The Inheritor of Light

"Five years after the death of his wife, Irene, King Shmay's health began to decline. By 584 SA, his illness had rendered him incapable of holding court or going on progress. It was at that point when his daughter, Princess Sãra (age 17), was forced to assume regency of the nation. However, King Shmay continues to hold all the monarchical powers. Until he chooses his successor and relinquishes the crown, the nation will be left in a sort of administrative limbo." 

Purton, "Evaluation of Nations 23rd Ed." (587 SA)

Having long since growing tired of looking at the crystal, Johnathan decided to entertain himself by playing with a mouse that tried to steal some of his stale bread. He felt no animosity towards the tiny gray creature. To him, they were similarly caged—though at the present, his demise was far closer than that of the mouse. He'd take a small piece of the bread and toss it on the floor. In response, the mouse would scurry over and stuff the crumb into its mouth. The small rodent would then steal away quickly back to a hole in the wall. A moment later it would reemerge, ready to receive more of the morsels.

Johnathan's cellmate, whom he'd long since ignored, kept mostly to himself. All that might be heard from the man was some light muttering, but hardly more than a whisper, and never anything that one might be able to make out. The man didn't even stir when the guard brought the bread and water. He had, however, muttered something about a "hunger strike." Not that it meant anything to Johnathan. He only cared about escaping.

Voices echoed loudly down the hallway, causing Johnathan's tiny friend to race back to its hole. "Fine, leave me here to deal with these clowns," Johnathan muttered, tossing the rest of the bread onto the floor.

The voices grew louder and more obnoxious until they were right outside Johnathan's cell. It was two of Varas's guards. They began talking in a low tone that was almost inaudible to Johnathan. One must have said something funny because the other laughed loudly. Johnathan rolled his eyes and sighed.

"You there, the man called Black, look over here," one of them called out in a distinct accent.

Johnathan turned around to face the two men. They both wore stupid smiles—the kind you'd see on foolish children who'd never been punished when they misbehaved. There was little that had ever bothered him more than that kind of look.

"Varas-zaron wants you flogged before you are beheaded."

As expected, that bastard had been able to get his way. Justice be damned and all that. He was headed for the tree stump and, with a single cut, his life would be over. Or that is what people would've expected, but Johnathan was one to disappoint.

"What? Too afraid to move?"

"You think he's paralyzed with fear?" the other asked of the first.

"Perhaps, but I think what he was hoping that we'd leave this behind," the first replied, dangling the crystal from its chain in front of the cell, mockingly.

Johnathan didn't mind the mocking. He didn't mind the snide remarks or the brash comments. In fact, he would have endured a lifetime of insults for that single moment of opportunity. In a split second, he dashed forwards and reached out his hand at the guard. Both of them had stepped back instinctively at his approach. As quickly as he'd charged, Johnathan had retreated back away from the bars. The two guards, both of them with their hands on their blades, gave themselves a once over to be sure they hadn't been hurt. After finding that all was in order, they started to laugh.

"By Shikara's blade, he gave us quite a start," the second one said between chuckles.

The other one wasn't laughing, though. He was still checking himself, more frantically than before.