A Burning Conviction

The air was thick with smoke, coiling like a living serpent and choking every breath it could find. Elias slammed his shoulder against his bedroom door, desperation lending strength to his frail frame. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat a drum counting down his survival. The door, weakened by the fire's insidious heat, splintered on his third attempt, bursting open as he stumbled through.

The inferno surged into his room as if furious at being denied its prey. Elias didn't linger. His gaze darted around the space, instinctively grabbing the coarse wool blanket from his bed. He plunged it into the basin of water by the window, soaking it thoroughly before wrapping it around himself. The blanket clung to his skin, offering a fleeting barrier against the encroaching heat.

"Stay low, avoid the poisonous smog," he muttered, repeating Brother Aldwin's lessons to steady himself. He crouched and crawled toward the doorway, his eyes stinging and watering as acrid smoke burned his lungs. His thoughts were fragmented, a whirlwind of panic and resolve. The monastery, his home, was transforming into a tomb of fire, and he needed to escape. But first, he needed to find them. He had to find Brother Aldwin or Prince Edward. The corridor beyond was chaos incarnate. Flaming beams splintered and crashed to the floor, carving molten paths through the stone. Elias pressed on, his hoarse voice cutting through the din.

"Edward?! Brother Aldwin?!"

No answer came, only the roar of the blaze fading with the cries and screeches of those beyond saving. Guilt gnawed at him with every step. He could save no one, and yet the duty to try—to do something—burned hotter than the flames themselves. His body screamed for reprieve, sweat dripping from his brow as the fire drained him of his strength, yet he pushed forward.

A sharp scream tore through the inferno. Elias turned instinctively, forcing his way toward the sound. Smoke enveloped him, disorienting and blinding. He emerged into another corridor, and his heart seized. A body lay crumpled beneath a collapsed beam, the once-familiar robes of Master Oswald charred and unrecognizable. His head was grotesquely twisted, pressed into the bloodied stone like a macabre fresco painted by the fire itself.

Elias froze, bile rising in his throat as he stared at the scene. His legs felt rooted in place as his mind recoiled. This was death, raw and unfiltered, and he could do nothing but bear witness. The flames crackled, their greedy whispers urging him to leave them alone. He swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away with a shuddering breath. There was no time to mourn, no time to falter. He forced his legs to move, stumbling forward as he clung to the hope of saving someone—anyone at this point.

The prince. His mind snapped to Edward. Their brief encounter earlier that day was still fresh, the boy's haughty demeanour grating on Elias' nerves. Yet guilt twisted his insides. Edward didn't deserve this. No one did. Clenching his jaw, Elias pressed on, navigating the labyrinthine corridors toward the prince's chambers. The smoke grew denser with every step, his breaths shallow. His limbs felt like lead, but the thought of Edward spurred him on.

Finally, he reached the door to Edward's room. It hung crooked on its hinges, flames licking hungrily at its edges. Elias hesitated for a heartbeat before shoving it open. The shove was not even necessary. The door was so damaged from the flames that it crackled and opened instantly. A wave of heat and smoke slammed into him, forcing him to shield his face with the wet blanket. The room was unrecognizable, a hellish tableau of destruction. The walls, once adorned with rich tapestries, were blackened and charred. The ornate bed was reduced to little more than a skeleton of smouldering wood, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of burning fabric and flesh.

And there, in the center of the room, lay Edward.

The prince's body was a motionless silhouette against the backdrop of flames. His once-pristine tunic was charred and tattered, his delicate features obscured by soot and burns. Elias dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he reached for the boy. The heat radiating from Edward's body was unbearable, and as Elias touched his shoulder, the truth sank in. Edward was gone.

"No," Elias whispered, his voice cracking. "No, no, no… NO"

Tears blurred his vision as he stared at the lifeless form. He had failed. The weight of it crushed him, threatening to drag him into despair. But the flames wouldn't wait. The room groaned ominously, a warning that its collapse was imminent. Elias forced himself to his feet, his gaze lingering on Edward one last time.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

As he turned to leave, a deafening crack split the air. Elias looked up just in time to see a flaming beam descending. It struck him across the back, pain exploding through his body as he crumpled to the floor. The world spun and kept spinning until the fire's roar started fading into a distant hum as darkness claimed him.

Elias awoke to the cool sensation of water against his forehead. Pain coursed through his body, each muscle protesting as he tried to move. Before he could rise, a firm hand pressed him back down, steady but unyielding.

"Easy now, boy" came Brother Aldwin's voice, low and resonant, like the toll of a bell muffled by distance. "You've been through hell and back quite literally. Rest, if you can."

Blinking, Elias' vision slowly swam into focus. The room around him was small, its timber walls shrouded in dim candlelight. The scent of pungent herbs and ointments clung to the air, mingling with a faint tang of smoke that lingered like a bad memory. Aldwin—his face shadowed, his cowl pulled back—sat at his side, his normally composed expression marked with lines of worry.

"What… what happen-n-n-n-n-ed to me?" Elias croaked, his throat dry and rasping. His voice felt foreign, as though it belonged to another.

Aldwin's lips pressed into a thin line. He poured water into a wooden cup and held it to Elias' lips. "Drink first," he said softly. "There will be time for questions."

Elias obeyed, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat. As he drank, flashes of the night returned to him—roaring flames, screams that pierced the air, the thunder of collapsing beams.

"The monastery," he murmured, his voice trembling. "The fire was to big for any of us to handle… You should have left and thought about yourself! You could have died today because of your actions!"

Aldwin stopped and then has a grave look on his face, setting the cup aside. "Gone," he said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "The fire claimed everything. Books, relics, lives." He paused, as though weighing his next words. "Prince Edward is dead."

The words struck Elias like a hammer blow, even thought he had already seen the scene first hand. "I did everything I could to save him. If it was a normal fire I would have been able to but it was so big, it looked like the devil himself spawned into the room everything was just a touch of black". He then paused. "I really tried"

"I know you did," Aldwin said gently, his hand resting on Elias' shoulder. "None could have done more. But fate… fate had other plans."

Elias closed his eyes, his thoughts a storm of guilt and grief. He saw Edward's face—young, noble, steadfast even in the face of despair. He saw the flames of the inferno swallow him whole and take his soul. "I failed him," Elias muttered. "He trusted me, and I failed."

"No," Aldwin said, his tone firmer now, almost sharp. "You lived. That was no failure. Perhaps it is Providence that you survived, Elias. For the world has need of you still."

Elias opened his eyes, meeting Aldwin's steady gaze. "What do you mean?"

The older man took a breath, his expression hardening. "As of now, the world believes Prince Edward still lives," he said. "If the truth of his death becomes known, it will unmake the kingdom. After the failure in Hormuz and the kings current behaviour against his Nobels and Parliament - The nobles will end up going to war for the throne, and the common folk will pay the price in blood. Chaos will reign."

Elias frowned, confusion mingling with unease. "I know that but what does that have to do with me?"

Aldwin leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "It has everything to do with you. You must take his place."

Elias stared at him, uncomprehending and confused. "What? No? No… That's… that's madness. I'm no prince. Take one look at me and it's frankly quite clear"

"Not by birth," Aldwin conceded, "but in likeness, you could be. Your height, your bearing, your hair… and now," he gestured to the burn mark that marred Elias' left cheek, "the scars to obscure the finer details. With time and training, you could pass as Edward."

Elias shook his head vehemently, panic rising in his chest. "No. No, I can't do that. I've never even held a sword properly, let alone ruled a kingdom. I'd be discovered within a day!"

Aldwin's gaze hardened, his voice gaining an edge of steel. "And what would you have me do, Elias? Announce the prince's death and let the kingdom tear itself apart? Leave the fields barren and the streets red with the blood of innocents? Would you have the fires that consumed the monastery spread to every village and town?"

"I…" Elias faltered, his protest caught in his throat.

"Listen to me," Aldwin said, his tone softening but losing none of its intensity. "You're right—this is no small task. It is dangerous, and it will demand more of you than you think you can give. But I believe in you. I believe that you can learn, that you can grow into the role this kingdom needs."

Elias looked away, his hands curling into fists. "I'm a peasant," he said bitterly. "The son of a dead farmer. How can I ever pretend to be a prince?"

Aldwin's expression softened, a rare flicker of warmth crossing his features. "The greatest kings have risen from humble beginnings," he said. "And the noblest hearts are not always born in halls of Valhalla like the old days behind us. You have courage, Elias. I saw it when you rushed into the flames to save Edward. I see it now, though you doubt yourself. That courage… that kind of heart is what will make you a strong prince, better than any other we have had in the past. This is a real chance to change the world"

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackle of the lone candle and the faint rustle of the wind beyond the walls. Elias' mind raced, torn between fear and an inexplicable sense of duty.

"If I fail," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, "if they find out… it will be worse than chaos."

"If you fail," Aldwin replied, "it will not be for lack of trying. And if you succeed… you may save us all."

Elias looked into Aldwin's eyes, searching for some sign of uncertainty, some crack in the man's resolve. He found none. Only the weight of conviction, unyielding as stone.

"Very well," Elias said at last, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. "I will try. I trust you Aldwin, You are the man who brought me in and saved my life "

Aldwin's lips curved into a faint smile. "Good," he said, rising to his feet. "Then rest, for tomorrow, we begin the work of making a prince before they collect you."

As the door creaked shut behind Aldwin, Elias lay back against the bed, staring at the beams overhead. The weight of his choice pressed down on him, heavier than the flames that had nearly consumed him. Yet beneath the fear and doubt, a spark of determination flickered, fragile but unyielding.

For the kingdom, for the prince he had failed, and for the chance to be something more, Elias would rise.

Elsewhere, Hugh trudged through the city side streets, his pockets weighed down with the small earnings from his magic tricks. He had spent hours weaving illusions for passersby, his hands quick and his smile practiced, until his audience finally grew tired of his act and he was left to fend for himself again. The money wasn't much, but it was enough to get him some food for a few days.

As he walked down an alley, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" A group of young thugs emerged from the shadows, blocking his path. Their leader, a lanky figure with a crooked smile, stepped forward. "We got ourselves a money tree"

Hugh clenched his fists instinctively, the familiar stir of panic rising in his chest. But the thought of going hungry again was worse than the threat of these thugs. He was no stranger to danger, but this was different. He had earned this money with his own hands, and he wasn't about to let them take it.

"I don't want any trouble," he said, trying to back away.

The thug laughed, stepping closer. "Too late for that, mate."

Before Hugh could react, the thug shoved him hard, sending him stumbling backwards. His cloak caught on the rough brick of the alley wall, but he caught himself, his legs aching with the weight of his own body.

The leader swung a fist, nearly catching Hugh on the side of the jaw - but still hitting him on his nose. Hugh's head snapped back and his teeth rattled. Blood dripped from his lip, but the sting was nothing compared to the fire that ignited within him. He wasn't going to be a victim anymore.

Fury surged through him as he launched himself at the thug, catching him off guard. His punches were wild, fuelled by adrenaline, but they landed with surprising accuracy. The leader staggered back, eyes wide in shock. The other thugs hesitated, unsure of what to do.

Hugh didn't give them the chance to regroup. He moved quickly and continued to press forward, his fists flying and stinging with a newfound energy, a blur of motion that was as much instinct as it was desperation. A hard right hook sent one of the thugs crashing to the ground, his body twitching as he struggled to get up. Another thug lunged at Hugh, but he sidestepped and slammed an elbow into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

The remaining thugs looked at each other, the realisation dawning that Hugh wasn't the easy target they thought he was. With a collective grunt, they retreated into the shadows, leaving Hugh standing alone in the alley, bloodied but unbroken.

Hugh wiped the blood from his lip and took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. He didn't feel victorious; he felt alive, like something inside him had awoken. As he turned to leave, a voice called out from the shadows. Several off beat claps echo across the alleyway.

"Impressive. Well done, seriously. That was such a spectacle to watch!"

He spun around to find a burly man with a grizzled beard and piercing eyes, watching him with a look of approval. The man stepped forward, his gaze never leaving Hugh.

"You've got fight in you," the man said, his voice a low rumble. He was looking around the scene and rubbing his hands in glee "I can see it. I can really see it. Wow. You should come with me. I can make a young lad like you a lotta money. You want in?"

Hugh hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to make of this strange encounter. But in that moment, he knew he had nothing left to lose. He followed the man, the weight of his past and future hanging in the air between them.