The Prince strode confidently to the field of battle and stared into the endless stretch of darkness that rose to meet him. He had fought this faceless foe before, many times, without victory but he was undeterred. He would fight on again and again regardless of the outcome because it was his nature to do so. No retreat. No surrender.
His parents, his guardians and fiercest supporters, urged him forward. They wanted him to meet the enemy head on, and while he was confused by their desire to see him enter the fray so frequently, he trusted they wouldn’t let him come to any true harm. He hoped, in time, he would understand their motives.
With one last look into each of their faces for confirmation that they once again wished him to meet the encroaching darkness, and receiving nods of assent, he pulled forth Scream, his mightiest weapon, and hurled himself into the clutches of the evil foe.
The darkness clutched at him and he used Scream to fend it off. Brandishing the weapon to the left and to the right, tensing his muscles, throwing every ounce of his strength into his counterattacks, he managed to hold his ground for a long time. His parents sang songs of his ancestors, encouraging him, lending him resolve and calming his nerves. He fed off that energy and his battle gained momentum, for a change he was fairing better against his nemesis.
But, the longer the battle raged, the more tired he grew. Scream became unwieldy and difficult to control. His muscles weakened. His eyelids grew heavy. The cool clutches of the darkness recognized its chance to pounce and quickly conquered the young hero.
In the background his parents sighed with relief, kissed his little forehead, and wished him sweet dreams.