The morning air was crisp, tinged with the scent of dew and earth. I gripped my training dagger tightly, my small fingers curling around the worn leather handle. Dad stood before me, eyes steady, calm, and piercing, watching every twitch of my muscles, every nervous shift of weight.
"Hold it like this," he instructed, guiding my hands along the blade. "Balance isn't just about swinging. It's about feeling the weight, letting it become an extension of you."
I swung, the dagger slicing through the air with a soft whoosh. Dad nodded once. "Again. And this time, focus on control, not speed."
I practiced for what felt like hours, sweat sliding down my forehead, muscles aching, but every movement built something inside me—discipline, awareness, the smallest spark of power made tangible.
After a particularly clumsy swing, I groaned. "I'll never be as good as you, Dad."
He chuckled softly, crouching to meet my eyes. "Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you'll get there. Trust your instincts, not your ego."
Later that morning, Dad stood still for a long while at the edge of the porch, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the dark line of the forest. The golden sunrise painted his face in gentle light—but those eyes… they glowed again. Deep, burning orange.
I hesitated nearby, clutching my dagger like a lifeline. "Dad?"
The glow faded slowly, leaving behind a quiet intensity that still made the hair on my neck stand on end. He finally turned to me, smirking, though I caught the tension behind it.
"Why don't you go visit your little friend… crush today?" he said casually.
I blinked. "Friend… crush?"
His smirk widened. "The princess."
My face flamed red. "D-Dad! What do you mean crush?! I—I don't—"
He threw his head back and laughed. "You should see your face!"
"I do not have a crush on her!" I barked, turning away, ears practically burning.
"Then why are you already heading for toward the door?" he teased.
"I… AM NOT!"
Ten minutes later, I was walking toward the capital gates. My heart pounded—not just with excitement, but with something I couldn't name. Butterflies? Nerves? Hope? All of it, wrapped together.
The royal capital gleamed like a jewel carved into stone. Tall marble towers gleamed under the sun, streets spotless, fountains spilling water infused with magic that danced like sunlight in rivers. I'd seen it before—but today it felt different, distant, unfamiliar.
I stopped near the gates, cloak dusted with road dirt, hair windswept, eyes alight with anticipation.
Two armored guards crossed halberds before me. "Halt. No entry for outsiders," one said.
I frowned. "Outsiders? I'm here to visit Princess Liora."
The other sneered. "The king has decreed—no one enters unless they are her fiancé."
"…Fiancé?" I repeated, my voice dry.
Before I could argue, two boys emerged behind the gate. Their golden-embroidered coats and slicked-back hair screamed privilege, arrogance practically dripping from them.
"Well, well," the taller sneered, lip curling. "Look at the commoner trying to steal the princess."
"I bet he thinks he's worthier than our brother," the shorter added. "With those mud-covered boots and peasant clothes."
I clenched my fists, heart hammering. "I didn't come to be harassed."
"Aww, we don't care," the taller spat—and shoved me hard.
I stumbled—but instinct took over. My fist flew.
CRACK.
The taller boy hit the ground, nose bleeding, screaming. "You'll pay for that, lowborn trash!"
The guards grabbed me before I could react again.
"ENOUGH!"
A sharp voice rang out. The guards froze. The boys paled.
Princess Liora stepped into view, regal and sharp. Her blue dress flowed like water, her silver tiara glinting. Her eyes—once warm honey to me—were cold and unreadable.
"Put him down," she commanded.
The guards hesitated, then obeyed. I brushed myself off, confusion and relief swirling in my chest.
"Liora, what's going on? Why—"
Her hand struck me across the cheek. The slap echoed like ice through the marble courtyard.
"Leave," she said, voice hard as steel. "You filthy commoner."
I staggered back, heart shattering. "W-What?"
"Don't make me repeat myself," she said. Her voice was ice, her eyes indifferent. "Unless you want your head cut off."
My throat went dry. My legs moved before my mind could catch up.
I ran. Through gates, streets, fields. My heart burned, heavier than any blade I'd lifted.
Finally, I collapsed beside a shallow stream in the woods, knees digging into the dirt, chest aching.
"…Why?" I whispered. Tears fell into the water, rippling my reflection.
"Why did she say those things? Why did she look at me like I was nothing?"
The wind shifted again. Something in the air changed.
And then… smoke. Thick, black, rising in the direction of my village.
My heart froze. "No—no, no, no."
I ran. Faster than ever. Mana surged through me instinctively. Trees blurred past. My legs burned, but I didn't stop.
Then—the ruins.
The cottage. My home.
Flames licked at the edges of the field. The roof collapsed. Wildflowers, scorched and crushed. The scent of blood hung in the air.
I stumbled forward, breath caught, stomach twisting.
And then I saw him.
My father—or what remained.
The bottom half of his body lay on the grass, blood soaking the earth. His organs hung like thick ropes, dripping crimson.
Suspended in the air above him, the top half was held in one clawed hand. Something inhuman. Monstrous. Skin like dark stone, eyes burning gold.
I couldn't breathe. My hands shook. My training dagger felt useless in my grip.
Dad's eyes met mine, pleading. "M-…run…"
Then, in one grotesque motion—
BOOM.
His body exploded. Blood rained through the air. Chunks of flesh splattered the ground.
I stood frozen, drenched in his blood, staring at the creature that had just ripped my world apart.
And in that moment, the only thought left in my head was one word: Run