[THE CHAMBER OF PRINCE RAEL]
On that beautiful morning, Rael awoke completely unaware of what fate had in store for him.
He rose early, just as the sun began to pierce the sky, flooding his chamber with golden light. Quickly, he bathed and dressed himself, the fabric of his ceremonial garments still cool from the morning air.
Excitement coursed through him like fire through oil. That day would mark the formal proclamation of his destiny—the day he would be named the official heir to the throne. It was a sacred tradition of the Kingdom of Cronos, a mighty realm seated in the eastern heart of the continent.
And for Rael, the eldest son and rightful heir, it was more than a ceremony. It was the culmination of a life shaped for a crown.
He had prepared his entire life for this moment, and yet, he could not restrain the joy swelling within him. Not as prince. Not as warrior. But simply as a young man, standing at the threshold of his future.
Just as he was about to leave his room and begin the final preparations, the door burst open.
In came Nil—his younger brother—who flung his arms around him in a surprise embrace.
"Nil! What a joy to see you. You're up early today. That's a surprise."
Nil resembled Rael, though he was far shorter in stature. Though only a few years separated them, Rael had always towered over his brother—even when he himself had been Nil's age.
"I woke up early just to talk to my big brother before he becomes king!" Nil beamed. "After today, you'll be too important to play with me!"
"Haha! I'm not becoming king yet, Nil. It's just a ceremony."
"A ceremony that makes my brother king!" Nil replied with dramatic enthusiasm. "Come on, I want to spar with you one last time—before you forget how to fight!"
"What a sudden request. We'll have plenty of time to train, my brother… Hey! Wait—"
Nil dashed into the chamber and grabbed a wooden stick, brandishing it like a sword.
"Defend yourself!" cried the boy, raising it above his head.
"Come now, get out of my room."
"Only if you fight me! Otherwise, I'll tell everyone you fart in your sleep—and no one will ever want to marry you!"
"Enough of your nonsense, Nil. Let's—watch out!"
Nil swung at him playfully, but Rael dodged with ease, barely even trying. His reflexes were sharp as ever.
The truth was clear—Rael had always been stronger. Taller, better trained, more disciplined. Their sparring matches were never fair, but that never stopped Nil from trying.
Realizing there was no escape, Rael joined the game. With nothing but his bare hands, he began parrying the wooden strikes with graceful ease, deflecting each one effortlessly.
Nil, determined, leapt onto furniture, climbed rafters, and launched attacks from unpredictable angles. His speed and creativity were impressive—even admirable.
But to Rael, it was little more than a warm-up. A dance with a child who, for all his fire, could never win.
In the end, with a single well-timed move, Rael disarmed him and sent the boy tumbling to the ground. The stick clattered beside him.
"That's enough for today. We'll continue later, all right?" Rael offered his hand to the exhausted boy.
Nil lay there, drenched in sweat, staring up at his brother with wide eyes.
"You're unbeatable…" he muttered between gasps.
Rael helped him up with a grin, and the two walked toward the chamber doors together.
"Now go bathe, little one. You stink," Rael teased.
They laughed as they made their way down the grand corridor, trading light-hearted jabs and brotherly banter. But the moment of calm was soon interrupted.
A soldier approached them at a brisk pace, clad in heavy ceremonial armor.
He bowed quickly and spoke with urgency.
"Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace. Soldier Higor, reporting for duty."
"You're always welcome, Higor," Rael replied warmly. "Today is a special day. How is my old friend?"
Higor raised the visor of his helmet, revealing sharp features—blonde hair, piercing blue eyes. Though born in the western provinces—once an independent kingdom—his lineage had long since been conquered by Cronos. Yet even as a former noble, Higor had sworn allegiance to the royal family.
Rael and Higor had been friends since childhood. There was trust between them.
The two exchanged a few words, until Nil, still recovering, leaned forward with a mischievous grin.
"Aren't you going to ask about Helena?"
Rael flushed red at once.
"My sister?" said Higor with a smirk. "She's well. She can't wait to marry you, Rael. She's been scouring all of Cronos for the most beautiful dress for the occasion."
As Higor came from a royal lineage—one that had long since bent the knee to Cronos—a diplomatic agreement had been struck to preserve some of his family's privileges. Among them: that Higor and Rael would be raised as companions, and that Helena, Higor's sister, would one day be wed to the prince as a gesture of unity between the old blood and the new crown.
It wouldn't be difficult for Rael to marry Helena, even if it was a political arrangement. She was beautiful—gorgeously so. Golden-haired, full-bodied, radiant. And for reasons he couldn't explain, Rael had always harbored a particular fondness for women with golden hair.
"Haha, I see... Well, your sister is very beautiful," Rael mumbled, clearly flustered. "She'd look good in anything."
Nil grinned wide, enjoying every moment of his brother's embarrassment.
"Well, I should get going. If I don't hurry, I'll be late," said Rael, turning away.
And so he left, cheeks still burning, while Nil and Higor remained behind. Nil chuckled under his breath—until his brother disappeared from view.
Once Rael turned the corner, Nil's expression changed.
His smile faded, and his eyes darkened.
He turned to Higor and spoke quietly.
"It has to be today, Higor. I've had enough of pretending to be the good little brother. No matter how hard I try, he's always stronger. Stronger in everything. I could never defeat him with my own hands. If I don't get rid of him today... I'll never be king."
"Y-yes..." Higor looked around, anxious, scanning the corridor for any signs of eavesdroppers. But there was no one. Only shadows, still and silent. "You can rest assured... a perfect opportunity has presented itself."
"Oh?" Nil narrowed his eyes. "And what opportunity is that?"
[SUBTERRANEAN PRISON OF CRONOS]
The Kingdom of Cronos held many prisons—some built beneath the earth, others above. Yet when the Emperor himself needed to see a royal prisoner, he would only visit the most secure and well-kept facilities. In such cases, the prisoners were transferred.
But this prisoner—this one in particular—could not, under any circumstance, be moved.
Even with the strongest escort, to open his cell would be to invite annihilation.
And so the Emperor descended himself—into filth and shadow—to face a warrior said to be too powerful to cage.
"We've tried everything," said the general at his side. "Torture, persuasion, even magic. But nothing worked. It's as if that monster is unbreakable."
"Then is my visit in vain?" the king asked calmly.
He wore a deep red tunic, and his long hair was tied behind his head—though the ponytail dragged across the filthy ground like the tail of some regal serpent.
"Not at all, Your Majesty," said the general, bowing slightly. "In truth, the prisoner said he would speak—but only in the presence of the royal bloodline."
"I see," the king replied. "Then let us speak."
They passed through tunnel after tunnel, each darker and more winding than the last. Right, left, downward and deeper, until the air grew heavy and damp, and they reached the cell.
There sat an old man—white-skinned, his hair long and grayed, his beard wild and unkempt. He wore once-white garments, now soiled and stained by the filth of the underground. And yet, he sat with a serenity so profound that the decay around him seemed to avoid him.
The cell itself was unusually clean, as though his very presence repelled the grime. Even the rats, it seemed, kept their distance.
"Speak your purpose, outsider," said the king.
The old man opened his eyes—pale blue, so light they nearly seemed silver. His gaze met the Emperor's without fear.
"Emperor of Cronos, it is an honor to stand before you. I bring you a message."
"I assume it must be important, considering you killed an entire battalion of mine… and ten of my royal elite."
"The message is simple, general," the old man said, as if the slaughter meant nothing to him. "I brought down part of your army alone, and I could, even now, do far greater damage to your kingdom. In truth, where I come from, there are warriors far more skilled than I. You would not defeat them."
"That's a threat!?" snarled the general beside the king.
"Not at all," the old man replied, unbothered. "It is merely a statement of fact. But I bring no threats. My people are peaceful. We do not interfere in the natural cycle of the earth."
"Then what is your message?" the king asked at last, his voice a low growl.
The old man stepped forward. As he approached the bars, the air shimmered, faintly glowing—as though he carried a light within himself.
"Rancor shall take hold of this kingdom, Emperor of Cronos. What you have sown, you will one day reap. And that harvest will haunt you to your death. No one—not even my people—will be able to stop the demon that will be born from the depths of this land."
The king drew in a slow breath. His skin crawled at the words.
He knew what it meant. Though he would not admit it aloud, he knew.
For generations, the legend of the demon had been passed from king to king. Whispers. Warnings. Prophecies.
Without a word, the Emperor turned his back on the prisoner and began walking toward the exit.
"We're leaving, General."
"But, sire—"
"He's just a madman," the king said flatly. "Let him rot."
And yet, as they stepped into the shadows of the corridor, the Emperor gave a quiet command.
"Send ten of our finest," he said coldly.
The general blinked. "But… sire, why post ten elite warriors to guard a ruined temple? Is this about the prisoner's words?"
The king said nothing.
He was furious.
And he would not let anything touch his kingdom.
No matter the cost.
"Send the ten."