The Realm of Kings

Arktos

"Mr. Boyd, can you enlighten us on the meaning of being in love?" The professor questions. Axel yanks his earphones from his ears as his eyes dart to the sea of faces around him. The vagueness of the question lingers- which kind of 'love' did he mean? "This can be love for your mother, Mr. Boyd or love for your learning. Miss Sky, how about you, do you have an answer for me?"
Axel traces his lips with his knuckles, before resting his hand on the desk. His gaze, drawn to the words 'God Eros' etched on the whiteboard. Could Eros himself know the answer of what love means?
Subtle snickers and whispers fill the room. With a sigh, Axel reinserts his earphones.
It's not like he's never felt the pangs of love, or at least something akin to it. As his mind begins to wander, he finds himself captivated on the golden strands of his friend's hair. He envisions the sensation of entangling his fingers through it, controlling him. Though they've been friends for over a decade, he can't bring himself to confess his feelings as their bond grows stronger. Axel buries his head in his arms, gazing emptily. If their relationship doesn't progress, he wonders about the purpose of harboring his feelings. He fears that his friend may look at him differently, or their friendship would perish. A ball of crunched paper hits him on the head. He raises his chin to meet with the lightest sky-blue eyes with a golden sun ring around the iris.
"I got invited to Alison's grad party tonight, you in?"
Axel hesitates, pressing his tongue against the back of his teeth as he considers his response. "I can't make it tonight, I've got an eighteenth to attend," he lies.
"Who's party is it?"
Axel's breath catches in his throat, hoping they will remember that it's actually his own birthday. "It's no one you'd know," he replies vaguely.
"Can't you skip it? I could use a wing man. I know a few girls who'll be there."
Avoiding eye contact, Axel absentmindedly picks at his fingernails. "No, thanks," he murmurs.
The sudden blast of the bell startles him, and he watches anxiously as his friend begins to gather their things, feeling as though all his efforts will be in vain if they leave today. "Cameron," he calls.
"Yeah?" Cameron responds.
Axel digs his nails into his palm before flattening his hand on the table. "Don't have to much fun without me."
Cameron lets out a chuckle. "I'll tell you all about it."
'Please don't'
Axel returns to his dorm, he shakes his head, trying not to dwell on what Cameron might be up to. He watches the candle wax drip onto his blueberry muffin, his eyes fixates on the flickering flame as it dances and burns. His fingers interlock, his mind racing to conjure a wish. Every year, his wish remains the same, yet his grandfather continued to indulge in a fantasy world of his own creation. This world is a vibrant tapestry of mythical creatures, from fairies to sea monsters, witches to shape shifters.
He moistens his lips, drawing in a deep breath. With a sharp exhale, he extinguishes the candle, the silence of his dorm room shatters by a sudden pound at the door. Unfazed, Axel attributes the noise to the typical antics of a frat house. He opens the door to find nothing but an empty hallway and a small cardboard box on the floor. The box, suspicious as it may be, bared his name in bold ink, a temptation too great for Axel's curiosity. Despite his gut feeling, he decides to open it.
Without a moment's hesitation, Axel uses his pocket knife and slices open the box. The first item that catches his eye is a handwritten letter from his grandfather. A wave of emotions overwhelm him as Axel's knees buckles beneath him. He stumbles towards his bed, placing the box down with trembling hands

Dear Axel,
As you read this, you'll be eighteen.  I regret not witnessing you unwrap this package. It's important you receive this gift today, marking the start of your journey to uncover your destiny and heritage. There's a world of knowledge awaiting you, countless discoveries to be made. I'm sorry I can't accompany you on this quest, but rest assured, others will guide you. I anticipated you'd open this box immediately, but remember, not everyone is trustworthy.

Good luck, Pa

Axel scans the letter over and over. His grandfather has truly lost his scenes of reality. He make a mental note to call the nurse to ensure his grandfather is still receiving his medication. Beneath the note lies a square black casket adorned with a golden dragon.
Axel sighs, setting the casket on his bed, crumpling the letter in his hand. The only gifts he receives is 'magical' items from his grandfather. It all started when he was five and was gifted his father's journal which was blank but somehow his grandfather read it to him every night.
Axel eyes the casket, curiosity winning over, only to be met with disappointment. The so-called crucial gift is a plain, unremarkable stone.
Axel extracts it for closer examination, but it remains as uninteresting as at first sight. He tosses it aside on his bed and dismisses the gift from his mind. His blinks suddenly growing heavier as he wishes for tomorrow to arrive soon. He buries his face into his pillow, allowing the exhaustion to wash over him, his body surrenders to the comfort of his bed.
The hours fly by, feeling as though his been asleep for days. His every movement, aches. The raucous cawing of crows punctuates the air, accompanied by a gentle breeze that playfully tousles his hair. A groan escapes his lips as his hand fumbles in the semi-darkness, seeking the comforting familiarity of his blanket to shield his ears from the intrusive sound of dawn. Gradually, his senses reawaken, springing him to his feet, only to trip over an unexpected obstacle - a haphazard pile of rocks.
He refocuses his gaze, taking in the dew-kissed grass beneath his feet, then the towering trees that surround him, before he settles on a peculiar object that glistens tantalizingly a few feet away. He squints his eyes and cautions towards it, his fingers closes around a stone that bears an uncanny resemblance to the one his grandfather had gifted him.
However, as he scrutinizes it, the stone undergoes a transformation, its dull exterior morphs into a mesmerizing blend of red and gold hues. The texture too, is markedly different, reminiscent not of the rough surface of a stone, but the intricate scales of a creature. Not just any creature, but a dragon, as depicted in the books his grandfather used to show him. Yet, he had never seen a dragon in person, let alone held a part of one.
A chuckle bubbles up from Axel's throat as he dismisses the idea, attributing it to a vivid dream, the kind where the line between reality and fantasy blurs. His grandfather's tales of mythical creatures must have seeped deeper into his subconscious than he realized. All he needed to do now is wait for the shrill sound of his alarm to jolt him back to reality. With this thought, Axel tucks the stone into his trouser pocket, deciding to take a more comprehensive look at his surroundings
He widen his eyes, captivated yet uncertain about the crimson sky, his imagination painting a vivid tableau. The red hue isn't glaring, but it's prominent enough to show glimpses of the fading azure. The cacophony of cascading water diverts his attention. He halts beside a broad cliff with a vibrant tapestry of yellow and pink shrubs interspersing with wildflowers. As he continues along the trail, a sweet aroma permeates the air, enticing him. Axel inhales deeply, then plucks a yellow blossom from the cliff side. The scent is a complex blend of musk and sweetness. He takes a tentative bite of the flower, only to promptly spit it out.
His mind whirls with questions. How is it possible for him to smell and taste in this illusion? He's never experienced such a detailed hallucination before, but he conceded that it might be feasible. One thing is certain: he must reach that waterfall before he awakened from this dreamlike state. It seemed as though the water called for him.
Determined, he discarded the flower, as it floats down the cliff. His arms pumped at his sides; his breath kept time with his movements. The sound of the water intensified, its echos grew softer.
Suddenly, his body lurched forward, and he crashed onto the grass, a subtle pressure built in his lower back. Axel felt hands roughly handling him, dragging him into the forest with unyielding force. A hand clamps over his mouth, and a child, barely sixteen, stands before him. Axel scrutinizes the child's petite frame and lack of muscle mass in disbelief. He attempts to extricate himself from the child's grasp, considering it an uneven match. However, the grip is surprisingly strong.
"Stop, or we'll be spotted," the boy implores, his voice laced with desperation. Axel responds with a muffled sound, his voice barely a whisper.
As they draw closer, the enchanting sounds of the water that Axel had anticipated seem to elude him. He struggles to articulate the fleeting auditory experience before it dissipates into the ether. The boy, meanwhile, scans the sky anxiously. Axel's neck throbs from the strain of craning his head backwards.
"They're gone, for the time being," the boy announces, finally releasing his grip. "Had it not been for me, you would have met your end. You're welcome."
Axel's eyes fall on the boy's attire - a fur ensemble reminiscent of tribal wear. "Thank you," he manages to utter, running his fingers through his hair. "This must be the most peculiar dream I've ever had."
The boy looks at him quizzically. "An odd perspective, indeed. I am Jube, the second progeny of Jaran, hailing from Awkswood in the Kingdom of the Arktos. And who might you be?"
Axel's gaze flits from the boy to their surroundings, then back again. Jube cocks his head to one side, awaiting a response. "Um," Axel stammers, his palms slick with sweat, his throat constricting. "I am Axel, the eldest grandchild of Felix."
No affiliation to a class or kingdom? Are you a hermit?"
"No. I'm not a native of these parts," Axel admits after a pause.
"A traveler, you say?" Jude's voice is laced with curiosity, his words hanging in the air like a question. "Are you implying that you're a courier for the kingdoms?" Axel's heart pounds in his chest, a wild drum echoing in his ears as their conversation unfolds. He tries to reassure himself that this is nothing more than a dream, a figment of his imagination. Yet, the throbbing pulse in his wrist, a rhythm too real to ignore, casts a shadow of doubt over his conviction.
Axel gives a nod in response, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.
"If your destination is Graydon, be warned. The journey on foot is fraught with danger. I suggest you come to Awkswood. My people, they can guide you," Jude offers, his tone sincere.
A twitch tugs at the corner of Axel's lips. Is this a ruse? Is he too quick to trust? Will they truly guide him? Jude had saved his life, but the strength he possessed was surprising for someone so lean. Axel may not be muscular, but his decade-long training in sports had endowed him with a decent amount of strength. Despite his reservations, Axel nods in agreement.
"Stay under the cover of the trees and maintain silence," Jude advises, his voice a mere whisper in the wind.
Following the teenager's instructions, Axel moves with caution and stealth, trailing behind Jude to a cave located five minutes to the west. He observes the slashes on the trees, likely the work of a knife or an axe. Inside the cave, symbols etched into the walls captivate Axel. The cave extends further into the earth, the markings continuing along with it, and they follow suit. This isn't a cave, Axel realizes, but a tunnel. The question remains, where does it lead? The silence is deafening, their footsteps and the crunch of loose soil the only sounds echoing around them. A veil of fog shrouds the end of the tunnel, giving it an almost sacred aura. Axel glances over his shoulder and gasps - the tunnel has vanished. In its place stand trees reaching for the heavens, their trunks as wide as houses. The air is thick with humidity. Raindrops fall, but the damp atmosphere suggests it has been raining for some time. The sky, no longer painted with a red haze, now showcases a canvas of baby blue clashing with dark grey clouds. As the dream begins to normalize, Axel anticipates the moment he will wake. He silently wills his eyes to open as a man, twice the size of a bodybuilder, approaches him. The man's imposing presence should have made him tense, but it's the scars that mar his body that truly unsettle Axel. Especially the open wound stretching from his eye to the corner of his mouth. More figures emerge from behind the trees, armed with swords and arrows. Axel instinctively steps back, the snap of a twig underfoot breaking the silence. Jude shoots him a disapproving look, shaking his head.
"Do not fear," Jube declares, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. "This is Axel, a messenger who traverses kingdoms, now seeking a safe passage to the realm of Graydon."
The man, his eyes hardened with suspicion, retorts, "Our kingdom does not serve as a mere conduit for anyone who wishes to pass. We will have words later, Jube." He then shifts his focus to Axel, his gaze piercing. "I am King Jaran, the sovereign ruler of the Arktos. I will grant you passage to Graydon, but this is a one-time exception. If you dare to reveal the existence of these tunnels, I will not hesitate to rip your tongue from your mouth."
Axel, flinching, responds with a simple, "Yes, Sir."
King Jaran, with a show of power, grips his spear and slams it into the ground, the sound reverberating through the cavern. "Proceed," he commands.
Axel turns to face the tunnel, his eyes wide with awe. He glances at Jube, nodding slightly with a faint smile playing on his lips. As he steps into the tunnel, he is filled with uncertainty about the path his dream is leading him on. Is there a cryptic message he needs to decipher before he can awaken from this surreal journey?
As he moves deeper into the cave, he takes the opportunity to examine the drawings adorning the walls. To his right, a castle is depicted with a striking mural of a wolf, the detail so meticulous it almost seems to come alive. Further along, he spots a note, written in a language he doesn't recognize. Below the cryptic message, there's an egg-shaped design.
As Axel scans the drawings, he finds his breath becoming more labored, as if the air in the cave is thinning. He slouches, trying to regulate his breathing, but his head feels as though it's being squeezed in a vice. If he doesn't move now, he might not make it out alive.
Ignoring the mounting pressure in his body, he breaks into a sprint, his arms pumping faster than he ever thought possible. It must be the adrenaline coursing through his veins, fueling him with a surge of power he's never felt before.
Axel's muscles burns as he crawls through the tunnel, his heart thudding in his chest. He clenches his teeth and presses onward until finally he bursts out into a the red-tinted sunlight. His ribs heaves as he struggles for breath, feeling an unfamiliar coldness on his skin. He lays there a moment, marveling at the snowflakes which begin to drift down around him like tiny feathers. The world took on a surreal hue of red and white, everything seeming to blur together between heaven and hell.
Axel tucks his chin against his chest and hugs himself for warmth. The snow was thick, unbroken by any sign of life around him; not a single footprint or bird call broke the silence. His breathing fogs on the cold air as he exhales a heavy sigh. He rubs his freezing palms together before shoving them deep into his pockets, feeling the chill seep through the fabric of his plain button-down shirt and black slacks. Could he die in this dream? The answer comes in a distant column of smoke rising up from the north – a promise of danger just beyond the horizon, but also a glimmer of hope for Axel.