1,080 WORDS
There is a table somewhere inside the Throne Hall, placed next to a row of tall windows. A large amount of light pours in from these windows from an early morning sun, diluting everything's color and muting their hues—even the people. It is silent of all natural noise. The sound of a building is absent, the sound of birds or the blue waves of the Azure Sea crashing against Amber Island. Nothing but distant, echoed sounds of children laughing, things being said, and sounds of an island different from this one. All disembodied. All surreal.
There are two seats accompanying this small, round table, and the normally cheerful and bright Nico is sitting in one of them, wearing a black tank top, grey cargo shorts, and black combat boots. Across from him is a man who looks identical to Nico in both physique and fabric, sharing the same features down to the finest fiber of hair, but with an atmosphere of completely different makeup. His name was Nabriales, and he wore a complacent, small smile. Nico, contrarily, made no happy expression, and sat there, indifferent, passive. Listening.
There was a silence between Nico and Nabriales so thick and tense that maybe only a blade could break it. And yet, both of these identical opposites looked so familiar to each others' presence. Nabriales stared at the coffee swirling in a small mug that didn't really exist while Nico gingerly held an identical mug filled with milk tea across from him, staring into heavy liquid.
"They don't like you. They expect nothing of you, Nico. No one ever does." Nabriales spoke quietly, each word laced with a subtle amount of venom, his lips still wearing the complacent simper.
Nico sighed through his nose. "That's not true—I hardly know anyone here, and anyone here hardly knows me. Things are just getting started."
"What will happen when they find out what you did eight years ago, Nico?" Nabriales continued to swirl to the coffee in his mug, staring at it intently. Nico didn't respond. "Your little brother. Your mother. Your father. Your grandparents, your friends—all dead, except you. All dead, because of you. What will everyone think when they learn what you've done? They all resent you for living when they're all dead."
Nico frowned, looking upset. His grip on his mug tightened, and his lips pursed slightly. "No, that's not. . . I. . ."
"And you killed them, Nico. Aren't you ashamed?"
"I am, but I just. . ."
"You should die, Nico. It's the least you could do. Why haven't you just ended it as you ought to all these years? You ought to die."
"I. . .!" Nico was glaring somberly into his lap now, where he could see the toes of Nabriales across from him. His glossy, amber eyes trembled.
"Say," Nabriales spoke again, but in a lighter, higher pitch. He was a child now, a version of Nico from nearly a decade ago, wearing a white t-shirt, beige cargo shorts, and sandals made from twine. He folded his hands behind his back and stood next to Nico, leaning down so that he could see his screwed expression. "Luca's dead because of you, and he was only eight years old. Why did you abandon him like that? What would Miss Sivvy think? You didn't tell her all those people you killed back then. All innocent, and you killed them."
"No, I. . .!" Nico struggled to keep from yelling.
"You killed them."
There was a pause, and then there was blood. Nabriales was back to where he was before, sitting across from Nico, swirling the coffee in his mug with his complacent simper. Nico was staring at his left hand and the milk tea spilled all over the table. It was covered in scratches and ceramic, blood running down his wrist from the numerous wounds. He had crushed the mug in a fit of stress, but upon seeing the crimson on his skin, he seemed at peace.
Nico smiled kindly as he would normally do, a sweet and whole sun in his gaze, but melancholy. He sighed through his nostrils again. "No—you're wrong. I know what I did back then better than anyone else, but I know for a fact that the path I've chosen for Luca, Mom, Dad, and myself. . ." his voice was soft and warm, and the hue of the Throne Hall began to return to its objects, regaining its regal and vibrant schemes. The light pouring in lessened, and all the smells and sounds of the present returned, ". . .was the right one."
Everything was back to normal, and Nabriales had vanished. There was the table, and sitting there was only Nico wearing the same thing as he had before. There was only one mug—unbroken—filled with milk tea. His hands were unscathed, and he didn't look to check. He knew it wasn't real. It never was. Only the torment seemed to remain after Nabriales's visits, and he never seemed to outgrow him ever since he appeared eight years ago.
Nico sighed again with a happier, more troubled smile as if he were laughing at it all. "Yeesh! I'm really here, aren't I?" Nico's laughing expression finally transformed into actual peals of laughter, with a softer, toothy grin so custom to him accompanying it. He drank his tea in one swig, taking the mug as he left the table and meandered down the rooms and corridors. The Throne Hall was a rather large thing, but it wasn't so difficult to traverse. His intention was to return the mug to his bags, as it was his mug, and then head to shores to train. He trained back on the mainland and had no intention of abandoning such a fundamental part of his routine.
He had walked with such bright energy and cheerfulness that it was hard to not notice him, and for him to not notice other people. With the gentle tap of his sandals, he wandered down the halls until he saw someone unfamiliar. They had long, reddish hair and walked down the same corridors barefoot. He could only see the back of their bodies, but he couldn't help but to stop and look. More than that, Nico couldn't help but say something.
"Oh, hey there! Haven't seen you around!" Nico waved, approaching them in a power walk until he was right behind, placing his large, rough hand on their shoulder, "Behind you! Hey!"