Pain was the first thing Kael felt.
Not sharp pain.
Not sudden pain.
But the dull, familiar kind that lingered in his bones.
Kael opened his eyes slowly.
The ceiling above him was high, decorated with gold patterns and royal crests. Expensive. Cold. Lifeless.
This was the prince's chamber.
I'm still alive.
That thought came first.
Memories followed.
A raised voice.
A heavy impact.
The taste of blood at the corner of his mouth.
"You are a disgrace to the Ardent bloodline."
His father's words echoed clearly in his mind.
Kael sat up with effort. His body protested, but he ignored it. Pain was nothing new to him. In the past seventeen years, he had learned that reacting only made things worse.
He swung his legs off the bed.
On the table nearby rested a crown-shaped emblem—his proof of status.
Third Prince.
A title that carried no weight.
Kael stared at it for a long moment.
Then he stood.
That night, without servants, without guards, without farewell, Kael left the castle.
No one stopped him.
Because no one cared.
The road outside the capital was quiet.
Kael sat down near the edge of the stone path, holding a piece of bread he had taken from the kitchen. It was hard and stale.
He ate anyway.
People passed by him.
To them, he was just another homeless youth.
Kael found that… comforting.
A prince who owns nothing, he thought.
Maybe that's how a king should begin.
Behind him stood the royal castle.
Ahead of him was an unknown world.
Kael lowered his gaze.
"I will take the crown," he said calmly.
"But not as his son."
This was not a declaration of revenge.
It was a decision.
And once Kael decided something—
He never turned back.