"The soldier's voice echoed through the hallway, sharp and relentless. Ian's chest tightened. He grabbed Maya's arm, his fingers trembling against her skin. 'Maya, run!' His voice was urgent, but his eyes held something deeper—fear, resolve, and a silent plea. 'I'll hold them off."
Maya's face set in a determined expression. "But I won't leave you, Young Master. We'll face whatever comes next together."
Ian's grip on her arm tightened. "Maya, listen to me. If no one distracts them, we all get caught." His voice was firm, edged with desperation. "As the heir to this Empire, I have a duty to protect you and the others. You're my top priority. Please, for the sake of our Empire, use the secret passage to escape. I'll follow as soon as I can."
Maya's voice trembled. "B-but, Your Highness, how can I leave you behind? You're the only hope our kingdom has left."
Ian's eyes blazed with determination. "Maya, if I don't buy you time to escape, all will be lost. Just go, and promise me you'll stay safe. I'll return, I swear it."
Maya's face crumpled, but she nodded, tears streaming down her face. "I'll go, but please, your highness, be careful. Come back to us."
With a resolute nod, Ian pushed Maya toward the secret passage. "Go! Now!"
As the last of Maya's footsteps faded into the darkness of the secret passage, Ian's gaze swept the room, his eyes locking onto the sword mounted on the wall. With a swift, decisive motion, he reached out and grasped the hilt, feeling the familiar weight of the sword settle into his palm.
With a slow, deliberate movement, Ian drew the sword from its scabbard, the blade sliding free with a soft, ominous whisper. The steel seemed to shimmer in the faint light, its edge glinting with a deadly promise.
As the sword cleared its scabbard, Ian felt a surge of determination course through his veins. He stood tall, the sword held at the ready, its point trembling with anticipation. The air seemed to vibrate with tension, the shadows cast by the flickering torches dancing across the walls like restless spirits.
"I won't run this time… I won't lose anyone because of my weakness," Ian murmured to himself, his grip tightening as determination burned in his eyes.
In that moment, Ian knew he was ready to face whatever lay ahead, his heart ablaze with a fierce, unyielding resolve.
As Ian stood tall, the sword's weight distributed evenly in his hands, he felt an unexpected surge of confidence. The blade, adorned with intricate engravings, seemed to hum with a power that resonated deep within him.
The man outside the door, growing increasingly agitated, slammed his fist against the wooden panel. "David, where are you? Open the door, damn it!" His voice echoed through the hallway, sending shivers down Ian's spine.
As the footsteps drew closer, the man's tone turned menacing. "Who's inside?" he bellowed, his words dripping with malice.
The door burst open, and a heavily armored man strode into the room. His eyes, like two piercing steel balls, scanned the space until they landed on Ian. The man's gaze widened in surprise, his thick eyebrows arching upward.
Before him stood a boy no more than 10 years old, clutching a sword that seemed to dwarf him. Ian's blue eyes, blazing with determination, sparkled like sapphires in the dim light. His small hands, gripping the sword tightly, seemed to tremble with anticipation.
The armored man's voice, laced with amusement, dripped with sarcasm. "My, my, my! What do we have here?" He took a step closer, his armor creaking with each movement. "A little prince, playing warrior?"
"So, you weren't lost after all, our little prince?" the man sneered, his voice laced with mockery.
Ian did not respond, his jaw tightening as his eyes burned with determination. He refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.
As Ian beheld the two additional men approaching, their armor glinting menacingly in the flickering torchlight, he steeled himself for the impending battle.
Three men in total. If I can somehow incapacitate them… Ian's mind raced. Run through the secret passage—then I can survive, he thought to himself, gripping his weapon tighter.
With a fierce determination burning within him, Ian launched a surprise attack, his sword flashing in the dim light. The assault was intense, the clash of steel on steel echoing through the room as Ian struck again and again.
However, the armored man, his face a map of scars and experience, easily deflected each blow with a sneer. "Hey, Brian, look at our little prince attacking us! We're going to die!" The man's tone dripped with sarcasm, his voice laced with amusement as he toyed with Ian.
Ian desperately swung his sword, his muscles screaming in protest as he struck again and again. Every blow was effortlessly deflected by the armored man, who seemed to be enjoying the spectacle.
Ian tightened his grip on the sword, shifting it into a reverse hold. Without hesitation, he lunged to the right, slashing in a swift, deadly arc—his blade aimed straight for the man's neck.
Clang! The sound of steel echoed through the room as the man effortlessly deflected Ian's strike. With a swift counter, he swung his sword at Ian in a brutal arc. Ian barely managed to raise his blade in time, but the sheer weight behind the blow sent him flying, his back slamming against the cold stone floor.
"Urgh…" Ian groaned, trying to push himself up, but exhaustion and the sting of his wounds made his legs falter. He stumbled, his vision swimming as he fought to stay upright.
"Tch. Kids these days don't even know how to swing a sword," the man scoffed, resting his blade on his shoulder as he looked down at Ian like he was nothing more than an insect.
Ian gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, forcing his body to move despite the searing pain. He tightened his grip on the sword and lunged again, exchanging a flurry of blows with his opponent. But exhaustion weighed on him like chains, his movements growing sluggish, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Then, his grip faltered. His sword slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees, chest heaving.
The man sneered, stepping closer. "Hey, little prince, aren't you going to kill me? Huh?" His voice was laced with mockery, savoring Ian's weakness.
Ian remained silent, his vision swimming, his body refusing to rise.
The man chuckled, savoring the sight of the defeated prince. "What's wrong? Out of strength already?" He took another step forward, his sword gleaming under the dim torchlight.
But Ian wasn't done yet.
With a swift motion, he snatched a dagger from the ground and hurled it at the man. Caught off guard, the man barely managed to twist out of the way, but not fast enough—the blade grazed his cheek, leaving a thin, crimson line.
A drop of blood trickled down. Then another.
The man's eyes widened in disbelief before his expression twisted into pure rage. His face darkened, veins bulging as he roared, "You little piece of shit!"
Blinded by fury, he raised his sword high. Before Ian could react, the blade came down in a swift, merciless stroke.
Pain exploded through Ian's body. His vision blurred as a sharp, searing agony tore through him.
His right hand hit the ground with a sickening thud.
"AAAAAGHHH!" Ian's scream tore through the air as he collapsed, rolling on the ground, overwhelmed by the searing pain. His vision blurred, his mind drowning in agony. "M-Mother!" he cried out, his voice raw with desperation. This was the first time in his life he had felt such unbearable pain—and it consumed him completely.
The room spun around him, his vision blurring at the edges. The pain was unbearable, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
The man sneered, watching Ian writhe on the ground. With a sharp spit to the side, he muttered, "This piece of shit is useless." His tone was filled with disgust. Then, without even sparing Ian another glance, he barked, "Brian, go find the prisoners. I'll dispose of him myself."
Brian hesitated, glancing at Ian's trembling form. "But Captain Geof… what about you?" His voice wavered, uncertain.
Geof didn't even look at him. His grip tightened around his sword, his expression void of sympathy. "I'll take care of him," he said, his tone cold and detached, as if Ian were nothing more than a nuisance to be dealt with.
Brian swallowed hard, shifting uneasily. "B-But Captain… the Zenithara Empire ordered us to secure anyone from the royal family," he stammered, glancing at Ian's broken form. "If we kill him… it won't be good for us."
Geof let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You don't have to worry," he said, his voice eerily calm. "I'll kill him and hide his corpse. No one will ever know."
Geof's gaze remained fixed on Ian as he spoke, his voice cold and commanding. "You go and do what you were asked," he ordered Brian without even looking at him.
Brian hesitated for a moment, glancing at Ian's trembling form, but Geof's tone left no room for argument. Clenching his jaw, Brian gave a reluctant nod and turned to leave.
As Brian approached the secret passage, Ian summoned the last ounce of strength left in his battered body. Pain threatened to pull him into darkness, but he bit the inside of his mouth, the sharp sting bringing him back to his senses.
His vision swam, his limbs trembled, but he refused to give in. With a faint, unyielding voice, he whispered, "You... will not... pass."
Geof sneered, his lips curling in contempt. "What are you going to do, huh? Cry?" His voice was laced with mockery as he stepped closer, towering over Ian's broken form.
Without waiting for a response, he turned to Brian. "Go secure the prisoners. We don't have all night," he ordered, his tone sharp and impatient.
"Yes, Captain," Brian replied, though there was a hint of unease in his voice. Before turning away, he spared one last glance at Ian's tattered body. The prince lay motionless, his face pale, his breath shallow. It appeared he had finally succumbed to the pain, slipping into unconsciousness.
Brian hesitated for a brief moment, but then, with a shake of his head, he strode toward the passage, leaving Geof to finish the job.
Geof muttered a curse under his breath as he wiped the blood from his cheek, his fingers brushing against the fresh wound Ian had left. It was shallow, barely more than a scratch, but the sting fueled his irritation.
Brian, despite his earlier orders, hadn't left. He lingered near the secret passage, running his hands along the stone, checking for traps or hidden mechanisms. Something didn't sit right with him. The air felt... heavy.
Then, the temperature dropped.
A shiver crawled up Brian's spine as an unnatural chill spread through the room. The torches flickered violently, their flames bending as if struggling against an unseen force. The shadows along the walls stretched and twisted, writhing like living things.
Brian swallowed hard. "Captain...?" His voice was quieter than he intended.
Geof stiffened, his grip tightening around his sword. "Who's there?" His tone was sharp, demanding, but the only response was silence—thick, suffocating silence.
Then—a whisper.
Soft. Indistinct. Coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Without warning, the shadows surged, coalescing into something more than darkness. The air grew heavier, pressing down on them with an almost suffocating presence.
Then—light.
A faint glow pulsed from Ian's battered body. At first, it was barely noticeable against the surrounding void, but within moments, it swelled, radiating with a power neither natural nor human. His fingers twitched. His body trembled. And then his eyes snapped open—burning with an ethereal, unearthly glow.
Brian's breath caught in his throat. Geof took an unconscious step back. This wasn't the broken boy they had left for dead.
Something had awakened.
The darkness no longer felt like a mere absence of light—it was a presence. A living thing, waiting, anticipating.