The Trial Begins

The day had come. The long-awaited trial to determine who would rule Valerya had begun. The entire royal palace was abuzz, the air thick with tension as the twelve princes, princesses, and I—yes, the thirteenth prince—took our places in the grand courtyard. It was designed like a vast arena where we would showcase our abilities, our magic, and, of course, our combat skills.

The queen was seated on the highest balcony, her frail form still regal despite her age. Behind her stood the Prime Minister, overseeing the trial with an air of quiet authority. His sharp eyes seemed to miss nothing.

As we stood in the center of the courtyard, I couldn't shake the feeling that I didn't belong in this world of sharp swords and ancient magic. Unlike the others, whose power was honed through years of mastery, mine was a stirring force—unpredictable, half-awake, and beyond my grasp. I knew it was there, lurking beneath the surface, responding to my will in fragments. But true control? True understanding? That eluded me. And in a world where strength and mastery ruled, uncertainty felt like the greatest weakness of all.

But hey, I could always make some use of my wit.

Valtor - The Tempest Heir

"First, we shall begin with Prince Valtor," the Prime Minister announced, his voice echoing through the courtyard.

I watched as Valtor stepped forward, the weight of the moment settling over him like a cloak. He was composed, his usual smirk replaced by a rare seriousness. Valtor wasn't a man to underestimate—he had power, and he knew how to wield it.

The moment he raised his hand, a swirling gust of wind shot from his fingertips, wrapping around his body like a storm. With a swift motion, the wind solidified into a blade—a sword made entirely of air, its edges sharp enough to cut through stone.

I raised an eyebrow. Well, that's not something you see every day.

Valtor swung the sword through the air, slicing through a nearby wooden target effortlessly. The force of the wind was enough to send the target splintering into pieces, leaving only dust in its wake.

"Wind manipulation," I muttered to myself, observing closely. "Impressive, but it's all about control. If he loses focus, that wind could cut through more than just wood."

"Prince Valtor's abilities in wind magic are unmatched," the Prime Minister added, nodding in approval. "He is a master of aerial combat, able to control the wind with precision, turning it into weapons or using it for rapid movement."

Valtor gave a confident nod, clearly enjoying the praise. Of course, he was. If there was one thing Valtor thrived on, it was validation. But I had to admit, the ability to turn air into a weapon was an incredible advantage in battle. He could strike from a distance, disrupt enemy formations, and move with an agility that most warriors could only dream of.

I crossed my arms, pretending to be unimpressed. "Sure, slicing things apart with invisible blades is cool, but what happens if someone just... ties him to a rock? Not much wind movement down there."

Valtor shot me a sharp look, but before he could respond, the Prime Minister called for the next contestant.

Lucian - The Emberblade

Lucian stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as if he were merely warming up. Where Valtor was sharp and commanding, Lucian was all coiled intensity—impatient, restless, like a blade that had been waiting too long to be drawn. His fiery attitude matched his magic, and there was a simmering contempt in his gaze, as if he saw this display as nothing more than a formality.

With a flick of his hand, fire erupted along the length of his sword. It didn’t just burn—it roared, licking at the air hungrily, like a beast barely restrained.

“Oh, great,” I murmured. “Because what we really needed was a walking inferno.”

Lucian exhaled sharply, irritation flickering across his face. The flames around his sword twisted, morphing into the shape of a serpent. It slithered up his arm but didn’t burn him, coiling around his wrist like an obedient pet before dissipating into embers. Then, without warning, he slashed forward with a speed that made it clear he hated wasting time.

A massive wave of fire surged toward a stone pillar. The heat was blistering even from where I stood. The fire didn’t just strike the stone—it consumed it, melted it down into a glowing pool of molten slag.

I let out a low whistle. “That’s not just burning things—that’s reshaping the battlefield itself. If he can do that mid-combat, he could alter terrain, cut off escape routes, and trap enemies in a literal firestorm.”

Lucian didn’t smirk, didn’t bask in the attention. He simply flicked the remaining embers from his blade, barely sparing a glance at the Prime Minister’s approval, and stepped back—expression unreadable but posture taut, as if itching for something more.

Dairus - The Iron Titan

Dairus, built like a mountain and twice as stubborn, strode forward with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how terrifying he was. He cracked his knuckles, and suddenly, his entire body shimmered, his skin taking on the sheen of polished steel.

I tilted my head. "So, we have a human battering ram now."

With a grunt, Dairus charged at a massive iron block placed before him. Instead of stopping or slowing down, he crashed into it head-on. The block, which must have weighed at least a ton, didn't stand a chance. It shattered into fragments, the sound echoing through the courtyard.

I rubbed my chin. "So, full-body metal enhancement. That means ridiculous durability, increased strength, and probably resistance to magic attacks. But I bet it makes him slower. Maybe I should throw a rock at him just to test that theory."

Dairus turned his head toward me, as if sensing my thoughts, and I quickly decided that maybe today wasn't the best day to get flattened.

Selene - The Phantom Dancer

Selene stepped forward next, a stark contrast to Dairus in every possible way. Where he was brute force, she was elegance and speed. With a graceful spin, she vanished into thin air.

I blinked. "Oh, fantastic. We have a disappearing act."

Before I could fully process what was happening, she reappeared behind the training dummies placed across the field. A flicker of silver flashed, and the dummies collapsed, sliced so cleanly that their upper halves slid off before hitting the ground.

"Invisibility and teleportation," I muttered. "That's... unsettling. You can't fight what you can't see."

Selene reappeared with a satisfied smirk before giving me a playful wink. I made a mental note to always, always keep track of where she was in a room.

Orion - The Crimson Striker

Orion strode forward with an impatient roll of his shoulders, his energy barely contained beneath his sharp movements. His clothes, lined with long obi sashes, shifted unnaturally as if alive, coiling and unfurling with each step. Unlike the others, whose power manifested in elemental bursts, Orion’s magic was woven directly into his attire—deadly, unpredictable, and as relentless as he was.

The moment he moved, the sashes lashed out. They weren’t fabric anymore but razor-sharp whips, slicing through the air with a sound like a blade drawn from its sheath. In a blur of motion, they snapped toward a nearby training dummy, cutting through it cleanly before retracting in an instant.

Then, without warning, the sashes detonated. Explosions rocked the ground, fire and smoke bursting outward in a controlled, devastating arc. Blinding flashes followed, momentarily disorienting everyone nearby. It wasn’t just an attack—it was a battlefield spectacle, designed to overwhelm, confuse, and obliterate in one seamless assault.

I exhaled, rubbing my temples. “Because what we really needed was someone who fights like a living warzone.”

Orion smirked, clearly pleased with himself. With a flick of his wrist, the sashes curled back around him like obedient vipers, ready to strike again at a moment’s notice. “Hope you can keep up, Thirteenth Prince.”

I gave him a slow, exaggerated nod. “Oh, I’ll keep up. I just prefer fights where I don’t have to dodge flashbangs and shrapnel every five seconds.”

Elara - The Frostborn Archer

Elara stepped forward, her icy blue eyes scanning the field with quiet confidence. Unlike the others who wielded their magic directly with their hands, Elara's power was channeled through a weapon—a beautifully crafted longbow, its limbs carved from pale silverwood, the grip wrapped in dark leather worn from use. She was the only one among the heirs who preferred ranged combat, and from what I had seen in the past, she was very good at it.

With practiced ease, she reached behind her and nocked an arrow—not a physical one, but a shimmering projectile of pure frost, forming in her grasp as she pulled back the bowstring. The air around her chilled, the mist curling at her feet. Then, with a sharp exhale, she loosed the arrow.

It didn't just hit the target—it froze it on impact. Ice erupted from the point of contact, spreading rapidly like veins of crystal, encasing the wooden dummy in a jagged glacier. The frost spread unnaturally fast, creeping outward until the entire structure was frozen solid.

And then, with a mere flick of her fingers, Elara fired a second shot—this time, a thinner arrow that struck the frozen mass. The moment it connected, the entire structure shattered into countless shards, glistening in the morning sun.

I let out a low whistle. "Precision, range, and the ability to turn her enemies into beautifully sculpted ice statues. Not bad."

Elara glanced my way, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She wasn't one for boasting, but the subtle tilt of her chin told me she was proud of that display. And rightly so. Ice magic was powerful but required immense control. A misstep could freeze her own limbs, slow her movements, or worse—leave her vulnerable. But Elara wielded it with finesse, blending magic and archery into a deadly combination.

Seraph - The Stormbringer

Next up was Seraph, and if there was one word to describe him, it was unpredictable. He strutted forward with an easy grin, rolling his shoulders as if this was all a game to him. Which knowing Seraph, it probably was.

"Well, well, ladies and gentlemen, prepare to be amazed," he announced, dramatically cracking his knuckles. "You may want to cover your ears. Or don't. I enjoy the screaming."

Before I could fully process that statement, Seraph snapped his fingers.

A deafening clap of thunder erupted from nowhere, rattling my bones and making several heirs jump. A static charge filled the air, prickling against my skin. The sky above us remained clear, but I could feel the unmistakable presence of a brewing storm.

Then, without warning, lightning crackled to life in his palm. Unlike fire, it wasn't fluid or controlled—it was wild, flickering erratically as if it had a mind of its own. But Seraph held it effortlessly, twirling the electricity around his fingers before launching it forward.

The bolt snapped through the air like a whip, striking the target dummy dead center. The force sent it flying backward, smoke curling from the scorched impact point.

Seraph stretched his arms lazily. "Oh, did I overdo it?" He turned to me with an exaggerated look of innocence. "Aric, were you impressed? Be honest."

I sighed. "You literally just summoned lightning from thin air. I don't think 'impressed' covers it."

Seraph beamed. "I knew you were my favorite."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. This one is going to be a problem.

Herold - The Trickster Illusionist

If Seraph was chaotic lightning, then Herold was the trickster who threw the storm off course just for the fun of it. He sauntered forward with a smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief. He and Seraph were practically a matching set—two halves of the same, incredibly annoying whole.

"Well, well, if it isn't my adoring audience," Herold drawled, shooting me a wink. "Aric, you're watching closely, yes? I'd hate for you to miss my brilliance."

I crossed my arms. "Why do I feel like I'm about to regret this?"

Better question is, why do I feel that I was their only audience when there were a lot of people here?

Herold snapped his fingers.

The world shifted.

No—I shifted. Or at least, it felt that way. The ground beneath my feet melted into an endless expanse of mirrors, reflecting nothing and everything at once. The walls warped, twisting into corridors that stretched infinitely in all directions.

Then—multiple Herolds.

They flickered into existence, stepping out from the mirrors like living reflections. Some laughed, some smirked, and others simply stared. It was like a funhouse designed by a sadist.

"Aric, I have to ask," one Herold said, tilting his head.

"How does it feel to be completely lost?" another finished.

I exhaled slowly. "Fantastic. Truly an honor."

Then—snap! The illusion collapsed. The courtyard returned to normal. There was only one Herold now, standing exactly where he started, looking far too pleased with himself.

Seraph whistled. "Classic."

Herold crossed his arms. "You know, I could have made you see something much worse."

I didn't doubt it. I was just grateful he hadn't decided to get creative.

Rowan - The Earthshaper

Rowan was next, his broad frame steady as he strode forward. He was the kind of man who seemed unshakable, both in presence and, as I was about to witness, quite literally.

He planted his feet firmly on the ground, his fingers brushing the dirt. And then, without warning, the earth moved.

A deep rumble echoed through the courtyard as cracks formed beneath his feet, spreading outward like the webbing of an ancient tree. With a forceful stomp, a massive pillar of stone erupted from the ground, shooting up like a jagged spear. Another stomp, and the pillar crumbled at his command, sinking back into the earth as if it had never been there.

I crossed my arms. "So, he doesn't just manipulate the terrain—he reshapes it. That means he can create barriers, open chasms, or just drop a boulder on someone's head if he's feeling particularly unmerciful."

Rowan gave a rare grin as he stepped back. His magic was simple in concept but devastating in execution.

Cassius - The Beastmaster

Cassius is next, and where others conjured elements, he summoned life itself.

With a sharp whistle, the air shimmered beside him, and suddenly, two spectral wolves materialized at his side. Their translucent forms rippled like mist, but their growls were very, very real.

He didn't even need to speak a command. The wolves moved, sprinting forward with terrifying speed. They weaved through obstacles effortlessly, claws scraping against stone as they lunged at the dummies. One tore through with spectral fangs, while the other latched on and sent it flying.

Cassius stood still, his connection to the creatures unwavering. The wolves returned to his side, disappearing just as quickly as they had come.

I exhaled. "A warrior who never fights alone. That's... unsettling."

Cassius simply shrugged before stepping back.

Lysandra - The Siren

Lysandra took her place, standing tall with an air of effortless allure. Unlike the others, she didn't wield a weapon or summon energy. Instead, she simply... sang.

Her voice started as a soft melody, lilting and hypnotic. Then, as she raised her arms, the very air around us shook.

A distant stone shattered. The soundwaves, invisible yet powerful, rippled outward. The sheer pressure forced me to take a step back.

"Voice-based magic," I muttered. "She can manipulate sound—turn it into a weapon or... something worse."

Lysandra smiled knowingly before letting her final note linger in the air. It was haunting, almost melancholic. Then, just like that, the power faded.

Rhea - The Blade of Steel

If elegance could kill, it would look like Rhea.

She stepped forward with an air of effortless authority, her sharp gaze scanning the courtyard as if bored by the spectacle before her. Every movement was precise, calculated—she carried herself like a queen long before a crown ever touched her head.

Without a word, she drew her sword. The blade gleamed under the sunlight, but then—it moved.

I blinked. No, she moved it, but without touching it. The steel rippled like liquid before solidifying again, shifting into a thinner, sleeker form. The weight, the balance—she adjusted it in mere seconds, sculpting the metal like a master craftsman.

Then she attacked.

One fluid motion, and she vanished—or maybe that was just how fast she moved. Her blade whistled through the air, striking against a steel pillar that had been placed for testing. Sparks flew.

Then—CRACK!

The entire pillar shattered. Not from brute force, but from the sheer precision of her strike.

The courtyard fell into silence.

Rhea exhaled, flicking her wrist. Her sword melted into liquid metal before reshaping into a slender rapier. She finally turned, her cold eyes sweeping over us as if daring someone to challenge her.

Seraph let out a low whistle. "Alright. Remind me never to make her mad."

Herold grinned. "You? Annoying someone? Never."

I, meanwhile, was still processing the fact that she had just cut through solid steel like it was parchment.

Rhea sheathed her sword and flicked her gaze to me, her lips curling into something dangerously close to a smirk. "You're up soon, Thirteenth Prince."

Oh, fantastic. Now, I had a new person to be afraid of.

And then… all eyes turned to me.

A slow, suffocating silence settled over the arena. I felt it pressing down, heavier than any weight I had ever carried. A hundred gazes burned into me, waiting, expecting.

I swallowed. “Uh-oh.”

Lucian, because of course it had to be him, stepped forward. His ember-lit eyes locked onto mine, steady and unyielding. He didn’t need to raise his voice to make it carry. “And what of you, Thirteenth Prince?” There was no mockery in his tone, only measured curiosity laced with challenge. “We’ve seen what the rest of us can do. What can you do?”

A quiet murmur rippled through the gathered heirs. I felt the weight of their scrutiny, the question that had lingered ever since I was thrust into their world: Does he even belong here?

I glanced around. Elara’s eyes flickered with concern. Seraph grinned, as if expecting a grand show. Herold leaned forward, intrigued. Valtor, of course, had the audacity to smirk, arms crossed as if he had already predicted my failure. And then there was the Queen, watching with unreadable eyes, waiting for proof that naming me a prince had not been a mistake.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. “Well… this is awkward.”

But there was no avoiding it. No slipping away under the weight of their expectations. No feigning ignorance.

Because deep inside, I could feel it—an abyss of power I had spent my life restraining, light and darkness coiling within me like twin serpents. I had seen what happened when I lost control. I had seen the destruction, the chaos, the fear.

And yet, right now, with every heir’s eyes on me, demanding to know if I was worthy, I had no choice.

My pulse quickened. Magic stirred beneath my skin, restless, volatile.

I stepped forward, inhaling deeply.

“Well,” I muttered under my breath, flexing my fingers as energy crackled at my fingertips. “Let’s hope I don’t explode.”