Path of the Extra

The birds chirped. The sun shone. The leaves were a bright, ordinary green—the familiar cliché of a beautiful, average day.

In the vast gardens, where the trees grew in ordered rows, dozens of groundskeepers moved about their work.

“Have you seen the young prince?” a maid asked, stopping another along the gravel path. Worry pinched her voice.

The other maid’s face tightened as well, but she shook her head.

“No. Why—is Lady Amaya searching for him again?”

“Yes.” The first maid nodded, flustered.

“I thought I saw him a moment ago, but I lost him. Lady Amaya will be furious if I don’t find him soon…”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up. It’s just him being mischievous again.”

The first maid sighed and pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“I only wish he were as obedient as Her Highness. Look at her—perfect. Smart, strong, talented, beloved… and His Highness—well, the rumors about him are just getting worse by the day.”

“Shh! Are you mad?” The second maid darted a look around.

“If anyone hears you—and word reaches Lady Amaya—she won’t fire you, she’ll kill you.”

Both went a shade paler.

“I—I’m only saying…” The first maid glanced left and right. Seeing no one close, she leaned in and whispered, “There are rumors he’s seen sneaking out at night. They say he goes to drink, to meet women… even to start fights.”

“I’ve heard that too,” the second murmured.

“Honestly, what is he thinking? With Her Highness as a role model, he still doesn’t learn. Lady Amaya and Their Majesties are too lenient. If they were stricter, he might have grown into someone respectable. Even if his talent is less than Her Highness’s, it’s still higher than most.”

“Well, he certainly acts spoiled, always causing trouble for Lady Amaya. Why is she looking for him this time?”

The first maid’s expression dimmed.

“His Majesty wants him to accompany him to a military base near the European border. His Highness has somehow heard and is avoiding Lady Amaya so she can’t pressure him into going.”

“What a troublesome boy… I’m only glad he wasn’t chosen as the heir. He’s not suited to lead us.”

“Even if it had been a competition, defeating Her Highness, Princess Jasmine, would have been a dream for someone as lazy and undisciplined as him.”

And so they talked—like everyone always did. People went about their tasks, traded quiet jokes, and fed each other crumbs of gossip. It was entertainment. It was how the day passed.

Not far from the garden’s edge, where no workers wandered and the trees grew close, a boy lay along a thick branch, high above the grass. A book rested open in his hands. He had short black hair and red eyes. Thirteen—perhaps fourteen. A harmless-looking boy, easy on the eyes.

“They never shut up, do they…”

The words were cruel, cold, and merciless—yet they did not come from the young prince, Azriel Crimson. They came from another boy, a few years older, leaning with his back against the trunk of Azriel’s tree, an apple in his hand, chewing lazily.

“To be so rude to their prince—Crimson servants are full of themselves. If they were mine, and they didn’t know their place or how to hold their tongues, I’d have their heads on spikes or feed them to void creatures.”

“But they aren’t your servants, Lioren. They’re of my clan. So you’d better behave.”

Azriel turned a page as he spoke, unhurried. Lioren didn’t bristle; he only kept chewing.

“And besides,” Azriel added, “if you want to do me a favor, stop visiting me in secret.”

“What tragic hospitality you offer, Azriel. Is this how you treat every guest, or just me? I’d think I deserve better treatment—at least while you’re borrowing that priceless void artifact hiding in your pants that masks your mana-core rank from everyone, even the Crimson King and Queen.”

Azriel rolled his eyes and lowered them to the book again.

“Let’s not pretend you’re here for me,” he said.

“You’re hoping I’ll share something useful about my sister. After all these years, you still haven’t learned. Is wasting time your hobby, Lioren?”

For a heartbeat, Lioren’s chewing paused at the mention of Jasmine. Then quiet settled: Lioren finished his apple with his eyes closed; Azriel read.

When Lioren tossed the bare core aside, he sighed.

“Actually, I came for a serious reason.”

Azriel only hummed and kept reading. Lioren’s eyes narrowed.

“The Oracle visited me yesterday—in secret—and asked me to deliver a prophecy to you.”

Azriel’s hand stalled on the page. He chuckled, still not looking up.

“Right. Your heart finally melted? I didn’t think you could joke—though it’s a poor one.”

But Lioren’s stare didn’t move. A minute passed. Then two. Then three. Then four. By five, Azriel frowned and glanced over, grumbling, “…Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“So the Oracle visited you in secret to deliver a prophecy about me?”

Lioren nodded.

“The Oracle told me to bring you a message.”

“And they couldn’t do it themselves? The Oracle’s afraid to meet me?”

Lioren raked a hand through his hair; when he spoke again, his tone was even more flat and cold.

“If you go to that military base next week, you will undoubtedly die.”

Azriel closed the book and pushed himself upright on the branch, legs dangling. He looked at Lioren, serious now.

“Is that so…”

Lioren inclined his head and recited:

“On the seventh rise of the sun, the moon shall weep, and the sun shall bear witness to the world’s cruelty. Death will watch in silence. Time shall hold its breath. Fate will flee. The threads shall sever, the cogs shall crumble. Fear will reign, and neither man nor beast shall save the young Prince of Crimson from the loss of his life and his home.”

Azriel’s face gave little away.

“If you want to live,” Lioren said, “tell King Joaquin you can’t go. Any excuse will do.”

“No,” Azriel answered quietly.

Lioren tilted his head.

“No?”

“Yeah. No. I’m going to that base.”

Lioren frowned.

“You weren’t interested before. Now I tell you you’ll die, and suddenly you want to go?”

Azriel nodded.

“I don’t believe in the Oracle or their prophecies. I didn’t want to go, but now I definitely do. I’ll prove this Oracle is bullshit by going and coming back alive.”

“And how will you do that? What if there is a genuine threat to your life?”

“There isn’t. I won’t come to harm.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“…Because my father will be there.”

Lioren’s brows rose.

“You’re willing to stake your life on King Joaquin being there to save you from whatever happens?”

Azriel nodded again. He looked past Lioren to the far horizon, and his voice softened.

“He will save me. I’m his son… I’m sure he will.”

“To place your faith in a father who’s given you so little of his attention,” Lioren said, “isn’t wise. What makes you so certain he cares enough to risk his life for yours?”

“I told you. I’m his son,” Azriel said.

“That should be reason enough.”

“Like it has been until now?”

Azriel pressed his lips together.

Lioren sighed.

“Your starvation for affection will be your undoing.”

“You won’t change my mind.”

“You will die, no matter what hope or delusion you cling to. The Oracle’s prophecies have never been false.”

Azriel scoffed.

“Then let’s make a bet.”

“A bet?”

Azriel smirked at him.

“If I go and survive, you owe me. One thing—anything I ask. No matter what it is.”

“And if you go and die? How am I meant to gain anything if you’re too dead for it?”

Azriel’s smirk widened.

“Then your prize will already be waiting.”

“What is it?”

“My sister. She’ll need someone to comfort her if I die. Wouldn’t that be the perfect chance—after all these years—for you to win her favor?”

Lioren looked away, thinking, then said at last,

“…You can be cruel. Twisted, even. Very well. I accept.”

He turned back, eyes emptied of anything readable.

“Whatever happens, I warned you, Azriel.”

*****

The fated day had arrived.

Inside the suite of an officially recognized seven-star hotel, Azriel stepped out of the shower and dried his hair with a towel. He was alone, wearing a plain black bathrobe. When he finished, he tossed the soaked towel aside and poured himself a glass of apple juice.

He lifted the glass—then paused, sighing in annoyance.

“It’s getting to the point where I wonder if you’re in love with me instead of my sister.”

Azriel turned, took a sip, and found Lioren leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with an unreadable expression.

“Where is King Joaquin?” Lioren asked.

“He stepped out to handle a few affairs. He’ll be back within the hour. Then we will head to the military base on the border.”

As Azriel answered, Lioren closed the distance until they were an arm’s length apart. He opened his mouth, shut it, and Azriel tilted his head.

“What is it?”

This time Lioren spoke.

“Don’t go.”

Azriel frowned.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re going to chicken out because I might win.”

“Don’t go,” Lioren repeated, unbothered.

“Forget the bet. It isn’t worth it. There’s still time to set things right before the prophecy is fulfilled.”

“…You really believe I’ll die, don’t you?”

“I do.”

He didn’t hesitate. The Oracle had never lied.

“Then tell me,” Azriel said.

“What could possibly kill me when my father will be there?”

“I thought about that,” Lioren said.

“And I think I know the answer.”

He paused—a rare hesitation from the cold, emotionless heir—then he said,

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing can kill you—since the Crimson King will be there to protect you.”

“So you admit I’m safe?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“But who’s to say King Joaquin will protect you?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“The other great kings are on their own territory—I checked. There’s no irregular activity across Asia, and nothing inside Europe. The only logical conclusion is that… your own father, King Joaquin, will be the one to kill you.”

“…!”

Azriel’s eyes flew wide.

“You… do you understand what you’re saying?”

“I do.” Lioren nodded.

“And it’s the only answer that fits. King Joaquin will kill you—whether with his own hands or by dressing it up as an accident. It will be him.”

To accuse a king. To accuse a father. In front of the prince—his son.

Azriel’s grip tightened around the glass.

“I don’t believe it.”

“You should. Our fathers don’t make mistakes, Azriel. Your death today won’t be one.”

Azriel lowered his gaze to the juice, his reflection wavering in the surface. Lioren turned toward the door.

“Let’s go. There’s still time to get you out. We can invent an excuse later. For now, your survival comes first.”

As Lioren reached for the handle, Azriel’s voice cut the air, chilling and dark.

“Why do you care?”

Lioren stopped but didn’t turn. Azriel went on, each word deliberate:

“Why do you care if I die today—or if my father kills me? You’d only benefit if I died. Everyone would. My death should mean nothing to you.”

Lioren didn’t speak, didn’t move.

A small, disbelieving laugh slipped from Azriel.

“You… you care about me, don’t you? That’s why you’re here—because you’re worried?”

At last Lioren faced him. His handsome features were still composed, blank.

“Care about you? Am I worried? Is that the reason?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because I don’t know.”

“How should I know?”

“…I thought I was here because you’re Jasmine’s little brother. But… is there another reason?” Lioren tilted his head, eyes narrowing in thought.

“Do I see you as a friend, perhaps?”

“Shouldn’t you know that?”

“I suppose. Then again, I’ve never had anyone to call a friend.”

“Yeah. I can relate.”

Lioren sighed.

“This is a useless detour from what matters.” He reset his tone.

“Let’s g—”

“No.”

Azriel cut him off. Lioren’s eyes narrowed.

“I won’t go. Even if you cancel the bet, I won’t go.”

“Why?”

What reason was there to go? To test a prophecy? To test whether his father would protect him—or kill him?

“I… don’t know.”

All Azriel knew was that he just had to go, no matter what, no matter the outcome.

*****

The room still smelled of fire. The flames were out now, leaving only char and wreckage—a mess of blackened walls and broken things. On the half-burned bed, Jasmine and Azriel sat side by side. A heavy, cold silence pressed between them; they didn’t quite face each other, each avoiding the other’s tear-streaked eyes.

At last, Azriel wet his cracked lips and spoke, his voice was hoarse and low.

“I suppose I should start at the beginning—but there is no beginning, not really…”

Jasmine lifted her chin and finally looked at him. Her face was empty of expression. She studied the angle of his profile as he went on, a bitter smile tugging at his mouth.

“There is… no beginning. There is no end. And in more ways than I’d like, I… I think am responsible. I don’t remember the other terrible mistakes I’ve committed—across timelines, across lives—so.. I’ll just tell you… everything I do remember.”

He turned toward her finally as well, his smile fading into sorrow.

“There… there was once a boy from… another world whose name was Leo… Leo Karumi.”