The throne room had never felt so vast. Marble pillars lined the hall like silent guardians, their golden veins glowing faintly under the lantern light. Above, banners of the royal crest fluttered in the faint draft from high arched windows, each stitched with the blazing sun that symbolized the Aelthar dynasty.
Prince Aelionstood before the throne, still clad in the ceremonial robes from the coronation night. The heavy crown sat upon his head, an anchor of both power and doom. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and though the courtiers and councilors bustled around him, whispering prayers of loyalty and oaths of allegiance, all he could hear was the echo of the prophecy.
"Only one shall shine."
It repeated in his mind like a tolling bell.
Kaelen stood a few paces behind, his body poised in silent vigilance. His armor caught the dim light, but his eyes never left the prince. Though duty demanded a stoic mask, his heart burned with turmoil. He had been at Aelion's side since childhood, had sworn his life to shield him from all harm. Yet no sword nor shield could turn aside the cruelty of fate.
---
The Council's Demand
The chamber fell into hush as Lord Varros, the High Chancellor, stepped forward. His wrinkled face bore lines of ambition rather than wisdom.
"Your Majesty," Varros began, bowing low, "the prophecy uttered by the Oracle spreads through the kingdom like wildfire. Whispers stir unrest. The people demand reassurance. We must take measures to secure your reign, lest doubt fester into rebellion."
Aelion forced himself to meet the man's eyes. "And what measures would you suggest?"
Varros' thin lips curved. "The prophecy speaks of only one. If that is true, then it is imperative that no rival—no shadow—rises beside you. Any who could be seen as a challenger must be… removed."
The words hung in the air like a dagger.
Kaelen's jaw tightened. He knew where this conversation led. He had heard the same whispers from soldiers in the barracks—hushed conversations that dared to speak the unthinkable. That the prophecy did not refer to enemies on foreign soil, but perhaps to someone far closer.
Aelion's hand gripped the armrest of the throne until his knuckles whitened. "Are you suggesting that I kill innocents on the word of a prophecy? That I stain this crown with blood before I've even worn it a day?"
Varros bowed again, but his tone carried steel. "I suggest only what will preserve your reign, Your Majesty. The kingdom cannot afford uncertainty. The people must believe their sun burns alone in the sky."
The council murmured their agreement, like vultures circling above carrion.
Kaelen's eyes met Aelion's for a fleeting second. In them, Aelionfound a flicker of strength—a silent vow that he was not alone.
---
A Night by the River
That night, the prince slipped away from the oppressive walls of the palace. Cloaked in dark fabric, he moved with careful steps through the gardens, where moonlight draped the roses in silver. By the time he reached the river beyond the gates, Kaelen was already there, as though drawn by an invisible tether.
"You should not be out here," Kaelen said, his voice low but firm. "The palace is no longer safe. Not with councilors plotting behind gilded smiles."
Aelion lowered his hood, his crown left behind. His dark hair fell across his eyes as he stared at the water, the current carrying the reflection of the moon downstream.
"Then where is safe?" Alaric asked. His voice trembled, but not with fear—with weariness. "Everywhere I turn, I hear it. The prophecy binds me like chains. If I am to shine, must it be at the cost of everyone else's light?"
Kaelen stepped closer, the soft crunch of grass under his boots breaking the silence. "Prophecies are words, not prisons. You are still the master of your choices."
Aelion turned to him then, his eyes glistening in the moonlight. "And if those choices demand I sacrifice the one person I cannot bear to lose?"
The words struck Kaelen like an arrow. His breath caught in his throat, the river's song drowned out by the thunder of his heartbeat.
He should not have allowed such emotions to root in his heart. He was a guard, bound by oath, by honor, by duty. Yet every glance, every shared laugh, every unspoken silence between them had only pulled him deeper.
Kaelen swallowed, his voice rough. "Then perhaps the prophecy is wrong. Or perhaps… fate underestimates the strength of two souls bound together."
The prince's lips parted, his expression softening. For a moment, the weight of the crown and the burden of destiny faded, replaced only by the fragile closeness between them.
Alaric reached out, his hand trembling as it brushed Kaelen's gauntlet. The touch was fleeting, yet it ignited a fire neither could ignore.
---
Shadows Stirring
Far beyond the riverbank, in the depths of the palace dungeons, a figure stirred. Chains clinked against stone as a prisoner whispered to himself in the dark. His eyes glowed faintly, touched by the remnants of magic older than the throne itself.
"The sun rises…" he murmured, his cracked lips curling into a smile. "But where there is one sun, there must also be a shadow."
His laughter echoed against the cold walls, carrying with it the promise of chaos.
---
The Dance of Duty and Desire
Days bled into weeks. The council pressed harder for action, nobles whispered of rebellion, and the people's eyes turned to the heavens for signs. Through it all, Alaric and Kaelen's bond grew ever more perilous.
Training sessions stretched into quiet conversations. Nights patrolling the palace walls turned into moments of stolen honesty. A hand brushed against another, lingering longer than duty demanded. A glance held too long became a confession in silence.
Yet always, the prophecy loomed, casting shadows over every fleeting joy.
One evening, Aelion confronted Kaelen in the practice yard. The prince's blade clashed against his guard's with uncharacteristic fury, sparks flying under the torchlight.
"Fight me as though you mean it," Aelion demanded, his voice sharp.
Kaelen blocked the strike, his brows furrowing. "What are you doing?"
"I need to know," Alaric hissed, striking again, "if you would obey the council's orders. If they demanded you raise your sword against me… would you?"
The words lodged in Kaelen's chest. For a heartbeat, he froze. Then, with a snarl, he twisted his blade, disarming Alaric and pinning him against the training post. Their faces were inches apart, their breaths mingling.
"No prophecy, no council, no kingdom will ever make me raise a blade against you," Kaelen growled. His voice cracked with the weight of truth. "If only one is destined to shine, then let it be you. And if fate tries to take you from me, I will fight it until my last breath."
Aelion's eyes widened, his chest heaving. Then, unable to hold back, he pressed his forehead to Kaelen's. For that stolen moment, neither prince nor guard existed—only two souls caught between love and destiny.
---
The Omen
But fate, cruel and unrelenting, did not grant them peace.
That same night, a blood-red comet streaked across the sky, blazing through the heavens. The priests declared it an omen, proof that the prophecy had begun to unfold.
In the council chambers, Varros' smile deepened.
And in the dungeons, the prisoner's chains shattered like glass.
"The sun burns brighter," he whispered into the darkness. "And so, the shadow rises."