DOMINIC

EPISODE 3 : The Prince Cast Into the Sea (3)

Rebecca loved grapes. She always brought a small plate of grapes, and the servants were quick to serve them at every breakfast and dinner. "The gods like them too." She handed Aiden a small fork, inviting him to try one. "But they aren’t children; they don’t eat like this." Aiden was always amazed at how Rebecca spoke as if she longed to grow up. Would it be so wonderful to become an adult? Many palace servants envied him for being so young. Yet, there wasn’t anything about Aiden that could make them feel that way.

"You should eat a lot and take care of your wounds."

Rebecca was always kind to Aiden. She would let him rest for three days before returning to training, giving him time to heal. And during those three days, she wouldn’t visit him once. Aiden would even eat dinner alone in his room, where a servant would deliver his meal. Without being told, Aiden knew to remain in his room. Sometimes, he would wander to the kitchen, grabbing one or two pieces of bread and a cup of milk, where he would occasionally run into Rebecca in the hallway. She wouldn’t even look at him, let alone greet him—she would just walk past as if Aiden were invisible.

Did Aiden feel uncomfortable?

He slightly disliked the three days of solitude.

It was an unfamiliar feeling, this loneliness. Aiden had always been fine playing alone, far from his sisters. He was also fine eating alone in the kitchen, gazing out the iron window at the place where they used to eat together as a family. But since he had started spending his days with her—eating at the same table, walking under the night sky together—the sense of loneliness and emptiness had begun to fade, as if they no longer recognized him and had gone far away. By the fourth day, he found it to be his favorite day, even more so than his birthday or the times his father allowed him to buy his favorite toy. Even when they spent their time together covered in sweat, out of breath, and with open wounds stinging in pain, Aiden felt happy because he was with Rebecca.

***

"When I say die, you die."

"When I say live, you live."

Those two sentences were like a mantra each morning, like the sound of a sword scraping across his arm, drawing blood into a bowl of fire. And that fire burned his legs, pushing him to run as far as possible, as fast as possible, until she told him to stop.

Rebecca’s words were absolute to Aiden—a law.

***

The servants placed the swords on the rack, put away the dirty rags, and bowed respectfully. Rebecca took one of the swords, and now Aiden could clearly see the muscles in her arms. She rolled up her sleeves to her elbows, positioning her body in a fighting stance. Her feet were firmly planted, her sharp gaze fixed straight ahead. "Straight to the real swords—we need to shorten the training time." Aiden could see the worried expressions on the servants’ faces, as if they were whispering words of concern. And sure enough, not half an hour had passed before.

Aiden’s right arm was slashed along its thirty-centimeter length. Fresh blood flowed to the ground, along with his groans of pain. Aiden bent over and sat down. Rebecca didn’t move toward him or call the servants to bring bandages and medicine. She only said, "Get up."

Her words were absolute.

A law for Aiden.

***

No. No matter how many times the servants viewed Rebecca as cruel, merciless, or heartless, no matter how many people labeled her as a punisher, Aiden would always hold on to his first belief, and it would remain that way: Rebecca was the law. Even with her cold words, Aiden would still wait for her every night behind the door. Quietly, she would open the door, careful not to wake Aiden. She would clean his wounds in silence, and somehow, Aiden thought he could hear her sobbing. Or maybe it was just his hopeful imagination, wishing that, at least once, someone would cry for him. After all, the great Goddess wouldn’t lower herself to do such a thing. But Rebecca did. The girl with dark obsidian eyes, a thin smile, and pitch-black hair. Her soft singing every afternoon brought Aiden into daydreams of clouds, stars, and galaxies. For indeed, no great God would ever do that.

"I am here for you."

"Lean on me."

"I am with you in your tears, in your laughter."

"Rejoice for me, mourn with me."

Rebecca’s commands were like poetry, her vows like a song.

***

A red beetle landed, whispering sweet words to every flower it encountered. Perhaps that’s how Aiden’s mother used to behave, and then how Aiden learned to mimic her. They were lies, thin veils covering their faces. But those words seemed to become a truth. Rebecca said them without smiling, without any joy, only with a flat expression and eyes fixed solely on Aiden. How could Aiden be angry, or upset, or sad? She was merely training him, molding Aiden. Even if she threw him into a den of lions, how could he feel that way?

"Run away."

Aiden’s wounds hadn’t healed yet. It had been almost a week since he could eat or change clothes properly. The pained expression on his face was etched in their memories. "How could you ask me to do that?" Aiden suddenly questioned their loyalty, those who were supposed to guard every word and action they made about their master, though it was clear Aiden had no right to do so. And they left, whispering to each other, "He’s gone mad."

This blindness wasn’t a misfortune, but a sense of security and a blessing. Even the pain, the sharp ache that she inflicted, she was also the one who healed it. A poison and its cure, planted within him. What happiness could compare to the pride Aiden felt being her sword, a man with a chain around his neck.

Cold and warm, her touch made Aiden’s body burn for it all. For her, for his goddess, his master, his owner.

***

"The moon is beautiful."

"Yes, it is."

The wind reluctantly wove through the strands of her loose hair, as well as their tunics. The thin white fabric danced beautifully between their legs. Aiden draped a thicker cloth over her frail, protruding legs. Rebecca began offering a few grapes as usual. With her emotionless face, she extended her hand. Her mouth opened, signaling Aiden to accept the sweet grapes. This small, ordinary act had become precious, growing more valuable each time the moon cycled.

And thus began the main routine of their nightly activity: walking slowly, sniffing the barrels of wine, their noses picking up the scent of the red wine. Then they’d count the days until they could taste it. Next came short stories about the statues in the corners of the pillars and ceilings. Even the smallest and most hidden statues did not escape their tales, stories passed down from marketplace traders, wool weavers, and wheat farmers.

"Did you know the goddess Persephone was born from death?"

"That’s why her name means the bringer of death," said a plowman, causing everyone in the cottage to nod respectfully. This was the harvest season, and naturally, they would lavish praise on the beauty and greatness of the Goddess of Spring. "Has anyone ever seen the arrival of the God and Goddess of the Underworld? They say there’s always a bountiful harvest where they visit." Unfortunately, nothing like that had ever happened in this village. Even if Zeus or Demeter came, nothing would change. Everything had already been calculated, and divine intervention wasn’t part of the equation. Except for the hundreds of barrels of red wine and dozens of bushels of wheat offered by the Graham family at the temple. Such things ensured that any creatures—whether angels, gods, or even demons—were satisfied and willing to lend a little help.

"Fresh human blood would certainly be more helpful."

But the gods and goddesses were nothing more than myths, bedtime stories created by the ancients. We are the ones who decide the future.

It would be hard to argue that the Graham family was devoutly religious. Once they acted, even the gods would struggle to intervene. Just as they had years ago, when the island was almost overtaken by the now-reigning royal family. Blood was shed everywhere, to the point where Hades himself had trouble managing his palace, overrun by souls of the dead. The temple was merely a formality. None of the ancestors truly believed in the gods. This was all their own effort, not due to any divine being or otherwise. Yet, they couldn’t deny feeling envy when the villagers praised the gods as the givers of blessings. "We’re the ones who worked hard; the gods are just illusions, fairy tales made by people to satisfy their curiosity." It all makes sense if the gods exist, if angels, demons, or gods themselves are real. "But their stories are interesting to discuss and tell."

The story of Patroclus might align with Aiden’s own. He died because the gods toyed with him; he was cast aside because of the gods, and he was separated from his love because of them. No matter what sin he committed, it didn’t justify how the gods treated him. Karma or fate didn’t factor in, because this was the true way the world worked. Everything was connected by chains or whatever tied them down and suffocated them. That’s why there were tears of sadness and death. "Humans act, and so humans are to blame."

When bad things happen, the gods often blame us. But when good things happen, they don’t think to praising us, only take the credit for themselves. "That’s how the gods behave—they’re like lords ruling over their lands." Isn’t that just pure selfishness?

And what about the story of the prince being cast into the sea? Is that part of human error or the gods' selfishness?

***