Chapter 2: The False Prophecy & The Palace

Part One: The Hidden Child

(First-Person: Aris Kael)

Five Years Later

I am five years old.

The first thing I remember is darkness.

I have always lived in the shadows, tucked away behind walls that feel too narrow, too cold. The world beyond them is unknown to me, a distant thing I can only dream about. My mother says it is for my own good. My father says nothing at all.

I know I am different. I have seen the way my mother's eyes soften when she looks at me, the way her fingers tighten around my hand as if she is trying to keep me tethered to her. I have heard the whispers outside my door, the muffled conversations that stop the moment I come too close.

But I do not know why.

I sit on the stone floor of my hidden chamber, my legs curled beneath me as I flip through an old book. The pages are worn, edges frayed from too many hands before mine. I do not know where it came from—Rael must have found it for me.

Rael is the only one who does not treat me like I am fragile. He is not afraid to speak to me, to laugh when I ask too many questions, to bring me things from the world beyond my door. He does not look at me with pity.

The door creaks open, and I look up.

Rael steps inside, his golden-brown eyes warm as they find mine. He is carrying something wrapped in cloth, and my heart leaps at the thought of a new treasure.

"Another book?" I ask hopefully.

His lips twitch. "Better."

I scramble to my feet, excitement pushing away the loneliness that lingers in the corners of my mind. He pulls away the cloth, revealing a small wooden carving of a creature I have only seen in paintings—a gryphon, wings outstretched as if it could take flight at any moment.

I run my fingers over the smooth wood, tracing the delicate curves of its wings. My own hands are small and pale, the contrast stark against the deep brown of the carving.

"It's beautiful," I whisper.

Rael leans against the doorframe, watching me. "One day, you'll see a real one."

I hesitate, lifting my gaze to meet his. My large, violet eyes—an unusual shade, unlike any I have seen in the paintings—search his face. My dark purple hair falls over my shoulders in soft waves, framing features that my mother calls delicate, beautiful. She always tells me I look ethereal, like something not meant for this world.

"Do you really think so?" I ask, my voice quiet.

His expression flickers, just for a second, before he nods. "I know so."

But I see the lie in his eyes.

Because I am different. And different things do not belong in the world outside.

Part Two: The World Beyond

(Third-Person: Prince Kaelion Valmyr)

The Empire of Vareon stretched vast beneath the morning sun, its capital a jewel of power and ambition.

At its heart stood the royal palace, a masterpiece of marble and gold, its spires piercing the sky like blades. The great domes shimmered in the light, adorned with carvings of celestial beasts—wyverns, gryphons, and leviathans, creatures of legend that once roamed freely before the gods vanished.

Beyond the palace walls, the city of Valmyra pulsed with life. Merchants filled the streets, their stalls overflowing with silks, spices, and rare enchantments. Towering structures of polished stone and glowing lanterns lined the roads, where nobles rode in carriages drawn by horned equines and sleek shadow hounds. The scent of roasted meats and fresh bread drifted through the air, mixing with the hum of spellwork woven into everyday life.

Yet beneath the grandeur, the divide between nobles and commoners was stark.

Commoners lived in the Lower Districts, where streets were narrower, buildings simpler, and magic far less abundant. Though they could wield lesser spells—levitating small objects, summoning light, enhancing speed—their power was nothing compared to those born with marks. Even among them, only a fortunate few attended The Academy of the Crescent Moon, the school that trained commoners who showed exceptional promise.

But they would never stand as equals to the nobles of Varethion Academy, where the empire's future rulers and warriors were shaped.

And Prince Kaelion Valmyr was among them.

Varethion Academy

At just eight years old, Kaelion was already one of the strongest students.

The academy, located within the capital's inner walls, was more than just a school—it was a battlefield where power determined one's place. Here, noble children honed their abilities, learned court strategy, and prepared for their futures. Some trained as generals, others as scholars or council members, but all were taught discipline, combat, and the unspoken laws of nobility.

Kaelion stood at the balcony of the academy's eastern tower, his piercing light-blue eyes fixed on the sky.

Above the city, wyverns and gryphons soared, their powerful wings cutting through the clouds. Ever since the disappearance of the gods, wyverns had become nearly extinct, the last remaining ones belonging solely to the Valmyr royal bloodline. Gryphons, while more common, were still reserved for nobility.

At fifteen, every noble would take part in the Selection Ceremony, where the gryphons would choose their riders, bonding for life. As a royal, Kaelion was meant to bond with a wyvern, yet… there had never been a case where a prince was chosen by a gryphon.

It was unthinkable.

Yet the future was unwritten.

The Crown Prince & His Inner Circle

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Still watching the skies, Kael?"

Kaelion turned. Behind him stood Cyran Vale, the heir of House Vale, one of the oldest noble families in Vareon. With short silver hair and sharp green eyes, Cyran carried himself with effortless confidence, his stance relaxed but his presence commanding.

Beside him, Rowan Dain leaned against the stone railing. The eldest son of House Dain, Rowan had messy auburn hair and golden-brown eyes, his features always holding an easy smirk. Unlike Cyran, who exuded refinement, Rowan was more reckless, known for his sharp tongue and fierce loyalty.

Two girls approached from behind.

Elaine Asteris, daughter of House Asteris, had long, raven-black hair and deep onyx-black eyes. Of all of them, she was the most gifted in magic, her control over energy manipulation unmatched even at her young age. Sharp-tongued and proud, she was never one to hold back her opinions, especially around Kaelion.

Beside her, Selene Roth, heir to House Roth, stood with quiet grace. With icy platinum hair and pale blue eyes, she was calm and calculating, her mind always three steps ahead. She was already known as a strategist, someone who preferred to outthink rather than outfight her opponents.

These four were more than just students at Varethion.

They were the future of Vareon—the strongest heirs of the noble houses, the ones who would stand beside the prince when the time came.

The Training Grounds

"Let's go," Kaelion said, turning from the balcony. "We're wasting time."

The five of them descended to the academy's training grounds, where other students were already engaged in combat drills. The clash of steel against steel echoed in the morning air, sparks flying as wooden and metal swords met.

At Varethion, the best were separated from the weak.

While most eight-year-olds struggled with balance and technique, Kaelion and his friends fought with precision.

He stepped into the ring, drawing his practice blade. His opponent was a twelve-year-old noble, older but slower.

Kaelion struck first. A clean movement, a perfect arc.

His opponent barely had time to react before Kaelion disarmed him, sending his blade clattering to the ground.

The duel was over in seconds.

The instructor, a battle-worn warrior with a scar down his cheek, gave a curt nod. "Again."

And so they fought.

Because weakness was never an option.

Because Kaelion Valmyr was the heir to the throne.

And the strongest had no room for failure.

The False Prophecy (Final Part)

(Third-Person: Priest Lior)

Priest Lior knelt in the dimly lit chamber of the Celestial Temple, his hands clasped tightly before him. Incense curled through the air, thick with the scent of burning sage, while golden candlelight flickered against the marble walls. Before him, the great statue of the lost gods loomed, its once-brilliant eyes now dulled by centuries of neglect.

For five years, Lior had waited. Watched.

He had expected Lord and Lady Kael to break—grief had a way of unraveling even the most disciplined minds. But they never slipped. Never mourned.

It was unnatural.

A mother did not lose her child and move on so quickly. A father did not bury his heir and continue on without a trace of sorrow.

The child had lived.

Lior was sure of it.

And now, after years of silence, the gods had finally spoken.

A sudden, searing pain burned through his skull, and he gasped as divine power surged through his veins. His vision blurred. Light engulfed him.

And then he saw.

A child with no mark. A child who should not exist. A child whose fate was entwined with the empire itself.

She would change the course of history.

The gods' voices echoed in his mind, layered and ancient, their power undeniable.

"She is the savior. The one who will bring balance. The one who will—"

Lior's breath came sharp and uneven. He gripped the temple floor, his nails scraping against stone.

No.

No, this could not be.

How could they—how could the gods favor this wretched mistake?

A child without a mark was an abomination. A child who stood outside the cycle of power, of magic, of destiny—such a thing should not be.

His heart pounded in his chest as a new thought took root.

What if they were wrong?

What if the child was not meant to save the empire… but to destroy it?

And so, he twisted the words.

Rising from the temple floor, his expression hardened. If the gods would not see reason, he would make them.

By the time he stepped into the throne room, his voice was steady. Certain.

"The gods have spoken," Lior declared before the king and his court. "A nameless child has been born, unmarked by fate. And this child… will bring ruin upon the empire."

Gasps filled the hall.

The king's golden eyes darkened. "Then we must find this child."

The hunt had begun.

(Third-Person: Aris)

The Kael estate was silent. Unnaturally so.

Aris could feel the tension in the air, thick like a storm about to break. She sat curled in the hidden chamber beneath the estate, her small hands clasped around Rael's arm. The stone walls felt suffocating, the flickering lantern casting restless shadows around them.

Above, heavy footsteps thundered through the halls.

They had come.

Enforcers. Soldiers of the crown, sworn to uphold the king's rule.

Aris trembled as she heard furniture being overturned, the clatter of steel against wood, the sharp demands of men who searched for something they would never find.

Rael tightened his grip around her, his voice a whisper. "Don't be scared. I'm here."

She nodded, but the fear did not fade.

Lady Kael's voice drifted down through the floorboards, calm but strained. "You insult my household with this baseless intrusion."

A gruff voice answered, unyielding. "Orders of the king. We search every noble estate."

There was a long silence. Then the sound of more searching—doors opening, footsteps nearing, a pause that sent Aris's heart hammering.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her face against Rael's shoulder.

Then—at last—the footsteps receded.

The enforcers left.

Aris let out a slow, shuddering breath.

They had survived. This time.

But she knew, deep in her heart, that this was only the beginning.

(Third-Person: Priest Lior)

Lior stood outside the Kael estate, his fingers tightening around his staff.

The enforcers had found nothing. But he did not believe the child was dead.

Lord Kael was too composed. Lady Kael was too careful.

There was something they were hiding.

Lior's lips curled into a thin smile. He would find the truth.

Even if it took years, he would uncover their secret.

And when he did…

The nameless child would not live to see the future the gods had promised her.

(Third-Person: Aris)

Days passed, but Aris's fear did not fade.

She sat by the window in her hidden chamber, staring out at the world she could never touch. The sunlit gardens, the stretch of sky beyond the estate walls—places she longed to see, but never could.

Her parents spoke in hushed voices late at night, thinking she could not hear. But she did.

"…we cannot keep her hidden forever," her mother whispered.

"…the prophecy is spreading," her father murmured. "Soon, she will have nowhere left to hide."

Aris clenched her fists, violet eyes burning with quiet resolve.

She did not know what fate awaited her.

But she knew one thing.

One day, she would step beyond these walls.

And the world would know her name.