Chapter Text
“I can resist anything except temptation.”
— Oscar Wilde
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The Past: Ajax, thirteen years old
When Ajax was little, he was told a story.
It was on a rather cold night, he remembers. Cuddled gently in his mother’s hold, her smile tender as she caressed him soothingly.
“Have you heard of the story about the Great Dragon and The Prince, my darling Ajax?”
Ajax shook his head, blue eyes blinking up at her, curious.
His mother chuckled, her voice airy and light. There was an unconcealed fondness that graces her delicate features. “Would you like me to tell you, my dear?”
“Yes, please!” He had beamed. He adores the stories his mother blessed him with on nights he couldn’t sleep. “But, if Father finds out—”
“Shh, if you don’t tell, he will never have to know. This would be another secret between us, alright?” She held out a pinkie to him. He knew this, countless times had he made a promise to not tell his father of the trips he visited his mother on cold, restless nights.
He does not know why his father had disapproved of him seeing his mother, but he would never dare to question it aloud. He had seen what he does to his older siblings; when bruises would pimp into an ugly shade of purple that his sister had hidden away, careful not to show it through her crisp white blouse.
“You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life,” He chanted the tune his impeccable memory provided, his pinkie hooking onto his mother’s worn one. “You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will bite your tongue off so you’ll never lie again.”
Ajax knows his mother will never harm him, even if he does break his promise. She would never, for her love too strong and her care too soft to consider the possibility, despite what his father might insist otherwise.
His father would never have known the endeavours Ajax had up his sleeves. And he never will.
Trust is a fragile thing. His mother once said. There’s no salvaging the relationship once built wholly on trust, then revealed to be a façade.
Ajax was too young, far too single-minded and cheerful to understand. So he nods, still wrapped in his mother’s warm embrace.
Unfortunately, as time passed, he learned it the hard way.
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Once lived a nameless powerful Dragon up in the highest mountains where there were only mist and clouds that even the utmost vigorous Archons could not reach.
It was a powerful being blessed from Celestia, so they say. Its scales were poisonous, golden eyes hypnotising, and its body wrapped in a golden shield, a seasoned warrior that even the deadliest blade could not slain. Many have tried, of course. Those greedy mortals that have heard of the Dragon’s hoard—filled to the brim with various trinkets that suffice millions of jewellery worth—yet they were never to be seen again.
Our Lord! The people cried. Temples were built for the Dragon, and countless offerings of the most opulent silks, luxurious wines and artifacts. Please grace our humble land with your honour! They sang and prayed.
The Dragon never once answered their calls. It was as still as a rock, stubborn and hardened as it continues to rest on its abode, paying no mind to its worship.
Then, came the Prince. A foreigner to their land, the people said. He was a handsome young lad, as charming as he was dangerous. Untamed and brash and wild he was, yet they only recall him not unlike a lord’s consort.
The Prince knew of the Dragon, it was the purpose of his presence, after all. He was one of those whose wish was to die a worthwhile battle, yet he was different. Mortal, he was, yet he carries himself as dignified and confident; convinced of his strength, but never arrogance.
It seemed as if the most worthy opponent of the beast has arrived, and despite all odds, no one could prepare for the arising disaster it brings.
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“It’s time, my love.” His mother patted his head gingerly, smiling when Ajax blinks awake, mouth stretching to a small yawn.
“Oh, I’m sorry I fell asleep—”
“Shh, it’s no trouble. Although you best go home and get a good night's rest now. You don’t want to risk your father’s ire, now do you?”
Ajax nodded mutely. He doesn’t want to go home, back to where his father was probably nursing two bottles—no, three—of Fire-Water, drunk and irrational. But it is as his mother says, if he was found somewhere else instead of being asleep like he should, he would face larger consequences than having to separate from his mother’s warmth.
“Can’t I stay?” Ajax pouted, knowing the answer yet he pleads anyway. It was impossible, Morepesok was only a small seaside village where people still value men over women, and his mother winning custody of him and his siblings was a chance of one to none.
His mother was silent, a sad smile on her face. She was always so beautiful, even after all his father has put her through. “How about this, once you return, I’ll finish the tale of the Great Dragon and The Prince.”
“Pinkie promise?”
“Pinkie promise.”
“I’ll see you, Mama.” Ajax reluctantly leaves her embrace, dragging his body forward. “I bid you a lovely night.”
When he slips through the door, he should’ve known it was the last he would see of her.
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End of Prologue.