(don't be fooled by the cover the drawings in this are random doodles)
Soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
this is my first book im sensitive anyways, description:
Azrael's family has always gone through bad things like tragedy and poverty and stuff l...
Bright lights, open doors, people dressed decorative, and tables are clean—It's time for contestants to register settlement in the competition, turning royal is lighthearted not.
...
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The announcer steps back as he notices a familiar person; he furrows his eyebrows, checking to see if this is true, stunned.
...
Azrael?!
He retracts to his original position, calling the child without further thought, "You're not allowed to participate!"
The crowd gasps; Azrael turns to him, pointing at themself with a concerned face, confirming the scold is towards them.
"What did I say? You aren't allowed to participate!"
The child winds their shoulders, stands up and down their tip-toes, and inhales, "SIR, sorry- this is against your own rules." Some of the crowd applaud, others frown and many are confused; Azrael feels a shiver down their spine, a positive one, whispering into their ear to threaten the authorities, not a competent decision a great person would make- "Are you scared of me? Your sibling? PFFFF- you are so... so embarrassing!"
You thought I didn't recognize you didn't you?
The older groans repulsively, a few slaves' arms wrapping his shoulders as he struggles out of their grip, "ngrr hah!" he's reminded of the audience, "Oh... I- 'm sorry, but you are not capable of becoming a royal."
Halili is confident, a miracle!
More gasps alongside mumbling spread, flattening the announcer's confidence with heat.
Milo steps in, gently pushing the younger back, "sir! Please save your narcissism next century-"
"NO, SHOW EVERY SINGLE FLAW YOU HAVE, NOW!"
Milo cups himself in his hands, whining: "Azrael not now!"
Ugh
"Fine... fine, fine fine fine!" The child sits on the splintering chair, crossing their arms and legs. Their face is a shade of red, head tilted forward and eyes staring into the announcer's soul—this action reflects an adorably enraged feline.
...
On the stage stumbles another slave with a large piece of parchment, "We have discussed this earlier!" he whispers to Halili's ear: "the other royals will be meeting with you soon..." making the other nod hesitantly.
Azrael swears to themself, catching Milo at laze and shouting: "I am pleading to you!" blaring, "I will do anything to become datu...!"
They earn a gentle smack from one beside.
The announcer astounded once more, lowering his head and striding behind the curtains, he engages in a discussion inside.
He returns to the stage with a timid smile, "You can participate..."
"Really?!"
The two post-siblings argue about the rules and conditions required, while sits a dumbfounded boy on the brink of his sanity; Milo snatches a torn piece of parchment from under his dress, clicking his tongue and scripting the siblings' words.
"Here are your tasks..."
...
Azrael, Pre Colonial Philippines, 1039, Uh-huh
"Yesterday was a blast!"
"A broken one! You almost got us executed!!!" Milo scolds, causing the younger ones to cross their arms.
The group is sitting on the bench, watching the starved children rush into their homes with ecstasy—this youth has solved a plurality of the starvation in the burg.
Azrael piques at the piece of parchment, scrunching their face and crumpling the paper once they remind themself of the tasks.
Tasks: -Repair a destroyed village near the kingdom -Fix the broken bridges -Feed the children who suffer from poverty -Train a group of terrorists to be troops -Catch an alarming amount of escaped criminals -Throw a massive crowning party
-Fix the post-family problems
They cover their eyes, piquing through their fingers, and shutting them—emotions are stirred in their heart within a glimpse of the letters, especially once they read the last task.
"Az! are you okay?"
They step back, pacing around "y- yes."
"You seem real- focused... on that paper..." Their sister implies, handing Azrael a basket, "Did something happen...?"
Azrael shakes their head and raises their shoulders, "Eh, nothing interesting..."
"Yeah, nothing like arguing with a past relative about chores you need to do before entering," one states wryly, snatching the basket and striding out of the location.
The child glares at him with a pout, crossing their arms and legs, scooting their chair in the brother's direction, imitating the pose the night before.
Time eventually reaches them—they can't further sustain this silence.
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Freya catches their hand, "Where are you going this time?"
"Somewhere." The other groans once they see her squinted eyes, "I'm gonna find something to do."
...
Azrael, Pre Colonial Philippines, 1039, Aaah.
Adventure, what a fond world!
They stop in dread, recognizing the foreign air; these adventurers must've visited the land, to be greeted by displeased Pilipinos slashing against their bodies.
Azrael's eyes roam the pasture, smelling the scent of treason; a reddish mist spreads across the rock-strewn, caused by the evaporating blood on the blades and pebbles—they should've obeyed their past relationships about the war.
They stand on the muck and contemplate their next move, the stun, the distress, the confusion, and the fear in their chest. The child finally plods toward the chaos, remorse flooding their brain once they notice the impaired embodiments at laze; the child hopes the rest is temporary.
