The capital was nothing like Richard had imagined.
From the moment he passed through the massive stone gates, the air seemed heavier — thick with secrets, whispers, and the scent of ambition.
The streets buzzed with life: merchants hawking exotic spices, nobles in fine silks weaving through crowded marketplaces, and street performers juggling flames that flickered like captive stars.
Richard stuck close to Prince Lucas, who moved with a practiced ease that made the city feel like a chessboard — every step calculated, every glance measured.
---
A World Apart
Richard felt out of place.
His hands, calloused from years of chopping wood and hauling water, trembled as he gripped the reins of the horse he was riding. His clothes, though freshly washed, still smelled of earth and sweat.
Lucas caught his glance.
"You'll have to learn to wear masks here," Lucas said quietly. "Not the kind you see in festivals, but the kind people wear to hide who they really are."
Richard didn't understand at first.
"Why hide?"
Lucas smiled—a quick flash of something darker.
"Because sometimes the truth is a weapon sharper than any sword."
---
The Council's Judgment
Before long, Richard found himself standing once more before the Council of Elders. This time, the chamber felt colder, more imposing.
The elders regarded him not as a boy, but as a symbol.
One of them, a woman with silver-streaked hair and piercing green eyes, spoke first.
"You carry the blood of a forgotten line, Richard. The weight of the past and the hopes of the future rest upon you. You will be trained in ways that will challenge your mind, your body, and your soul."
Richard swallowed hard. "I'm ready."
The elder's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "We will see."
---
First Lessons
The days that followed were a whirlwind.
Richard was introduced to the city's elite trainers — warriors who moved like shadows, scholars who spoke in riddles, and magisters who wielded arcane power with subtle gestures.
He struggled to keep up.
At times, he felt like a child playing dress-up in a world designed for kings and queens.
But he pressed on.
Because running away was no longer an option.
---
A Shadow in the Halls
One evening, as Richard wandered the sprawling halls of the castle, he caught a glimpse of movement—a figure slipping through a side corridor.
Curiosity tugged at him.
He followed.
The corridor was narrow and dimly lit. Richard moved carefully, his boots silent against the cold marble. The figure ahead of him walked without fear, barely glancing back, as if daring him to follow.
He had no idea why he was doing this.
Curiosity? Boredom? Suspicion?
Maybe all three.
He turned a corner and entered a quiet chamber lit only by the flicker of candlelight.
The stranger stood near a wall etched with faded markings—runes Richard couldn't read, but something about them stirred unease in his chest.
"Not many students wander this deep into the archive halls," the figure said calmly, without turning.
Richard froze. "I… wasn't trying to sneak."
The man turned slowly. He looked young, maybe a few years older than Richard, with chestnut hair that fell messily over one eye and a scar running down his left cheek. His robes were gray and sleeveless, trimmed with symbols Richard didn't recognize.
"And yet here you are," the man said. "Looking for something. Or running from something. Which is it?"
"I'm not sure anymore," Richard answered.
The man nodded like he understood.
"Names matter here," he said. "Mine's Elias."
"Richard," he said, and offered his hand. Elias shook it with surprising strength.
"Careful where you walk, Richard. This place eats the unsure alive."
---
Training, Day Six
Richard slammed into the mat for the fourth time that morning.
Carly grinned down at him, holding a wooden staff and breathing slightly heavier than usual. Her hair was tied back in a tight braid, and sweat glistened across her brow.
"You have to stop telegraphing your swings, farm boy," she said.
He groaned, brushing dirt from his tunic. "That's rich, coming from the girl who used to chase chickens barefoot."
She offered a hand. "Yeah, but I caught them."
He smirked despite the ache in his back.
The two had been reunited just days after his arrival. Carly, it turned out, had been brought to the capital weeks earlier after displaying signs of "latent battle instincts." Her talent with a blade hadn't gone unnoticed.
She'd changed, though.
Sharper. More focused. Less quick to joke—unless it was at Richard's expense.
"I missed this," he said quietly, accepting her help up.
Her expression softened for a split second. "So did I."
---
The Library
Later that evening, Richard found himself wandering the royal library, a cathedral-like space with spiral staircases, towers of books, and hushed voices echoing like wind through trees.
He wasn't looking for anything in particular—just trying to feel something familiar.
He ran his fingers along the spines of old volumes. Titles in languages he couldn't pronounce. Tomes bound in leather and sealed with wax.
A red leather book caught his attention:
The Lightbearer's Curse: A History of Divine Intervention.
He pulled it down, opened the cover—and stopped.
Inside was an illustration of a figure engulfed in golden flames, arms outstretched. Power radiated from them, but the face was blank, smudged by time or intent.
Richard's pulse quickened.
The accompanying passage read:
> "He who bears the light of the old gods shall know both salvation and ruin.
To wield it is to burn.
To resist is to break.
The question remains not whether he will fall—but how far."
He slammed the book shut.
---
The Vision Returns
That night, the dream returned.
He stood in a city of glass, its towers shattering one by one in slow motion. The sky wept fire. Screams echoed like broken bells.
At the center stood himself — or someone wearing his face — with golden light pouring from his eyes, chest, and palms.
Maria stood in front of him.
She looked afraid.
"Please," she said. "You don't have to do this."
He tried to speak, to step back—but his body moved on its own.
He raised his hand.
A sword of light formed in his grip.
And as he swung—
---
He woke up.
Gasping.
Sweat soaked his sheets. The candle beside his bed had melted down to a puddle of wax. A raven perched on the windowsill, staring directly at him.
Its eyes glowed faint gold.
Then it blinked—and flew off.
---
The Letter
A sealed envelope rested on his nightstand. It hadn't been there when he fell asleep.
The wax seal was unfamiliar—three stars arranged in a triangle.
Inside was a note, handwritten in fine ink:
> We know what you are.
If you wish to understand your power before they twist it—meet me at the old chapel at midnight.
Come alone.
Burn this letter.
— E
Richard held the parchment over the flame.
It caught instantly, curling into ash before hitting the ground.
His hands were still shaking.
---
Midnight Approaches
He pulled on a dark cloak, tied it tight, and slipped out through a servant's corridor. The castle was quiet now—only guards patrolling in heavy armor.
Richard moved through the dark like a whisper.
The old chapel stood at the far end of the training fields, half-collapsed and buried in ivy. It had once been a place of worship for the old gods—long before the new crown rose to power.
A single candle flickered inside.
Elias stood at the altar, staring at stained glass long dulled by time.
"You came," he said without turning.
"I need answers," Richard said.
Elias finally turned, eyes more serious now than ever before.
"And you'll get them. But first—"
He raised a hand.
Light flared behind him.
And three hooded figures stepped from the shadows.