Chapter 65: [62 – apology; shackled freedom]

In less than three days, an imposing figure strode into the forest.

At a glance, there was nothing unusual about the well-dressed man, his expression regal and uncaring to the matters of the world, trained with the dominance of a royal. However, if one were to look at particular details, as a certain fox enjoyed doing, they would notice some abnormalities.

Like the way the shirt poked out under their layers — a detail that would typically not exist in this proper person — or the way their hair was swept to the other side, a few strands frizzed and frazzled.

To begin with, his attire was simple, put together in a short period of time and lacking the luxury he typically radiated.

"I received your message, thank you." said the man, nodding at Damien politely.

The fox nodded carelessly in response. The only reason this person had been able to arrive so quickly was due to Damien's unique ways of travelling, using fast yet difficult to cross routes.

Yet Vincent had chosen to follow.

He moved straight to the matter on hand. "Where is Soren?"

Brioc tilted his head, the corner of his lip quirking in intrigue. He was never a fan of those like Vincent, prim and proper nobles. "Who would've thought the big brother would act so loving in these situations?"

Vincent stiffened, and turned his head. "It is only natural to come."

"Really~" taunted the magician with a raise of his eyebrows. "You're quite hypocritical, aren't you?"

"Brioc." warned Raphael who had listened quietly at the side, nodding at his friend's arrival. "Thanks for arriving quickly, Vin."

Vincent paused, then nodded in return.

Damien, with the watching sway of his tail, stepped forward, hands in his pocket with youthful arrogance and a curious gleam. "Is it the time for arguments?"

"What do you need me to do?"

The fox spared him a glance. "It'll be dangerous, are you willing?"

The question remained the same. "What do you need me to do?"

After a quiet observation from the fox — in which Vincent felt his entire soul being examined under a careful and perceiving gaze — the youth said, "You both need to pull him from the past. At present, Master is currently trapped under the weight of his own memories and cannot return. Something is needed to wake him up from whatever illusion he is in."

"What illusion?"

Vincent had been briefly explained the situation with the long letter from Damien, but he still was unaware of the specific details.

"Illusions that you both have a strong impact during. Illusions of memories that he cannot forget. What do you think those are?"

The first prince wasn't slow to understand and pressed his lips together. "I understand."

It was because of the destruction Vincent's existence caused on Soren that he could enter and save the fifth prince. Thinking in such a manner... was a little conflicting.

"Then let's not waste time," said Raphael, turning around. Although he had behaved the most normally, there was a certain haste in his movements, unwilling to waste a single second.

"I will warn you once again. Not only will you have to enter your own illusions — memories that may haunt and torment you — if you get lost in them, then neither of you will be saved." Damien's voice was solemn and low.

"I will go," said Vincent after a moment, taking a deep breath.

"And of course I will too." said Raphael with a curt nod, turning around once again. However, before he could reach the entrance, shimmering a dozen meters ahead, he looked back. "Hey fox kid, I've been meaning to ask you something for a while."

"What is it?"

Yet those eyes seemed to already know the question.

"...but it can wait until I come back. After all, the answer you'll give is something that little prince should hear as well, right?"

"Hm." Damien neither confirmed nor denied it.

Raphael smiled and stepped through the mirage without another word. Soon after, Vincent followed behind.

The corridor was the same as before, with the same mysterious air. Raphael was silent through the process as the ground shifted once more, returning him in front of his door. Vincent, who was a man of little expression to begin with, took everything solemnly.

Raphael only offered a glance to his friend now. "Will you be alright, Vin?"

"....." Instead of answering, the first prince questioned with uncertainty, "Is it possible that my appearance will worsen the illusion?"

There was no time to lie. "It's possible."

"...I expected it to be the case."

"Are you tempted to turn back?"

"That is not something I considered." said Vincent with a sigh. "The words Soren spoke previously have weighed on my mind heavily since. He has every right to despise me, to despise us. That is an undeniable fact."

"And?"

"There is nothing to add. I will apologize, but I do not expect his forgiveness. I never intended to restrict his freedom — my little brother has the choice to do as he pleases after."

"Is that what you've decided?"

Vincent frowned, confused. It was a similar trait to Soren, both these princes being incredibly dense and emotionally stunted. Though Raphael was a little more biased to one than the other. Just a little.

Both had a brilliant ability in inducing headaches, however.

"...well, are you just going to say 'I'm sorry' and then leave it at that?"

"Is there a problem? Soren does not wish for me to interfere in his life, and I have no right to."

"That's fine," nodded Raphael, his body now fully turned in exasperation. "But the way you do things causes misunderstandings. Your meaning won't be carried out if all you do is say, 'I'm sorry' and then never look back on it."

There was a fundamental weakness of Vincent Rosenbaum.

It was in his incredible lacking social skills that were not enough to excuse the actions he had committed. However, he followed his own logic in what he believed was correct, trampling over any emotions he could possibly have.

"You need to learn communication, Vin, sorry to say."

"....."

"Your skills are really lacking." continued Raphael with a shake of his head as the other stared back blankly.

"If you are trying to convince me to converse with my younger brother and attempt to fix our family, then I disagree, Raphael. It is not necessary."

"You're an idiot, Vin. More than that little prince, I'd say. Although he's a different kind of idiot." said Raphael with another shake of his head as the other's frown increasingly deepened.

"I fail to understand."

Raphael stared for a moment before resolutely giving up. There was little that could be said to somebody who lacked the interest in understanding — Vincent was completely oblivious to emotions, and lacked the curiosity Soren had. Therefore, it was impossible to get through to him.

Instead, it was best for Vincent to learn through his own experience.

"When you enter," warned Raphael as his hands lingered on the handle of his own door. "Don't forget who you are."

"I am aware, Raphael. Thank you. Do be careful."

With those final words, the two opened their own doors and stepped through.

Vincent was greeted with the dazzling lights of the castle, lit up for all to see from miles away. It was almost blinding, had he not been accustomed to it years ago. A realistic sight, he decided, through his careful observation.

But in the end, it was just an illusion.

'Vincent Rosenbaum.'

He jerked his head up, a frown etched onto his lips in permanent ink as he stiffened. The sound echoed around the large ballroom that surrounded, seeming to escape from every crevice.

'How many have you harmed with those cold words of yours?'

There were no signs of a person around, the voice instead coming from various unknowns. This only irritated the first prince further — he was not a fan of the unknown, or things that could not be understood with pure logic.

'This is your judgement.'

The room roared to life, the lights dimming and brightening as suddenly, dozens of hundreds of people crowded. Laughter and noise were the only thing he could hear anymore, ears drowning in the sounds.

A person approached him, a smile so fake that Vincent recognized it easily.

"Your highness, Vincent." greeted the man with curved eyes.

When the prince glanced down, he paused at his gloved hands and formal attire that had decorated his body at an unknown time, raven clothes and delicate golden chains that were both uncomfortable and unnecessary.

Even back then, he'd never been fond of the clothes he was crammed and stuffed into, as if he were a precious ornament on display for all.

He shifted in his posture, glancing around before he turned back to the man. "Who are you?"

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"...what do you mean, your highness?" The voice was suddenly chilling, penetrating in his ears with icy judgement. "Do you not remember the names of the nobles under your command?"

And then he felt it, the stares all snapped to him, boring into his soul and judging every twitch of his finger. Wide and terrible, rows and rows of gazes until he felt he may be buried under them. They were suffocating, clawing at his throat and scratching at his words, but he closed his eyes and breathed slowly.

This was an illusion.

He wasn't a child who would make such a grave mistake in a social event like this anymore.

When he opened his eyes again, the scene had changed.

Compared to the beginning, the first prince was more prepared — understanding that what this Forest did was pick at the most sensitive memories of a person, forcing them to face it whether they wanted to or not.

What was judgement?

At this moment, Vincent had a vague guess. It was the ruling you placed on yourself after witnessing everything you chose to avoid.

And if that was true, then Soren had failed himself.

"Oh dear, what are you doing here, Vincent?" said a voice from behind him, sweet and caring with hints of worry laced in every word. "It's quite late."

When he first met this woman, he thought of her as naïve and good-natured. A person who couldn't survive in the confines of the castle.

Even in his youth, did he understand that much. She was too trusting, carefree kindness in those pale sky-coloured eyes of hers, too helpful, endless words of delicate support waiting on her lips.

For that reason, when he watched as the King — his father — portrayed a sort of calmness with her, he could understand it.

For peace was something neither the King nor he had.

Unknowingly, to the question that hung in the air, he answered, "I must review for tomorrow's lesson."

There he was, back in the body of the child who was powerless to save so much as a fly in the past. His hands felt smaller, weaker and he reminded himself of the mirage.

This was, and could only ever be, an illusion.

And it was this unconscious denial of his emotions that would eventually trap this prince.

The woman frowned slightly. "My dear, I believe that is something to do tomorrow. Now is a time of rest and recovery. Your body is important, did you know?"

"It is not necessary to waste time."

"Your highness..."

"What are you doing?" asked a low voice from behind, sending chills down Vincent's back. If the appearance of this woman didn't remind him of the past, then this dominating voice that knew no rejection certainly did.

Vincent rigidly turned and politely said, "I am on my way to study."

It was in a manner that one spoke to a Lord they served, rather than a father. Though Vincent had never considered this man as the latter.

"Why are you wasting your time here? Do not bother Anima with your pointless chatter."

Disappointed, and completely void of any care. Once, Vincent — just as Soren felt for his brothers — wanted this man's love. But that once existed so long ago, he'd almost forgotten.

"...I apologize."

Then he stopped as his head lowered, eyes flickering with silent determination. What was he doing, following the wills of the illusion? He'd habitually responded, but this wasn't the past. This wasn't real.

He could break this nightmare.

His head jerked up in realization as a glimmer of expression crossed his face. Anima's eyes widened slightly, and if she were alive, she would've told Vincent that emotions looked wonderful on him.

He would have avoided her, as he did in the past.

Because all that he knew, everything that he was, was the proper and regal first prince of the kingdom, one who knew no weakness. Especially if that weakness was in the emotions he abandoned.

"Lady Amina," said Vincent slowly, watching the King's face turn dark and threatening. There was a question he wanted to ask long ago — to this woman who was like a mother to him. "Would you like some tea?"

A single offer, for the countless rejections he had made in the past.

And there it was, that smile so angelic that anybody couldn't help but agree. For Vincent, who knew no love, her subtle existence had been important to him.

But before she could utter any words, the world faded away, stripped into a darkness he was quite used to. Dozens of paths stretched out before him, outlined by a faint glow of white. This time, he looked down at his hands and hesitated.

For a second, even after reminding himself, he had forgotten that it was an illusion.

His fingers curled and he straightened his back, walking forward into the darkness. There was still a foolish little brother he had to find, somewhere in these endless pathways.

Then he stopped, jerked back by a rattling chain plastered on his ankle, cold and unforgiving. The more he tried to step forward, the more chains would latch, dragging him back.

The King's voice echoed in the silent airs around him like a mantra.

'Do not show any weakness, Vincent. That is unbefitting of a King.’

Those were the words the young Vincent had heard on his fifth birthday, after wanting to celebrate with his siblings. But the joyful happiness for those days that he'd witnessed along the streets was not one he was allowed.

'Do you want to help him? With your ability, can you do anything? In order to save something, Vincent, you must abandon all feeling.’

Those were the words he was told after watching Soren's helpless tumble with a sword from his lonely windows.

'You want to protect them? Don't be ridiculous. Reach a position worthy of saying such things, Vincent.’

Those were the words he was reminded of, every time he wanted to stretch his hand out.

'Sacrifice your freedom, become so excellent all eyes can only be on you. That way, your brothers may live as they please and I will not interrupt them. You are not necessary for their happiness.’

And this became the wall that separated him from everybody else.

The first time he had turned his gaze away from those pale blue eyes, away from those tender hands, he had gritted his teeth and walked away hastily. The second time, he couldn't bear to make eye contact.

But the third was easier, and eventually, it became so natural that Vincent allowed any care that he had to sink.

If he clipped his own wings, would the others be allowed to fly?

He never doubted that his siblings would reach places so high that nobody would be able to touch them. And so he continued to play his role in this Kingdom, shackled by rules, both self-inflicted and told.

A light rained down before him, away in the darkness. His eyes are naturally drawn to the figure strewn on the floor, and his finger twitched.

An illusion.

He was rational, calm and would not act rashly.

Yet as he drew closer and recognized a familiar figure, paler than it had ever been and lifeless as it was draped across the darkness, he found himself running.

Soren Rosenbaum was dead.

That was a lie. It was not a memory he recalled having, but as his hands awkwardly touched the lifeless corpse, he paled. This was not the ending he ever intended for, and it could not be an ending.

It was his mind playing tricks on him.

He swallowed harshly. Breathe, observe. What could he see, what could he do? It was not the time to be emotional, even if he felt his chest rise rapidly, felt his fingers dig into his palms.

He was calm. He had to be.

Always.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and knelt on one knee. His thoughts were in a tangled mess, and what he knew and what he did no longer connected.

With shaky fingers, he placed the cold hand against his forehead.

"I am sorry." said the man through closed eyes, clumsily grasping the hand.

"I am sorry, Soren. Irrevocably so."

The words felt strange on his tongue, stirring the turbulent wave of feeling he had locked away long ago.

"I beg for your forgiveness." continued the man with such honesty that his words trembled. "But if you do not give it, then... that is fine too."

"Please wake up..."

These words were unsuited for him, he thought vaguely. They were not ones he deserved to say, nor ones that he should. Yet they spilled from his lips with such ease he couldn’t stop himself.

"...little brother."