Chapter 1: The Hollow Prince

The golden tears had long since dried on Prince's face, leaving only the hollow ache that consumed him day and night. One year had passed since Daksha's sacrifice—one year of existing rather than living. The monument he had built in their clearing stood as a silent testament to what he had lost, its crystalline surface catching the sunlight in ways that reminded him of her eyes.

Prince stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the gaunt face that stared back. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his once-vibrant features had hardened into something cold and distant. He hadn't shaved in weeks, and his unkempt beard framed a mouth that had forgotten how to smile.

"Daksha," he whispered, the name a prayer and a curse all at once.

No answer came. Not anymore. The distinct voice that had once guided him had faded into silence, leaving only impressions and feelings—ghost-like remnants of her consciousness within him.

He reached for the bottle of whiskey on the counter, his third this week. The amber liquid burned down his throat, a poor substitute for the warmth he had once known in her presence. Prince had discovered that alcohol dulled the pain, if only for a few blessed hours. It was a temporary reprieve from the memories that haunted him.

His uncle had stopped asking questions months ago, retreating into uncomfortable silence whenever Prince stumbled home in the early hours of the morning. The few friends he had made during the Velorian invasion had gradually drifted away, unable to reach him in the depths of his grief.

Prince took another long drink, welcoming the familiar numbness that spread through his limbs. He made his way to the bed, collapsing onto the tangled sheets that still smelled faintly of the forest—of her. Sleep would come, as it always did, heavy and dreamless from the alcohol.

But tonight was different.

---

"My Prince..."

The voice pierced through the darkness of his consciousness, so achingly familiar that Prince's heart seized in his chest.

"Find me..."

Prince bolted upright in bed, sweat drenching his shirt despite the cool night air. The room spun around him, the effects of the whiskey still clouding his mind. But the voice—her voice—had been so clear, so real.

"Daksha?" he called out, his voice breaking on her name.

Silence answered him, broken only by the distant hooting of an owl outside his window. Prince pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. Another dream, another cruel trick of his grieving mind.

He stumbled to his feet, suddenly unable to bear the confines of his room. The walls seemed to close in around him, suffocating in their emptiness. He needed air. He needed the forest.

The night was cool and clear as Prince made his way through the familiar path to their clearing. The stars above seemed to mock him with their brilliance, reminding him of the galaxies he had seen in Daksha's eyes. How many nights had they spent here, talking about the vastness of the multiverse? How many promises had they made beneath these same stars?

The monument stood in the center of the clearing, bathed in moonlight. Prince approached it with reverent steps, his hand reaching out to touch the smooth surface. The crystal seemed to pulse beneath his fingertips, a faint warmth emanating from within.

"I miss you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I don't know how to do this without you."

The tears came then, hot and bitter, spilling down his cheeks. But they were ordinary tears—not the golden, galaxy-filled droplets that had marked Daksha's presence within him. Even that connection seemed to be fading.

Prince sank to his knees before the monument, his body wracked with sobs. The grief he had tried to drown in alcohol surged forth, raw and overwhelming. He cried until his throat was raw, until no more tears would come.

When he finally raised his head, the first light of dawn was breaking over the horizon. Prince stared at it with bloodshot eyes, feeling nothing but the hollow ache in his chest.

"What's the point?" he murmured, his voice barely audible. "What's the point of any of it?"

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the small flask he always carried now. The whiskey burned less than it used to, his body growing accustomed to the poison he fed it daily. Prince took a long drink, welcoming the familiar numbness.

Days blurred into weeks, each one indistinguishable from the last. Prince moved through life like a ghost, going through the motions without truly being present. He stopped using Daksha's powers to help people—what was the point of saving others when he couldn't save her? The golden tears never came again, as though that part of him had died along with his hope.

His uncle's concerned glances turned to exasperated sighs, then to resigned acceptance. Prince was beyond reaching, lost in a grief too profound for words.

"You can't go on like this," his uncle said one evening, watching as Prince poured himself another drink. "She wouldn't want this for you."

Prince's laugh was bitter, edged with a darkness that made his uncle flinch. "You don't know what she would want. No one does. She's gone."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with finality. His uncle didn't try again.

---

The forest had always been Prince's sanctuary, but now it was the only place he felt anything at all. He wandered through the familiar paths, bottle in hand, memories washing over him in waves that threatened to pull him under.

It was on one such day, when the autumn leaves crunched beneath his feet and the air held the first bite of winter, that Prince found himself back at the spot where he had first discovered Daksha—the injured emerald parrot with eyes too intelligent to be of this world.

He sank down against the trunk of an ancient oak, taking a long pull from his bottle. The alcohol no longer burned; it merely existed, like him.

"I should have let you go," he whispered to the empty air. "I should have known loving you would end like this."

The words tasted like ash in his mouth, a lie he told himself to make the pain bearable. Even knowing how it would end, he would choose her again. Every time.

Prince closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the rough bark. The bottle slipped from his fingers, spilling what remained of the whiskey onto the forest floor. He didn't bother to retrieve it.

Sleep came for him there, beneath the canopy of trees that had witnessed the beginning of their story. And with sleep came dreams—vivid, terrible dreams that tore at the wounds in his soul.

Daksha stood before him, her form shifting between the emerald parrot and the beautiful humanoid woman with skin that contained galaxies. Her amber eyes held an accusation that pierced him to his core.

"You promised," she said, her voice echoing strangely. "You promised you would not forget me."

"I haven't forgotten," Prince protested, reaching for her. "I think about you every moment of every day."

"This is not remembrance," she replied, gesturing to the bottle at his feet. "This is surrender."

"What else can I do?" he cried, his voice breaking. "You're gone. You left me here alone."

"I am never gone," Daksha said, her form beginning to dissolve into motes of light. "I am within you, waiting for you to be worthy again."

"Worthy of what?" Prince asked desperately, trying to hold onto her fading form.

"Worthy of the truth," came her whispered reply as she disappeared entirely. "Worthy of revenge."

Prince awoke with a violent start, his heart hammering against his ribs. The dream clung to him, more vivid than any he had experienced since losing her. Daksha's words echoed in his mind: Worthy of revenge.

He staggered to his feet, his head pounding from the combination of alcohol and disturbed sleep. The forest around him seemed different somehow, charged with an energy he couldn't explain. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a strange sensation washed over him—the feeling of being watched.

Prince turned slowly, scanning the trees around him. At first, he saw nothing unusual, just the familiar landscape of the forest he knew so well. Then, a movement caught his eye—a flash of emerald among the autumn browns and golds.

His heart stopped.

"Daksha?" he whispered, hope and fear warring in his chest.

The emerald shape moved again, revealing itself to be a bird—but not the parrot he had expected. This was larger, its plumage a deeper green with streaks of gold. It regarded him with intelligent eyes that seemed to see through to his soul.

As Prince watched, frozen in place, the bird began to change. Its form shifted and grew, feathers melting away to reveal skin, wings extending into arms. Within moments, a man stood where the bird had been—tall and regal, with the same amber eyes that had haunted Prince's dreams.

"You are a poor shadow of the man my sister believed in," the stranger said, his voice musical yet edged with contempt. "Look at what you've become."

Prince stared, unable to process what he was seeing. "Your... sister?"

The man's expression softened slightly, a flash of grief crossing his features. "I am Arjun, brother to Daksha of Veloria. One of her one hundred and one siblings, and the only one who shared her dangerous belief in the power of emotions."

He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over Prince's disheveled appearance. "She sacrificed everything for you, for this world. And this is how you honor her memory? With self-pity and poison?"

The words struck Prince like physical blows, cutting through the fog of grief and alcohol that had clouded his mind for so long. Shame rose within him, hot and uncomfortable.

"You don't understand," he began, but Arjun cut him off with a gesture.

"I understand grief better than you know," he said, his voice softening. "But Daksha's sacrifice was not meant to destroy you. It was meant to prepare you."

"Prepare me for what?" Prince asked, a spark of something other than despair flickering to life within him.

Arjun's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "For the truth about why she was exiled. For the revenge that awaits in Veloria." He extended his hand, palm up. "The question is, Prince of Earth, are you worthy of it?"

Prince stared at the offered hand, Daksha's words from his dream echoing in his mind: Worthy of the truth. Worthy of revenge.

For the first time in a year, something other than grief stirred in Prince's heart—a dangerous, burning desire for answers. For justice. For vengeance.

He reached out and clasped Arjun's hand.

"Tell me everything."