The youngest child of King Veydran Althoros.
The only son.The last surviving product of a royal house devoured by its own pride.
All the daughters—the girls left behind—were deemed useless by the king, locked away in the castle like ornaments. But Daranth? He was born into a palace soaked in gold… and blood.
He never knew his mother. No portraits. No letters. Just a single rumor:
"She smiled once… and then vanished."
The royal court teemed with foreign queens and political consorts—his father's wives.
All of them obsessed with power. They danced in public, played the perfect noblewomen… and in private, they schemed, poisoned, and murdered.
By the time Daranth was six, they were all gone.
Poisoned tea. A knife under the sheets. A tragic slip on the stairs.
The court never used the word "murder." It was always an "accident."
But Daranth knew better. He watched the halls grow quieter. He noticed the way servants stopped meeting his eyes. One by one, the queens vanished, and no one asked why.
Until only he remained.
The sole heir.
"My prince," they'd whisper. "The bloodline's future."
The king—cold, distant, and ruthless—let no harm come near him. Daranth was wrapped in layers of protection and paranoia, dressed in silk woven with gold thread… but always scented faintly of iron.
He was given everything.Except freedom.
He never bled. Never scraped his knees. Never lost a fight—because no one was allowed to hit him.
From the moment he could walk, Daranth was shielded like glass. He was trained by elite knights, taught the proud history of the realm, gifted stallions, blessed armor, and divine-infused meals crafted by priests. Every need, every luxury—handed to him.
And he hated it.
"Is this power?"
"Is this what it means to be a prince?"
He remembered asking those questions as a child, staring out the palace windows.
His older sisters loathed him. After all, they were discarded. While he basked in privilege, they withered in silence. Sometimes he misbehaved on purpose—broke rules, pushed boundaries—just to see his sisters punished in his place. He wanted to watch his father's reaction.And every time, the king smiled.
From high towers, Daranth observed cadets sparring in sweat and dirt. He watched soldiers obey every order. Watched nobles tremble when he entered the room. At first, it thrilled him.
But soon, it bored him.
Until he discovered something deeper about himself.
He didn't crave love and he didn't care about legacy.
He craved control.
Not through brute force. Through influence.
He liked pulling strings, making people dance around him like marionettes.Some he broke with kindness.Others, he shattered with silence.
Just like his father.
He admired that. He wanted that cold authority. That quiet dominance.
But then—something shifted.
The night his father arrested Duke Veyrion for "acts of treason," the king said something Daranth never forgot.
"There was a boy. His son. A boy with eyes so sharp they made me want to pluck them out. I don't know if he lived. But if he did… he'll come for me."
Daranth remembered the look in his father's eyes—not fear, but recognition. Respect, even.
And from that moment, Daranth wanted to see this boy. The last son of the Veyrion line.
But as years passed, he began to doubt. Maybe the boy died. Maybe that spark was snuffed out.
Until the academy entrance exam.
When the boy stepped forward, wearing the name Veyrion—defiant, bold, unbroken—it made Daranth's blood burn with curiosity.
A boy with a temper.With pride.With eyes that still looked like they could kill anything.
"The perfect toy," Daranth had thought.
He expected Kael to be easy to break. A desperate orphan begging for power. Another piece on the board.
But instead, for the first time in his life…
Daranth couldn't move the piece.
"So this is what I've been waiting for," he whispered in the dark that night.
"A sword I can't hold… yet."
—Back at the Present—
Daranth was already waiting and Watching.
Would Kael punch him? Snap? Maybe he'd even summon the Ash Crow right there in front of everyone. That's what he wanted to see—the truth behind the rumors.
Kael stood still, teeth clenched.
He was at the edge.
[You need to hold it together, kid. If you snap now, you'll lose everything you've worked for.]
"But…" Kael's fists trembled.
[No 'but,' fool. You lose if you break now.]
The Ash Crow's voice pressed hard in his mind.
Kael could barely hold it in. Right in front of him stood the son of the man who destroyed his family. The bastard heir of a tyrant.Everything in him screamed to act.
He'd heard the rumors—how dearly the king loved this son.What better revenge than taking away his most precious treasure?
Kael was about to speak, when—
"Alright, enough! Everyone, back to your seats!"
That voice.
Kael turned.Instructor Silvius strode into the room, flanked by Selina and Neira, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade.
Emilio exhaled. "Damn… that was close."
Daranth, unbothered, kept his smirk as he casually stepped back toward the noble seats. No reaction, no retort. But just as he turned—
"Hey. You."
Kael's voice rang out.
The boy who'd mocked him earlier paused, confused. "You talkin' to me?"
Kael's glare sharpened.
"State your name. And your house."
The boy blinked, scoffing. He looked to Daranth, who offered no help—just an indifferent shrug.
"Thaleon Crisphearth. Son of Marquis Crisphearth."
Kael held his gaze a second longer.
"I'll remember that."
He said no more. He walked past them and returned to his seat without another glance.