As the Cleric walked through the long, heavily decorated hallways, he thought of the ways to help the child without being sent to the Red Chambers. A horrible place where you're magic is sucked out of every pore before you are cast aside to the Dead Lands. He couldn't think of one, the majesties are ruthless people, but that's only known to the few higher-ups. The citizens of Ollum love the monarchs and wouldn't believe anyone if they told the horrors of what lies beneath the stories the monarchs say to their people. 

As the Cleric was lost in thought, a maid in a simple brown dress walked past the Cleric, her hair draped down to her back as she carried a hot plate of food toward the room of Prince Christopher. Prince Christopher was a lazy prince who only had his good looks going for him. He liked to skip his lessons and didn't care for the people who watched over them, many of the time verbally and physically abusing them. Although he was still young, only nine years old, he still wasn't what the monarchs thought their heir should act like. They both bowed to each other at the same time.

"Long live the Kingdom of Ollum," they said in monotone unison. 

The maid continued on her way to the Prince's room, and the Cleric didn't pay any mind to her until-

CRASH!!!

A loud shattering sound came from the Prince's room. "I-I'm sorry young majesty, I did not kn-now that the cooks had put lettuce on your plate; please forgive my insolence," the Cleric heard the young women's voice quiver through the slightly cracked door of the Prince's room. 

"There he goes again, picky as always," the Cleric muttered under his breath. The maid walked back out of the Prince's room in a hurry carrying pieces of broken plates and ruined food, and she had no time to recite to the Cleric this time. 

"Poor girl, having to wait on him," the Cleric thought to himself.  There was nothing he could do, and the Prince was allowed to do what he wanted when he wanted. So, the Cleric continued his slow walk through the decorated halls, still trying to come up with any way to save the child from her fate. He continued to ponder the questions after taking turn after turn, bowing and reciting the same sentence more times than necessary. When he reached the East Wing, he still hadn't come up with a solution. Every way he looked at it, he would be sent to the Red Chambers, the village would be burned and slaughtered, and they would capture the child. 

He had finally reached The East Wing, where the Five were stationed, and the East Wing wasn't a place anybody without permission from the Queen could venture. When he came to the entrance, two heavily armoured guards stood in a semi-relaxed posture; their armour was carved with intricate gold feathers going along the neckline of the chest plate.

The guards straightened their posture as he approached. All three bowed and, in unison, said the mantra, "Long live the Kingdom of Ollum."  

The Cleric walked past them, continuing on his path. The East Wing wasn't nearly as decorated or extravagant as the rest of the castle, and it didn't need to be. No guests or other nobles came to this wing, so what was the point of putting up expensive paintings and flowers on every wall. The floors were a grey stone instead of marble; the whole place seemed much drearier and grey than the rest of the castle. 

A shiver ran through the Cleric's back as slight brown pin-feathers danced across his back. "Gods, I hate being here," he whispered as he looked around the halls. 

He passed one wooden, splintery door after another, each almost identical to the other. He turned to the left, facing an inconspicuous door. It looked pretty much the same as the rest of them, same dusty brown color, same unsanded splinters poking out just where your hand would reach, same scratchy straw handle that fed through, the same hole that the straw was knotted into. But somehow, this one was different; this one sent those same shivers down the Cleric's spine. His pin-feathers on the back of his neck had grown and were standing on end. 

"They're just people. They're just people," he whispered as he gathered his courage. "They're just people," he whispered one last time before he grabbed the scratchy straw handle and pulled the heavy wooden door open.