Raen stood alone in the great hall, the shadows of ancient tapestries stretching across the cold stone floor. The whispers of the court had been growing louder in recent days, but this morning, something had shifted. The air felt heavier, charged with an almost electric anticipation.
He had been invited—no, summoned—by his mother, Queen Arellia, to attend the royal council. He hadn't expected the invitation to come so soon. The queen rarely called for him when the council met, preferring to keep her son out of the affairs of state.
But there was no avoiding it now.
The grand doors opened with a resounding thud, and Raen walked in, his small frame carried with the weight of something much greater than his years. His steps echoed through the chamber, and as his eyes scanned the long table of lords and advisors, he saw the way they looked at him. Some with apprehension, others with curiosity, but all with a quiet recognition.
He was no longer the innocent child they had believed him to be.
"Ah, the little prince arrives," said Lord Halver with a thin smile, though his eyes betrayed his unease. "Shall we begin, Your Grace?"
Raen nodded, though the words felt wrong in his mouth. His place at the table was still that of a child, but he knew the time for pretending was over.
Queen Arellia sat at the head of the table, her gaze sharp and calculating, though Raen noticed a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes as he took his seat.
"You've been quiet of late, Raen," she said, her voice smooth but carrying a hint of tension. "I trust you are well?"
Raen did not answer immediately. His gaze locked with her, and in that moment, the unspoken truth hung between them like a blade poised to fall.
"I am well," he finally replied, his voice steady. "But I know more than you think."
The council began its proceedings, discussing matters of trade, defense, and the ever-growing threats from the neighboring kingdoms. But Raen's mind was elsewhere, focused on the undercurrent of power he could feel simmering just below the surface.
He didn't trust any of them. Not the lords, not the nobles, not even his own mother. Each of them played a game, but Raen had learned long ago that the greatest lies were those whispered behind closed doors.
And now, Raen was listening.
As the council session dragged on, Raen felt a shift—a subtle but unmistakable change. The tension in the room thickened, as if the very air had become charged with something darker. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, a growing sense of unease that gnawed at him like an invisible force.
Then, he saw it. A figure standing at the far end of the hall—half-hidden in the shadows. Lord Therion.
Raen's heart skipped a beat. Therion had been silent all morning, his usual sharp words replaced by a chilling stillness. The man's eyes were fixed on Raen, studying him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Even the candle flames flickered and swayed as if something had stirred in the depths of the earth.
Raen's hand instinctively tightened around the armrest of his chair. This was no coincidence.
Before he could react, the doors burst open, and a figure entered the room, causing every head to turn.
A shadow.
The man was cloaked in tattered black robes, his face hidden beneath the hood, but there was no mistaking the aura that accompanied him. It was dark, twisted, as if the very air around him bent to his will.
Raen's pulse quickened.
The stranger's presence alone was enough to send the council into a frenzy. Whispers spread like wildfire. The guards, caught off guard, scrambled to form a protective perimeter.
But the stranger moved with unnerving grace, stepping toward the queen, his steps slow but deliberate. His voice, when it came, was deep—ancient—yet strangely familiar.
"Queen Arellia," the figure said, bowing slightly. "It has been some time."
The room fell into stunned silence.
"Who are you?" Queen Arellia demanded, rising from her throne. "You are trespassing on royal land!"
But the figure merely smiled—a smile that didn't reach his hidden eyes.
"I am no trespasser," he said. "I come with an offer for the prince."
Raen's breath caught.
The figure's gaze finally shifted toward him, and the world around him seemed to blur.
"The flame within you is familiar," the stranger said, his voice barely a whisper but carrying more weight than an army's march. "It is time to reclaim what was lost."
Raen's heart raced. He knew this voice. He knew this presence.
Kael Duram.