Veni Vincere

Ch. 1

Introversion.

It's the moment when a person is immersed in a crowd, and every touch brushing against their arms, their legs, their chest is suffocating— drowning them in an ocean of uncomfortable small talk. It's going to a celebration party, but instead of mingling with the guests, the cocktail bar is a prison, shackling them in bars made of awkward. It's the hesitance in a voice, the tremble in each word when someone appears with a question embedded on their tongue.

The preference of being alone. Solitary, quiet, but not lonely. A trait, not a flaw.

Yet, as he drew closer to the beckoning lump of cheers and screams, Daniel De Luca concluded that his personality was a liability, a mistake on his person.

Outside, beyond the young man's vision, an announcer stood on an elevated platform, his outfit spiffy and sharp. He wore a large hat that towered over his plump face, red as a cherry. In one hand, his sausage-like fingers curled around a microphone. He cleared his throat, and with his other hand, gestured towards the array of people rustling below him. His booming voice ricocheted through the air in sharp bullets. "The Royal family has arrived! Make way for the De Luca's!"

People scrambled onto the sidewalks, parting in two in an action akin to unzipping a zipper. When golden carriages and a barrage of soldiers skimmed the horizon line, flags hoisted in the air, waving in unison. A crimson Phoenix burned against the marmalade fabric, an image so full of life the creature appeared to jut out of the cloth and soar. The scarlet and tangerine pigment stretched across the canvas of the city, bleeding into the sky. Trumpeters decorated the streets with a flighty tune, a song that danced in the breeze, twirling from one head to another— the country's anthem.

Now within the hustle and bustle that swirled before him, Daniel's heart skipped a beat, and his mind locked in a daze. The young man's breathing constricted, struck with an ache of nervousness.

The citizens hollered at his family's presence. Their shouts bounced from the gargantuan domes of the Catholic church to the rickety gutters of the suburbs. "De Luca!" they chanted, hands tilted forward, grasping for the road. "De Luca!" Their cheers pounded on the carriage doors, seeping through the walls in faint echoes.

A particularly shrill screech banged against his eardrums in a solid beat, a piercing cry that broke his stupor. The young man's shoulder's shot up as if struck by lightning, coming down as quickly as it had come. Daniel tugged his leather vest closer to himself, smoothing over the coarse lapels in an effort to occupy himself.

With a deep breath, he tried to scour the crowd for the noise. In the vehicle, there were two square windows that stood opposite of each other, laden with bulletproof glass and accented with bronze. Scarlet curtains framed the window, enhancing the style, but obscuring the view. Yet, it wasn't the curtains that ruined his sight, it was the barricade of soldiers riding on horseback, shoulder to shoulder. The tails of the animals flicked side to side as if saying hello.

As the mob grew increasingly rampant, gaps formed within the wall, and Daniel managed to make out faces in the breaches. A whole spectrum of faces greeted him— the immigrants, the locals, the elite— their expressions painted with different emotions. A lot met him with a warm gaze, some with a disdainful sneer, an otherwise regular occurrence for monarchs.

A roar of applause erupted beside him, and he turned his head to the figure sat across from him. His older brother, Theodore, had unlatched the window, sticking his arm out to graze hands with the flames, the fingers of a lucky few. With what little vision accessible, Daniel swore he witnessed an adolescent girl collapse onto the floor, sobbing hysterically as she clutched her arm to her chest.