The Butterfly Effect

Everything was normal for about twenty minutes. Then there started to be voices. While he didn’t know who they belonged to, he knew what story they’d be telling. He was relieved to know, judging by the others’ mutually confused expressions, that he was not alone in hearing them—and that they all saw the figures that soon began to form around them.

One darted right past them in a flurry of light brown feathers. It wasn’t real; it was only a projection created by someone else’s magic, easily distinguished as such by the translucence of it. The five of them looked at each other before wordlessly deciding that it might be important and following the figure.

It became more defined as they followed it. In a few moments’ time, it took on the clear form of a fairy: someone with short, curly black hair, a kind of dress he’d only seen in stained glass and textbook illustrations, and a worried expression. She bowed in a seemingly random spot, and after some unheard call to continue, she said gravely, “Bad news, I’m afraid, Your Majesty.”

“Spit it out, then,” came the booming voice. It was the kind of voice that demanded a sense of authority, but not in the relatively friendly way that Casper’s did; no, this was unnervingly similar to Nigel, like a man who knew that no one would—could—stop him.

“The eldest of the two princes… your heir, sire…” She made an attempt to look up at the owner of the voice, wherever he was, but quickly flinched at whatever she saw. “He joined Vriuh this morning.”

The king didn’t say anything for a long time. Then, finally, he mused, “The boy was weak to begin with. Maybe the kingdom would be better off without him… or perhaps it’s Orestis’s way of telling us my kingdom is about to reach its end.”

Everything from the memory faded, except for a single feather from the fairy’s wing. Dimas, like some sort of instinct, started to see where it would go. That gave everyone else (though mainly Imre as the one with the torch) little choice but to follow his example.

It led them to a little chamber, which would have otherwise been unnoticeable compared to the surrounding area. The feather burst into little pieces of light once they got there, and from the sparks several new figures appeared.

Two of them appeared to be kings, both dressed in extravagant manners and having a servant by them. More subtle differences marked them as from different, archaic nations. The one whose daughter—a fairy no older than Samone—stood beside him was, somewhat, recognizable as the antagonist of this tale. But this was while he was still the victim of Darkness, someone that was merely mortal and nothing else.

“Well, Theran, I daresay you’ve lost,” the older, less distinguishable king said in a near teasing tone. “You hardly have anything remaining. Whatever silly advantage you thought you had, you’ve lost it—if you ever had such a thing to begin with. I’ll admit you almost put up a fight in the first few attempts, but it quickly got boring after that. It was like you’d given up before you even started.”

“I don’t remember mentioning in my letter that you should mock me in my own throne room,” Theran responded coldly. “I can’t recall the reason we were fighting each other in the first place. All it would’ve done was bring about tragedies. A king has little place on a throne when his twin would die so young.” His daughter, in an attempt of reassurance, put her hand on his shoulder. He moved his hand up to hers and smiled at her before returning to his visitor. “I will admit defeat. What else could you want from me?”

“You’re quite the spectacle.” The words sounded kind but darker intentions laid beyond them. They weren’t meant for Theran, but rather the girl at his side. “Theran was shunned by the sight of the gods long ago. Yet here you are, a beautiful young lady with hardly a problem to your name. You have yet to die like nearly everyone else he looked after. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Danai herself has petitioned that you be kept in the living realm, as such beauty would be wasted on Death. I might have a wife of my own, but I’m sure my sons would be fighting over each other for someone like you.”

That did nothing but set Theran into a rage. “It wasn’t enough how you’ve given me no choice but to surrender, or wander into my throne room as if you are the king instead of I? You dare ask so casually for my daughter, like she’s simply a jewel you found in the market? I hold some sort of right to deny—“

“Deny me and lose your entire kingdom?” A twisted grin crept its way up the king’s mouth, glaring confidently at Theran. “I would like to remind you that you don’t have the resources to continue this. I’ve given you the option of stopping, and you’ve already agreed to give me whatever else I wanted, yet you don’t like what I ask for. It seems my people and I have been blessed by the gods, every last one of us. We win nearly every battle we fight. We’ve only expanded since my reign. Our families prosper, including my own. Think of all the horrors that might happen to her under your care. My, it’s a wonder she hasn’t been taken away yet! The gods see you and they turn away from everyone around you as well. She’d live rather nicely, given anything she wants and more! With you out of sight, surely the gods would think favorably of her, too.”

Theran, after several moments of silence, only mustered the words, “Get out.”

The king seemed to pay little mind to his tone, casually turning around and waving his hand. “Ah, well. I gave you a chance to end this all fairly, so you can’t say I didn’t. I hope you realize that this means that whatever deal we had is broken, yes?” He let out a chuckle, adding, “I would say expect to be woken up by smoke, but hopefully you join Vriuh before then.” Then he disappeared in the same way as the feather that led up to this scene.

“Oh, Father…” The girl, now sure that they were alone, clung to her father’s arm. “You know I would’ve gone, if that’s what it would’ve taken. I don’t want anyone to get hurt! We’ve already lost so many, I would’ve gladly done it—“

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Anysia,” Theran mumbled in a way that was distant yet still showing his love for his daughter. When she hesitantly pulled away, he got off his throne and started towards the other side of the room. “I’m going to be in the garden for a couple of hours. Be a good girl and don’t interrupt me.”

She stopped trailing after him to give a solemn nod. “Yes, Father.” Then she, too, disappeared. The specks of light that had made up her formed several new, smaller things instead, giving the appearance that Theran now stood in a garden.

He fell to his knees, clutching a kind of age-old chain that only Dimas and Kiah would fully understand the purpose of. It wasn’t much longer until he began his prayer. “He who has created all things, hear my plea: you know I am a humble servant, so why does it feel like you have forsaken me and my people? Why do you look down on me, when I have done nothing wrong? None of us have, yet still I struggle without a hand to guide me! I stand with my daughter a step away from being taken from me, when I have nothing else left but her. If you really stand to protect me, then where are you now? Can’t you see that I have nothing left in me? Would you rather I waste away for things that no one could have stopped? Are you too busy caring for the people like the man who hopes to marry off my daughter that you’ve forsaken me?”

It was a hard thing to listen to, though maybe just as somebody who knew the kind of context behind it. This was a man who knew better than to believe that there was simply nothing, that there were no gods or higher powers; someone who’d been raised by and likely experienced (if not knew someone who did) the words of the gods and the teachings of their commandments. Yet he found himself doubting the only possible thing for him to believe in. In certain ways, Dimas—though never admitting to such aloud, of course, in fear of what would happen when his sister undoubtedly heard about it—could sympathize with such a feeling. There was a hopelessness that came with it, feeling as though there was no one left to believe in.

“Please, if you care for me at all as one of your children… save me from this torment, at least. Can’t you see that I’ve done nothing wrong? If you can’t do anything to stop what is going to happen—if it becomes clear that I really must give my daughter to that man—please, just end this all now!”

He looked up at the sky at the same time another person appeared.

It was a woman they could all find familiar: Eldrianna. Theran’s face lit up at the sight of her, unaware of the meaning behind those shattered wings.

“Oh, dear, I think you’ve lost yourself in the moment there.” She came in front of him, crouched down so she could better maintain eye contact, and cupped his face in her hands. She knew she was in control of the situation—everything about her confirmed it. “I daresay it’ll be quite the waste to have you go off with Vriuh. You’ve got an air of potential around you. It’s a shame that the others can’t stand the sight of you. Truly unfortunate…”

“Are you here to help me?” His voice was quiet and weak, but hope was twisted in those words. He truly believed what he was asking.

“I can do more than just help you,” she remarked with a devilish grin. “I can make it so then no one can hurt you again. What happened to your twin won’t mean anything anymore. People will go from dismissing you to obeying your every command. Better yet, no one would ever dare to touch your daughter…”

“What do I need to do?” He sounded so desperate, so willing to do whatever the devil might ask of him.

She stood up and stepped back. “Just stay still.”

It originally seemed to be nothing but a few lights; quickly, though, it was apparent that it was much more than just that. It was a transformation into something that couldn’t even be considered a fairy, like Theran had been before. Dimas knew that this was when he started becoming the antagonist, though he never quite imagined quite a grotesque scene when it was described to him. Thankfully it didn’t take long, even if the creature that remained was far from being normal.

Theran had, before, possessed bronze-colored dragonfly wings and fit perfectly well with his tiny surroundings. He was anything but now, devoid of wings and barely able to fit in the garden that had appeared so big before. While his size hadn’t changed in the projection, everything around him did, to the point it was clear that he was probably bigger than a human. But that wasn’t the thing that made him stand out the most: rather, it was the almost out-of-place bull head that now rested on his shoulders.

It was no longer a fairy king, but rather, the Minotaur.