Warring Royalty - Chapter 1

	John floated to The Battlefield on the cusp of the Breeze. The heir to the throne of Prospit flew in wide zig-zags and curlicues through the void of Paradox Space that separated the planets of the Incipisphere. Of the twenty-two that orbited Skaia, Prospit controlled ten. John loved watching these colorful spheres run their courses through the void. John loved the planets. He loved being able to get out and do things. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had an opportunity to do so in months.

	Today was different however. Today John would accompany a detachment of Prospitian troops through routine exercises and get a chance to see The Battlefield without an escort for the first time. Though the Queen had rolled her eyes at the Heir’s previous sarcastic remarks, she felt that he appreciated the opportunity. And he did.

	John passed through the first cloud in the upper atmosphere of Skaia, wind whipping at his stately attire. John wore a gold silken tunic emblazoned with the symbol of his kingdom, accompanying slacks, and simple blue shoes. A pair of rectangular spectacles where set on his nose, reflecting celestial glare as John approached Skaia. He had chosen to forego more formal outfits weighed down with frilled cuffs, embossed buttons, and expensive jewelwork, though the Queen had insisted on at least some level of official attire. After all, John wasn’t going to be seeing any action today.

	Of course, John had other plans. The clouds were an anomaly of Skaia; they were not condensed from water like the clouds on several of the surrounding planets. Rather, most assumed them to be whisps of the consciousness of Skaia itself, given their tendency to display images from all timelines and realities. John felt a slight buzz all about him as he passed through the cloud, wordlessly telling the Breeze to pick up speed. He tucked his limbs into his body and shot off from his leisurely descent like a rocket, blue trails of the Breeze’s power fading in his wake. He weaved through the complex geometric patterns that surrounded the planet below, wasting more time than he was aware before finally dropping close to the the planet's surface and setting himself into an even cruising speed.

	The Heir surveyed the landscape: The soil was black and white like a checkerboard, dotted with cliffs, trees, fields, and rivers. This section of The Battlefield was close enough to the Kingside Castle where he did not have to worry about hostile anti-air support. Though smoke rose in the distance, John still elected to duck in and out of the canyon of a river valley before darting back up to even ground and in the direction of the main military encampment.

	John groaned, immediately regretting his decision. Though the musclebound Prospitian commander had not berated John for his lateness, he made it abundantly clear just how much of a nuisance it was to have to start his demonstration so late. Of course, he was proud to have the Heir himself present at his operation, though he had wished the Queen had sent someone perhaps more suitable.

	“To be honest, I had been expecting your Page, Jake. As a young man training to assume command of the armed forces in the stead of our King, it would be his place to conduct inspections such as this.” The commander stated, proud and matter-of-fact. John stuffed his hands into his pockets and tossed his head skyward.

	“So, you don’t want me here, is that it? ‘Cause I could head back right now and tell the Queen that you’d rather have the company of my general instead of the Heir…” John replied with no threatening intent but all of the effect, which promptly set the commander into a string of apologies and accolades. It took John several minutes to calm down the suddenly hysterical officer. They continued their tour of the encampment. It wasn’t long before John tired of the organization and speeches. All of the orders that the commander barked to his constituents bothered John to no end. For one in line to succeed the throne of a conqueror, John showed a certain lack of character required for the job.

	He didn’t allow the commander to bother him, though. No, he was on The Battlefield! This was *the* place to explore, if anything. John knew he could get a full exploration of any of the planets under Prospit’s control, but everyone considered The Battlefield such serious business all the time, with no opportunity to see what the parts of the planet held beyond that of established Prospitian military bases.
	It was not difficult to slip away from the commander, perhaps aided in part by the fact that he was relieved to have John gone. Leaving the base was not difficult, but doing so without word of it getting back to the King or the Queen was a slightly trickier affair. Though within the hour, John was once again soaring low over the landscape of The Battlefield, picking up speed so that the black and white squares almost blended together into a solid grey.

	Every planet in the Incipisphere was unique. The Land of Heat and Clockwork was a sea of lava and metal, the Land of Maps and Treasure was a vast ocean containing tiny islets oversaturated with gold and Boondollars. And though he had seen it once before in person and many times in pictures and film, John couldn’t help but feel exhilarated as he sat on the edge of a canyon and tossed stones into the river below. The stark checkerboard soil, the almost inexplicable presence of trees and other plants, and the way that the castles and other buildings appeared to seamlessly blend with the landscape, as though they had been grown from the earth itself. And for all John knew they very well could have been. John cleaned his glasses lenses on his tunic and stood. He jumped, the Breeze carrying him across the canyon. He floated a little ways further before dropping to his feet and breaking into an even trot across what would pass for a small meadow. Soon, John found himself climbing a particularly steep face of hill. He paused mid-stride as a small yellow box blinked in the corner of his right lens.

	“Open.” John muttered. The box sprung to cover John’s field of vision; it was opaque enough to be legible, but transparent enough where John could continue walking, though slightly slower. The box blinked with the screen name of one of his vassals trying to contact him.
“Hmm, Karkat? Pff, yeah. Ignorin’ that. Not after last night, buddy!” John said with a wry grin as he pantomimed a pair of pistols forward, the box closing and vanishing from his field of view. John flicked the corner of his glasses to turn off his messenger. He had more important things to do than be harangued by his subordinates.

	John reached the crest of the hill, weaving his fingers together and stretching, taking in the surrounding landscape. It was beautiful to be sure, though all very typical, save for the presence of a tall, lanky young man clad in a violet uniform.

	John cocked an eyebrow, but before he could speak the young man in front of him turned his head and sprang to his feet. His fair blonde hair was long and slicked back, and his hauntingly familiar face was covered partially by a pair of triangular sunglasses. John let out an audible snort.

	“Ha! Seriously? Those shades, dude. What’s up with that? I mean I don’t even need to take a stab at ‘em, they speak for themselves.” John said while containing chuckles. The young man did not appreciate John’s mockery.

	“Interrupting a bro’s meditation is rude enough, but then you rag on his totally sweet eyewear,” the young man said, drawing a straight blade that John had somehow failed to notice. He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, “That’s hella unchill, yo.” He said with calm certainty. John openly laughed.

	“Oh wow. I thought *Tavros* was delusional,” John said, one hand on his hip and the other moving with his words for emphasis. John paused, examining the young man, “Oh wow, you’re totally from Derse, aren’t you!” He exclaimed. The young man dropped his head in slight disbelief.

	“Seriously?”

	“Well unless you’ve just got a naturally shitty fashion sense, though honestly that’s still probably a valid thing, then I’m gonna say that yeah, you’re from Derse.”

	“Oh, whatever fucking gave it away.”

	“Too much purple, your hair is kind of retarded…” John began to count on his fingers, rolling his eyes to the sky. The young man gripped his blade in two hands.

	“You’re John, heir of Prospit.” He said plainly. John looked up from his rapture with his fingers.

	“Yeah, that’s me. And you’re… Dirk, right?” John asked, dropping his hands and facing the young man, seeing him adopt a fighting stance.

	“Damn straight.” Dirk replied. John narrowed his eyes and caught Dirk smirk before the blonde youth vanished, leaving nothing but an afterimage.

	John felt a push at his side as the Breeze moved him to the right, Dirk’s blade materializing above his head and coming down with barely a hairline separating flesh and steel. John twisted; his face contorted by surprise, and kicked off, taking about ten feet above Dirk. The cut had managed to slice at John’s sleeve, exposing his forearm. Dirk reappeared below John, blade in hand.

	“Okay, *I’m* the hella unchill one here?” John exclaimed, slowly distancing himself further from Dirk.

	“You’re totally the instigator.”

	“Oh that is such horseshit! I was going for a walk when all of the sudden the freaky cartoonish prince of Derse tries to give me a free trial to his amputation clinic!”

	“You have no idea how this works, do you.” Dirk said, dropping his guard just slightly. John scoffed.

	“I get the idea that we’re supposed to be fighting, and now I guess I see why,” John began to pantomime his words as he spoke, “You. Are. A. Colossal. Dick!”

	“You really expect me to be anything else.”

	“Well I dunno, maybe not so hasty! I mean fuck I don’t even have my hammer! Aren’t there, like, gentlemanly rules of engagement or something?” John shouted, running the back of his hand across his brow. Sweat dripped from his hand; Dirk picked up on this like a predator eyeing the weakest member of the herd. The Prince wordlessly jumped at the Heir, whose reaction was better suited to their engagement.

	Dirk swung and John dodged, the tip of Dirk’s blade cutting John across the thigh. John winced and shouted, doubling back and hitting Dirk full on with a blast of compressed air, striking him square on his collarbone and sending him flying hurdling to the ground. Midflight, Dirk corrected himself, executing a three point landing. He looked back up to John with a smirk.

	John continued to rise, now all but certain that he was out of Dirk’s reach. He floated in silence for a moment as Dirk stood, shouldering his sword. John heard a voice cry out and opened his mouth to reply before he realized that it had not been the Prince. He twisted his head, trying to pinpoint the origin of the voice. The Breeze carried him over and away from the hill, to another just nearby. Dirk jogged after John, blade still drawn, observing.

	John rose higher, peering over the next hill. Though it was distant, Dirk was certain that he could make out a look of surprise on the Heir’s face. John looked back down at Dirk, and again over the hill. Then, in an instant, John rose past the clouds and sped off away from The Battlefield. A single drop of blood landed on white grass in front of Dirk, unnoticed as it was trampled underfoot. Dirk jogged up the hill, his attention still set on the departing John before turning once he reached the hilltop.

	Dirk’s orange eyes widened as he gazed into the valley below. Hundreds of figures moved in between a hodgepodge of tents and other small structures. Flags of a neutral color flew above the campsites and the standards that Dirk could see presented no loyalty to Prospit or to Derse.

	Perhaps most shocking to the Prince were the black and white figures moving in and out of the tents, intermingling. Dirk shook his head and looked again, lowering his sunglasses to be sure that his eyes were not deceiving him.

	“Well this is… Interesting.” He muttered. Dirk stuck the tip of his blade into the soil at his feet and tapped a finger to his lens, bringing an assortment of windows and displays to life in his vision. He vocalized a short series of commands and opened a memo, addressing it to the three members of his personal cabinet.
“Meet in Southwest Conference Hall in three hours. Tell no one. This is urgent.”

	The Prince tapped his sunglasses and they dimmed, the displays fading from view. Dirk grabbed his sword, turned, and began jogging down the hill and away from the campsite. He expected the next few days to be interesting.