The road was endless.
Dry winds scraped across the cracked earth as Kael Draeven dragged his weary steps forward, the runes burned into his flesh glowing faintly with each heartbeat. His once-regal cloak hung in tatters, flapping like a dying banner behind him. Every step echoed with the weight of betrayal and a crown lost.
He didn't know how long he had been walking days, weeks? The stars never shifted. The Black Star, cruel and watchful, hung motionless in the sky, as though mocking him with its presence.
"Born under a cursed omen," they said.
"The prince of ruin."
He had been stripped of his name, his title, his destiny. His father, King Maren, had not even looked him in the eyes when he ordered the exile. Kael's own brother, Prince Rydan, stood by like a perfect puppet, already wearing the colors of the crown.
Kael clenched his fists. The runes reacted instantly lines of glowing black magic surged across his arms, pulsing like veins of flame beneath his skin.
He dropped to his knees, groaning as pain surged through him. The curse was no ordinary magic it was living, ancient, and hungry.
And it was evolving.
The wastelands of Dravenmoor had once been a battleground during the Starfall Wars. Only remnants remained shattered armor buried in sand, swords half-sunken in dunes, and bones whitened by centuries of sun. A land long forgotten.
Which made it the perfect graveyard for a fallen prince.
Kael stumbled into the husk of an old war camp. Blackened stone and charred tents formed the remnants of a kingdom's past desperation. He collapsed beside a half-buried war statue a stone knight holding a cracked blade.
His hand fell upon a metal shard beneath the dust.
It called to him.
He blinked. The shard pulsed with a faint blue glow. It wasn't iron. It wasn't steel. It was starforged a rare celestial metal born from meteor showers and imbued with cosmic energy.
Why would this be buried here…?
As he lifted the shard, the runes on his skin responded. The metal didn't burn. It soothed. As though the shard no, the weapon fragment recognized him.
In a sudden flash of memory, Kael saw a vision:
A great battle. Winged beasts. A warrior wielding a starforged blade that could bend moonlight. A name whispered in the ancient tongue:
Vel'tarion.
The Blade of Thorns.
Kael gasped and dropped the shard. The vision faded, but the sensation didn't.
His curse had linked with something older older than the kingdom, older than his bloodline. He wasn't just cursed. He was being claimed.
And then, a voice broke the silence.
"I was wondering how long you'd wander before fate dragged you here."
Kael spun around, runes flaring. A tall figure in gray robes stood at the edge of the ruins, leaning on a crooked staff. His face was hidden beneath a veil of shadows, but Kael felt no hostility.
Only… curiosity.
"Who are you?" Kael rasped.
The figure's voice was rough, ancient, and amused.
"Call me what you like. But I know what you are. I watched you fall. And I know what slumbers beneath your curse."
Kael took a step back.
"You know nothing about me."
The figure laughed.
"Oh, Prince Kael Draeven… the stars screamed your name the moment you were born. You were never meant to rule. You were meant to awaken."
Kael's fists tightened.
"I didn't ask for this."
"Fate never asks. But it always collects."
The stranger pointed at the shard.
"That blade chose you. You felt it, didn't you? You've only touched a fragment. But the rest waits... beneath the Valley of Drowned Suns."
Kael's breath caught. That valley was forbidden cursed by legend. A land swallowed by a celestial war centuries ago.
"Go there, Prince of Thorns," the man said.
"Find the blade. Awaken your truth. Or let the curse consume you."
In a blink, the figure vanished, as if erased by the wind.
Kael stared at the glowing shard in his hand.
He had lost everything his home, his family, his future.
But maybe… this exile wasn't the end.
Maybe it was the beginning.
He rose slowly, the shard held tightly, his back straightening under the weight of purpose. A new fire lit within his eyes. The runes pulsed not with agony, but with potential.
Somewhere beneath the cursed sands, a blade awaited.
Somewhere in the heavens, the stars shifted.
And in that silence, destiny stirred.
Interlude: The Kingdom Reacts
Far away, in the gilded halls of Velmora, King Maren sat upon his throne, fingers curled tightly around the armrest. A councilman whispered urgently into his ear.
"The Watchers have reported strange activity in Dravenmoor. Celestial surges. Ancient energy awakening."
The King's expression did not change, but something in his eyes darkened.
"Then it begins," he murmured.
Lady Naerys, the kingdom's high enchantress, stood at the far end of the court. She had been silent since Kael's banishment, but now, she stepped forward.
"The boy was never meant to die in exile," she said calmly. "He was meant to become something more."
Rydan, standing at the king's right, narrowed his eyes. "Then we should end him before that happens."
King Maren looked up slowly.
Then find him. And pray the stars still listen to our commands.