Inside the small, weather-worn wooden house, the air smelled of warm stew and firewood. Amy and her father, Elric, sat on opposite sides of a roughly carved table, quietly eating their lunch. The silence was a comforting one—routine, steady, unremarkable.
Then the creaking sound of a door opening broke the quiet.
Ari stepped out from the guest room, still groggy from sleep. His hair was tousled, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. The sunlight from the window revealed the lean muscle of someone who had endured both hardship and training. He rubbed the back of his neck and blinked against the light.
"Come and eat with us," Elric said, his tone gentle but firm.
Ari hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Oh... okay. Thanks." His voice was quiet, shy. He turned slightly to close the door behind him—and that's when Elric and Amy saw it.
Ten dark markings on his upper back.
Nine small dots formed a perfect circle, and in the center, a larger one, like the sun among planets. But something wasn't right. Amy leaned in, eyes narrowing. One of the nine wasn't a tattoo. It was a scar—deep, pale, and puckered like it came from a blade rather than ink.
"When did you get a tattoo?" Amy asked, unable to hide the surprise in her voice.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Ari twisted, trying to look over his shoulder. His fingers brushed his back, searching blindly.
"On your upper back. You've got a pattern of dots, but one's clearly a scar." Amy tilted her head, still staring.
Ari gave up trying to see it. "I didn't even know it was there," he muttered, confused. He sat beside them, quietly picking up a spoon, trying to act normal. But something shifted in the room, the silence a little heavier now. Elric said nothing, but his eyes flickered with suspicion.
---
Later that day, Ari and Amy stood beneath the shade of tall trees just outside the village. This was their usual training ground—roots like veins beneath their feet, branches whispering overhead, the forest a quiet spectator to their growth.
Amy gripped her wooden sword with purpose. Her dream burned like a star in her chest: to become a magic knight, to protect her village and prove herself in a world that favored nobility. Ari, by contrast, had no dream of glory—only survival. His movements were sharp, his swings calculated, born from necessity, not pride.
Amy practiced her magic form—gravity manipulation—unseen but present. She steeled her breath, shifting invisible weight around Ari's sparring form. Ari swung his staff, then paused mid-swing.
He blinked, confusion deepening. "That… felt different. Lighter. My staff felt… feather‑light. I could swing forever without tiring."
Today, something was different.
Ari paused mid-swing. His wooden staff felt light—unnaturally so. He twisted it, struck again, faster. There was no fatigue, no resistance. It was like the weight had been stripped from the world.
Amy noticed. She watched him, frowning. "Ari," she said softly, breaking the rhythm. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but… what happened at your house last night?"
Ari stopped.
Ari's jaw clenched. His neck tightened. In that uninterrupted hush, he could almost sense the pulse of her voice like a beacon. He gripped his staff so hard that a fine crack echoed—a whisper of splintering wood. His knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes, and the moment hung heavy until he opened them and met Amy's steady gaze.
"I… I want to tell you," he began. His voice was thick. "But it hurts to say it out loud."
Amy stepped forward. "It's okay. I promise."
He breathed in, sending a quiet tremor through his chest. "I came home last night, expecting my mother... to be there. But instead—"
His voice faltered, his throat thick. He swallowed back the words, and for a moment, Amy worried she broke something inside him.
Ari spoke slowly, eyes fixed on the ground. He told her everything—walking into his home, finding his mother lifeless, soaked in blood. The cold blade that pierced him from behind. The strange magic that distorted the air around her corpse. The explosion that should have killed him but didn't.
When he leaned back further, she instinctively reached out. He accepted her touch. She squeezed his hand. "Ari… I'm so sorry."
He closed his eyes, feeling her warmth and frailty all at once. "That's not all, Amy."
Amy nodded, urging him to continue.
"I—something awakened in me." His voice dropped to a whisper. "It's not magic. I don't even know what it is. But it's powerful. I can feel like… like I am the power, and the power is inside me. But I can't control it."
Amy's eyes widened in shocked. Her hand rose to cover her mouth. "You're saying… you awakened something that isn't magic?"
He looked at the sky through the branches, seeking solace from the bright canopy that had never felt so heavy. "Tonight I must attend the royal banquet."
Amy's breath hitched. "The banquet? You can't—"
"I have to." His voice was rough, determined. "I'm a prince. And my mother…"
He paused, anger flickering.
"Someone in the palace did this. I'm almost certain of it. My father's wives—they were all nobles. My mother was a commoner. She had no bloodline to speak of. They—"
Amy stiffened. She'd heard rumors. "So… they targeted her?"
He nodded slowly, nostrils flaring. "Yes. Their disdain became hate. I wanted to give it all up… the title, the rights. I was going to ask to be stripped of it all, to live outside this Kingdom with my mother."
He looked away, voice softer. "But now… now she's dead."
Tears brimmed in Amy's eyes. Her heart seized as if struck. Ari's voice trembled with something she'd never heard before—grief, rage, resolution.
"And because of that, I will… kill them. Not just my stepmothers, not just the nobles who conspired. I'll kill anyone involved. But I can't—yet. I'm not strong enough."
He drew a ragged breath. "I need… absolute authority. The only way to do so is to become king."
A shard of resolve shone in his eyes. Amy swallowed. "Ari…"
He looked at her, his hand squeezing hers. "I need you. You and your family are in danger. They sent assassins to kill me—but if they know I escaped, they'll come for anyone who helped me. Including you."
Amy felt the world shift under her. Her fingers trembled. "What do you need from me?"
Ari's expression softened just enough to show a trace of gratitude. "Help me become strong. I'll Help you to protect this village. Train with me. Be by my side."
Amy nodded, her breath shuddering. "I will."
He stepped back, twirling his broken staff into a fighting stance. "Then we have to train, to get stronger."
Suddenly, with a fluid movement, Ari attacked.
Amy narrowed her eyes. She closed them for a split second—then cast her magic. Gravity surged. Ari staggered as if pulled downward, his staff brushing the earth.
They held there, breathed together, letting the forest tremble with echoed tension. Their training had taken a new turn—from play to preparation for a war that neither yet fully understood.
---
Night had fallen over the grand castle of Vaelora, its opulent exterior lit by torchlight and whispers. Inside, the throne room shimmered with candlelight and tinted glass, the hall thick with the scent of perfumed nobles, spiced food, and fraught expectation.
Across the room, William, the king's right-hand advisor, observed the assembled heirs. Glass goblets clinked as conversations wove tension into every word.
"Everyone is here, Your Majesty," William murmured politely. His eyes darted among the princes and princesses—each in their finery—none bearing open hostility, yet each concealing it in polite glances.
"Hmm." The king on his throne scowled slightly as he swept the room with a regal gaze.
"No," the king replied, his voice low. "My youngest son is not."
William straightened awkwardly. "But the banquet has begun. Isn't this a Violation to royal regulation?"
The king said nothing.
At the far end of the hall, a woman in a deep-red dress, Her lips curved in a subtle, almost imperceptible smile. As a server sidled close with a perfect glass of crimson wine, she raised it with elegant fingers.
"Did you complete what I… requested?" she whispered—not audibly, but directly into his mind.
The servant's eyes flickered. It was he who had led the assassins into the Calvarin household. His vocal voice resembled neither a whisper nor a murmur; instead it echoed in her mind. "Yes, Your Highness. No evidence remains."
He turned to leave.
The murmurs peaked. Suddenly, the grand double doors swung open. A hush rippled across the room.
Ari entered—not grandly, but with quiet determination. He wore simple clothes that belied his royal status—a muddy tunic, dark trousers. No magical aura announced him. He strode forward, unafraid, each footstep echoing as if to command attention.
Then he knelt before the throne. The room's breath caught in its throat.
"I greet the greatest King," he stated calmly.
Every eye turned toward the back of the hall. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Elbowed nobles gasped. Servants froze. Candle flames quivered as though stunned.
The woman in red stiffened. Her mind recoiled. Impossible! I sent an S-class assassin? I made sure of it!
She realized then—Ari had survived. Something went horribly wrong.
She clenched her fists under the table, her face contorting in rage.
Ari stood and turned to leave, but one of the princes—draped in crimson like fire itself—stepped forward.
"Hey! Who said you can come and go without the king's permission?" he barked. "Don't you care about anyone who worked hard for this banquet, you shameless bastard?"
Ari turned slowly. "Why would I care," he said coldly, "when all of you will be dead soon?"
Murmurs spread like wildfire. The air tightened.
"You dare say that here?" Ozai, the crimson prince, roared. Flames flickered faintly around his fists. "You think you'll be king?"
"I don't think," Ari said, walking past him with fearless calm. "I will be king."
He stopped at the edge of the hall, turning back one last time.
"Someone in this room murdered my mother. I'll find out who. And I swear—none of you will survive until I do."
The king gripped the armrests of his throne tightly. He sent a silent command to William: "Investigate what happened to her. And to him."
Ari… what happened to you to be this terrifying? he thought.
Cries of outrage erupted.
"My king! Punish him!"
"He disrespected you!"
"He threatens us all!"
But the king said nothing.
And Ari walked out, leaving behind a room that would never forget the fire he had lit.