In the infinite white were ornaments of the Esterk household’s living room. The largest sofa and a cluster of smaller size couches not even an iota of the bigger one, as well as the massive dining table was eye-catching. The make-believe wrestling ring was teeming with the dining table's chairs that were used to create a circle wide enough to classify as a ring. One of these chairs lacked its upper part due to a collision during the fight.

One of the couches was knocked over during the third round. This round was the round that the fight had become uncontrollably brutal. Both participants had entirely conceded wrestling. Punches were flying around as if they were bullets. It resembled a boxing match more than a wrestling match.

After several wounds inflicted, vulgar acts committed and curse words muttered, the match came to a conclusion with the High Prince dropkicking Bobathan, and by contrast, sending him flying, which then caused the couch to fall over.

The Little Prince, or the referee, as he declared, was horrified by how vile the competition had turned out. He was anxious he, too, might get caught up in the fight. He knew how his brother was. He must have been taking his anger out on Bobathan. He did not want any involvement in such a fight. Therefore, the round was given to the High Prince.

The High Prince had bruises on both cheeks. There were remnants of dried-up blood under his nose and above his lips. Despite the fact that both princes wore casual clothing when they snuck out of the palace, the High Prince refused to take off his gloves and wore baggy clothes that would conceal his shape. These gave him a slight advantage during the fight where his hands barely hurt from the blows he landed on his opponent.

Bobathan was roughed up. He had cuts on his cheeks when the High Prince had accidentally clawed him. The bleeding had ceased in a matter of seconds, but the scar had yet to disappear. Akin to that of the High Prince's bruises, he had them on both cheeks, too, but he also had a bruise on his forehead. His nose was still bleeding by the end of the third round. It did not last long.

By the end of the fourth round, the artificial realm was no longer coated with sugar white as far as the naked eye can fathom. Inside the crude wrestling ring were diminutive pools of blood that had all but dried by the end of the match. These pools were so vast in quantity that, when conjoined, it looked as if the artificial realm was once a land that had seen many wars which reshaped the geography into what it has devolved to today. The pond formed from the small pools had dried, but alas, they had engraved their mark on the surface once and for all. 

The fourth round was the longest of them all. Both sides were impoverished within the first few minutes. In these few minutes, both participants kept their malevolence at bay and awaited for the counterstriking advantage. This superiority could not be achieved, as the participants never attacked one another during the aforementioned period.

Upon the start of a separate war against the state of impoverishment, both participants reviewed each other via juxtaposition forthwith. Both arrived at the conclusion that they may be at a disadvantageous standing due to their fatigue. Neither accounted for the possibility that their opponent was in the exact same position as them, and therefore, failed to recognise the round could have been conceded mutually to end in a tie for both of them to rest and strategise.

Bobathan was the first to devise a new plan on the spot. This last-stand strategy was based on the hypothetical assumption that an approach that has worked once has no reason to fail the second time as long as there is improvisation or improvement.

Thereupon Bobathan side-stepped the High Prpoint. He jostled the High Prince from the rear and subsequently jabbed him as if he was trying to pin him down the floor and this was his attempt at knocking down the High Prince. 

The High Prince insinuated this was the perfect opportunity for a counterattack. He hastily spun in his own axis 90 degrees and faced Bobathan. Bobathan had already made a move to smite the High Prince in the crotch by this point.

Be that as it may, Bobathan's all-or-nothing plan had one fatal flaw: 

It had underestimated the High Prince's reflexes.

The High Prince opened his palm midway through his punch. He stopped the blow before it landed and grabbed Bobathan's hand so tightly that Bobathan shrieked in surprise. He wrenched the hand and tugged Bobathan towards himself.

Once in close range, the High Prince thwacked Bobathan in the chin with his knee. Bobathan, with the impact arriving slowly in waves, wobbled backwards. Before he was able to fully process what had happened, he got thumped in the chest. He lost balance thenceforth and collapsed.

The High Prince stomped his torso someplace above his heart to keep him in place as he intended to pummel Bobathan on the ground. The Little Prince, however, declared his triumph over the pseudo-wrestling match. He stated it is absolutely not necessary for him to rough Bobathan up any more than he already has. “The victor has no obligation for foul play for they have already outwitted their foe,” he quipped.

With untrusting eyes, he heeded the Little Prince's, or rather, the referee's command. He got up and dusted himself off.

“Now what?” 

“We should probably… uh… Get back before mom wakes up.”

“Yeah well, why dontcha just get us away from this weird ass dream… place…? Whatever it is.”

“An artificial re—”

“GET US OUT ALREADY!!” he shouted as he allowed himself to collapse on the floor. His fatigue which he ignored was catching up to him.

“You do realise both of you looked horrible, right? Not to mention all I can smell here is nothing but blood. What if it wore out on us, huh?!”

“What's your point?”

“If we go back like this, Bobathan's parents would be worried sick. Not to mention I doubt mom will ever not notice the absolute mess of a state you're in. There's just no way.”

“And you think it's better to just stay in this nothingness forever?

“Not exactly, but…”

“But what? This place creeps me out, let's get out already.”

“We should come up with a plan first!”

“Plan what? You get us back, we wash up and pretend nothing happened. That’s literally all.”

“And you think they won't notice the commotion?!”

“Oh, yeah. I guess the furniture could be troublesome to replace,” the High Prince agreed.

“Oh, about that. I think that's the least of our worries.”

“Okay?? Can you speak commonly, please?”

“Wow, very funny.” The Little Prince stared at his older brother with an irritated expression. “The realm is artificial, remember? The furniture here is a copy of the original ones.”

“Oh. So when we go back they'll all be there?”

“Correct.”

“THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WORRIED ABOUT? SEND US BACK!!” he shouted. This time, he grabbed his younger brother by the shoulders and shook him violently.

“Okay, okay! Let me go!” the Little Prince pushed him away. “Hold Johnathan, please.”

“Hold?”

“Just any physical contact is fine.”

“Why?”

“That way I have to teleport only t—”

“Never mind, forget I asked,” the High Prince interrupted as he wrapped Bobathan's arm around his neck. “Nerdspeak makes me wanna vomit.” 

The two brothers exchanged patent glances without acknowledgement of how blatantly they showcased their irk against one another. The Little Prince then took his brother's hand and repeated the incantation that had created the artificial realm.

The infinite white everywhere as far as the eye can see had started to falter. The unlimited white had started losing colour like life was sucked out of it. It had turned to a light shade of brown, and, slowly, it got darker and darker until nothing was left and everything was just pitch black. The consciousness of all three faded to oblivion along with the artificial realm.

The Little Prince, the host of the artificial realm, regained their consciousness prior to the other two. He opened his eyes ajar. He rubbed his eyes, then once more, and a third eye. 

He could have sworn they had used the living room for the spell. But there he was, sitting on the floor in the hall that conjoined all other rooms to the entrance. His clothes were dishevelled, but there seemed to be no other discrepancies. Then, what…

When he attempted to lift himself up, he was grabbed by the arm. “He's awake,” he heard the man yell, “start searching for the other two.” Several muffled affirmations were heard from different rooms.

The man haling the Little Prince was a knight from the Royal Army. Yes, a knight from the Royal Army was in the Esterk household’s residence and forcibly dragged the Little Prince away. What a blasphemous scene it was.

Inside the house was teeming with knights from the military. These knights were from the military, hence the Knight from the Royal Army was their superior. These two, often recognised as identical to one another despite having completely separate and unrelated governing bodies, were working together.

It was peculiar for the two to work together. But this was, after all, a special occasion.

The Empress had descended to the city.

With the first signs of daybreak, she had descended. 

Her first orders were to seize the princes.

The knights turned the house upside down. Then, when their bodies returned to Khevreg, Bobathan was promptly ignored. Thereupon the knights haled the High Prince to the carriage. 

Both Princes had stared at their mother, nonplussed.