Youth isn't complete without a dark history

Everyone had roles in life. There were those placed upon our shoulders from birth and there were those that come to us later in life. There were those we could put down and there were those that we were forced to take up.

It was when Hale became 10 that a new role came to him like a bolt from the blue.

Before his life was turned inside out, the boy was just the sweet second child to his parents and a playful brother to his siblings. A mischievous student to his tutors and a considerate master to the servants. Very much like any noble child that dotted (really, it was high time they adopted better birth control methods from the humans or anima) the Phasm Empire and Hale’s birthday banquet hall.

The number ‘0’ held significance in phasm beliefs, so children of nobility with territory or of families with some prestige would hold a celebration when their age reached a multiple of ten… should they not wish to be a side dish of gossip on the dinner tables of people with nothing better to discuss. Though, if Hale had known that that day would remain an unerasable dark history in his life, he would rather be called a beggar or an uncouth lout for not holding a banquet.

Ornate chandeliers, sticking out like a sore thumb from the simpler decor the rest of the hall had, hung from high ceilings with plaster moldings. Should a guest observe the constructs with a vague floral motif, they would find white patches sitting on the off-white plaster—the result of hastily patching cracks and broken bits the day before. Tapestries depicting the rich phasm history adorned choice sections of the walls, hiding the seams of damask wallpaper that didn’t quite align.

Long tables sit on one side, carrying lavish food that were the painstaking efforts of chefs sent by the palace. But the vicinity was deserted because everyone was crowded around the center of the venue, their attention drawn to the 2 protagonists of the evening.

Someone’s breath hitched when the boy lifted his head, finishing up the informal but impeccable half-bow appropriate for a person below his status. Slanted beams of light from the tall windows seemed to be attracted to the youth, casting a cold glow on his fair hair and skin. The maturity in his crimson eyes was at odds with the smooth face that still carried baby fat. Had he not moved to signal a servant, he might have been mistaken to be a beautiful statue, every bit lovingly crafted by the Creator.

The difference was even more pronounced as he stood before Hale, who looked every inch the nervous child dying to be done with this. The older boy was part of the envoys sent by the Daemon Federation on the latest diplomatic mission. The daemons valued ability above everything, including age, and it was testament to Norte’s talent that all 5 realms knew his name.

So why did a person of his caliber come to this backwater manor for the birthday of some unaccomplished second child? Hale would love to know the answer too. Hale’s family, the Tenebrises, hearing that the daemon delegation was still in the capital, sent an invitation out of courtesy. It was just the polite thing to do and they neither wanted, nor expected, to receive a positive reply a week ago. It didn't help that the other disinterested invitees, upon hearing the news, also decided to come and take a look at the famous Norte.

Thus began a mad scramble to spruce up the shabby room, re-educate the lax staff on etiquette and make sure everything was of standard... or at least as high as what an ordinary Earl family with shallow pockets and little time could do. Then when the palace sent personnel such as chefs and musicians—a warning disguised as aid—to the Tenebris manor, the family further realized the severity of things and trembled in fear that any mistakes made might escalate into a diplomatic problem. Thankfully, the celebration neared its end without any major hiccup.

The Tenebris couple nodded encouragingly to Hale as he mentally ran through the steps of receiving a gift and showing gratitude to dignitaries while brainwashing himself that he was more cool-headed than a water ghost in winter. Norte’s attendant opened a luxurious gift box with gold decorations in a similar tone as Hale’s eyes. The guests craned their necks discreetly and saw 5 spheres of different colors, each appearing to contain a galaxy.

“Paperweight… dwarvish craft… realm… Orbs…”

Hale wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep but the description from the daemon attendant was slowly drowned out by the growing tinnitus in his ears. Sweat formed on his morbidly pale skin and his heart raced as though a grim reaper was after it, only to stop abruptly when it realized running was futile.

“Hale… nebris!”

As surprise took over Norte’s features, Hale’s last thought before blacking out was:

Was he really Hale Tenebris?