Mayline

Prince Arthur Aethersworn of Tashran was born without magic, an heir in name, a pawn in truth. In a palace gilded with spellcraft and silence, he is raised beneath a crown he can never wear, watched closely by a father who sees failure where others see a son.

When a shadowed figure appears, either tether to madness or thread to something greater, Arthur is offered a choice: stay and rot beneath the weight of tradition, or seek the Dragon’s Eyes, a long-lost power said to bend the world to its bearer’s will.

To take them is treason. To fail is death. But to succeed... Is to take back everything.

As he risks blood, loyalty, and the last pieces of who he once was, Arthur begins to reshape his fate, not just to escape, but to seize the kingdom that cast him aside.

Embark on Arthur's journey, an adventure where casting aside one’s humanity becomes a path, not a barrier to untold power.



Author’s Note:
This is a seinen-style narrative, and nothing in it is soft. Every detail is deliberate. Every moment is built to wound, test, or peel something raw from the characters. Suffering isn’t a theme here, it’s the engine. If you're looking for clean arcs and kind outcomes, this may not be your story. But if you want to see what people become when the world keeps breaking them, read on.

Why I (don't) regret looking for the dragon's eyes

The morning was crisp and bright, the skies above Portspond Atoll brushed pale with thin strokes of cloud. Arthur and Lyn had risen early, crossing from Crestmar Wharf to the neighboring island of Wavemight Reef, a quiet stretch of bustling docks and timber-lined shipyards set along sheltered coves.

Wavemight wasn't Crestmar; here the air was louder, scented with tar and salt-stained rope. Fishermen pulled their nets under the watchful gaze of gulls, traders barked deals with practiced vigor, and at every berth rested vessels of every kind, sloops, cutters, and schooners, each holding the silent promise of the horizon.

Lyn walked at Arthur's side, dressed comfortably for negotiation. She wore a practical linen tunic tucked into trousers of sturdy cotton, her hair loosely braided. Arthur, still feeling the lingering ache from recent days, remained quiet but observant. Each ship they passed earned a careful, appraising glance.

Coin and Smoke