The Sizzling Prince

What happens when the most powerful force in existence is given to someone who never wanted to wield it?

Born a commoner, raised as a scholar, and thrust into a world of politics, royalty, and power, Aric lies within him the Epitome of Darkness, and he also holds the Power of Light, a duality no one in history has ever controlled. Aric stands at the heart of a balance no mortal was meant to wield.

As war looms and ancient horrors rise, Aric must master his gift before it consumes him.

But how does one control something that exists beyond the laws of nature? How does one remain human when wielding the power of gods?

And when the time comes, will Aric be Valerya’s salvation or its destruction?


***

They are rivals. They are opposites. They are the threat no one saw coming.

Seventeen-year-old Aric was raised in silence—among ruins and relics, under the watchful eyes of scholars who believed power was meant to be studied, not wielded. He was never meant to wear a crown.

Waiting at the center of the storm is Valtor. Golden boy. Crowned and Favored Heir. Valtor was raised on discipline, control, and whispered prophecy. They taught him to be king. They never taught him how to feel. Behind the elegance and arrogance lies something colder, something lonelier—and something that burns when Aric walks into the room.

Aric wants to tear down a system that never meant to include him. Valtor wants to rule it. Their battles are brutal, their words sharper than steel—but underneath every clash is something neither can name.

They hate what they see in each other. They crave it even more.

And when their walls begin to crack—when the masks slip and the fire flickers into something softer, something stolen—the question is no longer if they’ll destroy each other.

It’s how long they can resist.

How do two enemies, forged by opposite worlds, find each other in the chaos of power, prophecy, and pain?

What happens when your greatest rival becomes the only one who truly sees you?

The 13th Prince: Wielder of Light and Darkness

The chamber burned. Heat curled in from all sides—thick, relentless. 


The molten river below spat up embers and hissed, casting the jagged walls in pulsing red and sickly gold. I could barely keep my footing. The edge of my sword had long since dulled, its once-gleaming silver now soaked in shadow ichor. It trembled in my grip. Not from fear. Not exactly. Just exhaustion. A deep, bone-heavy exhaustion I had no right to feel. 


My shoulder was split open—blood poured in hot ribbons down my arm, mixing with the sweat that clung to every inch of me. My wind faltered, nothing more than a breeze caught in a maelstrom. 


The shadows did not pause. Did not waver. 


They moved in silence—like thoughts too dark to name. Like shame. Like memory. 


Mouths opened where mouths didn't belong. Limbs twisted from nothing. Each step they took shredded the edges of my focus. 


Where Light Meets Ash