A Mind Unchained
Kaelion couldn't sleep.
The girl's words echoed in his mind.
Think, not repeat.
He lay on the cold stone floor of the abandoned building, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
His entire life, he had been told the same thing:
The blood-red eclipse was a curse.
His birth was a disaster.
He was fated to bring ruin.
But now—
Now, he knew it was a lie.
He had seen the truth written in the stars, explained in the pages of that book.
And that terrified him.
Because if this was a lie… what else was?
At dawn, the girl shoved him awake.
"Come on, prince," she said. "Time to see if you actually learned something."
Kaelion groaned. "I thought I already passed your test."
"That was just the beginning."
She tossed a piece of charcoal at him and pointed at the dirt floor.
"Draw it," she said.
Kaelion sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Draw what?"
"The eclipse. The truth of it."
He hesitated, then, slowly, he dragged the charcoal over the ground.
A circle for the sun.
A smaller circle for the earth.
Another for the moon.
He hesitated. He could feel her watching.
"The moon moves between them," he muttered, drawing a thin arc. "Blocking the light."
The girl nodded. "And what did they tell you it was?"
Kaelion's hand tightened around the charcoal. "A divine punishment."
"And do you still believe that?"
He looked down at his drawing.
He had been hated for something that wasn't his fault.
His mother had died for something no one understood.
He clenched his teeth.
"No," he said.
The girl smirked. "Good."
She crouched beside him and tapped his drawing.
"Now," she said, "let's see if you can prove it."
Kaelion frowned. "Prove it?"
She stood, brushing dirt from her hands. "You'll figure it out."
Then she turned and walked away.
Kaelion stared after her.
Prove it?
How?
Kaelion spent the next few days obsessed.
Every time the sun set, he watched the sky.
He studied the movements of the stars, the changing shape of the moon.
And as he did, he started noticing something else.
People were watching him.
At first, he thought it was just paranoia.
But then he saw them—men leaning in doorways, whispering when he passed.
Ronan's men.
He had been careful not to stand out. He had kept his head down, his mouth shut.
But now?
Now he was different.
They saw it.
And they didn't like it.
One night, as Kaelion sat outside, scribbling rough calculations in the dirt, a shadow fell over him.
"You think you're smart, don't you, rat?"
Kaelion looked up.
A man stood before him. One of Ronan's enforcers. Lior.
Tall, broad, with a twisted scar running from his eye to his jaw.
Kaelion's muscles tensed.
He had seen Lior beat people half to death for looking at him the wrong way.
He slowly straightened. "What do you want?"
Lior crouched, picking up a stray rock and tossing it in his hand.
"You've been acting strange, little prince," he murmured. "Always looking at the sky. Always whispering with that girl."
Kaelion kept his face blank.
"You got a problem with the stars?" he said.
Lior's grip on the rock tightened.
"You think you're better than us?" he growled. "You think learning a few useless facts makes you less of a rat?"
Kaelion's jaw clenched.
"Knowledge isn't useless," he said quietly.
Lior's eyes darkened.
"Is that so?"
The rock whistled through the air.
Kaelion barely moved in time—pain exploded along his ribs as the blow landed.
He staggered, gasping.
Lior grabbed his collar, yanking him close.
"Let me teach you something, rat," he hissed. "You can learn all the useless facts you want, but here?"
His grip tightened.
"Here, the only thing that matters is power."
Kaelion struggled, but Lior threw him to the ground.
Pain flared through his back.
Lior crouched beside him, voice low.
"Be careful who you try to impress," he murmured. "Ronan doesn't like rats getting ideas."
Then he stood, tossed the rock aside, and walked away.
Kaelion lay there, chest rising and falling.
His ribs ached.
But his mind burned.
Lior was wrong.
Power wasn't just about strength.
It was about knowing the truth.
He gritted his teeth.
He would prove it.
No matter what it took.