The forest was alive with screams.
Not the cries of beasts, but the desperate shouts of men and women running for their lives. Their bare feet pounded against the dirt as they stumbled through the shadows of the tall trees.
And behind them came laughter.
Prince Raviel Veynar, heir of the Human Kingdom, sat proudly on his black horse, his silver hair glowing under the flame. A cruel smile curved his lips as he watched the chase unfold.
Beside him rode his companions—sons of the noble houses, dressed in fine silks, their eyes glittering with excitement. To them, this was not a hunt. It was entertainment.
"Look at them run!" one of the young lords shouted. "Like rats trapped in the dark!"
Another, laughed. "I bet the tall one falls first. He can barely keep up."
Raviel raised his hand, and the group fell silent. His cold, blue eyes locked onto the terrified humans ahead. "Don't kill them too quickly," he said. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of command. "Fear tastes sweeter when it lingers."
His friends cheered and spurred their horses forward. Arrows flew, catching one man in the back. He fell with a scream that was drowned by their laughter. Another stumbled, only to be crushed under a noble's horse.
Raviel did not laugh. He only watched, his gaze sharp and unfeeling. The cries of the weak stirred no pity in him. They were not people. They were prey.
From the shadows of the forest, a girl stood hidden, her small body pressed against a tree. Her face was covered with a torn cloth, her dark eyes burning with hatred.
Her name was Lyra Vale.
Her fists trembled as she watched the prince and his companions slaughter her people for sport. Once, she had tried to forget him. To live quietly. To protect her younger sister. But the memory of her parents' death always returned—her mother and father cut down during a protest, slain on Raviel's orders.
That night, as she watched him hunt, Lyra swore again in her heart: I will make him pay. I will kill him if I must.
Back in the slums of the kingdom, Lyra returned to the small wooden house she shared with her younger sister. The room smelled faintly of damp straw and old bread. She pulled a cloth from her pocket and unwrapped the small piece of bread she had managed to buy.
Her sister, Mira, sat waiting, her arms crossed. At the sight of the bread, her face twisted in anger.
"Bread again?" Mira's voice was sharp. "I'm tired of eating this every day!"
Lyra placed the bread on the table. "It's all I could afford. You know it's hard to find work."
Mira stood, her eyes flashing. "I can find work too. Why do you always lock me in? I'm not a child i'm 16!"
Lyra's heart ached, but her tone stayed firm. "Anytime you go out, you cause trouble. I can't risk losing you. Do you want to end up like—" She stopped, her throat tightening.
"Like Mother and Father?" Mira's voice softened, but anger still lingered in her eyes. "At least if they were alive, we wouldn't be living like this."
The words cut deep. Mira stormed into the back room, slamming the door behind her.
Lyra sank into a chair, her shoulders heavy. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. In the silence, she whispered, "If only you were still here, Mother… Father…"
That same evening, in the grand dining hall of the royal palace, golden chandeliers lit the long table where King Veynar, Queen Selene Veynar, and their son Raviel Veynar. Servants stood quietly by the walls, waiting to serve at a single command.
The king cut into his meat and spoke in a deep, measured tone. "Raviel, you are twenty-three now. It is time you start considering marriage."
The queen smiled warmly. "noble daughter of Magoria. she is the perfect fit for you. She is beautiful, well-mannered, and her family's influence would strengthen our rule."
Raviel's fork stilled. His jaw tightened. "You want to chain me to some simpering court girl?"
"She is not just any girl," the queen said softly. "She from magoria."
Raviel's golden eyes darkened, his voice dripping with venom. "I need no match.
The king's tone grew sharp. "This is not about what you want. It is about duty. About the future of the kingdom."
Raviel pushed back his chair, the sound echoing through the hall. "If you care so much about duty, then marry her yourself."
Gasps filled the room. The queen's face paled, and the king's hand clenched into a fist. But before either could speak, Raviel turned on his heel and strode out.
The prince's boots echoed against the cold stone floor as he descended into the underground prison. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and blood. Torches flickered, casting shadows on the faces of the caged humans.
At the sight of him, they shrank back in fear.
Raviel's lips curved into a smile. "Two of you. Step forward."
The guards dragged two trembling men into the center of the cell block.
"Fight," Raviel commanded. His voice was casual, almost bored. "The winner will earn freedom."
The two men hesitated, looking at each other with desperate eyes. Then, with no choice, they lunged. Fists and screams filled the air as they battled for survival. Blood stained the floor.
Minutes later, one man collapsed, unconscious. The other stood, bruised and bleeding but alive. His chest heaved as he turned to Raviel, hope shining in his eyes. "I won… please… please, Your Highness… let me go…"
For a moment, Raviel studied him in silence. Then he laughed—a low, chilling sound.
"Freedom?" His hand lifted, glowing with pale flame. "You think you deserve freedom?"
Before the man could beg again, a beam of silver flame shot from Raviel's palm, striking him in the chest. The prisoner screamed once, then fell lifeless to the floor.
Raviel turned away, his expression unreadable. "I'm in a foul mood tonight. No one leaves."
The guards bowed low as he left the dungeon, the smell of death trailing behind him.
Above, the flame shone bright through the palace windows, casting its pale light over the kingdom that trembled under his rule.