#skdfs

Baticul, the imperial capital. His cage--no, home--of seven years: a whole lifetime. Yet, somehow, the sights and sounds of the bustling metropolis bore a foreign aura that embraced the youth with disquieting hostility. Irises of emerald rose above split layers of both commercial and residential usage to the peak: a looming shadow of a castle--His final destination. 

It was mid-spring--The capital's air was laced with rebirth and renewal, chatter among the merchants echoed such calm; local gossip had diverged from thievery and discrimination for some time, instead ringing of a controversial celebration to be held by the royal family at twilight--A coming-of-age ceremony for a 'deceased' noble youth... and his ill-fated replica.

The crimson of a setting sun served as a backdrop to the male's ascent to the apogee of the city--A throat contracting as if any breath could be it's last. He had appeared as something as an apparition to his companions before--And yet, the solemn festivities commenced as if it had never happened. Maybe it was his fault, for vanishing that night.