The kingdom of Eryndor stretched far beyond the horizon, a land of jagged mountains, endless forests, and rivers that gleamed like molten silver beneath the sun. Its people lived in fear of the throne, for the king, Valtheron, ruled not with wisdom, but with cruelty so deep that even the stones of the palace whispered of it. Generations had suffered under his iron grip, and yet no rebellion dared rise. His word was law, and his wrath absolute.
In the heart of Eryndor, perched atop a cliff overlooking the capital city of Calderis, stood Fortress Valtheron, a sprawling palace of marble and obsidian. Towers pierced the sky like jagged teeth, and golden banners-tattered in places-fluttered from the ramparts. The air inside smelled of incense and iron, and the halls echoed with the footsteps of servants who hurried to avoid the king's gaze. Every corridor, every archway, every carved relief seemed to whisper the same warning: beware the king's wrath.
But the greatest tragedy within those walls was not the gold or the luxury-it was Prince Kael.
Kael, the youngest son of King Valtheron, had been born blind. His eyes, clouded and unseeing, were hidden beneath a delicate silver veil that shimmered faintly under torchlight. He was small and frail in appearance, with alabaster skin that seemed almost translucent, and hair the color of midnight that fell in soft waves to his shoulders. To those who did not know him, he appeared helpless, a fragile child to be pitied or mocked.
Yet Kael was far from helpless. His senses were sharpened beyond the ordinary: he could hear the faintest whisper across a crowded hall, smell the subtle changes in the air when someone approached, and sense the emotions of those around him with an intensity that frightened even the bravest soldiers. More than that, there was a quiet, simmering power within him-a demi-god's gift inherited from a forgotten lineage, one that no living soul in Eryndor had yet witnessed.
Kael was never truly alone. By his side, always, was Rylan, a towering young man of eighteen, broad-shouldered and strong as a bear, yet gentle in manner around Kael. Rylan had been trained from childhood to be Kael's protector, his bodyguard, and in many ways, his brother. Where Kael moved with careful precision, Rylan moved like a shadow, silently intercepting danger before it could reach the prince. His loyalty was absolute, forged in shared hardship and quiet understanding. The palace may have mocked Kael and scorned him, but Rylan saw his worth clearly. And Rylan would give his life to ensure that the veiled prince survived.
The king despised Kael. Every day, Valtheron's golden eyes, cold as molten steel, swept across Kael with disdain. The heir that Valtheron favored was his elder son, Prince Darius, strong, charismatic, and cruel, blessed-or perhaps cursed-with his father's ambition. Darius was everything Kael was not: sighted, powerful, and adored by the court. He walked the halls with a swagger, his laughter echoing through the palace like a predator marking its territory.
"You see him, don't you?" whispered one of the concubines as she brushed past Kael's chambers. Her voice dripped with malice. "Sitting there like a wounded animal. The king has no patience for the weak, and yet here he lingers. Why does he not vanish?"
Kael said nothing. He did not flinch. He had learned long ago that words were weapons, and silence was armor. Every insult, every cruel glance, every whisper behind his back was stored in his mind like a map. One day, he would use it all-not for vengeance alone, but to reclaim what was stolen from him: his rightful place in a world that had scorned him.
Outside the palace, in a small, wind-beaten village at the edge of the Silverwood Forest, another figure endured a different kind of torment. Liora, a girl of fifteen winters, carried the weight of cruelty not from a king, but from a family that should have nurtured her. Her mother was long gone, and her father had died when she was too young to remember his face. Left in the care of her stepmother, Madame Erynis, and the woman's spoiled daughter, Seraphine, Liora had become the object of constant ridicule and abuse.
Her hair, once the color of sunlit wheat, was often pulled or burned in punishment. Her hands were calloused from chores that Seraphine deemed beneath her, and her nights were spent in a cold, cramped corner of the house, where dreams of freedom felt like a cruel joke. Yet, within Liora, a spark burned-a hidden fire. Blood of divine origin ran through her veins, a secret heritage of a goddess long forgotten. She had yet to awaken fully to her power, but even in her suffering, fragments of it whispered to her in moments of quiet desperation.
Liora was never truly alone either. By her side was Kaela, her best friend and confidante. Slightly older, fiercely loyal, with eyes that seemed to read the truth behind every lie, Kaela had grown up with Liora and had endured the same abuse. Where Liora was cautious and thoughtful, Kaela was bold and protective. She carried knives hidden in her sleeves and courage in her heart, vowing silently that no one would ever hurt Liora again if she could stop it. Their bond was unbreakable, forged in shared pain, whispered secrets, and quiet moments of laughter stolen from the cruelty of life.
It was destiny, cruel and beautiful, that these two souls-the blind prince and the maltreated girl-would cross paths. Neither knew it yet, but their fates were intertwined, bound by forces older than any king or god.
Back in the palace, Kael moved with careful precision through the corridors. Though his steps were guided by a cane tipped with silver, it was his mind, not the cane, that saw every detail. He knew the hidden alcoves, the secret passages, the guards' routines. Even in blindness, he was a master of his environment, a shadow moving unseen among the splendor and cruelty. Rylan mirrored him at every step, silent and alert, muscles tensed like coiled springs ready to defend the prince at the slightest hint of danger.
A faint murmur reached him-a conversation between the king and his advisors. He could hear the weight in their voices, the tension, the fear that clung to every word. Valtheron's plans were always grand, always brutal, and always merciless. Kael's lips curved into the smallest of smiles. One day, he would turn that fear back on its source.
Meanwhile, in Silverwood village, Liora tended to the few animals left on her small plot of land behind the house. She hummed a song her mother had taught her, a lullaby meant to soothe the heart even in the darkest times. Kaela stood beside her, ever vigilant, scanning the woods as though danger could spring from any shadow. Together, they shared small joys-laughing over a clumsy chicken, whispering stories of a life beyond the village-but they both knew the world held darker forces than they could yet comprehend.
Night deepened. The moon rose over Eryndor, pale and silver, bathing both the palace and the village in its light. Unseen by all, the air seemed charged, alive, as though the very elements themselves awaited the convergence of two extraordinary souls.
Kael lay on his bed, listening to the quiet-the drip of water in the corridor, the distant roar of the city gates closing for the night, the subtle creak of a guard shifting position. Rylan sat just beyond, alert, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready for any threat. Kael imagined the palace not as a prison, but as a chessboard, with each piece moving according to its own desires and limitations. And in his mind, he began to play the moves that no one else could see.
Liora slept in her modest room, dreaming of fields she had never seen, of skies wide and open, and of a boy with eyes she could not imagine, yet whose presence seemed to call to her across impossible distance. Kaela sat nearby, keeping watch as she had every night, her hand clutching a dagger and her eyes sharp, the weight of responsibility heavy on her shoulders.
Somewhere between the shadows of the palace and the windswept village, fate stirred. Gods and mortals alike had never witnessed such convergence before-a demi-god born blind, kept in the shadows by a cruel king, and a girl touched by divinity yet caged by mortal cruelty.
And when they finally met, the world as Eryndor knew it would shatter. Thrones would crumble, crowns would fall, and the winds of destiny would sweep across the kingdom with a force that none could withstand.
But for now, the night held them apart, silent, patient, as though the world itself was taking a breath before the storm.
Kael, the veiled prince, closed his eyes-not in sleep, but in focus. For even in darkness, he could see.
And soon... the world would see him
too.