"Elythion… Elythion!"
The boy's eyes snapped open at the sound.
Rubbing them sleepily, he muttered, "Yes… yes, Bianz… it's your big day… my big day… yes, my lord…"
Bianz, his lifelong caretaker, smiled softly.
"Today, you receive the royal family's crest. You've turned twenty, my lord."
Elythion rose from his bed, Bianz helping him into the ceremonial robes.
Not just clothes—they carried the weight of history, of power, of legacy.
He stepped into the grand hall.
Crowds from every corner cheered the royal house—Betano.
The walls vibrated with their shouts, their voices rolling like an endless wave.
Standing beside his father, the king placed a hand on Elythion's shoulder.
"After a year from today… you will be king," he announced.
Cheers erupted again, as though the hall itself celebrated the future.
A servant approached, carrying a small box.
The king chuckled softly.
"And now… the kingdom's seal. Passed down for generations. I took it from my father. Today, it is yours."
The box opened, revealing a metallic token engraved with the royal emblem.
The king placed it in Elythion's hand.
"Guard it well, my son… it is one of the world's rarest treasures. Its metal comes from another world, it is said."
Elythion smiled, clenching the token tightly.
The crowd roared:
"Long live the king! Long live the royal family!"
The night passed with dancing, laughter, and feasting.
As dawn approached, the crowd dispersed, and the servants cleaned the remains of the celebration.
The king and his son returned to a quiet room.
Outside the palace, a strange ship landed.
A bearded man stepped out, eyes sharp as blades, and strode confidently into the building.
Inside, the king and son were talking, laughing.
The intruder entered.
The king glanced at him.
"My brother… it's been long. How have you been?"
The man's voice erupted with suppressed rage.
"You ask how I am? I heard you plan to hand the kingdom to your son. Is that true?"
The king replied calmly, "Yes."
"Step aside. I want to speak privately," the man demanded.
The king followed, leaving Elythion behind, straining to hear.
He saw something he had never witnessed before.
A glowing white emblem on his father's forehead.
His uncle lying on the ground.
"I am the king here… and I know what's best for this kingdom," his father's voice rang firmly.
A sword materialized from thin air, pressed against his uncle's neck.
The uncle begged desperately.
The seal vanished, the sword disappeared—and the king turned to his son.
Then—
The uncle leapt forward, dagger in hand, stabbing relentlessly.
Elythion's eyes widened.
He ran to his father, blood pouring, but the uncle struck him, sending him sprawling.
He snatched the family seal from the king's body.
"With weak hearts like you and your father… you do not deserve to rule."
He left the hall, leaving Elythion weeping over his father's corpse.
The next day, the uncle ascended the throne.
He appointed ministers from his own family, leaving Elythion under his care—but barred him from leaving the palace.
Yet Elythion never stopped thinking of revenge.
He sneaked into the library, reading the books of Rast, replaying his father's final moments in his mind.
He was a silent storm of hatred.
The people spoke of his right to the throne.
The uncle sensed danger and ordered Elythion imprisoned in a sunless cell, to be tortured both physically and mentally.
Elythion attempted escape, using all he had learned—but was caught again.
This time, his uncle ordered him blinded.
The hot iron burned his eyelids, a cruel act carried out by Bianz.
The world was told Elythion had gone blind, and the uncle returned to his pleasures, leaving the kingdom's affairs to decay.
Elythion was transferred to a distant prison.
The guards treated him kindly.
He confided in one of them, sharing his secret, and promised a reward for helping him reclaim his father's rights.
He escaped.
The people, angry at the tyrant king, aided him.
His strength grew beyond belief over time.
When he finally stormed the palace, Elythion faced his uncle.
The uncle tried to use Rast—but Elythion, now known as Darkos, unleashed his father's seal: the Aether Seal.
The uncle froze in terror.
The seal's white glow turned to bloody red.
A sword materialized from nothing.
With a single strike… his uncle's head flew off.
Elythion became king.
He ordered his uncle's head displayed in the market.
He had the eyes of ministers and advisors burned, then executed them.
He appointed Bianz as his sole adviser.
From that day forward, he ruled as a tyrant, feared by all.
The strongest of the Pharrons.
He vowed his kingdom would become the greatest… even if the cost was a realm living in perpetual fear.