notus

Chapter 1: south wind

Chapter 1: south wind

He is the End Prince, and he sits atop his throne. His people meander beneath him. The Void screams in deafening silence. The cities call out his name. The Dragon awaits his call.

He is the End Prince, and a crown of crystals sits atop his head. His wings are patterned with delicate purple, symbolising the eyes of his people and of who he is.

He is the End Prince, and he's going to run away.

He creeps, sticking close through massive halls. He wears a tattered cloak, hood pulled low over his face. His pack is slung across his shoulder, filled with chorus fruits and clothes.

Ranboo breathes as he steps, soundless and out of sight. The halls are mercifully empty. His heart races in his chest as success grows ever nearer.

Adrenaline begs him to run. He does, sprinting the final stretch. The back door - his escape - is a hair's breadth away. He reaches out-

A hand clamps around his wrist.

'Where do you think you're going, your highness?' The Enderman's soft touch is cold to his skin. 'Surely, you weren't trying to run away again?'

Ranboo pulls his hands away, holding them close to his chest. "Me?" He sputters, and forces a laugh. "No! Of course not. Why would I leave when it's so..." He struggles. " Nice, here?"

The Enderman crosses their arms. 'Well,' they say, bemused, 'you seem to have misplaced your crown.'

"My-" His hands go to his head, by instinct. "Oh! Haha, silly- I must've uh...left it..."

The Enderman stays silent, staring at him expectantly.

Ranboo bites the inside of his cheek. "I'll...go get it then, I guess."

'Good idea,' they agree.

He huffs as he turns away, storming back through his halls. His footsteps echo against the polished floor, through the emptiness and the loneliness.

The End is cold. He is cold.

Large windows open to his side, and they open up to the Void. He winces, and slams his hands atop his ears - walks faster.

The Void's cries are wailing and constant, it begs to be filled and whines for release.

He is the only one who can hear it. He is the End Prince, thus is his burden.

'Prince,' The Endermen murmur as he walks past. 'Prince,' calls the creatures of the End. 'Prince,' the Void wails.

It's a deafening silence. A scorching chill. A common contradiction. His reality, his life.

You couldn't really blame him, for wanting to leave.

Ranboo storms into his quarters, slamming the door behind him. For good measure, he knocks the crown off his desk - it falls with a delicate clatter, ringing in his ears. He screams into his walls, running his throat hoarse and raw with his frustration.

And when he is finished, he collapses on his bed. The covers are a silky caress. It murmurs for sleep, constantly; even when he's not on them. Ranboo entertains the idea of sleep briefly, before he pushes it out of his mind.

He rifles through his drawers, pulling out a tattered book. The Endermen have tried replacing it, tried filling his shelves with empty notebooks for his taking. He...appreciates the gesture, but the damages are part of its charm. It's proof that he used it, proof of his mark in his time.

If nothing else, then he'll be remembered by a battered notebook.

He runs his finger down the spine and it flakes and peels beneath his touch. He smiles.