
''I'll miss you,'' the old maid nearly called in sorrow.
Light remained silent, eyes closed. He could not face the words any longer; the old woman understood. The rest of his life, joined by birth right to another family grander than his own awaited him.