HOOTERS

FROZEN

While everyone whispered and wondered where Shambayati had been for the past two days, A man walked toward the palace; slow, steady, deliberate. like the prince he was born to be. No longer bearded, no longer cloaked in madness. The foolish boy who leaked out magic was gone. In his place walked Arthur, reborn in silence, with purpose etched into every step.

Shambayati was dead. Arthur returned.

The guards spotted him from the towers, horns blared, and confusion rippled through the courtyard like spilled wine. High above, Aurel gave a simple wink and a volley of obsidian and steel-tipped shafts flew through the sky toward Arthur but midway, they froze. Before the archers’ arms could return to rest, as if time itself obeyed the younger brother, The arrows trembled in the air for a heartbeat, then turned to stone, shattering and raining down like broken idols.

A second batch followed from another tower before Aurel could blink for the second time. This time, the arrows twisted in flight, spiraling back like possessed serpents, finding the mouths that had loosed them.

The courtyard echoed with wet thuds and silence.

The archers collapsed without ceremony, their deaths as swift as their obedience.

Still, Arthur walked.

Aurel appeared at the top of the palace steps, golden robes flapping in the wind. He looked down at his younger brother, unchanged in expression, unmoved by the m******e and descended the steps like nothing had happened. When they met at the base, Aurel smiled. He leaned in and kissed Arthur on the cheek.

"Brother,” he said, calmly, as though the last few months hadn’t happened. “Welcome home.”

Arthur didn’t flinch. He looked at his brother not with affection, nor hatred, but with a strange stillness. The kind that precedes unpredictable storms

“You’ve had your fun,” Arthur replied. “Now it’s time for mine… I’m giving you a chance to live. Leave now… or you’ll be dead… or worse...before sunrise” He walked past Aurel into the palace, back to his royal chambers, leaving Aurel to wonder who could dare to kill him and what was worse than death. He knew his brother had changed but couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was, or why it was so deeply unsettling.

The King retired to bed with ten harlots he had summoned from the village as his eyes refused to shut that night. He resorted to wine and women, much like his father as a solution to sleeplessness. His eyes popped wide open after a few hours. He took a stroll down the halls only to find that the palace was unusually quiet. He knew he was alone when he discovered the rest of the palace guards who weren’t killed had turned into unmelting ice sculptures and all his staff had run out of the palace.

He broke down in tears on his knees, waiting for his death. No sooner had his sobs begin to disturb quiet had Arthur walked past him. Arthur again asked, “Death or worse” The once arrogant King tore his robe, clinching to the feet of his younger brother crying “worse…my lord…worse. Spare my life”

Arthur pulled his leg, Aurel, watching him disappear into nothing every step he took.

Aurel looks at the ice statues and sees his own reflection slowly crystallizing, realizing Arthur froze the kingdom but left him last to watch himself die.

Aurel reached out to touch his reflection, and the mirror reached back.

COME BACK AND DISCOVER THE SEPARATION OF MAN FROM HOOTERS AND HOW HOOTERS WERE CHOSEN AS THE NEW HEIRS OF ELDRATHIA…..AND THE WHEREABOUTS OF ARTHUR.