Then—
A voice tore through the dust-filled silence.
"You…."
Ashyrn snarled.
He rose slowly to his feet, dust falling from his coat. His eyes burned with conviction as he spoke.
"It must be done. I must be the king. Step away, Orimo Kuzan—"
His voice hardened.
"—or it will happen again."
From the side, footsteps scraped against sand.
Varo Kuzan stepped forward—the Commander of Sand, battered, yet standing.
"What would happen," Varo growled, "you damn bastard?"
His fist crashed into Ashyrn's jaw—
THUD!
Ashyrn slammed into the sandy ground.
Varo screamed, veins bulging, rage shaking his voice.
"Tell me what would happen, you bastard?!"
Ashyrn, coughing, still repeated—
"I must be the king."
{Backstory — Ashyrn Witherfall}
Laughter echoed beneath a soft blue sky.
A young Ashyrn—only eight years old—ran across the green field, laughing freely.
"Catch me!" he shouted, his voice bright with joy.
The sun shone warmly above. Trees swayed gently as the wind brushed through their leaves. The world felt peaceful. Alive.
His friends chased after him, tripping and tumbling until they finally caught him. They all collapsed onto the grass, breathless—
—and burst into laughter.
One of them whined, smiling.
"You're too hard to catch, Ashyrn."
Ashyrn grinned, lying on the grass, staring at the sky.
"I can't help it."
Footsteps approached.
A maid stood beside them, bowing slightly.
"The Queen is looking for you, Prince Ashyrn."
Ashyrn stood up, brushing grass from his clothes. He waved goodbye to his friends, smiling one last time.
"See you later."
He turned and walked away with the maid.
Behind him, green grass shimmered under the sunlight—
and innocence quietly faded with every step forward.