The first light of dawn seeped through the tall, narrow windows of the training hall, casting long, skeletal shadows across the cold stone floor. Lucian stirred on the hard mat, bones aching even from minimal movement. His body had not fully recovered from yesterday's shadow experiments, yet the sound of boots clattering on stone and the sharp bark of instructors' voices made him shiver in dread.
"Rise, Prince Lucian! You will not grow strong lying in weakness!"
The instructor's whip cracked across the empty air, the echo ringing through the hall like a scream. Lucian's limbs trembled as he forced himself to sit upright, grey eyes fixed on the polished stone floor beneath him. The other students, all older and stronger, were already stretching, some sneering at the frail boy who had once been the "second son."
Second son. Discarded. Weak. Always the one who falls behind…
Even now, after the memories of his death and rebirth, the old feelings of worthlessness flared within him. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to curl up and vanish into the shadows around him. The whisper of darkness in his veins responded faintly, curling around his arms as if offering reassurance — a subtle promise that he had not been completely discarded.
The instructor snapped his fingers. "Move! Strike the dummy! Faster!"
Lucian obeyed, moving clumsily. Every swing of the wooden sword left him shaking, every dodge a struggle. He could feel the weak poison lingering in his system — subtle, a reminder of years of manipulation — but it fueled his alertness, sharpening his reflexes ever so slightly. He remembered the lessons of his past life: how to anticipate attacks, how to conserve energy, how to move without giving himself away. It did not make him strong, but it gave him an edge against the overwhelming cruelty surrounding him.
Another crack of the whip landed across his back. Pain flared, white-hot, but Lucian's mind was a blade sharper than any weapon. Weakness is temporary. Pain is fuel. Observation is power. He gritted his teeth and forced another swing, shadows flickering faintly in response to his suppressed anger.
The instructors worked him mercilessly. Other students mocked him, jabs and kicks coming from peers meant to humiliate rather than harm. The palace, filled with echoes of grandeur and cold marble, seemed almost alive with scorn. Every beam of light that struck the polished floor glinted off his sweat, shimmering like a reminder of his inadequacy.
I remember… everything.
The memory of that final day — Isolde lying there, her throat torn, crimson pooling across the floor — stabbed at him like a hidden blade. For a moment, the world blurred, and he could almost smell the coppery tang of blood in the air. He shook violently, trying to focus on the wooden dummy before him. He could not allow himself to break. Not here. Not yet.
"Focus, boy!" the instructor barked. "If you cannot even lift your arms, perhaps you should lie down and accept your weakness!"
Lucian's fingers tightened on the sword. I will not… I will endure… He recalled the movements from memory — strikes, blocks, footwork — and though his frail body ached, he managed to keep pace better than yesterday. Not enough to impress anyone, but enough to keep from breaking entirely.
By the end of the grueling morning session, sweat and bruises coating his small frame, he collapsed against the wall. His vision swam with exhaustion, the shadows around his arms flickering weakly. He tasted faint bitterness on his tongue — residual poison in his system — and allowed himself a quiet grimace. Still… I survive. I endure. That is enough for now.
A soft, familiar voice broke through his haze.
"Prince Lucian… are you alright?"
He blinked through the sweat and pain, and there she was — Isolde, kneeling beside him, her hands gentle on his trembling shoulders. Even after all these years, the sight of her brought a flare of something sharp and conflicting in his chest: relief, longing, and the cruel ache of memory.
She's alive… she's really alive…
The memory returned, vivid and violent. Her throat, torn, eyes wide in fear and agony, lying in the cold marble hall, blood pooling beneath her. He almost gasped, choking back a sob, the shadows around him stirring with a hungry tremor. And now… she's here, kneeling beside me…
"I… I'm fine," he muttered, voice hoarse, forcing a smile he did not feel. He could feel the tremor in his hands, the weakness in his limbs. His body had not forgotten the pain of abuse and exertion. It would take months — years — before he could fully reclaim even a fraction of what he once had.
Isolde's eyes were soft, full of genuine concern. "You pushed yourself too hard today. Let me help you."
Her hands adjusted the blanket around him, her touch light and careful. Lucian allowed it, swallowing the sharp ache in his chest. She doesn't know… she trusts me. She believes in me. And I… cannot destroy that. Not yet.
The room smelled of sweat, dust, and faint traces of incense lingering from the morning's training ritual. Shadows clung to the corners, twisting as if in anticipation, sensitive to every pulse of emotion from the boy lying exhausted before them. Lucian let his gaze drift to the dim corners, fingers flexing slightly, testing without straining. The shadows obeyed just enough to curl faintly, almost playful, almost mocking him.
Sebastian had not returned yet, and for a fleeting moment, Lucian allowed himself to breathe — to simply exist beside the one person who had ever truly cared for him.
She does not know what I remember… she does not know what I have seen… what I have endured…
He closed his eyes briefly, pressing his head to the floor. And yet… I cannot break her trust. I must endure. I must wait. Patience. Observation. Strategy.
Isolde handed him water, and he drank slowly, tasting the faint metallic tang that lingered — a ghost of past poison. His body flinched, but no harm came. Instead, the taste sharpened his senses, reminding him that every moment of comfort could also be a weapon if he allowed it. Even kindness… can be a trap.
"Rest now," Isolde said softly, smoothing his hair back from his damp forehead. "I'll stay near. You're not alone."
Lucian swallowed hard, nodding minutely. Not alone… yet still under Sebastian's careful design. Every kindness, every gentle gesture, is part of his plan. I see it all. I will remember it all.
The shadows around his hands stirred faintly, echoing the silent promise in his mind. I am patient. I endure. I learn. And one day…
The whispers of darkness seemed to answer, curling lightly around his fingers as if sensing the unspoken vow. One day… everything will be repaid.