The Hollow Prince - The World of Syphora

It was a dark and stormy night. A night in which no stars nor moon blessed the earth below. Rainfall thrummed against each small home and hut throughout the settlement. A small encampment, bordering that of a village if not for the poverty and refugees that stayed within its boundary. An ever-diminishing population as sickness took those too weak, while those stronger fought in their own ways to live. Camp Creissant was its title, albeit known far and few between. Even those within its boundary lost memory of its name, let alone any penny pincher beyond. Located along the outskirts of a nothing kingdom in a nothing land with nothing to offer them besides a pathetic attempt at living in a world which sought to spit them out. A people who lived in anger, agony, and spite. This night was no different than any other. As common storm clouds hovered overhead, many laid restless that night. Torncloth civilians roamed the streets, desperate to forage and sell. Thievery of what little food snuck its way into the camp, as well as murder within its own imaginative walls. It was a true world in which the strong survived above the weak. Some had homes; buildings—a farmhouse, a cobble house, or a ruptured church. Others, a tent, a pig pen, or the mud of the streets. None were even in their wealth. Among many were families—those who sought new lives, or escaped past ones, in pursuit of something more. Many faced hardships and loss. Forgotten fathers, dying mothers, siblings who only had one another to hold. None were perfect. The screams of an angry mother drowned out by the crackle of thunder. The crying of a hapless child muffled through pounding rain. A hell, curated upon a sick world. “Must you fail at **everything**?!” came a shout, sifting through the thunder. “Pathetic. Worthless. **Vile**!” A sharp tongue. Sharper than any snake, harsher than any devil. Words that spilled from cracked, angry lips. They meant nothing. Not anymore. An expression of grief. Rage. Envy. A meaningless outcry centred upon a lost and pathetic young boy. Rainwater streaked down his body, droplets falling off a mess of silver hair, bloodlets dripping down pale, withered skin. Watching as a woman expressed her distaste. A common sight. “All you’re good for is keeping us **fed**, yet you still fuck. That. Up!” Another shout. “I should never have birthed you. Pathetic swine,” it continued. “All you have done is ruin my life. Once I was beautiful. Sought after. The men would always feed me. And now look at me! My body is disgusting, because of *you*. All they do now is look upon me with disgust. As though *I’m* the muddy pig. All because something like you came out of me. Some gross, foul, ***vile*** little ***monster***.” “Disgusting.” The child listened. A pain that had become numb. He learned that no matter what, the pain came. Words meant little, actions meant less. The boy was lesser. Than human, than elf, than any roiling animal that bathed in blood and filth. He was no more than a gutted fish with no eyes. “Yet here you are. A poor excuse of a son. *Tch*, If I could call you that,” it continued. “You’re nothing but a fish with no eyes. Worthless. Pathetic. You can’t even get your *mother* the food she needs. Food that I *should* have. You took *everything* from me. EVERYTHING.” “You are mud. A halfbreed of pathetic *nothing*.” “You will die a nobody, in a nothing camp, with nothing.” “You will die.” The words rang out in his mind. He knew he was not long for this world. This tired, hopeless world. He sat backwards now, back to the wall. To his chair. Empty eyes peered upwards. A reminiscence of what once was. A longing for more. The boy knew the life he led now. The excuse of one he left beyond. All of the lives he had bear witness to for eons. ***Smack!*** He returned. A daze sounding through a weakened skull as dull pain sizzled throughout nerves. He was on the ground. Dirt. A sore cheek, disembodied shouting echoing beyond his mind. The ringing in his ears rendered the woman useless. Worthless. Pathetic. A tightness formed. His ear. Empty eyes moved, meeting rage. Heat. Anger. A mother. His… No. A woman. “*These*,” it continued. “Horrible, *vile* ears. Even cut like this.. You still aren’t human. Still a disgusting. Repulsive monster. *I hate you*.” Hate. An emotion. To hate. To have an intense passion for dislike towards something. Someone. An emotion. He wondered just what that was like. To hate. “*I hope you die*.” Last words. A phrase. The final thing you hear somebody say before they’re gone. The last words that ring throughout an eternal mind before the embrace of death. The boy was on the ground now. No longer sitting. No longer listening. There was no point. He would die. They would all die. Everybody. Will die. It took only an hour. A dream come true. The boy was dreaming. A life beyond the circle of the one he held. A death beyond the understanding he knew. A change that he never sought to be possible. Blood. Thunder. Screams. Rain. Pain. Laughter. Pain. Screams. Pain. All the boy felt was pain. It was as though his body was alight. A burning that tinged the core. A soul once broken torched into an agony beyond thought. The earth beneath him. The air around him. They suffocated him. Felt their force ripping into his skin, his blood, his body. A sensation that screamed. He screamed. For the first time, the boy felt it. Emotions. Fingertips dug into earth. Into rock. A lifeless body rising as the world weaved beneath his fingers—as he breathed it into his very lungs. It was a sensation unlike any other before. A sensation that only he felt. Vacant eyes stared onwards. All he saw was blood. Hatred. Despair. A massacre. Humans gutted, monsters speared. Cowering. The boy witnessed blades. The sinking of flesh, the crunching of bones. A massacre. His body screamed. Pain erupted through his lungs. His skin. Light loomed through his fingertips, radiance that threatened to tear flesh and bone. Eyes once dormant now alight—*burned*. A rush of adrenaline, a cry of immaterial hormones. A rainbow of energy. An eruption. A tearing of flesh, a shattering of glass. A darkness that took hold. The boy awoke. Unaware of the carnage. Unprepared of the change. Darkened eyes opened, one burning, at a greeting. A woman gone. But another, present. A woman emerges. A mother. A new voice, unrecognized. Clean skin, clean clothes. Beautiful eyes, a caring embrace. Curved horns, strange flesh, pointed ears. She spoke to him. Of reassurance, of honesty, of love. “My God, are you okay? Are you hurt?” came a soft voice. “Can you walk? Here, please, let me help you, sweetheart.” She helped him. She nursed him. Vacant, hollow eyes stared at her for a millennia. A kindness the boy had never seen. Care he could never imagine. Trust he could never give fell solely upon her. As motherly hands fell upon a tortured vessel, his own found themselves gripping cloth. Scared eyes peered into ones of sympathy. A single, solemn tear ran down a pale cheek. A knocking. A jolting. Vacant eyes snapping back to reality as fingers gripped an ink pen. A mess of dark black hair fell down a pale neck. A wordless glance towards a dark wood door as it threatened silence. The creaking of an entrance, wood and hinges screaming to allow the door to open inwards. “Hello,” came a voice, soft and airy. “I just wanted to come and check on you. How might your studies be coming along?” Eyes moved to meet her own—a darkness meeting a welcoming stare. “Th.. they are well,” came a reply, eyes peering downwards to a mess of papers across an intricate desk—symbols and runes in collective groups. “I’m… well.” A smile lifted the cheeks of the woman across the way, exhaling a breath of relief before pulling dark hair behind curved horns. “Good. I’m relieved to hear it,” she replied. “Now, I’m sure you’re mighty busy, but I wanted to let you know that I’ll be procuring a seminar later this evening, and I must insist you come drop by. If not just for a moment.” “Mmm,” the male stalled, a pursing of lips for but a moment as he stared upon unfinished work. “For just a moment, I will try.” “Thank you, dear,” she answered, the smile against her lips growing ever so slightly. “I hope to see you there, my son.” “Yes, of course. I’ll.. do my best to be there, mother.” The screams returned. The hinges faltering as they struggled to keep the door in motion before snapping shut. And thus, the silence began again. Hollow eyes remained fixed on the studies before him. A mess of disorganized, hapless magic. A low, melancholy sigh escaped tired lips. ***Thunk.*** The closing of a book, filled with a documentation of arcane knowledge. His knowledge. The closing of his book; to welcome the opening of another. A new life. A new world. A reality he was in no shape to accept. Yet, he remained. Burdened and broken, and alive. He was alive.