Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

A bothersome person had recently followed Ren around more frequently after a certain incident occurred.

As Raphael stepped into the quiet library again, casual steps creaking against the old oak, Ren lifted his head slightly. Expectant. Waiting.

Habits were hard to break, and after Raphael showed up day after day, Ren had unknowingly grown used to it.

Raphael was an existence he couldn't fathom.

They were walking on two parallels, never meant to cross. And yet, against all odds, they met, and those opposing paths became one.

Raphael and Ren were strangers.

But in the despairing days of apocalypse, they decided, perhaps this company wouldn't be so terrible.

When the raven hair entered Ren's vision, he remembered that day. It was recent, but he understood that he wouldn't forget it for many years to come.

'Don't act too recklessly.' Raphael had said, brows deeply furrowed as his lips tugged down, void of any playful tease. 'You could've died.'

'I did die.' had been Ren's response, blunt and unforgiving as his eyes remained fixated on every twitch of expression, searching the fearful rejection he was so accustomed to.

Raphael had been quiet for a while after that. But he'd held onto Ren's arm tenderly as he rummaged through his thoughts. And so, Ren didn't move. He'd known this strange, powerful man for a while now, and he couldn't deny that he was curious.

In how long this person could stay, even after knowing the truth.

But Raphael had sighed, frustrated as he ran a gloved hand through his messy wisps of black, staring seriously at Ren through those persisting midnight eyes.

'It doesn't matter, I've decided. Because there is no life not worth valuing, regardless of any other circumstances. Even if you cannot value others, at the very least, value yourself.'

Ren had stared blankly, his confusion drawn out on his face in vivid ink.

'And if you can't value your life, then I will. I find, I quite like you alive, at all times, in every moment.'

And that lazy stretched out smile that dripped with colourful emotions only he could express.

Ren had asked quietly, 'Even if I'm a monster?'

'I appreciate not what you are, but who you are, little fool.'

'Although you're pretty far from a monster — that's what you call those creatures roaming the streets. That fear that you feel is the very thing that makes you human, Ren Suzuki.'

Just like that, everything concluded.

In a way so peaceful, Ren assumed he was lost in a dream, in a blur of illusion.

"What negative thoughts are you thinking about now, Ren?" asked Raphael as he crouched down in his usual spot beside the other — now no longer parted by a wall of books after Ren had rearranged them elsewhere.

Ren frowned, flipping a page. "Nothing."

"Well, Ren, coming from you, that's pretty hard to believe."

"Stop referring me so familiarly."

"You were the one who introduced himself after such a long time of knowing each other." said Raphael with a humorous shrug. In reality, a little research may have led to the identity of the other — an undying reaper was a fairly well-known title, after all.

But he'd wanted to hear the name from Ren himself and refrained.

"....."

Raphael's lips quirked at the silence. "And doesn't 'Ren' roll off the tongue?"

"No."

"I think you're just biased."

And just like that, as every day now seemed to pass, Ren read through his books as Raphael closed his eyes beside, the sunlight illuminating his features, running along his jaw and fluttering through his deep lashes that peacefully moved.

The man, thought Ren absentmindedly as he glanced over, was beautiful.

But it was more than the way his locks of hair sculpted his face as they gently brushed his cheeks, or the way his strong brows would twitch as if projecting his dreams to reality.

It was the way he stood tall in the rubbles, in the library and wherever he was, always stretching his unwavering hand out to what he believed in.

It was in the way his emotions flickered to life across his face, and he made no attempt to hide them.

And, decided Ren finally, as he shuffled in his spot, it was in the way this man radiated warmth from simply being by his side, stripping years and years of painful anxiety in his presence.

"....." Ren stared at Raphael for moments longer before placing his book down, and lying back. Slowly, under the watch of the old, oaken library, he closed his eyes.

A dreamless sleep, plagued not with the bloody scene of death, but an empty calmness.

When Raphael woke up, yawning widely before he felt the thud of soft hair fall onto his side. He paused, glancing down as an amused smile naturally played upon his lips.

"And you say you dislike me." muttered Raphael, adjusting the limp head so that it'd be more comfortable.

Ren murmured in his sleep, and Raphael quickly soothed him. "Relax, Ren."

He stared up at the flickering light of the dimming sun through the broken glass windows. In such a time, this was an unforgettable peace.

Raphael smiled.

Closing his eyes once again, he rested his head atop of Ren's.

At that afternoon, it was as if the apocalypse had ceased, and the only thing that mattered was their little world of two.

———xxx———

The embrace had been incredibly long, and when Soren had fully regained his sense of clarity, it had felt somewhat foreign. Despite that, he remained limp in the protagonist's arms, that tightly wrapped around him.

Only after some time did Raphael release him.

"You didn't hit me." said Raphael with some confusion and also glittering amusement.

Soren stared blankly. "You wanted me to?"

"That's not what I meant."

"...strange." said Soren with some mild disgust — which Raphael was certain that it was a purposeful display — as he narrowed his gaze.

"...like I said, that's not what I meant."

This little prince had a brilliant way of ruining the mood. Though, Raphael found, that it was oddly endearing at times. Not this time, however.

Soren stood up, brushing his clothes that still bloomed in fields of poppy, coating his makeshift robe and the torn dress he wore underneath. A ghastly sight, one that could easily terrify somebody who was unaware.

"What's the plan next, little prince?" said Raphael, standing up beside him as his eyes raked over the place where the wound should've been. "The Third Religion will not use all their resources for a deceased pawn. The fighting will probably finish before long."

His words were casual, but they both knew what carnage would await them when they walked back up. Even if the fighting ceased, those dead would remain dead and could never come back.

"I need to go to the Forest of Good and Evil."

"Need? Not want?"

"Need." affirmed Soren steadily. "There's something I must find."

"Alright. Should we leave after the fighting clears?"

We.

Not 'you' nor 'I', but 'we'. It was in those slight actions and words that really made one pause. Soren had stopped for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yes."

They had started back to the castle where the chaos was still occurring. Brioc would need to be informed of the Haze King's death and also responsible for the corpse — whether he wanted to burn it, drown it or simply bury it was up to him.

After all, he'd been the King's closest victim, one who could never forget the past.

"One more thing, Ren."

Soren glanced at Raphael and tilted his head. "...?"

"I think you should speak to your brothers." said Raphael slowly, carefully as his knowing eyes searched for any negative emotions. "Although you have every right not to, I still think you should. Even if it's simply to properly cut ties."

"...what?"

"I'm not going to choose a side. I will say, Deimos searched everywhere for you, even if he had no intention of bringing you back. Vin is not as heartless as he seems, though he's bland and expressionless, and completely boring when it comes to rules. Your brothers are complicated characters that are difficult to understand."

"You want me to forgive them?" said Soren in slight disbelief, furrowing his brows into a deep-set frown.

Raphael shook his head and sighed. "Not at all. But right now, there's a confusing balance between you all. Tell me, are you avoiding them because you hate them, or because they might start to care?"

"Ridiculous."

"They've changed since your arrival, and I think there's some connection you feel to them, even if this isn't your original body. If you feel conflicted to them, say everything you want to say. And whether the relationship falls or repairs, it's up to you. But I think it'll be better if you reach some sort of conclusion."

Raphael had seen it occasionally, the conflicting thoughts in Soren's expression when interacting with the other princes. There was simple dislike and indifference, but also confusion and helplessness.

As much as he would've liked to help his friend, the awkward first prince, Vin, family issues were complicated and not his to mess with.

The past, which he'd heard about when drinking with the first prince, had been tragic for Soren. And forgiveness wasn't always essential, so Raphael didn't expect them to make up.

But closure for both would benefit.

Soren continues to frown, but he didn't completely dismiss the idea. Lydia had suggested speaking to his brothers as well — was it for the same reason as Raphael?

To stabilize the emotions of the original? To each some sort of peace?

Raphael waited in silence patiently for an answer, before Soren finally stated, "Fine. I'll do it now."

"...wait, we're in the middle of a battle right no—"

But his words fell upon deaf ears as Soren sped up ahead, walking through the castle doors. The protagonist watched blankly, rubbed his temples with the ache of an upcoming headache before quickly following the other inside.

The battle was ongoing, as expected. Though most of the citizens had been evacuated, the corpses tossed and torn on the luxury marble flaws was evident with the chaise left behind.

It seemed that most of the fighters from the Third Religion had retreated after Celine's betrayal, leaving the knights of the Haze Kingdom to fend for themselves. Most had already been subdued.

Vincent stood in the middle of the floors. Erlen was by his side, sword dripping with blood as his flaming hair sat in messy waves atop his head. He scowled deeply, swiping it out of his amber gaze.

As they approached, the conversation grew clearer.

"Where the hell is he? That damn king?" snapped Erlen, high from the battle.

"Calm down, Erlen." said Vincent sternly. "Prioritize what must be done."

"I have. I did! Tsk... if he's gotten away, then what was the point of all of this? What was the point in all the years I spent trying to get vengeance?" A hint of collapse in his burning tone, tired, strained and utterly frustrated.

"Erlen." said Vincent again.

Erlen sighed, looking away. "Yes, yes. I'm aware, brother."

The step of footsteps broke them away from conversation as Soren's bloody visual came into sight. Both stared, surprised, as they scanned his body and complexion with a deep frown.

Then, Deimos and Atlas entered the room, sharing similar expressions.

Deimos hurried forward, horrified. "Little brother, what happened? Who did this? Are you hurt? You shouldn't be walking." The words came out in rapid fire, and Soren took a step back, ignoring Raphael's glance.

"It's not all my blood." said Soren indifferently.

"Which implies that some of it is yours, right?" said Atlas with a worried frown. "You went after the Haze King, didn't you? What happened?"

"He's dead."

"That's not the point of the question, Soren!" interrupted Erlen angrily, pushing aside his surprise at the news of the Haze King's death. "What happened to make you like this?"

Vincent had also stepped forward. "If you are injured, it would be best you don't move around."

Soren's mind spun. It was overwhelming; their reactions that came one after the other. He simply couldn't understand. Why now?

The voice that always lingered in his soul dripped with emotion. 'Why not me?'

And the thoughts fell fresh from his mind in unfiltered waves.

"Why do you care?" asked Soren in a chilling tone, simmering with confusion. "Whether I live or die?"

Vincent's veins almost popped, the steadfast calmness of the eldest dispersing in only moments. He growled lowly, eyes narrow in distraught.

"Why do I care? Are you honestly asking me such a question, Soren?"

The undying youth didn't understand. "Yes."

Deimos stared at him with a warped expression of collapsing despair. There almost seemed to be a glaze of water covering those cool mint eyes, words choked up in his throat.

"...I see." If nobody else, Deimos would understand. He was the most aware of the situation.

Atlas watched, and said nothing, staring with a complicated expression.

Erlen snapped angrily, though guilt tinged his tone. "Are you kidding me, you fool?! What sort of demons are we to not care?"

"You never did." was the simple reply, almost carrying traces of past desperation.

Soren felt it stirring, these emotions of the original. And this time, he decided to let it roll over him like a raging storm.

"That...!"

"Not once, did you care." A sardonic, helpless smile of that childish prince who'd never known love. "Why would you now?"

"I—"

"Did you think it was fine now that I stopped acting immaturely and irresponsibly? You hated me for what I became." his voice hitched, a noose tightening around his neck with every word spoken. This was the desperate hatred the original always had. "But you were the ones who made me this way."

"That's not fair...!" scowled Erlen, voice rising with trembling anger. "We were children then too. How the hell were we supposed to treat you well when we had never been taught how to? Do you think we asked for such a messed up family?!"

"And what are you now? Still children? That you could hate and despise me, ignore me, even though you knew how it felt?"

"It's not that simple!"

"You should have kept treating me like the dead." said Soren slowly, frowning as the overwhelming surge of emotions attacked him in its strangeness. The words he spoke and his own emotions — he couldn't connect them, yet. "Instead, you pretended like nothing ever happened and worried about me. Why now?"

"I don't care, anymore."

"If I were to drive that knife through my chest, would you worry about the trouble I caused or for me?"

There was a painful silence in the air.

The next words did not only belong to the original.

"I don't care if I die."

Soren's icy gaze was empty, unrelenting. "I'd be happy if I did."

Perhaps in that oaken shack, lost in the forest of beginnings and endings, the original had known he would die.

When Ren had entered, there were no signs of struggle on the body, no attempt at escape.

The original had already given up.

"Soren." said Vincent heavily, as if stones weighed down on his tongue. He took a deep breath, stepping forward. "Please."

"What?"

"You may call me a monster, cruel or heartless. But I implore you," he choked, wavering. "Don't say that."

Soren felt little sympathy. "Was it better when I didn't say it, but only thought it?"

"No!" interrupted Deimos suddenly, soft eyes now panicked and frightened. "Say whatever you please, as much or as little. That is in your every right. For these years, little brother, I deeply apologize."

He was on the verge of tears, golden, delicate strands hiding his hazy eyes. "I do ask of you, however, to not keep those thoughts to yourself. You have a family to tell, don't you? Those who now wait for you outside this room."

There was a pause, and suddenly Soren couldn't understand the warmth creeping into his chest. His gazed flickered to the listening person by his side.

The original's memories and his own blurred together, but he could not decipher it.

Yet the crook of his lips lifted ever so slightly as he replied, "Yeah. I do."

Deimos smiled warmly. "Then go."

At a time where everybody's nerves were tense, no success could be found. For now, Deimos prayed that those companions of Soren could be his solace.

Although he had his own reasons for not being in the castle or paying attention to Soren, there was no excuse. The entire relationship between everyone was complicated and fragile. So easy to break.

Deimos never particularly wanted forgiveness. He wanted to watch Soren's happiness — he had promised, long ago.