In a tattered town on the eastern edge of the Aurvel continent, the northern wind cut through like icy blades, slipping through every crack of the decayed rooftops. The streets were filled with mud, scattered rubble, and murky puddles reflecting the faint moonlight. Yet strangely, the place still echoed with children's laughter, with the warm greetings of the poor, as if deprivation itself had forged within them a spirit that would never collapse.
Inside an old wooden house overlooking the square, a young man sat in silence. The glow of an oil lamp fell across his face, his brows furrowed as though he carried the weight of the world. His golden hair, once shining, was now matted with sweat and dust from the road. His deep blue eyes, like a midnight lake, rippled with countless waves of unease.
That was Prince Alwen, second son of Emperor Regalus III. But unlike his elder brother, born to inherit the throne, Alwen had always been regarded as a shadow, an unnecessary existence, like a misplaced chess piece on the board of fate.
Behind him stood a tall, sturdy man, straight as an iron pillar. His square face bore the marks of hardship, with a long scar across his left cheek like a relic from war. His graying black hair was tied neatly behind, and his calm brown eyes gleamed with unwavering resolve. This was Ronan, the loyal quartermaster, survivor of countless campaigns, and the only man who had never abandoned Alwen.
"Prince Alwen…"
Ronan's deep voice carried the steady rhythm of a drum, filled with the professionalism of a seasoned retainer who always cared for his prince.
"You're thinking about that again, aren't you?"
Alwen raised his head, his eyes weary. Resting his chin on his hand, he sighed as if the entire sky pressed down upon his shoulders.
"…Ronan, do you think… my decision was wrong?"
His voice wavered, as though the words themselves were ones he wished never to speak.
Ronan stepped forward, placing his calloused hand on Alwen's shoulder. That hand, once used to wield sword and shield, now rested lightly like a feather, yet still carried a comforting warmth.
"Your Highness… I cannot choose for you. But I know this: the people here believe in you. They are poor, yet they laugh, they live. Part of that is because you have not abandoned them."
Outside the window, the moonlight fell upon the thin faces of the villagers. They shared hard bread like stone, yet smiled as they bit into it. Children raised wooden sticks as swords, laughing and pretending to be knights. Women, their hands cracked and worn, still sang lullabies to their children as though sorrow were nothing more than a passing breeze.
Alwen's eyes glistened, his voice hoarse.
"…You're right. I cannot sit idly. I will rise. I must prove to my father, to everyone — my path is not wrong."
He spoke, each word clenched with the firm resolve surging within him.
Ronan nodded, the corner of his lips curling into a rare smile.
"I will always walk behind you, Your Highness."
The words were simple, yet filled with such sincerity that they carried the weight of a vow: no matter what happened, he would always be there, giving everything he had.
◇
Somewhere else.
In a black canyon, a scar carved deep into the earth where even the moon seemed unwilling to shine, the wind whistled through the jagged cliffs, creating eerie howls like the wailing of demons. Here, Alwen and Ronan faced something dreadful.
Alwen's face was clouded with unease, standing in this forsaken place where neither bird dared sing nor beast dared howl.
Ronan stood at his side, expression cold, yet ever ready for battle.
Behind them, frightened villagers huddled together. Those with weapons formed a protective circle, while children clung to one another in terrified sobs.
Not far away, a village burned. Torches had turned homes — built with the sweat and toil of generations — into a sea of flames. Yet the marks on the earth and wood revealed that fire alone had not caused this ruin. Something monstrous had.
"GRRRAAAAUUUUOOOHHHH!!!"
A roar shattered the night, and glowing red eyes pierced the darkness. From the shadows emerged the Three-Eyed Wolves — bloodthirsty reapers of death. It was clear now what had destroyed the village.
Their bodies were twice the size of warhorses, fur black as obsidian. Every step scraped their claws against stone with an ear-splitting screech. On each forehead glowed a third eye, radiating a ghastly violet light. Their roars were thunder, strong enough to shake the heart of any who dared face them.
"We must clear a path for the villagers!" Alwen shouted, his voice like a trumpet call in the night.
Though he had seen battles before, his body trembled slightly before this pack of beasts. Gripping his straight sword, he steadied himself, its weight anchoring his courage.
One wolf lunged, its speed so fearsome it became nothing but a black streak. Its fangs, sharp as daggers, gnashed wide. Alwen raised his sword just in time.
*Clang!!!*
The clash of metal rang sharp, the force rattling his bones. Gritting his teeth, Alwen drove his blade into the beast's right eye.
"Auuu–Auuuuu!"
It shrieked, blood spraying as its massive body crashed to the ground, shaking the earth with its fall.
"Behind you, Your Highness!" Ronan bellowed, hurling a long spear. It pierced another wolf, pinning it down.
*Slash!*
With a swift cut, Alwen bathed in hot blood, his face painted red.
The villagers fought as well, though the cunning wolves pressed with brutal strategy.
"Hic… hu… huuu… Mamaaa!"
Somehow, a young girl was thrown out of the villagers' fragile line of defense.
*Whoosh!*
At once, a giant wolf charged, jaws wide enough to swallow a child whole.
"Alice!!!"
A man's desperate scream tore the air as he watched his daughter's life hang a breath away from death. No one else was fast enough to reach her.
*Clang!*
Metal struck. Before the beast, stood Ronan — thin but unbreakable as steel. With his slender spear, he stopped the "execution strike." His cold eyes embraced the child as he shielded her, while his other arm wrenched the spear deeper into the wolf's jaw.
The beast wailed, collapsing, the weapon nearly piercing its throat.
It all happened in less than a second.
So fast that none could comprehend what had occurred.
Thus, roars, steel, and ragged breaths blended into a symphony of mortal struggle.
Everyone was wounded, but in the end, the villagers crossed safely. Children were still alive, still held in their parents' arms. Alwen turned, panting, but his eyes burned with resolve:
"I protected them."
◇
Another scene.
Inside a vast marble hall, wealthy lords sat on fur-covered thrones. Oil lamps glimmered across their gold and silver goblets, a stark contrast to the misery of the poor outside.
"A prince?" one sneered, his voice cutting like a knife. "That weak boy is worth nothing."
Alwen stood there in ragged clothes, yet his eyes blazed brighter than any torch. He stepped forward, his voice firm:
"You see only gold and silver. Yet people starve beneath your castle walls. If Aurvel falls one day, these treasures will become the tomb of your bloodlines. Stand with me — not because I am a prince, but because I am a son of Aurvel, just like you!"
His words thundered through the hall. Silence followed. Then, one by one, heads bowed, eyes shifting. As though a spark had ignited them, their hearts began to burn. Alwen, once dismissed, now stood as their leader.
◇
And again…
In a circular stone arena, beneath the blazing sun, Alwen faced a giant — the enemy general who had once struck fear into his father. His body was a mountain of muscle, scars crisscrossing, wielding a two-meter steel hammer.
"Boy! You think you can stand against me?"
His roar cracked like thunder, each word a lightning strike.
Alwen swallowed hard but did not back down. The drums beat. The hammer swung, splitting the air, the strike enough to shatter stone. Alwen rolled aside, sweat pouring, his heart pounding like battle drums.
He countered, sword flashing with light. But each slash left only shallow cuts. The giant laughed madly, his hammer sweeping wide, stirring storms of dust.
"You cannot!" a soldier cried out.
"No! I can!" Alwen roared, his eyes blazing.
As the hammer fell again, instead of retreating, he charged — diving inside its arc. His blade pierced deep into the enemy's side. The giant screamed, collapsing. The arena shook with cheers.
Alwen knelt, breath ragged, blood soaking his hands. Yet his gaze never faltered.
Ronan rushed forward, catching Alwen's heavy body.
"I've done it… I've overcome!"
Ronan said nothing, only gently supporting him.
And so, each trial forged Alwen into steel. From a forsaken prince, he became the flame all turned to.
…Until the day of destiny.