ARESIA: Fall of an empire

CHAPTER TWO: MARKET STROLL

Six years passed, and Prince Phílos had grown into a young and curious little boy. His small figure was always running around the castle, his endless energy filling the halls with laughter.

Phílos had inherited his father's wild spirit, always eager to explore and discover new things. He would often wander through the grand halls of the castle, followed by his ever-watchful nanny, who was constantly on the lookout for any mischief the young prince might get into.

The castle staff loved Phílos and would often indulge his playful nature, turning a blind eye to his minor misdeeds. They were all fond of the young prince, who had managed to capture the hearts of everyone in the castle with his infectious laughter and adorable smile.

Phílos, a bundle of energy, was running through the castle halls one afternoon, chasing after a bouncing ball. Caught up in his own world of playful exploration, he didn't pay attention to his surroundings.

As he dashed around a corner, Phílos crashed into something - or someone. The impact sent him tumbling to the ground with a thump. When he looked up, he realized that he had bumped into his aunt, Calliope.

Phílos looked up, rubbing his sore head with a pout on his face. "Watch where you're going, Aunt," he scolded, his voice filled with a mixture of confusion and indignation.

Princess Calliope, a grown woman now in her late twenties, looked down at her nephew with a playful smirk. Her dark hair was loosely tied up, and she kneeled down to his level.

Calliope, amused by his audacious scolding, couldn't help but jest. "Are you scolding me, you little naughty brat?" she teased, her voice laced with playful scolding.

Phílos, ever the willful child, stood his ground. His tiny fists were clenched, and he looked up at his aunt with determination in his eyes.

Calliope chuckled, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Ah, that stubborn streak. I knew it would get to you like your father. You're just as stubborn as he is, aren't you?"

Phílos pouted, his tiny brow furrowing in defiance. "I'm not stubborn!" he protested, his voice rising in volume.

Calliope chuckled, her amused gaze locked on her nephew's determined face. "Oh, really now?" she mused, her voice tinged with mockery. "Could have fooled me."

Calliope, with a playful smirk, grabbed ahold of Phílos's little hands and ears. As she tugged gently, Phílos let out a yelp of pain. "Ouch!" he yelped, his voice laced with protest.

With a firm grip on Phílos, Calliope began to drag the struggling prince down the hall.

Phílos, protesting loudly as he was dragged along, was brought into the throne room where he found his father, Dante, sitting alone on the throne.

Upon seeing them, Dante looked up from his thoughtful gaze and raised an eyebrow at the sight of his sister tugging on his son's ear.

Phílos, still being dragged along by Calliope, looked up at his father with pained eyes. "Father!!" he wailed, his voice tinged with agony as he shouted. "Ouch, ouch, ouch!"

Dante, upon seeing his son's distress and his sister's firm grip, stood up from the throne, his expression hardening with concern and curiosity.

Dante, finally breaking his silence, addressed his sister with a firm voice. "What's this, Calliope?" he inquired, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon the scene before him.

Calliope released her grip on Phílos's ear, her expression holding a hint of annoyance. "Well," she responded, her voice tinged with mock frustration, "I'm just teaching him some manners. He doesn't have any respect for his elders."

Phílos, now finally free, rubbed his sore ear and shot a glare at his aunt, mumbling under his breath. Phílos, freed from his aunt's grasp, darted towards his father. He wrapped his little arms around Dante's legs, his youthful face set in a childish pout. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Phílos proceeded to blow a series of loud and messy raspberries towards Calliope.

Calliope, before leaving the room, shot another glance at Phílos, her smirk tinged with an evil playful glint. She spoke her threat in a tone intended to scare the young prince. "You see that, brother? Teach your boy some manners or he'll get his ass beaten by me."

Phílos, who had been hiding behind his father's legs, peeked out with wide eyes. He knew that his aunt was known for her playful threats, but her words still managed to send a shiver down his spine.

Dante watched as his sister, Calliope, exited the room, her footsteps echoing off the stone floor. As she exited, his gaze shifted to Phílos, who was observing her departure with wide eyes, still hiding behind Dante's legs.

Dante, leaning down to match his son's height, gently rubbed Phílos's head. He spoke softly, his voice carrying a warm, affectionate tone. "What have you been up to, little one?"

Phílos, his pout replaced by a mischievous smile, looked up at his father with innocent eyes. "Nothing, Father," he replied, trying to sound innocent. But the twinkle in his eyes gave away his playful nature.

Dante, with a playful smirk, poked Phílos's stomach multiple times. The young prince let out a giggle, his guard easing as he surrendered to his father's tickling.

"Doing mischief, huh?" Dante teased, his voice filled with affection. "Just like your old father, I see."

Phílos, amidst his giggling, managed to squeak out, "Stop, father! You're tickling me!"

Dante, enjoying the moment, continued to tickle his son's tiny stomach, a mischievous grin on his face.

Cyrus, entering the throne room, couldn't help but comment on the scene unfolding before him. He took in the sight of Dante and Phílos, sharing a moment of playful giggles and tickles. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he spoke.

"Ah, a father and son moment indeed," Cyrus remarked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Dante looked up, ceasing his tickling as he turned to acknowledge Cyrus. Phílos, now free from the tickle attack, stood beside his father, catching his breath and beaming with happiness.

"Indeed," Dante agreed, a warm smile on his face as he regarded his chief aide. "Nothing quite like father-son moments to break the monotony of ruling."

Cyrus nodded, his gaze flickering between Dante and Phílos, his expression softening slightly. "It's important indeed," he said. "Though, I must admit, it's a small respite from ruling this country."

Dante chuckled, his tone taking on a hint of sarcasm. "Ah, yes, because ruling a kingdom is such a joyless task, isn't it?"

Cyrus smirked, playing along with the dry humor. "Oh, absolutely. Because who wouldn't want to deal with endless political intrigue, territorial disputes, and public unrest all day?"

Phílos, interrupting their banter, looked up at his father with hopeful eyes. "Father, could we take a walk at the market?" he asked, his small voice filled with excitement.

Dante glanced down at his son, his expression softening at the request. He stroked Phílos's head gently, considering his proposal.

"A walk at the market, hmm?" Dante mused, his gaze shifting between his son and Cyrus. "I suppose it wouldn't do us any harm to get some fresh air and explore the market. What do you think, Cyrus?"

Cyrus, always one for practicality, nodded in agreement. "It seems like a reasonable idea, My lord ," he replied. "A short respite from our duties. I'll ensure adequate security measures are in place to guarantee your safety."

"Very well then," Dante said, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "Let's head to the market and stretch our legs a bit. You're welcome to join us, of course, Cyrus."

Emperor Dante, Prince Phílos, and Cyrus left the palace, passing through its grand halls and exiting into the open air. Their boots clicked against the cobblestones as they made their way through the town streets. The sun was shining, casting a warm glow over the bustling market.

They continued their walk past stalls filled with vibrant goods, the marketplace bustling with activity. Stalls displayed colorful fabrics, fine leather goods, mouth-watering pastries, and fresh produce.

As they walked, the traders and townsfolk around them bowed with respect as the trio passed. They recognized the regal aura that surrounded them, acknowledging Dante's status as the ruler and Phílos as his heir.

Although it was customary, the gesture didn't go unnoticed by Phílos, who puffed out his chest a little, basking in the attention. He, however, remembered his father's words about being humble and tried to hide his prideful smile.

Dante, noticing his son's subtle bravado, chuckled silently to himself. He knew that Phílos was beginning to soak up his own importance, but didn't say anything, allowing him to relish in the attention.

Cyrus, walking slightly behind them, kept a watchful eye on the surroundings, ensuring the safety of his liege and the young prince.

They continued their stroll, passing by street musicians playing melodic tunes, and children chasing each other. Phílos' gazed at the children playing, One of the children, a girl about the same age as Phílos, was running towards some of her friends when she suddenly bumped into Dante. The collision caused the girl to stumble backward, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Oh, my apologies, Your Majesty!" she said, quickly straightening herself and offering a small bow. Her cheeks turned red with embarrassment. Dante chuckled gently, putting a hand on the girl's head reassuringly. "No need to apologize, child," he said kindly. "Accidents happen. Just be careful while running next time, alright?"

Phílos, still feeling a sense of playfulness, spoke up with a childlike innocence. "Yes, accidents happen. I bump into my aunt all the time, and she pulls my ear like this."

As he demonstrated, holding his hands up to mimic an ear-pulling motion, the girl's head remained slightly bowed before them. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, her reaction not visible to Phílos, who was focused on his own anecdote.

Dante and Cyrus, both witnessing Phílos' antics, couldn't help but laugh. Phílos' youthful spirit and tendency to share his thoughts without filter often got him into amusing situations.

"Ah," Dante said, a smile on his face, "only you, Phílos, can make pulling on ears sound like a fun activity."

Phílos, still exuberant, puffed out his chest slightly and declared, "I'm Prince Phílos, future ruler of Aresia."

He then extended his small hand with a friendly grin, offering her a handshake.

"And who are you?" he asked, his gaze meeting the girl's eyes, waiting for her introduction.

The girl, her eyes glimmering with curiosity, responded, "My name's River." Her voice was soft, yet there was a hint of playful warmth in her tone.

Phílos, intrigued by the name, tilted his head slightly. "River, huh?" he repeated, trying the name out on his tongue. "That's an interesting name. Is it because you love rivers, or something?"

Before River could respond to Phílos' question, she heard her mother calling her name from a distance. Startled, she bowed quickly.

"I have to go," she said in a hurry. "My mother's calling me." Without lingering long enough for a proper farewell, River dashed off toward the direction of her mother's voice, vanishing into the crowd.

Phílos, his eyes wide with disappointment, watched River run off. A small pout formed on his face as he felt the loss of the potential friendship. But Dante, seeing his son's disappointment, quickly intervened.

"Don't worry, phílos," Dante said, a reassuring tone in his voice. "You'll meet her again."

As he spoke, Dante expertly lifted Phílos and placed him onto his back, giving him a piggyback ride.

As Dante hoisted Phílos onto his back with ease, the young prince's laughter filled the air. Phílos grasped onto his father's shoulders, his laughter ringing and carefree.

With Phílos happily clinging onto him, Dante began to walk around the marketplace, carrying his son on his back.

The people in the marketplace couldn't help but smile warmly as they witnessed the playful scene of Dante carrying his son on his back. Phílos, high on his father's shoulders, seemed to have forgotten about the missed opportunity with River, his laughter infectious, those around them couldn't help but be endeared by the sight of the ruling family, so openly showing familial love and laughter.

Phílos, perked up and still perched on his father's shoulders, spotted an apple stand nearby. With a child's enthusiasm, he called out, "Father! I want those apples!" His voice carried a hint of playful demand, his eyes fixed on the ripe, red apples displayed in the stand. Some of the people around them smiled, amused by Phílos' youthful desires.

Hearing Phílos' pleading request, Dante chuckled warmly. "Alright, apples you shall have," he responded, his voice carrying the loving patience of a father.

With that, Dante approached the apple stand.

The apple seller, a bearded man with a hearty demeanor, greeted Dante respectfully as they approached. "Good day, Your Majesty," he said, his voice tinged with reverence.

Dante nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze focused on selecting the most appetizing apples for Phílos.

Upon seeing Phílos, perched on his father's shoulders, the apple seller beamed with warmth. "Good day, Prince Phílos!" he greeted cheerfully, addressing the young prince directly.

Phílos, still holding onto his father's shoulders, looked at the displayed apples with eagerness. "I want one of your finest apples," he said with a mischievous grin.

The apple seller chuckled at the confident tone of the young prince. "Of course, my young prince!" he said, gesturing towards a selection of the plumpest, most vibrant apples in the stand.

He picked up a particularly large, bright red apple, its skin shining with a fresh, smooth gleam. "Take a look at this one, it's just perfect!" he said, holding the apple out for Phílos and Dante to inspect.

Phílos, his eyes sparkling with excitement, leaned forward to examine the apple, his small finger delicately touching its surface.

Dante took the apple from the seller and, after checking to make sure it was of good quality, took a bite himself. He savored the sweet, crisp flavor for a moment before offering the apple to Phílos.

Phílos eagerly accepted the bite-ridden apple from his father, his face lighting up as he tasted the ripe, juicy piece.

Dante, taking a liking to the apples, decided to purchase a basket full of them. He turned to the apple seller and inquired, "I want a basket. What's the price?"

The apple seller, with a warm smile, responded to Dante's inquiry. "It's on the house, Your Majesty. Consider it a little gift for Prince Phílos!"

He looked at the young prince perched on his father's shoulders, his cheerful offer a gesture of goodwill.

Dante, genuinely thankful, expressed his gratitude as he accepted the basket of apples. "Oh, thank you," he said, the sincerity in his voice evident.

The apple seller chuckled warmly, his expression kind. "No worries, Your Majesty. It's my pleasure!"

The apple seller, touched by Dante's gratitude, offered a warm smile. "My name is Perseus, Your Majesty," he introduced himself, his voice carrying a friendly tone.

Dante, grateful for Perseus' kindness, nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Perseus. Your generosity is much appreciated."

The seller, Perseus, bowed slightly in response. "It's truly my pleasure, Your Majesty. Anything for our beloved prince here."

As Dante was about to depart from the apple stand with Phílos atop his shoulders, the sudden arrival of two of Aresia's royal guards on horseback caused quite a stir. Cyrus, ever vigilant, had instantly drawn his sword, preparing for the threat of an attack. However, as soon as he recognized the royal guards' identity, he swiftly sheathed his weapon, his initial alarm replaced with guarded curiosity.

Cyrus, his sword now securely sheathed, was still in a state of heightened alertness. He addressed the approaching guards with a brisk question, his tone firm.

"What is this?" he inquired, eyeing the guards with a mix of caution and curiosity

One of the royal guards swiftly dismounted from his horse, his armor clinking with each movement. He stepped forward, his face set in a serious expression.

The guard approached Cyrus and Dante, his gaze fixed on them, his body language exuding a sense of urgency.

The guard stepped forward, addressing Dante with a formal salute. "Greetings, Your Majesty. A barbarian messenger awaits your presence in the palace," he informed, his voice carrying an air of solemnity.

Dante, hearing the news, paused in his tracks, the basket of apples clutched in his hands.

Dante shared a quick glance with Cyrus, who seemed equally taken aback, taken aback by the guard's words, Dante hurriedly but gently set Phílos down on his feet, his eyes wide with surprise. "What did you say?" he repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief.

The guard, looking slightly nervous but maintaining his composure, repeated the message. "A barbarian messenger awaits your presence in the palace, Your Majesty," he reiterated, his tone remaining respectful yet urgent.

Dante swiftly hoisted Phílos onto one arm, firmly clutching the basket of apples in the other, and mounted the horse with surprising agility. Without a moment's hesitation, he spurred the steed forward, its hooves thundering on the cobblestones as he dashed towards the palace.

Cyrus, witnessing the immediate response, swiftly motioned for the second guard to descend. The guard obeyed, and Cyrus mounted the horse, following suit, the sound of hoofbeats thudding in tandem as he hastened after Dante.

The market-goers, witnessing the sudden whirlwind of activity, murmured and whispered amongst themselves. The sight of their powerful ruler and his trusted aide swiftly mounting their steeds and riding away on horseback was unusual and quite intriguing.

The murmurs rippled through the crowd, the curious whispers and hushed speculations filling the air. The atmosphere held a hint of unease, the unexpected events sparking a wave of intrigue among the people.

Children and adults alike watched in surprise, their gazes fixed on the fleeting figures of Dante and Cyrus as they galloped away. The clopping of the horses' hooves echoed in their ears, the sound a sharp contrast to the usually calm and leisurely pace of the market.

Some people exchanged puzzled glances, wondering why the emperor and his chief aide were in such a rush. Others speculated about the barbarian messenger that awaited Dante in the palace.

As Dante galloped frantically towards the palace, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and possibilities. What could this barbarian messenger want? Was it good news or bad news?

His grip on Phílos and the basket of apples remained firm, his protective instincts on high alert. He glanced down at Phílos, ensuring the young prince was secure as they rode.

Dante, his heart pounding with anticipation, reached the palace gates. There, he spotted the Grand Empress, Princess Calliope, Queen Iris, and several palace guards stationed at the entrance. Standing among them was the barbarian messenger.

Dante slowed his horse down, his eyes immediately locking onto the messenger. He dismounted swiftly, holding onto Phílos as he moved towards them.

Cyrus, closely following behind, had also swiftly dismounted from his horse. He joined Dante and Phílos at the palace entrance, his eyes flickering between the barbarian messenger and the royal figures present.

Dante, his voice steady but his gaze firm, turned to Queen Iris. "Iris, would you take Phílos with you for a moment? I need a moment," he requested, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Phílos, clinging onto his father, piped up with a childish protest. "But Father, I want to stay!" he pleaded, his small fingers gripping Dante's sleeve.

Dante, his expression softening for a brief moment, looked into his son's pleading eyes. He knew Phílos was curious and eager, but this situation required his undivided attention.

Dante, trying to placate Phílos' disappointment, handed his son an apple from the basket. He then placed the basket in Iris' hands before gently guiding Phílos towards his mother.

"No, go with your mother, Phílos," Dante reiterated, his voice firm but affectionate. He gave the young prince an apple as a consolation, and then placed the remaining basket into Iris' hands.

Phílos, his little temper flaring, threw the apple on the ground with a pout. His small voice was tinged with frustration as he stamped his feet. "No, Father! I want to stay!"

Dante's voice took on a stern tone, his patience wearing thin. "Go with your mother, Phílos. I won't repeat myself again!"

His words held an air of finality, leaving no room for further protest.

Phílos, overwhelmed with emotion, burst into tears and ran into the palace, with Iris following close behind, wearing a concerned expression.

Dante, watching Phílos run off into the palace, felt a pang of guilt deep within him. His paternal instincts tugged at his heart, knowing he had upset his child. However, the matter at hand demanded his full attention.

Dante, feeling the weight of his responsibility, heaved a deep sigh. His gaze lingered for a moment on the entrance where Phílos had disappeared, and then he turned his attention to the matter at hand.

With a single motion, he beckoned towards the barbarian messenger, signaling for him to follow. "This way,"Dante said, indicating with a nod to follow.

As Dante motioned for the barbarian messenger to follow, the Grand Empress, her voice stern and resolute, interjected. "Wait, I won't allow a barbarian into my palace," she declared firmly.

Her eyes narrowed, her regal presence exuding authority. She wasn't about to let a foreign messenger from a barbarian tribe enter the sacred halls of their kingdom.

Dante, feeling a pang of frustration at his mother's intervention, responded with a measured tone. "Mother, with all due respect, I'm not ready for this," he said, his voice tinged with slight annoyance. "This is an important matter, and I believe I can handle it."

The Grand Empress held her ground, her eyes locking with Dante's. "And how can you be certain you are ready, my son?" she inquired, her voice betraying a hint of skepticism.

Dante, undeterred by his mother's skepticism, strode past her, following the barbarian messenger, with Cyrus falling in step behind them. The Grand Empress watched them go, her expression a mixture of uncertainty and concern.

The Grand Empress, left standing in the doorway, called out to her son, her voice carrying a mix of anger and anxiety. "Get back here, Dante! How dare you ignore me!"

But her words fell on deaf ears as Dante continued forward with the barbarian messenger, his decision unwavering. Cyrus, walking behind them, glanced back momentarily, witnessing the tense exchange between mother and son.

Calliope, her presence gentle and supportive, placed a comforting hand on her mother's shoulder. "Mother, leave it be," she said softly.

The Grand Empress looked at her daughter, her expression softening ever so slightly. Her hand reached up to cover Calliope's hand on her shoulder, a silent acknowledgment of her plea.