Silence lingered in the air, each step carrying an unimaginable weight.
The path was covered in fog, twisting the light from above into something dull and lifeless.
The graveyard was vast ,so vast that at first glance, it seemed to stretch endlessly, as though it might one day reach the heavens themselves.
A stark contrast to the graveyard I remembered.
"What business does a person detached from life have at a graveyard?"
A soft voice echoed from behind.
There was no malice in it.
Only the quiet exhaustion of time long spent.
"I am looking for someone," I replied, turning to face the old woman standing behind me.
"The Prince, to be exact. I came across information suggesting I might find him here."
She did not look at me.
Her gaze rested somewhere upon the ground ,empty, unfocused.
She had no vision.
"…Do you wish to harm the Prince?"
"I do not. I simply wish to ask him for a favour. That is all."
A pause.
"…Look around," she said. "You may find
him… if he is still here."
With that, she turned and walked away, her stick tapping rhythmically against the ground.
It felt as though she had memorized this place long ago.
I walked among the flowers.
Occasionally stopping.
Occasionally remembering.
Some graves belonged to comrades.
Some to strangers.
Some… to things I could no longer place.
"Ah… how you have fallen."
A simple grave stood before me.
Shattered. Neglected.
"Ian."
I crouched down and cleaned its surroundings, brushing away dirt and overgrowth ,trying, pointlessly, to make it look… presentable.
"That must be someone dear to you, for you to tend to it so carefully, sir undead."
"It is not," I replied calmly. "It is my original grave. A pleasure to meet you."
I stood and turned.
Then bowed.
The Prince stood before me.
"Ah… your own grave," he said. "I wonder what that must feel like."
He carried himself with ease.
Yet the air around him was heavy.
Not oppressive.
But absolute.
"Raise your head," he said.
"There is no place for such formalities here. Not in a graveyard."
His gaze shifted briefly to the surrounding graves.
"The only time one should bow… is when honoring the dead. Not the living."
A pause.
"Lady Selena informed me someone was searching for me. Was that you, perhaps?"
"Yes," I replied. "I wish to ask you for a favour."
"Then speak. If it lies within my power, I will help you."
"I wish to obtain the Authority of the Prince. There is someone I must meet, under any and all circumstances. To do so… I must enter the castle."
"…The Authority."
The Prince fell silent.
The air grew heavier.
Time itself seemed to hesitate as though even it awaited his next words.
His gaze drifted past me.
Not at me.
Through me.
"I cannot grant that to you," he said at last.
"It is not within my power."
A pause.
"The Authority is not something tangible like a document… nor is it something abstract like magic."
He turned, beginning to walk toward a cluster of graves.
"It is recognition."
I followed.
"Recognition of the self… by the self… in the presence of the Absolute Judge."
"…If it cannot be granted," I asked, "then how did you obtain it?"
"I did not obtain it," he replied.
"I was born with the qualifications to possess it."
His steps were slow. Measured.
"As I grew, that qualification matured. I began to recognize myself… fully."
A pause.
"And then, at the age of seventeen… the Absolute Judge recognized me in turn."
He stopped.
"That is when I was granted the Authority of the Prince… and with it, one of the two requirements to challenge the royal throne."
"…Then I cannot possess it," I said. "I was not born a prince."
"Correct," he replied.
"Even if you were… it would not matter."
"…Why?"
"Because," he said quietly,
"The Absolute Judge is dead."
Silence.
"Executed… by the King."
He stopped before a grave.
A royal grave.
Untouched.
Unbroken.
Queen Mary