Darkness.
Not the quiet darkness of night, but something deeper… something alive.
I stood alone in an endless black expanse where neither sky nor ground existed. The world felt hollow, as though reality itself had been stripped away, leaving only shadows behind.
And yet… I was not alone.
They gathered around me—figures formed from living darkness emerged one by one, their shapes twisted and indistinct. Tall shadows. Small ones. Some shaped like men, others like beasts.
All of them bowed.
Hundreds of shadows lowered themselves before me as if I were their king. Their heads dipped in silent reverence, their forms rippling like smoke in a windless void.
A strange pressure filled the air, pressing against my chest like the weight of deep water.
Then the crowd parted.
Something stepped forward.
The shadows recoiled slightly, as though even they feared what approached.
A knight.
Or something resembling one.
Its armor was warped and jagged, forged not from steel but from darkness itself. A cloak of writhing shadow trailed behind it like living smoke. Its helmet had no face—only a hollow abyss where eyes should have been.
And yet…
I felt its gaze.
It stopped before me.
Then, slowly… it bowed.
Not out of loyalty but recognition.
The twisted knight straightened again and gripped the weapon resting in its hands—a long spear made of blackened void. The air itself seemed to distort around the blade.
Then it raised the spear.
Pointing it directly at my heart.
For a moment neither of us moved.
The shadows around us trembled.
The knight took a step forward.
Another.
Then it lunged.
—
"Your Highness! Your Royal Highness! Please rise from your slumber, sire!"
The voice shattered the darkness.
My eyes snapped open.
I sucked in a sharp breath, the remnants of the dream dissolving like smoke as reality rushed back in.
Paige stood beside my bed, hands folded neatly before him, posture flawless as ever.
Sunlight poured through the tall windows behind him, framing his figure in warm gold.
A stark contrast to the cold void I had just left.
"Your Highness?" he asked again politely.
I blinked, rubbing a hand over my face.
"Is it morning already?" I muttered, suppressing a yawn.
Paige smiled in that careful, respectful way servants perfected over time.
"It is noon, my lord."
Of course it was.
I pushed myself upright, groaning softly as the familiar ache of another sleepless night settled into my bones. Scrolls, books, and loose papers surrounded my bed like the aftermath of a small academic war. Maps of Sterilia, old law manuscripts, taxation records, estate reports.
Evidence of how little rest I had allowed myself since arriving here.
Sterilia. Dead Man's Land.
The title was not entirely inaccurate.
As Paige stepped aside, I caught my reflection in the mirror across the room.
Seventeen years old. Dark skin. Dark eyes. Unruly black curls that refused to behave no matter how many times I brushed them.
A prince who looked nothing like the king he was meant to succeed.
I stared for a moment then I turned away.
The bath awaited.
Steam filled the bathing chamber, curling through the air in lazy spirals. A wooden tub had already been prepared, the water still steaming.
Penelope stood nearby, bowing gracefully as I entered.
She was beautiful—undeniably so. Soft features, gentle eyes, curves that would tempt lesser men.
But beauty had long since lost its charm for me.
As she stepped forward to assist me with my clothes, I raised a hand.
"That won't be necessary," I said calmly. "I'll bathe alone."
She hesitated. Surprise flickered across her face, but only for a moment. Then she bowed again.
"As you wish, sire."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
I sank into the bath slowly, the hot water embracing me like a comforting weight. Muscles I hadn't realized were tense finally began to loosen.
For a few moments, I simply sat there.
Breathing.
Thinking.
And eventually… remembering.
I was Prince Philip Tenebris Gladia. Firstborn son of the King. Heir in name alone.
To the nobles, I was weak, incompetent, a mistake of birth, a prince unfit to rule. They weren't subtle about it.
Whispers traveled quickly through palace halls. Smiles lingered too long. Conversations stopped when I entered the room.
But among the common folk…
A different name followed me. The Dark Prince.
Perhaps it was my eyes, my mother's eyes.
My chest tightened at the thought.
Queen Victoria Luna Gladia. Aura King. A woman powerful enough to crush armies and fell giants.
Dead from a heart attack. At least… that was the story they told.
I had never believed it.
Five years had passed, yet her absence still hollowed something inside me.
And my father?
He remarried before the year had ended.
Queen Patricia now sat upon the throne my mother once occupied. Her son—my half-brother Daniel—was already praised as the kingdom's future—golden-haired, charismatic, strong, perfect. Everything I was not.
The water rippled as my fists clenched beneath the surface.
So what did I do?
I learned.
I endured.
And I planned.