It had happened the night before he left for training.
His father had arranged a celebration.
Not for comfort.
For display.
To show the court that the heir had awakened magic early.
That he was ready.
That the bloodline was strong.
—
Klaus had sat there—
small, pale, rigid—
in a chair too large for him.
Listening to praise from people who did not care he was still a child.
His title demanded answers.
Clear.
Confident.
Even when he didn't understand the questions.
So he answered the only way he knew—
from memory.
Pattern.
Precision.
—
When it became too much—
when the pressure pressed down so hard he thought he might faint—
someone leaned close.
"Hello, little Klaus."
Warm.
Alive.
"Let's run away," August whispered. "We'll find something sweet. You like sweets, don't you?"
Run?
Klaus froze.
He couldn't.
He wasn't allowed to move.
He looked up.
Fear flashed—
just for a second—
then vanished.
"Thank you for your concern, sir," he said quietly. "But I have duties. Perhaps later."
August laughed softly.
"What a serious little prince."
A pause.
"But you didn't answer."
Klaus hesitated.
No one had ever asked him that.
So he said the truth.
"I like meat. Soft… juicy… on hot bread."
He froze.
He hadn't meant to say that.
—
August's expression changed.
Softened.
Without another word, he turned.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, "forgive me. The prince leaves tomorrow. I won't see my brother for a long time."
A smile.
"Allow me, on his behalf, to thank you."
Before anyone could react, he lifted Klaus into his arms.
"And now—we'll take our leave."
—
He carried him away.
To the quietest corner.
Set him down.
"And now," August said, "we get your meat and hot bread."
—
"Are you my brother?" Klaus asked immediately.
"Cousin," August said lightly. "There's another—but he's three. Stayed home. And sisters. Older."
Klaus relaxed.
For the first time that night—
he smiled.
—
August stilled.
That smile—
unguarded.
A child who tried to control everything—
every word—
every thought—
and still—
a child.
—
Klaus shoved the memory away.
Back to now.
Back to blood.
To pain.
To Abel.
—
He looked at him.
Broken.
Breathing.
Still alive.
He didn't know what to do with him.
But he knew one thing—
he wasn't letting him go.
If he lived—
Abel was coming with him.
—
Voices.
Three.
Klaus tensed.
Grip tightening on the knife.
No rest.
Of course.
—
"Get up! We're here to rescue you!"
Abel brightened—
for a second—
until Klaus's hand closed around his throat.
A faint crackle of electricity.
Hope died instantly.
"And you thought I'd let you go?" Klaus said coldly.
He stepped out.
No point hiding.
—
Three soldiers approached.
Confident.
Weapons ready.
They slowed when they saw him.
"Your Highness," one said, "release our lord, and we promise to kill you quickly."
Klaus almost smiled.
"How generous."
A pause.
"My offer's better. Turn around. Walk away."
His grip tightened.
Abel choked.
"And I might leave him intact."
"My lord?" the soldier asked.
"Are you deaf?!" Abel screamed. "He'll rip my arms off! Move!"
They stepped back.
But stayed.
—
Fire gathered.
A sphere—
glowing—
unstable.
—
"What do you think is faster?" Klaus said quietly. "My lightning—or your flame?"
The mage hesitated.
Didn't drop it.
—
The ground shifted.
Too late.
Earth collapsed.
Klaus and Abel dropped.
Damn it.
A distraction.
—
They hit hard.
Abel landed on him.
Pain tore through Klaus's ribs.
He swallowed it.
Silent.
He would not give him that.
—
Abel didn't move.
Pressed down harder.
Klaus shoved him off.
—
"Your Highness," a voice called from above, "you're trapped."
"Yes," Klaus said. "With your master."
A pause.
"That complicates things."
"Not really."
The fire stretched—
into a spear.
No space.
No escape.
—
Klaus exhaled.
I will not die here.
—
The attack never landed.
A blade burst through the mage's chest.
Blood sprayed.
Shock froze his face.
Then—
he dropped.
—
"Get him off me!" Abel shrieked. "He's bleeding on me!"
Klaus ignored him.
Above—
steel clashed.
"Traitor!" someone shouted.
—
Now.
Klaus moved.
He shoved the corpse aside.
Forced Abel forward—
used him—
climbed.
Pulled himself up.
—
He kicked dirt back into the pit.
"I'm still here!" Abel screamed. "Don't bury me!"
"Shut up."
—
Ahead—
two soldiers fought.
Earth and wind.
Klaus stepped in.
One died.
Fast.
The other dropped to his knees.
"Your Highness—mercy!"
—
"Was it you?" Klaus asked, raising the knife.
A nod.
"Stand. Helmet off."
The man obeyed.
—
"Who are you?"
"No time," he said quickly. "Reinforcements are coming. I told them three would be enough—but they won't wait."
Klaus nodded.
"I need the ruins. There's a portal."
"I can open one," the man said. "If I know where."
Klaus stepped closer.
Raised his hand.
Didn't touch.
—
"Your name."
"This slave was called Pritik."
Klaus studied him.
Fear.
Training.
Obedience.
All fighting inside him.
—
"Then choose," Klaus said quietly. "If we live—you'll be rewarded."
A pause.
"Now act."
—
Pritik trembled.
Everything in him screamed to obey—
to kneel—
to survive.
—
And for the first time—
he chose.
—
Footsteps.
Closer.
—
Klaus pressed two fingers to his brow.
A vision poured into him—
a clearing—
stone—
a towering tree hiding the cave.
—
Pritik gasped.
Klaus staggered.
Every fragment of magic burned.
His vision darkened.
But he stayed upright.
—
"Your sword," Klaus said.
"Your Highness—I might not finish—"
"Don't worry about them."
A faint, dangerous smile.
"I will."
—
Pritik moved.
—
Klaus attacked.
—
There was nothing left.
No strength.
No reserves.
Only rage.
—
He cut.
Missed.
Cut again.
Slow.
Too slow.
—
A blade tore into his forearm.
Deep.
Blood soaked his grip.
His sword slipped—
fell.
—
Pritik cried out.
Lost focus.
From below—
Abel screamed:
"Cripple him! Don't kill him! Break his legs!"
—
Klaus ducked—
barely.
Another strike—
too close—
His legs gave out.
He fell.
—
Instinct.
He grabbed a weapon.
Drove it up—
—
The man impaled himself.
—
"Your Highness—I'm ready!" Pritik shouted.
Finally.
—
"Get him out. Open it!"
Abel screamed curses.
—
Klaus felt it.
The portal forming.
Saw it in their faces.
—
He turned—
and ran.
—
For the first time in his life—
Klaus fled.
—
Survival mattered more than pride.
—
"Go!" he shouted.
Pritik shoved Abel through—
followed—
—
Impact.
An arrow slammed into Klaus's shoulder.
Hard.
Driving through flesh—
through bone—
—
He didn't even feel the ground.
The portal swallowed him.
—
He hit his knees.
The clearing.
Familiar.
Safe.
—
The arrow had punched straight through.
Bone shattered.
Blood poured.
—
Darkness crept in.
—
Pritik caught him.
"Your Highness—"
"I'm fine," Klaus rasped.
Lie.
—
Voices.
Running.
"Our lord has returned!"
"Call the physician!"
"Summon the captain!"
—
"Bind him," Klaus forced out, nodding toward Abel.
Done instantly.
"And him?" someone asked, grabbing Pritik.
"He saved my life."
—
That was enough.
They let him go.
—
Klaus finally let go.
And the darkness took him.