In the Heart of the Forgotten Glory
In the heart of the Great Continent, where the sky touches the edges of majestic mountains and ancient rivers roar with tales of ages past, the kingdom of Greatvara was born. It was an unrivaled realm, ruled by the greatest kings whose names were etched in gold upon the pages of history. Greatvara was not merely a land governed by laws—it was a force embodied in its ruler, with power and authority flowing through his veins, granting him unmatched control and guarding the kingdom from collapse.
But time, as always, keeps nothing the same. As eras passed and generations succeeded one another, that immense power began to fade—like a flame scattered by a cold wind. The ruler no longer carried the might that had made his ancestors eternal, and the kingdom no longer shone with the same brilliance. Governance became a game of maneuvering and conspiracy; power was no longer granted, but seized.
And so, Greatvara found itself at a crossroads. Would it be able to reclaim its former glory? Or would it remain a mere shadow of what it once was, living off the ruins of its past legends?
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In the Shadows of Forgotten Glory
Sunlight danced through the branches of ancient trees, casting golden light on the green grass where a twelve-year-old boy ran barefoot in the gardens of the old palace. The palace still stood tall despite the passage of time—its walls whispered tales of faded glory, and its aged windows reflected specters of forgotten eras.
Amid the scent of scattered flowers, the boy stopped and gazed at his reflection in a calm pool of water. His golden-yellow eyes glimmered like a faint ember, and his wavy brown hair danced with the breeze. His face bore striking beauty, as if he were born to be a future king—despite the innocence of childhood still wrapped around his features.
He knelt by the water and extended his small hand to touch the shimmering surface, but he felt something strange—as if the pond was no longer just still water, but a window to another time. His reflection appeared, but it was not his current face—it was an older version of himself, with the same golden eyes, the same handsome features, but surrounded by an aura of power and awe. Startled, the boy jerked back, gasping in surprise, as a strange silence settled over the place—as though the old palace itself had awakened to something.
He didn't know it yet, but that moment marked the beginning of a fate from which there would be no escape—a fate bound to the kingdom of Greatvara, where power was not merely inherited... but cursed, choosing those who deserved it—or those who feared it.
As the boy stared at his strange reflection, the quiet of the garden was broken by faint laughter approaching. He turned quickly and saw two children, slightly older than him. One was a boy with jet-black hair and sharp, narrow eyes full of challenge. The girl was a bit taller, with braided blonde hair and green eyes that sparkled with mischief.
"Look who it is!" said the boy mockingly, placing his hands on his hips. "It's the little prince, admiring himself as if he were a real king!"
The girl giggled, covering her mouth as though trying to hide her laughter—but she didn't try very hard. "Maybe he's waiting for the water to tell him he'll be the greatest king of Greatvara! How hilarious!"
A smirk crossed her lips as she stepped toward him. "But tell me, did you hear anything from the old spirits? Did they whisper to you that you're the chosen one?"
The boy clenched his fists but said nothing. He wasn't foolish—he knew they wanted him to be angry, to shout or run, so they could feel victorious. But he wasn't weak, and he wasn't like them.
He looked at them steadily, his golden eyes—despite his young age—carrying a silent strength, as if staring beyond the childish taunting. He didn't know why, but something inside him told him this wasn't just a passing tease. This was a test—a test of a different kind.
The laughter of the two children suddenly ceased, replaced by a subtle scornful glare. The black-haired boy stepped closer, narrowing his eyes with slyness. He leaned in slightly so that his face was level with the younger boy's and said in a low, arrogant voice:
"You know, it's funny you think you could ever be king, when all you are—and all you ever will be—is a servant's son."
The air around them trembled, as if the palace itself disapproved of his words. The boy remained silent, his golden eyes fixed on the face of his half-brother without a hint of emotion, though the clenched fists at his side revealed what stirred within.
The girl, standing beside her older brother, smiled coldly as she ran her fingers along her neatly braided hair. "We're the true children of the king. Royal blood runs through our veins. The throne is ours, while you… you're just a mistake that shouldn't exist."
She took a step back, then added, "You know that, don't you? No matter what you try, you'll always be just a shadow—nothing more than a follower. That's why everyone in the palace looks at you the way they do."
Her words were like knives, but the boy didn't move. He'd heard it all before—ever since he started understanding the world around him. He wasn't born of a queen, didn't carry "pure" royal blood as they claimed. He was the king's son… and his servant.
A title no one needed to remind him of—it was carved into the whispers of the maids, the stares of the guards, the cold distance of his mighty father.
But there was something else he didn't need reminding them of either.
He lifted his head and looked at them calmly—not with open defiance, but not with surrender either. It was the gaze of someone who sees beyond words, beyond claims, beyond the false armor of arrogance wrapped around them.
"We'll see."
His words were few, but they planted something strange in their hearts—that glint in his eyes, as if saying destiny isn't decided by blood alone... but by something more.
The black-haired boy moved first, quickly reaching out to grab Kaizo's collar, trying to yank him forward with force. "How dare you talk back to us?" he shouted angrily, while the girl stood beside him, watching with eager eyes, as if waiting for the moment the boy would be crushed before them.
But before the older boy could strike Kaizo, a powerful voice rang across the garden—carrying a presence that could not be denied:
"Enough."
To be continued...