Darius

The night was heavy with the scent of rain, the sky torn by whispers of thunder, as Mira stood close to the stream, cradling the baby prince in her arms.

Her breath caught as the water mirrored the storm above, the prince's faint cries muffled by the roaring wind. She clutched him closer, her heart heavy with the weight of her duty. This child wasn't just a prince; he was the last hope of Fenalore, and the darkness from Caldrith would stop at nothing to destroy him.

Mira didn't know the full details of the war that had just been fought. She had stayed far from the city, taking refuge in the old man's house near the river. "I'll be fine for now," she whispered to herself, trying to quell her growing fears. "They won't find me here. At least, not yet." But her voice faltered, sadness slipping through as she looked down at the prince sleeping peacefully in her arms. "I wonder what's happening in Fenalore now. Everyone probably thinks I killed the king and queen and kidnapped their son."

Her lips trembled as she held back tears. The weight of such accusations was unbearable, but she couldn't let it crush her. Glancing at the baby again, she forced a smile. "You need a name," she suggested softly. "I'll call you Darius because you're so cute." She kissed his cheek gently, warmth spreading in her chest despite the cold storm surrounding them.

Mira knew how to survive in the forest; she had no other choice. For now, she needed to live and protect Darius. She bowed her head in prayer. "May our ancestors guard the king and queen. Let them rest in peace," she whispered. "Your parents were brave, Darius. They loved you so much. I believe their spirits will protect us." She hesitated, her voice breaking as she continued. "I don't know how I'll tell you the truth when you're older, but I pray you'll find peace in your heart."

Her thoughts were interrupted by a gruff voice calling from the house. "Come inside! It's too cold out there," the old man shouted from the doorway.

"You're right, sir. I'm coming," Mira replied, pulling her shawl tighter around the baby as she ran to the house.

Meanwhile, in the Kingdom of Fenalore...

The gates of the city swung open as King Andras and his army returned from war. Among them was their prisoner—the King of Caldrith. Bound and defeated, he trudged forward under the weight of chains while the people of Fenalore gathered to mock him. Stones were hurled, insults spat, but the King of Caldrith kept his head low, refusing to meet their eyes.

King Andras, however, reveled in the chaos. His gaze swept over the crowd, a smug smile tugging at his lips. This was what he craved—the love of his people, their unwavering loyalty.

"You are a true king!" someone shouted from the crowd.

"All hail King Andras!" another voice echoed.

Soon, the chants filled the air, soldiers pounding their spears against the ground. "All hail the king! All hail the king!"

It was as if the deaths of King Alden and his queen had been forgotten overnight. Their loss should have cast a shadow of grief over Fenalore, yet the people rejoiced like nothing had happened.

This was Andras's plan all along. Somehow, it seemed as though he had cast a spell over the entire kingdom, silencing any mention of the late king and queen. But even among his soldiers, there was unease. Whispers lingered about the strange magic Andras had displayed during the battle—a power none had expected from him.

Andras paid no mind to their doubts. The throne was his, and Fenalore was under his control. Nothing else mattered.