The sun was dying over the jagged horizon, painting the borderlands in a blood-red haze. Dust clouds rose in the distance, billowing like storm clouds kicked up by galloping hooves.
The prince crouched low on a rocky outcrop, his breath shallow as he peered down at the scene below. A caravan—wooden wagons, battered and worn—was under siege. Raiders swarmed like hungry wolves, hacking at guards with jagged blades, their laughter mingling with screams.
He should have walked away. That was the first thought that pressed against his skull, sharp and insistent. He was not their savior. He had no reason to intervene. He was weak, broken, exiled—every instinct told him to stay hidden, to survive.
And yet…
His hands trembled, the black flame whispering at his fingertips like a predator restless in its cage. The Codex pulsed faintly in his mind, silent but watchful, as if waiting for him to decide.
He clenched his jaw.
I can't… I shouldn't…
But then he saw her.
A girl, barely older than himself, had stumbled from one of the wagons. Her clothes were torn, blood running down her cheek, but she screamed not in fear for her life, but for her people. She threw herself between a raider's blade and a wounded guard, arms spread wide in desperate defiance.
"Please! Spare them!" she cried, her voice raw.
The raider only sneered and raised his blade higher.
The prince felt something twist inside his chest. Rage. A hot, suffocating rage that drowned out the voice of caution. He saw the blade descend, saw the girl's wide eyes shut in resignation—
—and he moved.
He didn't remember deciding. His body launched from the rocks before thought could chain him. The air screamed past his ears, his legs burning with speed that wasn't entirely his own. He struck the raider like a shadow falling from the sky, his hand snapping forward, flames hissing as they licked across his palm.
The man's scream tore through the chaos.
Black fire consumed flesh and bone, devouring not only the body but something deeper, unseen. The prince staggered as the essence flowed into him—hot, intoxicating, alive. His blood roared, muscles coiling with a strength that hadn't been there moments before.
He stood there panting, chest heaving, staring down at the ash crumbling where a man had once been.
The battlefield froze. Raiders gawked, blades dripping with blood, their jeers caught in their throats. The caravan survivors looked at him with equal horror.
The girl's eyes widened, recognition dawning as she whispered the words he dreaded most:
"The forsaken prince…"
The Codex's voice purred like velvet in his mind.
"Do you see? Even the filth of these wastes can feed you. Devour, and you will never fear them again."
He clenched his fists, fire twitching at his knuckles. His mind screamed with conflict. He had not wanted this. He had sworn he would not be a monster—and yet, the rush of stolen strength filled him with a savage exhilaration.
The raiders recovered first, their shock melting into snarls.
"Kill him!" one barked. "Take his head for the bounty!"
They charged.
The prince's breath hitched, fear clawing at him. There were too many. He could run. He should run. But the girl's voice rang in his ears, desperate and pleading. And the Codex's whisper followed, insidious and sweet:
"Feed."
He raised his hand, and the black flames obeyed.
The next moments were madness—steel clashing against unnatural fire, screams rising and cut short as one by one the raiders fell. Each death filled him with more strength, their speed seeping into his limbs, their brute force swelling in his bones.
When the leader finally stepped forward—a hulking man with tattoos carved into his skin and a battle-axe dripping with gore—the prince was trembling. Not from fear, but from the hunger.
The Codex coiled around his thoughts, urging.
"This one is strong. Devour him. Claim his brute might. Make it yours."
The raider leader laughed, a deep, cruel sound, and swung. The axe came down like a mountain splitting. The prince dodged, barely, but his body moved faster than before, sharper, more alive. His claws raked forward, black fire surging from his fingertips, and with a roar that wasn't entirely his own, he struck.
The leader's scream cut short as the flames consumed him. His essence was thick, heavy, burning as it poured into the prince's veins. His body shuddered violently, muscles tightening, his heart pounding with new, alien strength. He felt as if the world itself had bent closer, yielding to him.
When the fire cleared, only ash remained.
Silence.
The remaining raiders stumbled back, terror etched across their faces. Some fled, tripping over corpses, scattering into the wilderness. The caravan survivors stared in stunned disbelief.
The prince stood in the center of it all, chest heaving, fists clenched, eyes burning with black flame. For a long moment, he didn't move. He could still taste the essence of the raider leader, heavy and bitter, coursing through him.
It felt… good. Too good.
And that terrified him more than anything else.
He lowered his hands slowly, forcing the fire to dim. The Codex laughed softly, satisfied.
"You see now, vessel. Power is not given—it is taken. And you… have begun to take."
The girl stepped forward, her voice trembling but steady.
"You… saved us."
He looked at her, searching her face for mockery, for fear, for the disgust he had grown so accustomed to. But instead, he found something else—something that unsettled him even more.
Hope.
The ashes swirled around him on the wind as night fell over the borderlands, and for the first time, the forsaken prince wondered if perhaps survival wasn't his only destiny.
The wind shifted, carrying with it the acrid stink of charred flesh and the copper tang of blood. The battlefield groaned in its silence, the stillness of corpses heavy against the faint crackle of dying flames.
The prince stood at its heart, shoulders rising and falling with every uneven breath. His fingers twitched, as though the fire had not yet fully released him. He could still feel them—the raiders. Fragments of their speed, their strength, their very selves rattled within his veins like chained beasts. His body thrummed with stolen vitality, yet his spirit shuddered beneath the weight of it.
They lived on inside him.
Prisoners. Fuel. Ash.
His stomach knotted. He pressed a hand against it as nausea swelled, but nothing came except a dry heave and the taste of smoke on his tongue.
"Monster…" someone whispered. Not the girl, but one of the wounded guards, crawling backward across the dirt, eyes wide with horror.
The word stabbed him deeper than any blade. He had always feared it. Always known it. And now, here it was, branded into the air around him.
But then—another voice. Softer. Trembling, but unyielding.
"You saved us."
He turned. The girl was standing not far from him, her knees bloodied from where she had fallen, her hair matted with dust. Her eyes shone not with terror, but with something far stranger—something fragile, yet piercing.
Hope.
He couldn't bear it. He wanted her to look away, to see him as the monster he felt himself becoming. But her gaze clung to him as if he were an anchor in the chaos.
"I…" His voice cracked. He swallowed hard, tasting ash. "I didn't do it for you."
The words felt brittle, hollow, even to himself.
The Codex chuckled in the marrow of his thoughts, rich and velvety.
"Lies, vessel. Whether for them or for yourself, the result is the same: you fed. And you will feed again."
He closed his eyes, trying to drown it out, but the whispers coiled tighter, slithering into every hollow space of his mind. Hunger, promise, temptation.
The survivors began to move, gathering the wounded, extinguishing what remained of the burning wagons. Their glances were furtive, stolen—some filled with awe, others with dread. No one dared approach him. No one except her.
She stepped closer, cautious but resolute. "What they say about you… the abandoned prince… is it true?"
His breath caught. His exile was supposed to be a death sentence, his name erased, his memory cast into scorn. Yet here she stood, speaking it aloud, daring to look at him not as a curse, but as something… more.
He almost told her to leave, to forget she had ever seen him. But the words stuck in his throat.
Instead, he asked, bitterly, "Does it matter?"
Her lips parted, hesitation flickering in her eyes. But when she spoke, her voice was steady:
"It matters to me."
The Codex pulsed warmly, as though amused, intrigued.
"Careful, vessel. Loyalty is another kind of hunger. Once tasted, it is harder to sate than blood."
He turned away sharply, unwilling to meet either her gaze or the Codex's mockery. His fists clenched at his sides as the last of the flames guttered out.
The night was deepening. Shadows stretched long across the borderlands, cloaking the carnage in silence. And within that silence, the forsaken prince stood—struggling not with the raiders, not with his siblings, but with himself.
Was he monster, savior, or something far more dangerous: both?
As the girl lingered at his side, refusing to step back even in her trembling, the answer did not come. But he felt the weight of it pressing closer, inevitable as the rising dark.