The young one stands over the glowing book holding a fragment of his father's skull. "This has happened before and it shall happen again," he mutters. The chamber is very dark and, for the most part, silent. The faint glow of magma enters the window. He begins uttering the mystical words, but he doesn't quite finish--
Junior awakens to find a black orb in the center of the room, stagnant over the book whose pages he was reading before. An unknown amount of time had passed. He doesn't know whose blood is on his hands, but most likely it is his own. The book called for it, he's sure. Nothing foul about it. It had to be done, he's sure. He wishes he could leave the orb's side to gather the others, but sadly the others are all dead; slain at the hands of that that mage and his fairy companion, and his beloved beast. The thoughts of his departed kin were strong enough to bring unwillful tears to Junior's eyes. He even began to weep, although not heavily. At least he will have his father, the King, back. He had always considered himself lucky that his father was immortal.
As the total darkness eventually faded into the light of day and the tears on his face had dried, the black orb had become larger, now touching the ground. Junior had placed the sacred book back on the shelf; its importance immeasurable. He had memorized the remainder of its passages anyway.
The black orb was now bigger than Junior himself, but still had much growing to do. Junior was always a small being anyway. Tall for a koopa, but nowhere near as large as his father.
