In the palace courtyard, the air rang with steel and sweat.
Two silhouettes clashed within the training ring, their movements a blur, their swords slicing through the air with a speed thrice that of a normal man. Sparks danced like fireflies each time their blades collided—pure grit forged into form.
Suddenly, one figure vaulted into the sky. Mid-air, she flipped upside down, her head facing the ground and her feet kicking toward the clouds. With the blade held high above her head, she dove like a comet, steel-first.
The figure below didn't flinch. Instead, he crouched into a stance, eyes locked on the descending edge. With a roar and a flare of royal spirit, he leapt toward the oncoming blow.
Just as her weapon arced down, the girl grinned.
"Your Highness, you're going to lose!"
"Not this time, Lora!" the boy barked back, driving his sword upward. Their blades collided in midair—force against force—and hers was deflected, sending her spinning to the side.
But she didn't crash. Twisting in the air with practiced grace, Lora landed lightly and spun to face him.
"The Crown Prince is getting faster," she thought, a proud smile tugging at her lips.
Thud.
Solarien landed moments later, silent as snowfall, his stance precise, fluid. He rose and turned to face her, a triumphant grin blooming across his face.
"Hah! Lora, I've finally bested you!"
The sunlight caught his eyes—molten gold—and reflected off the fiery strands of hair that marked him as royal: heir of the human race, blessed of the Sun God Alzuras.
His features still bore the edge of youth—he was just fifteen, after all. But within two weeks, his Vein Awakening would begin.
His hands gripped the hilt of his sword with quiet power, calloused and firm, betraying years of discipline. Though born into luxury, Sol had not spent his days reclining. He had trained, bled, and endured.
He was Solarien Althurion. Crown Prince of the human kingdom of Solmara. Heir to the bloodline of Ascendants and the future king of the human empire.
Thwap.
A towel struck him in the face.
"Really, Lora?" he muttered, peeling it off with a dramatic sigh. "Is this how a maid treats her prince?"
"Oh, Your Majesty," Lora replied with syrupy sarcasm. "Please wipe your imperial sweat. I'd hate for the King and Queen to return and find I haven't properly looked after their precious son in their absence."
Her expression dripped with mock worship—and mischief.
Sol grinned. "I told you to call them Mother and Father. We're getting married in a few years, remember?"
Lora shook her head, her face hardening. "Your Highness, I've told you before—and I'll say it again. I am a palace maid. My duty is to serve you, not... marry you. My status is too low. It's impossible."
He stepped closer. "I don't care about status. I care about you."
She looked away.
She'd known since last year—he had feelings. And though her heart stirred the same, she dared not say it. How could a maid marry the Crown Prince of Solmara? No precedent. No chance.
He pressed on. "Once I awaken, I'll bring it before Mother and Father. I'm not marrying some noble's spoiled daughter. I'm marrying you, Lora. And they'll understand."
She didn't answer. Just shook her head.
He's relentless, she thought. And if he succeeds? Will I even be allowed to stay by his side?
"Anyway…" Sol's tone shifted suddenly, a mischievous spark in his eye. "Didn't someone say she was here to fulfill all my wishes?"
"Y-Yes, Sol. W-Why?"
She stepped back instinctively. That smile—it was the devil's own. She'd seen it before. Too many times.
"Well then, my dear future wife… since you're being so generous, how about a kiss? Right here. On the lips."
Shudder.
Her whole body jolted like lightning had raced through her veins. Her cheeks flushed crimson.
"Sol! Stop teasing me!" she yelled, spinning to leave.
But a strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back. Her body collided with his chest—firm, warm, terrifyingly close.
"I haven't given you permission to leave," he whispered, voice low.
Her breathing hitched. She could smell him. Not perfume. Not oil. Just… him. The pure, natural scent of Sol.
She gulped.
Her legs faltered. She wanted to squirm, but his grip held her firmly.
"Please," she managed to whisper. "Let me go."
"No," he said softly—but it might as well have been thunder.
"I said I want you to kiss me."
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Her heart battered her ribs. Her face flamed. Her chest heaved.
"Hahahaha! Look at your face!" Sol suddenly burst out laughing, letting go of her mid-laugh.
Flustered, furious, Lora shoved him away. "Asshole!" she snapped, before turning on her heel and storming out.
Watching her leave, Sol let out a quiet sigh.
"I simply can't love anyone but you."
He turned, sheathed his sword, and made his way toward the palace. He still had history class to attend—and his instructor loathed lateness.
---
In this world, thirteen kingdoms ruled the known lands—each governed by a different race.
Bridolom, home to beastkin, was one of the strongest. Their citizens bore hybrid bloodlines—wolves, lions, bears, dragons. That power made them formidable, especially with their unique trait: an ever-expanding Vein capacity, one they shared with the humans of Solmara.
And of course, there was Solmara itself—home to the human empire. Their protector? The Sun God Alzuras. Their crown? The royal family of Solmara, the Althurions, chosen and veined by divine decree.
More kingdoms loomed beyond—demon enclaves, aquatic realms, winged nations and many more mystical entities.