The cell was damp and windowless, carved from jagged stone with no regard for comfort. Its air was heavy, like the breath of something ancient that had long since died.
Ari sat in the corner, legs crossed, arms limp at his sides. Bruises marbled his skin, and dried blood clung to the corner of his lip. For three days, he had been denied food and magic-imbued healing. Even now, pain pulsed behind his ribs where a chain strike had cracked them.
And yet, he sat like a statue. Breathing. Waiting.
Footsteps echoed beyond the corridor.
Two guards stood at the cell door. One of them saluted crisply.
"Open it," a deep voice commanded.
The door creaked.
Ari looked up.
Standing at the threshold was a tall man clad in black and crimson armor, runes etched in gold across his breastplate. A cape of silver fur draped across his shoulders. His presence crackled with tightly controlled magic—no flare, no theatrics. Just power held on a leash.
Sir Veydran Teralis, Captain of the Royal Inquisition, a man said to be more feared than most generals.
Ari squinted. "What... do you want?"
"Out," Veydran said simply.
The guards hesitated.
"But, Captain, the orders—"
"I said, out." His voice cut through them like a blade. The guards quickly retreated.
Veydran stepped inside the cell. The stone walls seemed to recoil from him.
"You're releasing me?" Ari asked, still unmoving.
"Temporarily."
"Why?"
Veydran folded his arms. "Because I want to look you in the eye before I decide whether to support you... or kill you myself."
Ari's hand twitched toward the invisible sword that wasn't at his side. "Bold of you to walk in unarmed, then."
"I'm never unarmed."
A long silence stretched between them.
Finally, Veydran gestured.
"Come. There's somewhere we need to talk. Privately."
---
They emerged into the moonlight, passing silently through the camp's outer corridors. No guards. No curious stares. The world slept, but the air tensed like it knew something important was about to happen.
Veydran led Ari to an abandoned tower, likely once used as a watch post during the kingdom's older wars. Inside, torches glowed gently. A small table stood in the center, two chairs, two mugs of untouched wine.
Ari sat, stiff.
Veydran remained standing, back to the fire.
"Do you know," he began, "what your birth did to this Kingdom?"
Ari said nothing.
Veydran continued. "For centuries, Vaelora has prided itself as the land where magic reigns. Where the blood of kings flows with arcane fire. Every allied kingdom respects us because of it. They fear us because of it."
He turned slowly, gaze piercing.
"Then came you. A prince born with no magic. A miracle. Or a curse."
Ari clenched his fists under the table.
"I never asked for this life."
"No one ever does," Veydran said. "But the realm does not care what you ask for. It only sees what you are."
He walked to the table and poured the wine into one cup. "You are a fracture in the foundation of this Kingdom. And that makes you... dangerous."
"Then why release me?" Ari growled. "Why not leave me to rot, or finish me in that cell?"
"Because I've seen something worse than a magicless prince." Veydran drank slowly. "I've seen princes with magic tear the world apart."
He set the cup down.
"You survived an assassination. You've killed one heir. And you held your blade against Roland's throat without flinching. You are not soft."
Ari looked away. "I just want to take my revenge, That doesn't mean I'm fit to rule."
"But someone will, Ari. And I ask you—would you rather it be one of them? A snake in noble silk? A tyrant who wraps his spells around the people's necks and calls it leadership?"
Ari didn't answer.
Veydran leaned closer.
"There's a faction in the court. Small, but growing. Scholars, knights, even a few nobles. They believe that if a magicless prince wins the Trial, it would force the Kingdom to evolve. That we would be forced to value strength, wit, compassion—not just power."
"That's idealistic," Ari muttered.
"No," Veydran replied. "It's desperate."
He circled back to the fire.
"But understand this—if you do win, the Kingdom will splinter. Magic supremacists will revolt. Loyalists to the noble bloodlines will refuse to kneel. The allied kingdoms will break ties. War will come."
Ari's chest felt heavy. "Then why support me?"
"Because I'd rather rebuild a kingdom that learns humility than protect one that breeds monsters."
Silence settled like dust.
"You won't get help from the King. Or the Court. They see you as a mistake. But I…" Veydran's voice dropped, "...I see you as the Kingdom's reckoning."
Ari stared into the flames.
"Why me?"
Veydran met his eyes.
"Because you were born with nothing—and still survived. That terrifies the ones who were given everything."
---
After a long pause, Veydran rose.
"I'll have you returned to the barracks before dawn. Your record will still state two weeks' punishment. No one will know we met tonight."
"Why not make it public?"
"Because in war, surprise is the sharpest blade."
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small coin. Silver. Etched with the emblem of the Inquisition—a watchful eye over a burning crown.
"If you find yourself surrounded by enemies again," he said, placing it on the table, "drop this at your feet."
"Will it save me?"
"No," Veydran replied. "But it will let the right people know who they're about to kill."
Ari pocketed the coin.
As Veydran moved to leave, he paused at the doorway.
"I don't care if you want the throne, Ari. But if you're going to stay alive... you'd better learn how to make others believe you do."
Then he vanished into the shadows.
Ari sat alone in the tower, the fire crackling at his side.
He was still breathing.
But for the first time, he realized—
The Kingdom was too.
And it was watching.
---
Morning came too quickly.
By the time Ari returned to the camp's barracks, the sky was bleeding orange and violet. Dew still clung to the grass, and the cold bit against his skin. He hadn't slept. Not even for a minute.
As he stepped back into the mess of wooden halls and stone walkways, the silence that followed was unnatural.
Every step he took felt heavier than the last.
The guards didn't look him in the eye. One of them, a junior knight with a fading scar on his cheek, flinched as Ari passed by.
The rumors had already started.
By the time the morning bell rang and the heirs assembled for physical training, the whispers came like blades.
"He's back…"
"Didn't he kill Kael?"
"Why wasn't he punished?"
"I heard he's a Beast."
"I heard he's already died once."
Ari stood at the edge of the training yard, arms crossed, back to the rising sun.