The morning light crept lazily through the black curtains, staining the chamber with a sickly gold—like blood diluted in old gold. In the vast royal room, every detail exuded a cold opulence—the carved headboard in icy shapes, velvet armchairs and sofas that promised comfort but only imposed weight. The mirror reflected a man whose beauty was a specter of severity: pale, with stormy gray eyes, and a smile that was a shadow of emptiness.
Calius Von Gervain, second in line to the Eldor imperial throne, walked barefoot over the gray carpet—the dense weave a rare comfort to his weary body. He wore a white linen shirt and black shorts, his clothes as simple as the resignation consuming his chest. In the reflection, he saw more than a man; he saw a trapped symbol, an invisible crown crushing his shoulders.
A hesitant movement at the door. A servant, pale as mist, entered with a look weighed down by fear rather than hope.
"Your Highness Calius, prince of princes, shadowed heir of Emperor Johann Von Gervain… Tonight at the ball, you shall meet your betrothed, Lady Asher Greyfull, daughter of the Duke of Newham."
The words fell like a whip. Calius let out a tired sigh, his head tilting with the slowness of one who accepts a sentence.
"If that is the emperor's will, I have no choice but to obey," he said, voice hoarse, heavy with a bitterness that even luxury couldn't hide.
The maids fulfilled their role with mechanical precision, undressing him for the scented bath that promised relief from pains that hot water could not reach. He sank into the foam, feeling the invisible chains weighing him down—the expectations, the duties, the loneliness. His thoughts drifted to a bitter memory.
"If not for Richard… everything would be different. Less suffocating."
His older brother, the rightful heir, was the wall separating him from the throne—a wall made of blood and privilege. Calius was not made for virtues; he was made to survive.
After the bath, dressed and ready, he sat in the wine-colored armchair, still as an ancient statue. Twenty-one years old. The age many found freedom, for him it was just another step in a gilded prison.
"Boring," he murmured, his voice almost a lament.
Soft knocks interrupted the silence. A faceless voice announced:
"Your Highness, the oracle has arrived."
Calius lifted his head, a vague spark of curiosity in his gray eyes.
"Let him in."
The door creaked, and a ghostly figure appeared: a servant dressed in white, ethereal and silent, followed by a man cloaked in dark blue. The hood revealed golden hair tied in a meticulous bun, but it was the green eyes—deep and unsettling—that truly marked his presence—the court oracle, Cedric Greyfull.
"Long time, Calli," he said, his tone playful yet solemn.
Calius rolled his eyes, a gesture of tired resistance.
"I told you not to call me that."
Cedric entered the room with the ease of someone who knew every shadow of the house, sitting without ceremony. The mocking smile in his green eyes betrayed the weight of subtle lines on his face.
"Your face is always worth the risk."
The silence that followed was heavy, like an omen. Calius studied him before speaking:
"You look tired."
"The visions demand too much," Cedric sighed. "Everyone wants answers, but no one wants the questions that come with them."
"Why don't you ignore them?"
"If it were that simple, I would have freed myself from this burden already."
Outside, the distant sound of wheels on stone broke the stillness. Calius glanced toward the window, watching the golden carriage cross the gates, the Greyfull crest shining like a sentence.
"Your sister and parents have arrived."
"Today is the day of your request," Cedric said, confirming without looking.
"So the emperor decreed. There is no choice."
The words fell heavy, echoing in the quiet room. Cedric waited patiently.
"At least I didn't marry as early as Richard. His wife… what was her name?"
"Iris Raylegh. The future empress. The woman you once called strange," Calius let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"Maybe I was right. To them, I'm just the mad prince, lost in his own delusions."
Cedric leaned forward, his green eyes fixed.
"Your visions say otherwise. You are the point where everything converges. Your destiny is greater than you imagine."
Calius raised an eyebrow, skeptical.
"You want me emperor, but that's not my role. Richard will reign; I will be just a shadow."
Cedric smiled, mischievous.
"That's what a madman would say."
"Maybe we're all mad," Calius shrugged.
The silence was not uncomfortable; it was a silent pact between two men trapped in their own prisons.
They laughed, bitter and brief, before Cedric rose.
"See you at the ball."
"I have something to do first," Calius said, still lost in his thoughts.
Cedric left, closing the door behind him.
Calius remained still, cloaked in the shadow of loneliness—the loneliness of a prince without a kingdom, a man who knew, deep down, that his weakness was his only truth.