Timed

Inside of the room, was a man. He stood upright at five feet, seven inches. His hair had grown less, and spots had taken most of his hair's place.

“Tell me, good Sir, what brings you to cry like a girl?” An unseen person had said from the shadows.

“Because you have tied me up, what would you like me to say?” The man questioned.

The shadow gazed at the man as he fought to get undone from the chains that had him hooked to the ground.

“Sir Johnson, is it?” The shadow asked.

“Yes, and whom am I speaking to, is my question,” the old man gazed at the darkness, and wondered where the shadow was.

“You know me very well, good sir.” He had stepped one foot out from the shadows. “In fact, you had stolen my right to be one of the two people the Council is choosing,” he continued to walk out until his full body had shown.

“You.” he began to cringe from the pain, “are mistaken, sir.”

“Oh, am I?” His hands were clasped around his back, and arched forward, looking Sir Johnson in the eyes.

“Yes, they haven't chosen anyone, and they are mainly in favor of me, because I completed my destiny, and you sir, are an abomination!” he hissed.

“And you are what, a precious jewel to them, is that what it is?” The shadow asked.

“No, Miles, I am their ruler, the late ruler, and I refuse to give up that seat.” Sir Johnson spoke.

“Tell me again, that tale you used to tell the children, and me, when we were inside the blacksmith's shoppe on the corner.”

“No use, you are no youngin' anymore.”

“There could be,” he spoke, “I need the point of the story again.”

“The point is to,” a sudden realization floods over him, “I... don't believe it, but it is to fight for what you want.” He bowed his head.

“Well, looks like the old man has lost, and now it is my turn for victory.”

Miles turned away for a slight moment.

When he turned again, Sir Johnson was dying; his body arched back, and his flesh ripping apart and then being sown back together by the levitation that was lifting him from the ground. Brick and stone had moved and carried its way to his body to stick to him and become a sculpture.

“I've won, once again.” Miles looks at what he had done.

“Why do you come so far into the night to harm a prophet?” A voice called from an archway.

“Why do you question?” Miles asked the voice.

The man walked towards him, his head covered by a hood.

“Because you have no right to harm that prophet, and you by no means are able to gain the throne by devouring the competition,” the hooded figure raised his head to reveal half of his face. “Now tell me once more, why come at night instead of the noon bell?”

“When noon ticks, that's when they decide, and that is where I will be seen and he won't be. The noon bell is too public for such an assassination,” Miles took a breath, and turned his body around.

“I don't believe you are supposed to be destroying the competition and get away with it.” The hooded man raised his hand and removed the hood from his head. Bloodshot red eyes were on him.

“Ace,” Miles sighed.

“Unless you want your precious girlfriend dead, you mustn't breathe a word to anyone in the council... Ever!” He shouted in a low voice.

“Who says you are going to harm her? She is far away, deep in the America's. Away from here; I told here to stay with her family until the prophecy was complete, but now it looks as if it cannot be done now, because you destroyed our chances.” Ace gazed longer at Miles this time. “The council has spies everywhere, and who knows, I may be one of them. If you don't reveal what you have done to Sir Johnson, you will be persecuted.”

Miles did not speak. He walked into the corridor, out onto the skyline, and gazed upon all the statues that he had created out of many of the people who were chosen for the prophecy.

The wind began to grow, and tension began to rise in the air around the both of them, as Ace stepped out from the archway of the entrance.

“Sir,” he pressed. “You've done a bad deed.”

The wind grew stronger on them both, causing an uproar of rain to pound the two men in the face. The rain had begun to blind the men, causing them to step into the shade, so they could see each other better. Both were drenched with rain, and thunder roared with excitement. Ace dove onto the Ruler’s back, his knee positioned deeply; pressure beginning to sting into the middle of his spine, nearly causing internal bleeding.

“You haven’t won,” Miles had said through clenched teeth. “It was my destiny to destroy those that haven’t protected the out-” his face was smashed into the ground by the piece of sturdy metal that had laid in Ace's hands for too long.

Miles gasped, his last breath was drowned out by the rain that had continued to pour down. The young man had risen; his arms were shaking, eyes open and were now in their own state of bewilderment.

“What have I done?” Ace questioned, not bothering to answer himself, since it would have been too weird to answer himself while he was alone.

He turned, he had noticed something shocking. Miles was rising into the sky. He had started to turn into dust. Each part of him crinkled until he looked like small spectacles of dirt. The wind had carried him, whistling a short tune and then disappearing.

“I hadn’t realized it until now,” he observed from afar at what was left of the mess. “I killed my own blood… My own childhood bond… My own forsaken chance of becoming whole at the throne.” he threw himself to the ground, trying to grasp at what he had done.

“Please bear with me,” he sighed, whispered to the wind, and what was left of the Ruler, “I only did what was best for us as a society. Not for the throne.” he had lied. His words had stung with poison as he hissed the last rotting word out of his mouth.

He had trudged off then. Through the house, and out the maple wood door he went. Covered in the last bits of rain until the castle was out of sight, and he was long gone from the community.

Sir Johnson... Miles... The names echoed through my mind, as I stretched and finally had woken up. It was dark, the only light that was being cast down was the glow of the moon from a nearby, barred-up window.

“Ace,” I coughed.

There was silence. Only silence.

I looked around—the only things that could be seen was a rat, an old shoe, spiderwebs, and chains wrapped around my legs. I was faced towards the moon. I could feel a rumble go through my stomach and up towards my chest.

“Ace.” I said again, but louder this time.

A face had entered, with a torch in one hand, and a bowl of fruit in the other.

“Eustace, where is Ace?” I asked, my voice cracked.

“He has gone to the Council, they wanted to speak with him.”

“When? How long ago?” I asked, my hands on the chains and quickly trying to pry them off.

“Calm down. He left three hours ago—they wish to speak with you, too, after you get cured from the poisoning.” He sighed, and grabbed a handful of grapes.

His sweaty palms reached for a knife that was hidden underneath his cape that was hanging from his shoulders.

“What poisoning? Do you mean the bite?” I looked towards the bite mark. It was almost gone.

“Yes.”

“I thought the wolfsbane was working,” I reached for the wrist that had the wolfsbane on it earlier.

“It doesn't always work; they were hoping that it would kill you so that way Ace would get the throne, but the Elder had a change of heart, and thought of a newer idea.”

“What idea?” I asked.

“You will see soon, trust me.”