Aqueo and his Water Spirit

Chapter 0 - Prologue

    "Th-they killed everyone in the academy," the young man sitting on a chair hoarsely whispered, his teary eyes staring at the ceiling were full of guilt that had been weighing on his chest since this morning.

    "It's my fault," more tears flowed on his wet face.

    The man tattooing his forearm stopped what he was doing after hearing that and the golden aura that was covering his sharp pen trembled so erratically as he did. It rose from the pen like a dancing smoke of a candle. He noticed it and immediately went back to tattooing the young man's forearm and the golden aura went still.

    "I never should have taught them my magic," the young man continued as he sobbed, his face looked like a mess because of the clear liquids from his eyes and nose combined with the dirt scattered on his face and blood that also tainted the dirty brown clothes he was wearing.

    The man tattooing his forearm inhaled deeply, but this time the golden aura from his sharp pen remained stable. The tattoo was almost finished, glowing the same color as the golden aura.

    “Arkhel Vance Silversprout," he sobbed. "First Prince of the One Hundredth King . . . of the Kingdom of Silversprout.” He paused and breathed deeply, recalling his title that had been recited countless times in front of many people in different ceremonies. The pride that came with it—gone.

    “My name will go down in history as the very first slave in the entire history of Silversprout Kingdom," he bitterly laughed, but it came out as a sob.

    "A royal slave. The prince who caused his own people to fear that they could be turned into slaves regardless of their social standing," more sobbing. "The criminal who triggered the curse of slavery to be casted upon this land."

    The young man sobbed even more. This time, joined by the man that had been silently tattooing his forearms, unable to keep the tears he had been holding back while listening to the wails of the prince. And as his tears fell, the aura from his pen intensified; the golden smoke trembled and bursted into golden flames, engulfing the man's hand.

    The young man flinched in pain, but he accepted it. It was nothing compared to what happened to the entire academy.

    "AAAHHHHH!!"

    He screamed as the pain intensified and the chains that were holding down his neck and feet clanged as he struggled violently, his tightly secured arms remained still.

    He screamed and screamed and screamed, then almost immediately, as the man tattooing his forearm finally parted his sharp pen from his skin, he stopped shaking, and the golden flame flickered into gold smoke, then vanished.

    The young man was left stunned, his eyes and mouth were open widely, breathing between fragmented stops, as if choking for air. The tattoos on each side of his forearms stopped glowing, leaving a black tattoo finely interlaced with the color of gold.

    "D-do that again," the young man finally said. "I-I deserve more of it," he sobbed, more remorseful than ever. "TEACHER...," wailing loudly, "DO IT AGAIN...!"

    The man he called teacher just looked at him, still crying.

    "PLEASE, DO IT AGAIN...!"

    "I'm . . . the reason they died!" His voice trailed trembling in guilt.

    "Th-the soldiers . . . they just . . . suddenly came and started killing everyone. . ." His mind replayed the horrifying memory—visions of blood and screams.

    "M-my entire class . . . my students . . . my professors . . . my friends . . . th-they died because of me...!"

    "People will be turned into slaves because of me...!"