Time had flowed swiftly like a quiet river, and Prince Cain, now six years old, had grown into a strikingly handsome boy. His silver hair shimmered like moonlight, and his eyes—midnight purple—were hauntingly beautiful, rare even among nobles. But to the people, they were a cruel irony.
"Such exquisite eyes… what a shame they see nothing," the whispers often went. "A beauty wasted on blindness."
Despite the palace's efforts to maintain a veil of dignity, the rumors swelled like a storm on the horizon. They spread through courtyards and markets, across noble halls and servant quarters alike. And at the heart of the storm was not just Cain's condition—but something darker, something scandalous.
A new whisper had taken root in the kingdom: King Alaric had sired a child with a secret concubine.
The story had many shapes, depending on who told it. Some claimed the woman was a lowborn maid, others a noblewoman cloaked in secrecy. But one detail remained constant in every telling—that the king, wearied by the burden of a blind heir, had sought solace in another's arms. That Cain's "defect" had driven a rift between Queen Sandra and her husband, pushing him toward betrayal.
Though the royal court offered no official statement, the sudden withdrawal of Queen Sandra from public appearances only fanned the flames. Her absence was taken as silent confirmation. Some claimed she was heartbroken. Others whispered she had known all along but was powerless to stop it.
Prince Cain, still too young to fully grasp the political weight of these whispers, could feel their sting all the same. He heard the shift in tone when nobles spoke near him. He noticed how the servants grew quieter when he entered a room, how other children at court would not meet his eyes—or worse, stared at them as if they were cursed gemstones.
He felt it most deeply in his father's presence.
King Alaric had grown distant. He still acknowledged Cain at official functions, still offered the boy education and the appearance of fatherhood. But the warmth was gone. The pride. As if, in his heart, Cain had become a reminder of something broken.
Only Queen Sandra remained the one constant. She shielded him with every breath, with every loving touch. She read to him each night, whispered stories of great kings and unseen heroes, and reminded him that just because the world did not understand him, did not mean he lacked worth.
But even she could not silence the kingdom.
And so, the young prince grew—watched by a thousand judging eyes he could not see, and burdened by a legacy of whispers he never asked for.
Yet deep within those quiet, midnight eyes… something stirred.
Unseen by all, unheard by most—Cain was beginning to sense the world in ways that defied logic. He heard emotions like melodies, felt truth ripple in people's words even when they lied, and sometimes… in the darkness behind his sight, he saw flashes of something ancient.
The world believed him cursed.
But something far older, far more powerful, had merely begun to awaken.