Rion's Hidden Stories

Chapter 1: The Wolf's Gaze (No.01)

Silver dashed through the snow-powdered wood, chasing down prey so she might feed her hungry children.

How old was I when I first read this book?

I'm looking at a picture book
about a wolf who takes in abandoned human children, giving a kind of home to the otherwise helpless creatures. I loved it as a child, and found myself reading it over and over again.

Why am I reading this book now?

The wolf's skills grew sharper with age. Her eyes were ice, her claws razors. The rocky, snowy terrain posed no hazard for her, and within moments, she had a single rabbit wedged between her teeth.

Where does this book take place?

Though the wolf was powerful, she was also kind. In the beginning, it troubled her how the children wailed without pause and refused the meat she provided, but her spirit never broke. She began to skin the rabbits, cutting their flesh into tiny pieces before chewing it and presenting the results to her changeling pups. And after some time, human and animal slowly came to understand one another.

I keep reading the book, but still don't understand what's going on. Then a voice from behind me, sudden. I begin to turn around, hoping to find the source, when it dawns on me:

Oh. Right. I'm dreaming.

My mother had departed the world when I was young, but at this moment, she's talking to me. Looking at me with her soft, kind eyes.

That's right. We read it together.

Why did it take me so long to realize this was a dream?

At the end of this book, humans kill the wolf in an attempt to protect the children. The same creatures who abandoned their own offspring in the woods hunt down and kill the beast that attempts to care for them. They hold the children at bay as they reach for her, and sing praises for justice as they slaughter the passive animal.

This part always bothered me when I was young. I'd been unable to accept it, and remember asking my mother why the wolf didn't fight back when she had been in the right. "I suppose that's just how mothers are,” she replied after a moment of thought. I didn't understand back then—in fact, her response made me angry. But when my mother saw my reaction, she only smiled.

I have been dreaming.

I have been dreaming of memories long past.

Chapter 2: Eye and Steel (No.02)

I am dreaming.

I am dreaming of the day my mother and my younger self were reading a book together, and my heart quivers as I see her for the first time in many, many years.

I am dreaming of the day my mother and my younger self were reading a book together, and my heart quivers as I see her for the first time in many, many years.

When I was exiled, I had no time to gather photographs or keepsakes—there was time only to run. But I happened across the clipping while making my escape and snatched it up, and it has never left my side since.

The woman in the photograph, however, is not the mother I knew so well. I do not see her gentle smile or her kind eyes— I see only the regality of a queen. Yet even knowing this—and knowing I am in a dream—I desire to speak with her above all else. But despite my fervent wish, my mother's face shifts like smoke in the dusk, and the closer I tried to study her, the hazier her visage becomes.

The next thing I know, I am standing in a different place: a hallway filled with the acrid tang of metal and cordite.

There is something strange about the way I am viewing the world, and after a moment I realize my eye level is different than it had been. I am taller now, viewing a memory of a different time.

I look around and take in my surroundings. Before me stands a great window filled with massive panes of glass; beyond are row upon row of guns belonging to the clockwork soldiers. They resemble human arms, and the way they are spaced equally apart disturbs me in a way I cannot easily explain.

Beside me, another figure observes the laboratory. It is none other than my father— the king of our country.

Ah. I see now. This is the day we visited the clockwork laboratory.

One after the other, the metal arms let fly a bullet. Each time, the researchers write something down, fiddle with this or that, then reload and repeat the experiment. It is what my father calls "fire-control systems research,” and I find it equal parts fascinating and horrifying.

I spent more time with Father after Mother passed. I wonder what he had thought about that?

My father was never much of a talker, but I don't recall him uttering a single word about my mother's death. The question of why this is sits quietly in my mind as we stand in the laboratory, but eventually I find myself inquiring about another matter:

"Why did we start conducting research into clockwork soldiers, Father?"

I don't really care about this matter. I just want to talk about something, anything. I want to hear my father speak, because if he does, maybe it will lessen the gnawing fear of him that sits eternally in my heart. But his answer only stokes the flame of my disconcert:

"One's superiors do not often give their answers,” he says. "I am a superior to all— including you—yet one day this crown will lie upon your brow. Perhaps I will hear your thoughts of this matter at some point.”

Without waiting for a reply, my father turns on a heel and departs.

But can I follow him?

Do I even have the right?

Chapter 3: Dark Eyes (No.03)

I dreamt of my past: memories of my mother, recollections of my father.

Rarely did I dream after I left on my journey; days of my childhood, images that paid me a visit for the first time in many years, were enough to fill me with nostalgia. The sensation was so powerful, the time back then so different from now, that it almost caused me to raise whines of misery.

I wondered if what my mother said to me back then was true. I wondered what my father was thinking about when he spoke to me that day.

As the questions from my dream arose, the sight before me warped once again. Heaven and earth flipped; light and shadow melded.

Would these be memories of another time?

The next thing I know, I'm standing in a run-down shack. Before me I see someone's back, one I am familiar with. I know right away what this is—I am in the process of repairing his clockwork body.

“I am sorry, my prince.” There is a slight crackle to the voice I hear from over his shoulder—dust must have gotten into his sound box.

But it's my fault that he was injured. My symptoms had gotten worse, and he had taken a blow meant for me instead. I couldn't fault him for that. I tell him that I should be the one apologizing, but he shoots me down. He is so kind to me, and that's why...

...That's why I'd been wondering this whole time if I'm just a burden to him.

He supports me, and so is doing all he can to help stop the war. He is powerful, yet gentle— I always wonder if there had been a different, more effective path that he could take to make my vision a reality.

All I can do for him is repair his clockwork mechanisms. And if I were ever to teach someone else how to do it, then he would have no more use for me.

The unease bubbles within me and I give it voice: "Should you really be accompanying me on my journey, for the sake of my dreams?"

He falls silent, shocked. Terrified of the quiet, I immediately apologize, but the silence still hangs heavy over us.

He says nothing. Nervous, I lean over and peer at him... to find that his eyes had gone dark and still, his operations ceased.

My unusual question had caused an error in his operations that day.

I reprimanded myself: I shouldn't bring these sort of things up during repairs, and frantically returned to my work.

And so, I never heard what his answer had been to my question.

Chapter 4: Closed Eyes (No.04)

Dreams come to me, one after the next. I dream of life when I was young, of things that have recently happened—all of them moments important to me. And yet, why do I dream of such things now?

Pain steals my consciousness, wiping away my thoughts. The sights before me slowly fade away. Now I understand: I'm waking up.

I slowly lift my eyelids, but can no longer I sit up. In fact, I can scarcely move. The pain is a weight that shackles me to this place. I had forgotten all about these things in my dreams: the ruined church, the illness that prevents me from moving. Ah, if only it was a dream.

Though my eyes can barely focus, I see a figure move. The brim of his hat is wide and round, and he peers at me with worry. It is clear he has been watching over me even as I dreamed. I want to speak to him, but my strained throat can produce nothing but a harsh rasp. It seems our days of long, fulfilling chats are now over.

As I tense, he lifts me into his arms and sets me down atop an old, weathered pew. My body relaxes as I sink into it. It's much easier to breathe here than when I'm leaning against the wall, and I'm so relaxed I have trouble keeping myself awake. Yet despite my newfound ease, I am still unable to produce any kind of sound.

Suddenly, a thought enters my mind, as true thing as I have ever experienced: If I close my eyes now, they will never open again. And so I muster all of my strength to force out a sound. I have to speak to him. I must.

He has traveled with me across land and time.

He is my best friend.

And this is the end.

"Thank you"

"I'm sorry."

At last, I manage four meager words. He initially tries stop me as I desperately reach for my voice, but then falls into silent thought. Finally, after a long pause, he says:

"――――――――――――――"

Alas, my ears can no longer hear his words. But strangely, I know his message regardless.

Thank you, I say to myself. Thank you I say, repeating the words over and over in my mind like a mantra until sleep finally steals up and claims me.

In the end, my dreams never came true; I was not powerful enough to end our endless wars. And yet, there were people who stood by my ideals. Not many, of course, but some of them eventually agreed to form a third party that could act as mediators for various warring nations. They were small in scope, and it would be a long while before they had the pull to bring negotiations to other countries. But I had lit the spark. And hopefully, that spark would one day burn brighter than any fire of war and bring peace to the world.

I want to believe this. For the sake of all those days I spent traveling with him, I want to believe it more than anything.

Chapter 5: Throne in the Sky (No.05)

Oh, you want to know more about him? He was born the eldest son and first prince of a royal family. When he was young, his father started a war, but he was a kind boy who found this hard to accept. I hear he wanted to preserve peace for the people, so he turned his back on his country. Isn't it nice he got to choose a life for himself?

Sadly, he took after his sickly mother. His physical condition—coupled with his kind, pacifist disposition— made him unpopular with ministers, soldiers, and his own father. Even the citizens occasionally besmirched him, asking him to stop blindly believing in the good of people's hearts.

But even with all that, Mama thinks his thoughts and words saved a great many people. If he ever became king... No. It's because he never became a king that he was who he was.

Chapter 6: Kingship (No.06)

My son was born today—our first child. Under normal circumstances, the emergence of the nation's new prince would have been welcome news. But right after the birth, both mother and boy were taken to the medical facility.

Knowing they are in danger of losing their lives reminds me how fortunate they are to even draw breath, for the burden birth places on the body has claimed countless lives. Yet she understood this, which is why she gave me the throne that day.

And yet, I cannot help but think on how she paid a great price for our child. How was he going to live? What would he bring to this country?

I looked at his face before they were taken away. The way she smiled at me, in both pain and joy, would not permit me to dismiss such thoughts.

Chapter 7: Voice Memo: ff7119 (No.07)

[Sounds of a campfire]

"So whatcha think of that prince?"

"You mean the philanthropist kid?"

"Yeah. Him. Whenever he opens his mouth, all these sweet little ideas come pouring out—ideas almost as sweet as his face. A world without war? Ha! Easy for him to say."

[Sounds of silverware being thrown]

"Kid's heart's in the right place, but he don't understand reality. Got no interest in risking my ass for a general like that."

"How hell are we supposed to feed ourselves in a world with no war, anyway?"

"Right? Who's gonna hire a couple'a old farts like us what only know how to fight?"

[Laughter]
[END RECORDING]

Chapter 8: Little Brother (No.08)

When I coughed at the ceremony this morning, my younger brother gently rubbed my back. Father didn't even try to hide his annoyance.

That brother—the second prince—is the only one who bothers to show me kindness. Of all us brothers, I am the only one with a different mother. Though the eldest, I am sickly, which makes me seem terribly unreliable. Yet here I am, next in line for the throne—and I cannot imagine my younger brothers being happy with the prospect.

But I will not give up, for how can I hope to eliminate war among nations if I cannot resolve quarrels among brothers?

My first task is to become closer to the second prince— he who treats me most favorably. I feel certain he will listen to my ideas.

Chapter 9: To the Young Leader (No.09/10)

Forgive me for writing you a lousy goodbye letter on the day you leave. I would've gone to see you off in person if it weren't for this damn job.

I wanted to talk to you about the formation of a neutral organization to address international warfare. I'm sorry my country couldn't work with you; what power I do have holds little sway over people at the top of the food chain.

I know this doesn't make up for things, but I pulled some strings to secure the medicine enclosed in this letter. It helps with coughs, heart palpitations, and chest pains, and while it's not a cure, it should at least make things a little easier for you. I'm sorry this is all I can do, but I really hope it helps.

On a side note, I want you to know how much you motivate me. You're younger than I am, yet you work twice as hard—so I'm going to take a page from that book and do what I can to earn more power within my own parliament!

I'm really looking forward to the day we can sit down and talk about the future together. Until then.

Chapter 10: Recording 93a6ab (No.10/10)

"Yeah, that kid in the old church? I think he died."

[BACKGROUND TAVERN CHATTER]

"You mean that kid you went out to check on that one time? I got a real kick outta that, by the way—look at you, actin' like some kinda saint."

"Yeah, that's the one. I haven't seen that dude who used to bring him food every day, either. Considering the kid's state, I'm betting he didn't just get better and move on."

[ICE CLINKING AGAINST GLASS]

"Rumors say he's the prince who was exiled from the kingdom."

"Hard to know considering how gaunt his face was, but I guess he looked similar—and if it is him, he'll likely be carrying valuables. Probably wouldn't be hard to secure, given his condition."

"...Well, let's find out."

[GLASS CLINKING AGAINST GLASS]

[END OF RECORDING]

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