Chapter Text
In every fairytale, there are the four famous words in the beginning: once upon a time. It’s a trademark of sorts. The sign that the story that is about to be told is not only old, but of magic and wonder. How good always prevails when evil dares to question how powerful love is. It’s a sign that even in the darkest of times, there is a light that glimmers bright. All the pain and tragedy within the text will come together in victory and cheer by the ending sentence: the end. These are all the requirements for the perfect fairytale.
This story is the same as any other fairy tale told before. It starts with once upon a time, and it ends with the end.
Once upon a time, there was a man who lived within a castle with his mother. The kingdom was ruled by a long, prosperous bloodline of fair maidens. Under their queen’s watchful eye, the kingdom flourished. Everything was perfect until the day a fatal plague washed over the land.
A witch from the deep forest just outside of the kingdom’s gates lived. His heart was made of stone with naught any space for human feelings. He was cold and callous, which made him crave for everyone to feel the same as he always had: lonely. Using dark magic, he cursed the land with a lethal plague that caused destruction everywhere its hands reached, stealing children, mothers, fathers, and even more from families.
Even the greatest healers in the land couldn’t find a way to cure the sick. As the years passed by, more and more citizens were killed. The man could only watch as it slowly crept its way into the kingdom. His mother then got sick, and the queen soon perished. The people needed a miracle; they needed a hero.
The man couldn’t just stand by and watch anymore. He couldn’t bear another day of the scent of death piling in the streets, and the haunting cries of the mourning every night. He took matters into his own hands. For endless days and nights, he hunted down the witch, never stopping his search until he was found. For so long, he was always at the witch’s tail, but never was able to catch him.
After so many failed attempts, fortune was finally blessed upon him. The night the man found the witch, he tried to reason with him; he tried to get into the witch’s heart somehow. But it was gone; perhaps never there at all. The witch refused. With no other choice, the man brought the witch back to the kingdom and burned him to the stake. Though his body burned in the flames, his heart was so vile and his greed too great, he returned as his true self.
His human mask melted off, revealing the true monster the witch was: a herald of darkness. With the help of the kingdom’s guards and hope that the man never seemed to let go, they fought against each other in a battle that shook the Earth.
The herald was strong; years of hate piling up into magic, but it wasn’t enough. Not to the man who held love to his chest. He fought with the hope that soon his mother would recover from the plague, the hope that the deceased queen could finally rest in peace, and the hope that families wouldn’t have to be torn apart any longer. He fought until his body couldn’t hold his weight anymore, until his vision began to swarm as the lack of rest was slowly catching up to him.
But he never gave up. He picked himself back up and held his stance. He pushed forward even when his body cried for him to stop. He took his weapon and bolted towards the herald. Raising it over his head, he beared down onto his heart and pierced through his iron body. Like that, a wave of power covered the land and died in his arms.
The herald was defeated, and for the first time in years, a new song was being sung. Not the ones of misery and prayers, but of cheers and vanquishment. They were free; everyone was. The man had done it; he saved humanity. No longer was he just a man, but a hero.
Even after the events that had transpired, the hero’s love knew no end. He forgave the witches and all their crimes. He welcomed a new age of people and witches living together hand in hand. He soon settled down with a woman he had known for years, even before the plague, and had three beautiful children.
Everything was perfect.
Until it wasn’t. Only five years later, the man’s heart couldn’t function anymore. For some unknown reason, it was as if his heart had given up. He died not too long after, the witch, people say. He must have cursed him before he died, leading to the man living in glory for only a short amount of time.
The night the man died, he left a legacy behind him. One of not only faith, but of compassionate love to everyone, even those who didn’t deserve an ounce of it. Even centuries later, his legacy is carried on as witches and humans now live in harmony. Though the hero of this story never lived long enough to see the effects of his dream, even in death, his nobility never died with him.
The end.
That is how the story goes, and that is how it was passed from generation to generation, to you. Nothing in the story changed over time, despite how long ago it was. Everything was written exactly as the bards during that time had.
Yet, it couldn’t be more wrong. It wasn’t a story of good and evil; it was a war of injustice and neglect. A time where the lines of good and evil were blurred and could not be distinguished. There weren't happy endings, only endings. Endings that could’ve been avoided, but never were.
The only similarity to fairytales this story has is love. Love was the main culprit of the story, but no amount of convincing could persuade the historians of this.
This is the story of Jayce Talis, and how he found love somewhere he would’ve never expected, and destroyed himself with it.