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Planet Canvas was a notoriously beautiful place, with hundreds of thousands of species of colorful plants sprouting from the crimson ground. It had been hand crafted by the Guardians, but they weren’t to be spoken of. After all, King Klyptorian wanted nothing to do with his old ‘partners’, who had been locked in the Canvas prison Tor for what was nearing 10 rotations.
Klyptorian looked as though he was very tired, despite not needing rest. He had paper-white skin, with hair to match, and dark maroon eyes, gleaming above a sharp nose. He had sunken-in cheeks that, when combined with his complexion, made him look unfortunately like a skeleton. Klyptorian wore a thick winter cloak, which fell perfectly over his broad shoulders, making him look more intimidating than he already would have.
He sat back contentedly in a large throne, seemingly made out of glass or something similar to it. Next to him sat his wife, Cyria, blonde and petite, who also happened to be incredibly pregnant.
Klyptorian waved his head general, Rucisis, to go fetch his most dreaded enemies from the prison, Tor. It was illegal to speak of them on planet Canvas, but one of them, Noja, had been demanding to speak to Klyptorian nonstop and was beginning to drive the prison guards insane.
Rucisis, with the help of one of the prison guards, drug the two prisoners into the throne room.
The prisoners stood out drastically against the solid white throne room. Noja, who was shorter than average, had blood dripping from his right hand, who’s pinky finger had recently been severed. There were thick metal cuffs clamped around his wrists as tight as they could go without breaking the bone, heavy chains dangling from both of them and connecting him to Kirp, the other prisoner, with little more than four feet of leeway. Kirp was tall, with large wings similar to those of an eagle. The wings were chained to his back, but if they hadn’t have been, his wingspan would’ve likely been over ten feet. Kirp was bleeding from the mouth, his teeth recently beaten out with a rock. Both were dirty and smelled as if they hadn’t bathed since Klyptorian took over, which they hadn’t.
“Klyptorian,” Noja spat, his golden eyes filled with hatred.
“You must have a reason to speak to me, considering the way Ponarus described your whines,” Klyptorian said, looking at the prison guard who had come in with Rucisis.
“I’ve had a prophecy,” Noja said shakily.
“Oh please Noja, you and I both know your prophecies are as good as rubbish.”
“This one pertains to you,” he hesitated, “and your power.”
“Go on,” Klyptorian said, fear flashing across his eyes.
“I’ve had a prophecy that within the next 20 rotations, you will lose everything.”
“That sounds like one of your sad, hopeful dreams.”
“You will lose everything you’ve gained since before your existence, our people will mock you, you will live in a state worse than death.”
“Pray tell, what being could possibly do this to me?” Klyptorian asked, sounding sarcastic, but genuinely wanting to know.
“I’ve been seeing a boy, young but strong, armed with your scythe, and a crescent mark under his left eye.”
Klyptorian stood from his throne, walking up to Noja until their faces were inches from each other.
“Noja, I destroyed that scythe when I took over 10 rotations ago. Tell me how this boy could be in possession of it?”
Noja looked away in response, his face reddening.
“You surely realized you would be punished for suggesting I could be overthrown, correct?”
Noja flinched, anticipating a blow that never came. Klyptorian chuckled.
“I feel a worse punishment would be to force you to harm your friend, wouldn’t you?”
Rucisis grabbed and held Kirp into place, as Klyptorian took over Noja’s arms and legs. He forced Noja closer to his friend, raising his arm and ripping one of Kirp’s brilliant violet eyes from his head.
Klyptorian let go of his control of Noja, who threw himself to the ground immediately. Kirp was howling in pain. Rucisis and Ponarus grabbed hold of the two and drug them out of the room.
It was later that night that Cyria went into labor, giving birth to a healthy baby boy, whom she named Joratan. Despite being perfect in almost every way, Klyptorian announced the very next day that Joratan had not made it through the night. He blamed Kirp and Noja, who were immediately labeled as murderers and were punished accordingly.
The people, of course, had their own rumors about what had happened to Prince Joratan. Some believed he had simply been hidden among them to live a ‘normal’ life. Others swore Cyria had suffered a miscarriage and Klyptorian simply blamed Noja and Kirp for it. Some claimed they saw Kirp and Noja break out of Tor themselves, while others stood by the fact that they couldn’t have hurt Joratan, as Tor was well-known for being impenetrable. By the time the rumors had spread to the entirety of Canvas, they had been warped to near nonsense. Some had heard that he had been eaten by an overgrown plant, and one elderly Canvas insisted Klyptorian had thrown the child off the planet himself.
Within that rotation, Klyptorian dedicated several monuments to his son, from the Joratan Facility of History, to a large statue in Capital, serving as a beacon of hope against the oppression from Noja and Kirp.
After another rotation, Queen Cyria became pregnant again, this time with a daughter. When she was born, she was named Persisti, and was heavily guarded at all times. Canvas was rebuilding itself from its grief, slowly, but surely.