The Dark Unseen

The prince runs around the field, wildly singing the anthem of his father's realm, the blood-red banner pursuing him on the flexible pole. The lion-in-attack ripples above, dancing to the wind.
The fierce banner cuts whistling arcs, broad arcs of joy. The scarlet fabric flutters with regal celebration. The young, bold voice sings melodic boasts, the greatness of his father. The prince is a fountain of hope, bubbling with brightening color as he skips. The Counselor, sitting at the edge of the field, watches with dim eyes, but hears all, spoken and unspoken. The boy's praise coaxes a smile from the elder's wrinkled lips and tapping from his thin feet. As the bright melody continues to dance around the field, the wizened ears hear a another response to joy's young author.
In the dark unseen, hideous groans sing terrorized harmony to the prince's praise. Dark eyes bulge at the searing song of a grim-edged sword. In the land of light, it is the scarlet banner, dancing in unfettered praise of the king, directed by loving innocence. In the unseen, corrupt hordes press the youth, but the brilliant arc harvests a painful crop in the morbid throng.

In the light, the king's son at play, rejoicing, dancing. In the dark unseen, he is a tool of mayhem; relentless despair to those who hate the king. The sing-song voice of praise hammers unstoppable justice in the ears of the wicked.

The old Listener calls to the boy, who bubbles up to him on the bench. Hugging the youth close, the proven heart sings a low song of praise and protection. Joyful motion stops and the tousled, sweaty head turns to the Counselor.

"Babba, when can I be a real warrior?" The boy puzzles as the old man laughs. He laughs hard and loud. In the light, frail and precarious, the man bounces with laughter, while the boy, all elbows and knees, is enthralled. Black, unseen eyes, glazed in pain, bent on destruction, stare. They cautiously watch the older, laughing warrior, tall and light. His heart pulses with fire, visible through his translucent armor. The white fire surges outward, seeking whom it may consume. Next to him sits Young Justice, in his untiring hand a hungry sword, coated in the vain intentions of his enemies. Their bond flexes the unseen like a beating heart.

The Listener smiles grimly. "Your dancing with your Father's banner makes my heart happy. Let me hear more..." Old lips sing melodies, that danced, before time knew them. Young feet and a fluttering lion bring new justice to the dark unseen.