Walking toward the nearest shuttle pod station in East Belam's Way, it took James a moment to realise someone was calling him.

A hand grabbed his shoulder, turning him roughly.

Large blood-shot eyes met his. An old man with a bony face, rough pocked skin and dirty wind-swept hair studied him. He reeked of sweat and dirt. There was an uneasy quiver to his demeanour, causing James to repel from his sudden closeness.

"A man who knows his fate is a man who can control it." The older man's voice was strained, yet not unpleasant, with a shakiness that made James think of someone unwell. "Aye, so it is. Tell me, young man, do you want to know how you'll make your riches, or when you'll meet your beloved who'll rob you of them? Eh he he."

James reeled at the harsh odours attacking him. "Sorry, another time," he told the beggar. Many were known to trick you, play a game or provide a service of some kind in exchange for coin. He found it best not to humour any of them.

A wild laugh left the man's cracked lips, his eyes widening. "Ha ha! It's you! It's you, sir! I know you, don't I?" His laugh turned into a bout of terrible hacking coughs. He looked James over, a moment of confusion twisting his face into an ugly scowl, showing yellow stained teeth.

"Sorry, you've me confused for someone else." James took a step away, trying not to appear rude, but the man persisted.

"Now I know it's you. I see it, so I do. I see all now. Can't help otherwise. 'Tis a curse, aye, so it is. One of many." He leaned in closer, his eyes glaring like he was about to share the secrets of the universe. "I can tell you what you want to know. Everything you've been yearning to know. I can tell you! For... some spare coin. For an old friend, would you? For old times' sake? Times have—well, they sure ain't what they used to be. Eh he he."

Though hearing the distant sadness in the man's troubled voice, James now saw through the act of a beggar at work. "I'm sorry; I've no money on me right now."

He turned from the man, hoping he wouldn't be followed.

"James Island!" the man bellowed, sending a shiver through James's core. "That's you, isn't it? Prince James, as I recall. Your Majesty." He performed an awkward bow, stumbling in the process.

James stood frozen a moment. He studied the strange man. Everything about him was dirty and weathered, the look of someone who had spent many seasons travelling and sleeping rough. The man's dark green eyes could have showed intelligence in them once, but were now dulled with a weariness that hinted at a troubled soul.

"Now I'm sure you've the wrong man. I'm no prince." The words passed his lips and James wasn't sure if he believed them himself.

He was finally allowed to walk away, though the beggar was soon by his side once again.

"Yes, that's right," the stubborn man continued. "You and your father. You don't remember your visit? Oh, but what world was that? What a world it was. What a world it is now, I ask you? Hah!" He circled James, a jerky bounce in his step, energised by his search for memories. "But you are James Island, are you not?" Wide bloodshot eyes studied him intently, a desperate hope behind them.

James found no reply for the man. Ahead was an alleyway which he was sure would lead to the nearest shuttle pod station.

As they entered the alley the man let out a frustrated growl and grabbed James by the arms. The force of the hold made James drop his book.

"Why do you lie?" the beggar spat. His voice became a hideous snarl, a wild look blazing in his eyes. "You think I'm crazy. Unless it did happen to you. Do you see the hood, too? Do you taste the blood? Tell me!"

James called out, and felt the harsh brick of the alley wall as he was pushed against it. "What're you—hey, let go of me."

Sweaty breath was on him. "You want to ignore me, like the rest. But I won't go away. No. You underestimate me, like all the others. Like all the others!" With a fierce cry the beggar pulled James to the ground, shaking and clawing at him.

James tried to get a hold of the wild man, throwing his arms out while shielding his face from his attacks.

"You should be my friend," the beggar shrieked. Dark spit jumped from his mouth as he lost control. "We still can be. But you need to be like me. I'll make you see." A sweaty hand curled around James's neck and squeezed hard.

James reached a desperate hand out as he felt his strength depleting, searching the ground for something, anything to help. His fingers soon found something hard, and he managed to grip it in his palm.

With a wide swing, the rock bashed against the man's temple, sending him reeling sideways. His head slammed into the wall with a sickening thud.

Kicking his way to the opposite wall, James choked back the breath struggling to find its way through his bruised throat. The beggar lay against the wall, a thick red trail streaming from his battered temple. What had moments earlier been an angry, crazed scowl was now a frightened, somewhat peaceful expression.

Steadying his breath, James stared at the lifeless body. The life he had just taken away—

***

A blinding white light explodes in James's mind, and the world changes, becoming a dead land of black rock and vast mountains. Desolate hills and valleys stretch out on all sides of the horizon. The scorched sky is made of flames, dark smears moving fast like storm clouds, giving the impression he is under a dome of fire. Tortured screams and distant howls echo all around. A severe stench of decay fills his lungs and he gags, struggling for breath as the suffocating heat burns his nostrils and mouth, fighting back the urge to vomit. He feels like he's being burnt from the inside. Sweat falls into his eyes, blurring his vision, and drips to the dead rock, sizzling in wisps of black smoke. Trying to wipe the sweat only smears charred dirt over his face. Several feet ahead is a cliff edge, and he steps toward it without knowing why. His legs ache, every step pained. Something dark flies overhead, howling a shrill screech, though he fails to focus on it beyond its large wingspan. He stumbles, snatching his hand from the ground as it burns him, and he falls on his back. His shirt gradually burns away and his skin begins to blister. The pain overwhelms him. Feeling the hopelessness of it all, he cries, a fierce emotional moan, begging for mercy. For his life. As the pain threatens to overcome him completely, he sees a dark blur forming within the flames above. It wavers in the haze and grows, becoming the form of a man. A hooded figure, shrouded in heavy dark robes. Waves of dark energy surge from the figure. It grows to encompass the sky, becoming the dark world, and grows further, its legs fading, becoming a torso and then just an enormous hood. The face, if there was one, was hidden within. He feels an immense wave of hatred and aggression like he has never felt before, never thought possible, emanating from the hood. It wants him. It wants to devour him. The hood slowly rises, revealing an impossible darkness beneath. As James gratefully succumbs to the cold darkness within, he spins, inverting in on himself, and with a blink of an eye thrust back into the reality of TykenTown.

***

His back cracked hard as it found the ground. He gagged and spat, feeling like the death and decay of the fire world had entered his mouth.

Suddenly realising he was lying next to a dead body, James jerked away from the corpse, scrambling to his feet. He checked his hands, expecting to see severe burns on them, but they were only scratched and dirty. There was no indication that what he just experienced was real.

Even now the man's eyes seemed to be watching him; that serene look still on his face.

Overwhelmed with fear and regret, the next thing James knew he was running out of the death alley. Running aimlessly, just to get away, to take back, ignoring everything around him, he eventually found himself in a direction toward home.

The sky had darkened considerably as he approached his small house. He had never felt so relieved to see the single-storied building, though he studied the large windows either side of the door, suspicious of any movement behind the tinted screens.

Slamming the door behind him, he felt the warmth and sanctity of his home embrace him. He stood against the door, absorbing the silence, his heart racing. The pale light from outside cast ominous shadows around the open-spaced room.

A blue light caught his attention and he turned to see his personal terminal flashing, signifying a new message. The normality of such a familiar everyday event shook James out of his trance. His mind working again, he wondered if it were sent earlier or just now received, and with a shiver wondered if the message was in any way connected to the man he'd...

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to shake the thought away. The eyes of the man he had killed continued to stare at him beyond his fate. The vision of that terrible burnt world... that hooded thing... the endless darkness beneath its hood... It was all too much for him. For the first time in his life James wished he had fewer memories.

He tried washing the day away with a shower, hoping to clean the blood off his soul. As the cleansing water washed over him, James slid to a crouch and cried as hard as he ever had before.

Perhaps if James had known that it was the last time he would sleep in his bed, he may have done a few things differently. Maybe if he knew it would be his last night in his house, he might have packed a few possessions that had become dear to him. Or perhaps he might have gone to sleep sooner, eager to leave, happy to be finally taken away from what was now his home.

He lay curled up in bed, trembling with dark thoughts and haunting images, sobbing softly. Letting the drowsiness of sleep eventually take him, he slept for the last time in the only home he had ever known. 

* Let me know what you think of what happened to poor James, and just what seems so off about him... *

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