Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

"Why did you write a tragedy, Damien?"

The question that left Alvara's curious lips without hesitation lingered in the solemn air. Everybody heard it, but nobody said anything.

Damien strolled leisurely near the back, hands in his pockets and his eyes indifferently observed each person with every sway of his raven tail. His eyes flickered to hers and paused. 

"The ending, whether I wrote it or not, wouldn't have a happy ending." replied the teenager simply.

Alvara frowned, furrowing her brows. "I don't really get it."

"Did I say I wrote the entire story?"

"That--"

"And if it was merely an unfinished story I picked up, how do you think I felt when reading it?"

If what Damien had originally found during his travels was the incomplete story of Raphael Han, how would that impact him? When he, himself, was a prominent character in the early chapters who suffered betrayal, over and over again?

How had he felt knowing his whole world was a lie, but unlike Raphael who was surrounded by others, he was left to understand that fact alone?

How did he feel after looking at Sage, his close aide that'd betrayed him? Did he hope that the story would change, that the betrayal wouldn't occur? Did he desperately push away the thoughts of suspicion every time that man smiled or laughed with him?

"The ending of the world is predetermined. It will collapse and bring everything down with it." Damien stopped momentarily before admitting, "I attempted to write a happy ending the first time."

The confession was unexpected.

"And what happened?"

"The words dyed the pages in inky death, and the words that promised happiness bled away."

It was then that the young boy understood — this story wasn't fated for a sweet conclusion. However, he didn't wish to leave the story incomplete. 

A story without an end didn't necessarily mean any ending could be written.

But a completed story, even if it ended with tragedy, may unknowingly land itself in the hands of a quiet reader. Damien had one goal in mind when he wrote out the gruesome tragedy of betrayal; to have the story find a reader, and to one day rewrite the ending himself. 

Back when he'd found it, the world had refused a happy ending. But now, weren't things already steering away from the original path of destruction? 

It was a complicated thing to understand, and perhaps, had it been another person, they would've made a different choice. Only, there was no other person, only Damien and Damien alone.

And this was the choice he made.

Raphael was the first to understand Damien's decision as he walked over in steady strides and ruffled the tangles of night hair with a sigh. "Thanks for your hard work, kid."

The listening, perched ears twitched. 

"Doesn't matter. This world won't end because of random words on a paper." said Soren as he stepped forward too, cooly gazing at the fox. "You're going to change that ending, Damien."

The prince's words that were like statements, not allowing any wisps of disagreement. The forest stare remained calm and unwavering, but his eyes didn't move from the confident stance of those two men — the two that would become heroes of this tale.

"Yes, master."

However, an unforeseen person voiced their complaints.

"Sorry Miemie," There was a rare frown decorating the magician's lips. "I can't accept it."

"What can't you expect?" asked Alvara from the side, tensing from his words of rejection.

Even if everybody disagreed, Brioc was firm. "First of all, he said nothing this entire time and we've just been walking around in a loop! To begin with, I can't accept that this is just a book to Miemie and Renren... people died, don't you get it?"

Brioc let out a shaky breath of anger before continuing, laughing mockingly. "Or what, it was all meant to happen, regardless?"

He'd been oddly quiet the entire time because of these violent thoughts beating against his skull in rhythmic irritation. It was true. They all had their own terrible stories to tell, and Brioc's had been especially so.

He'd been deprived of the very thing that made him, well, himself, wings clipped back and bounded tightly in his youth. He'd watched countless of deaths, forced to commit some by his own hand as he witnessed the slaughter of his very own blood. 

The biting starvation and the burning wounds still vividly etched into his mind.

The magician wasn't Raphael — an empathetic, understanding hero. He wasn't a good person, far from it. 

His entire life was a joke?

Then what in the world was he doing right now?

"Say, you can't want me to risk my life when this entire time that I thought I was surviving, thought I was struggling to live, was just some task assigned to me as if I was a puppet on a string?"

He longed for freedom. And finally, he attained it. 

But what if that addicting freedom he thought he'd attained was actually a trap, and he'd never left those dark rooms in the castle to begin with?

It was like he was suffocating back in the past as a roaring flame scratched at his throat, surging to the tips of his fingers and embracing his body in a painful heat. It was ridiculous. More than anything, Brioc hated being controlled. 

He had enough of it already.

A light danced at his fingertips as he breathed shallowly. 

In playing along with this story, was he just dancing to another's tune? "...absolutely not. I absolutely refuse that."

"No way, no way...!" muttered Brioc as flames begun to flicker off his body, tickling the stone that stood underneath their feet. "That's stupid, so, so stupid."

The Forest of Beginnings and Endings was nearby. But perhaps, the destination wouldn't be reached by all. 

Loud laughter erupted from the magician's thin throat, and the flames became wilder as his emotions fluctuated. There was no point in living as a puppet for all these years, and there was no point in continuing once the truth was revealed.

Around the group, walls of fire begun to scream in echos of the tragic magician's sorrows.

Psychopathic, insane. Those qualities carved into him by his father's blade, until scars bled into his bone and boiled over his thoughts. 

If the world was false, and all his struggles were nothing but pitiful entertainment for a reader...

...then he'd tear apart the story with his own ability.

"Brioc, you idiot!" shouted Alvara through the overwhelming heat that flared in front of her when she attempted to step forward. "What in the world are you doing?"

"Don't move." said Damien as she tried to weave through the flames, holding out a slender arm in front of her with narrowed eyes. "What can you do if you reach him? Prioritize your own safety first."

The girl trembled in frustration as her crimson eyes stared right ahead. Weak, she was, unable to do anything but watch. Knowing that was a thought more irritating than anything else. 

Celine swiped at the flames carelessly, sweat trickling down the side of her face as she cursed under her breath. Even if she could stand the melting heat, it was only so long before she couldn't. 

However, it was difficult to say who would lose first. Her will, or Brioc's despair?

As everybody suffered through the flames, a singular person watched through calm eyes full of icy knowing. 

Raphael glanced at the man beside him.

"Are you going to help him?"

A slight nod answered his question. Brioc's situation in his family, Soren's situation in his family, in some morbid way, they were similar. The addicting taste of freedom they both craved, and the terrible memories that made their minds have everlasting wounds. 

And in the midst of the chaos, a white-haired man stepped through the fire.

Leisurely, as if he were strolling through his own house, as if his skin were carved from ice and the flames could do no harm. Almost as if the fire had opened a path for him, parting in his chilly wake.

Damien and Alvara watched, uninterested in fighting the brilliant orange. 

Vincent pursed his lips into a thin line and stepped forward, only to have a certain man grab his arm to stop him.

The crown prince swallowed. "You're just letting him go, Raphael?"

A relaxed smile was on the protagonist's face as his stare never left the steady back in front of him. "I can understand the magician's anger, but that's also why I can't help."

"That's not what I mean. What if he gets hurts?"

"You're making a good attempt, Vin." complimented Raphael without glancing back. "But that's where you're wrong. Your younger brother doesn't need to be coddled and locked away for protection, and I'm here if he needs my help. But I believe in his ability."

His feelings didn't stir up an unrelenting desire to stop Soren from doing anything dangerous, to hold him back for the sake of his own safety. 

No, those reckless movements and skills were something Raphael quite liked about the prince. And so, all he felt as he watched Soren move forward was trust, and calm.

The fire burned more chaotically around Brioc, lashing out at the surrounds as licks of flame wrapped around the magician, as if trapping him. His eyes had glazed over, already lost to the volatile surge of his powers. 

They'd forgotten he was a product of a long experiment of the Haze King's.

It was easy for him to lose control, even if the chaos of his feelings was easy to forget under his constantly teasing mask. 

The prince didn't even flinch as a burning welt formed against his arms from the swiping flames. 

"Brioc."

There was no response, and Soren took another step further. His entire body seemed to be engulfed, the glow radiating off his body in a beating rhythm. 

"Brioc. Wake up."

Soon, he was only a short meter away. He quietly waited before the violet eyes trembled, and slowly lifted to meet his. They didn't move away again.

"Do you want to know my ending in the story?"

Now, after having started to merge with the original, Soren could explain these emotions a little better. 

"I died in the first chapter." said the man indifferently, gazing with eerie calm. "My life was so insignificant that my only role was to die."

The first thought the original had after realizing that his death was destined had been this: What was the point of struggling so long if the only conclusion was death?

"You never met the Haze King again. You never found vengeance, never discovered the tattoo inked into your skin."

"The story has already changed."

"And I..." started the prince with a disappearing sadness at the edge of his voice. "I survived."

Soren's charms lied in his blunt words that were occasionally too much, but his honesty was clear and common. He said what he believed in, and he wouldn't alter his thoughts for the sake of another person.

It made people want to believe in him.

And Brioc was no exception.

"I..." started the magician with a raspy voice, all moisture stripped away into the surroundings. "...don't want to be somebody's puppet again, Renren."

His voice had traces of complaint and painful desperation. 

Soren nodded. "I know."

"I hate the idea of it being fate. I want to live my own life. What's the point of living if I'm to be somebody else's doll forever?"

"I know."

Perhaps the reason Brioc acted childishly all the time was because he never had the opportunity to be a child. So now, given the opportunity, he voiced all his complaints obediently, as if a kid protesting against the world.

The magician crouched to his knees and covered his face with his palms, exhaling shallowly as the flames begun to quiet, still radiating an immense heat.

"I really can't accept it, Renren."

"...okay."

Brioc laughed, more lightly this time, as if the building pleas had already been depleted. "Hey~ are you going to give me a hug?"

A look of disgust on a certain somebody's face immediately ruined the moment.

However, Brioc held out his arms and waited. Soren's expression twisted into confusion as he turned back to look at the others, still trapped behind walls of flame. 

"It's unhygienic." said the prince suddenly.

Brioc grinned. "I took a shower a few days ago while waiting for you to return."

.....since when was a single shower several days ago considered clean?

Eventually, the expression on Soren's face was too remarkable and Brioc laughed again, jumping into a standing position with a grin. The corners of his eyes were still a deep red, but his breathing was steady as he stretched out his arms. 

With a single swipe of his movements, the fire swept away again, only heaving residues of heat as a reminder. The scorching burned marks on the ground only proving Brioc's strength.

Damien, surprisingly, had been the first to approach as he asked, "What will you do?"

There was no hesitation when the magician replied, "I'm going to leave."

"What?" Alvara had followed the fox, and examined Brioc for any injuries before continuing, "What do you mean, leave?"

"You see, Alvy, I'm calmer now, but I still can't accept it. Even if I keep going, I'll only wonder why I even bother. That's a such waste of time!"

Even if his words were careless and free, everybody listened to them seriously.

The group was a strange combination of people united in various ways from all over the continent. All good things must eventually come to an end, and these people with conflicting wants and personalities could not remind together forever. 

Brioc's violet eyes still carried lingering traces of blazing red as the sunlight created a faint shine over his rich brown hair. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and his eyes curved in relief. As if he'd just lifted a great weight off of his shoulders. 

He breathed steadily, and waved his hand. "We'll probably meet again. So until then, see you~"

The magician didn't wait for a response and turned around, beginning his solo stride to who knew where. Eventually, maybe he'd be able to accept the facts. 

But Brioc was only human, and what he needed most was time.

He made his decision the moment he regained his composure after losing control of his magic, and left before anybody could say anything to change his mind.

Nobody turned away until the distant back of the magician finally disappeared.

Silence remained in the absence of a noisy presence before Damien spoke. "The entrance of the Forest is before us."

All they could do was to continue to move forward. 

Raphael tapped Soren's back lightly, and the latter glanced over before walking forward. In this group of people, it was possible that more of them wanted to refuse the truth of this word being a story.

It was possible that more of them had wondered if struggling hard to save this world was hopeless. But it'd only been that loud, talkative magician that had voiced his own thoughts.

If anybody else chose to turn around and leave, that would be fine.

A mute mist begun creeping along the floor as Soren begun to walk, the rest following after him in turn. Even if things didn't turn out the way they hoped, that was fine, too. 

There was one thing that he was certain of. And it was the natural fact that—

This story wouldn't end in a tragedy.