The palace of Velmora was a fortress of splendor—its towers tall as mountains, its banners embroidered with golden lions and phoenixes. Courtiers spoke in hushed tones and walked in silken shoes. Servants hurried through marble halls under torchlight, bearing trays of delicacies and scrolls of law.
And in one forgotten wing of the palace, a boy sat alone in a chair he could never rise from.
His name was Kael.
He was the second son of King Theralis of Velmora, but unlike his older brother—the Crown Prince—Kael was no warrior, no statesman, no heir.
He was born unable to walk.
The court whispered that it was a curse. The Queen, who died shortly after his birth, had wept at the sight of his unmoving legs. His father, King Theralis, rarely spoke his name.
> "A prince must stand," the king once said. "If he cannot walk, then let him stay seated in silence."
And so, Kael was given a private wing. A physician. A tutor. And a chamber with a single window that overlooked the eastern gardens.
The world passed him by like a parade glimpsed through glass.
---
Kael was not bitter. But he was… tired.
At fifteen, he had read more books than most scholars in the kingdom.
He could recite treaties, solve complex riddles, and even compose music.
But none of that mattered.
No one asked for his mind.
They only saw the chair.
The thin legs.
The quiet boy with hollow eyes.
Still, Kael endured.
Each morning, he sat by the window. Birds nested in the trees below. The royal fountains sparkled in the sun. And sometimes—only sometimes—children from noble houses would chase butterflies near the hedge maze.
Kael watched them with quiet longing.
> "Would they speak to me," he once asked his old nursemaid, "if I could run with them?"
The woman hesitated. "They'd notice you more. But they wouldn't see you better."
Kael didn't ask again.
---
One evening, as dusk painted the sky in bruised gold and lavender, Kael's tutor brought him a new book—ancient, with a silver clasp and no title.
> "From the royal archives," the old man muttered. "No one's read it in centuries."
Curious, Kael opened the tome.
Its pages were filled not with politics or strategy, but with myths.
Old tales of the Celestial Realm.
Of gods who walked among mortals.
Of divine vows and heavenly marriages.
Kael's eyes widened.
> "This… is different."
That night, he read by candlelight long after the halls grew quiet.
One passage caught his breath:
> "When the gods long for love, they cast their stars upon the world.
And when a mortal heart answers, heaven opens its gate."
Kael closed the book and whispered to the silence,
> "Do gods ever fall for broken things?"
A breeze stirred the curtains—though no window was open.
---
The next morning, Kael's nursemaid entered to find the prince staring into nothing.
> "You look far away today," she said, setting a tray of warm broth.
> "I had a dream," Kael murmured. "I was standing. In a place made of light. Someone was reaching out to me."
The old woman chuckled. "A dream is just that."
But Kael wasn't so sure.
Since that night, he began to feel… watched. Not in fear. But in warmth.
The breeze that passed through his window carried whispers he couldn't understand. His dreams grew clearer—a girl with silver eyes, standing barefoot under a sky of gold.
> "Who are you?" he whispered in sleep.
---
Far away, in a small village beyond the eastern hills,
Elira woke with her hand to her chest—heartbeat racing.
Tears on her cheeks, and a name on her lips she didn't know.
> "Kael...?"
---
Back at the palace, life continued as it always had.
Kael received visitors rarely. His older brother, Crown Prince Daemon, came only on festival days. His father sent stiff letters, dictated through scribes. The servants, though respectful, never lingered.
But Kael had long since learned the language of silence.
He spoke to the birds. To the wind. To the sunlight filtering through the vines outside his window.
And the silence…
sometimes answered.
---
One afternoon…
A young noble girl came to the gardens with her father, a visiting baron. She wore pearls and laughed too loudly, her eyes sharp with curiosity.
She noticed Kael watching from above.
> "Who is that?" she asked.
The baron lowered his voice. "Prince Kael. The cripple."
She wrinkled her nose. "Why does he sit there like that?"
"Because he cannot stand."
She laughed. "Then he should not look down on others."
Kael turned away from the window. Not in shame. But in resolve.
> "Let them look away," he whispered.
"I will not hide."
---
That night, Kael returned to the silver-bound book.
A passage he hadn't seen before now shimmered in the moonlight:
> "When the time draws near, the starborn soul shall awaken.
The divine heart, hidden in flesh, shall remember its vow."
He touched the page gently.
Something stirred in his chest.
Not pain.
Not weakness.
But something deeper.
> "Someone is coming," he said aloud, though no one could hear.
"And this time… I will not be alone."