𝓘𝓷𝓿𝓲𝓭𝓲𝓪

Prologue

Hongjoong

    Drip. drip. drip.
    Hongjoong's footsteps echoed loudly has he scurried through the damp stone dungeon of the Solaris home palace. Holding as much whiskey and rum as his little arms could safely carry, he made his way deeper into the prison he'd called his home for the last two years, he was 6 when they locked him down here, when they dragged him away from his father's arms kicking and screaming, when they told him his father had disappeared on a long voyage and was likely dead. He knew the dreary place by heart, often having to navigate it in pitch darkness, he knew the sharp turns, the misplaced rocks one could trip on, and even which prison cells to avoid getting close too.

    The booze in his arms was for the prison guards, naturally. That's all he ever did, fetch alcohol for them that is. He hated doing it, it made him sick to his stomach to smell the whiskey on their breath, to clean vomit off the grimy floor, but he knew he had to do it, if not he would be beaten to a pulp and left to bleed on the cold stone. It had happened to him countless times before, he was just the bastard son of the former king, nothing but a punching bag to the violence-hungry guards. He remembers the day clearly, the day (or night rather) when—in their usual drunken stupor—one of the guards had told him that his father had not just "disappeared on that fated trip", but had been intentionally lied to and murdered by the king's most trusted advisor, Augustus Bloodborne. He remembers falling to his knees, unable to stop the shaking sobs that tore through him, he had never known his mother, so his father was his everything, he was supposed to be the heir to the Solaris throne; but no, instead Augustus usurped his father, and his young daughter took Hongjoong's place as heir.
   
    She was about the same age as Hongjoong, or so he'd been told, he'd never actually seen her, confined to the dark and musty dungeons for the rest of eternity. Sometimes he wondered why they didn't just kill him, he imagined that it brought Augustus great joy to know the former heir to the throne was locked up in his very own dungeon, serving as the whiskey-boy for his demented prison guards.

    "Where are ya, Whiskey? I swear if I have to show you where the good stuff is you'll be bloody damn sorry."

    The loud and rough voice thundered through the small stone hallways, Hongjoong cursed under his breath at the shoddy nickname and picked up his pace, being careful as to not drop one of the precious bottles. He rounded a corner as a small flicker of lamplight caused his eyes to readjust, he looked down at himself then, lamenting his tattered clothing that was all too big for him. His shoes were terribly poor things, his left had a hole near his big toe, and the rights sole was slowly but surely falling off. Pushing his shaggy black hair out of his eyes, Hongjoong took a deep breath and rounded the final corner to the small, dimly lit room that the guards used as a tavern of sorts.

    The room was square and stone, just like the rest of the dungeon, a couch sat along the right side, stained with alcohol and blood, next to it sat a large bean bag of sorts, in just as bad of condition, though it was covered in blankets of various color and size. Tables lay flush against the left side, a large wooden one and a smaller one made mostly of metal; both littered with empty and broken bottles of whiskey, rum, and the occasional craft bear, although it wasn't to most of the guards' taste. Finally, a dartboard hung opposite from the door, the wall around it covered in chinks and scratches from countless drunken competitions. The room was as bare and sad as the guards themselves.

    Hongjoong shuffled in quietly, attempting to make as little noise as possible. Two guards sat in the room, the rest were on shift. The first lounged on the dirty couch, spinning a silver jot between his right fingers, and smoking on a blunt with the other hand. He was a short man, short but strong, Hongjoong knew from experience, he had very short black hair, though it was beginning to grey, and he sported a bushy black beard as well, the roughness of his face complementing his broad shoulders and harsh features. He wore the typical royal family lowguard uniform, one that is sported by prison guards, cooks, and the guards that linger on the streets of Solaris; the uniform was simple, a drab light grey complemented by silver buttons, and the royal family seal embroidered in red on the left side of the chest.