The morning light filtered through the towering stained glass windows, painting the marble floor in hues of crimson and gold. Every movement of the crowd seemed rehearsed, a living rhythm to which the boy's heartbeat was now painfully attuned. He walked silently behind the king, his hands clenched, knuckles white, yet outwardly calm.
The hall smelled of polished stone, incense, and faintly of roses—an artificial combination, meant to soothe, yet it only heightened his unease. Every glance he stole was met with a chorus of obedient eyes, their expressions too rigid, too rehearsed. Even the servants moved with a precision that felt unnatural, as if invisible strings pulled their limbs.
He tried to steady his breathing, to calm the rising panic. Yet beneath the surface, something in him thrummed like a taut wire, vibrating with warning.
This is not right.
The king spoke, his voice smooth as silk, wrapping around the boy like a warm cloak."Today, you will meet those who will guide you… your future allies. They will teach you your duties, your responsibilities."
The boy's stomach churned. Allies? Responsibilities? I don't even know my own name…
As they walked down a corridor lined with intricate tapestries depicting heroic battles and golden cities, he noticed it: a small detail, almost imperceptible. One of the tapestries, depicting a scene of a mighty warrior striking down a dragon, had a thread that shimmered differently, almost as if it moved. He crouched subtly to inspect, feigning interest in the intricate stitching.
The thread shimmered again, then quivered—no breeze, no draft, nothing—yet it moved, almost breathing. His pulse quickened. He tugged lightly at it with a fingertip. The tapestry gave way, revealing a tiny hollow behind the wall, a hidden compartment.
His heart hammered. What is this?
Inside the hollow was a small, dust-covered box. The metal was blackened with age, etched with symbols that made his skin crawl, symbols he felt he should recognize but couldn't place. Hesitating, he touched it.
A whisper echoed in his mind, faint but unmistakable:
"Do not trust the crown. They will lie."
He jumped, the box nearly slipping from his hands. His pulse raced as he realized the voice was not outside—it was inside him, the same voice that had warned him before.
The king's footsteps approached, precise and unhurried. The boy barely had time to shove the box back into the hollow before the king's gaze landed on him. The king smiled, warm and fatherly, yet it did not reach his eyes.
"You seem… contemplative," the king said. "Is something troubling you, my Chosen One?"
The boy forced a smile, hiding the trembling in his hands."No… everything is… fine," he lied, though every nerve in his body screamed otherwise.
The king's eyes lingered, piercing, as if seeing through the carefully constructed facade."Very well. But remember, curiosity is both a gift and a curse."
The boy nodded, forcing himself to appear obedient, but inside, his mind was racing. That small hollow, the strange symbols, the whisper—it was a thread, a clue… a key to understanding this world, perhaps.
As they continued walking through the hall, he noticed other anomalies:
Servants walking in perfect unison, eyes forward, expressionless.
A chandelier that seemed to sway slightly even without a breeze.
Mirrors along the corridor that reflected things that weren't there, fleeting shadows just beyond the edge of sight.
Every observation confirmed what he had feared: the world around him was not real.And yet, outwardly, he smiled, nodded, and obeyed, for he knew that revealing suspicion now could be dangerous.
Later, in a smaller chamber adorned with maps of cities and mountains, he was left alone under the pretense of studying his "future kingdom." The box, carefully hidden beneath his robe, felt heavier than it was, as if the weight of secrets it contained pressed against his chest.
He opened it cautiously. Inside lay:
A small, jagged crystal that pulsed faintly, as though alive.
A folded parchment, brittle with age, covered in the same strange symbols.
A medallion engraved with a sigil that burned his eyes when he looked directly at it.
He unfolded the parchment. The words were in a script he did not recognize—but somehow, he could understand them:
"The Chosen One is not what they appear to be. Trust no face. Trust no voice. Only the heart that remembers the first truth will survive."
His hands shook. His mind reeled. The first truth… what could that mean?
A sudden noise snapped him from his thoughts—a faint click, the sound of a door opening. He barely had time to hide the box before the king entered the chamber again, smiling as always.
"Ah, perfect," the king said. "You are ready for your first lesson."
The boy nodded, his heart racing, his mind buzzing with questions and fear.He had found a clue. A secret.And now, he knew the game had begun.
The world was a lie.And he had to find the truth—before it found him first.