Meeting of Fate

As the weeks passed, whispers began to slither through the dark alleys of England.

Rumors of the "demon-born prince" spread like wildfire among the commoners and nobles alike.

To protect the dignity of the Ashford royal family, King Alistair issued a royal decree:

"No media outlet shall publish, whisper, or broadcast the scandal of the newborns. Let the tongues that dare defy this be severed."

The media obeyed.

But rumors... rumors could not be silenced.

In the corners of taverns, behind closed doors in lavish manors, and in the servants' quarters of the palace, people muttered in fearful tones:

"The prince... cursed from birth..."

"The shadow of the old war returns..."

A Grand Council was convened within the stone halls of Ashford Palace.

The air was thick with tension, as some of the most powerful figures in the kingdom gathered under the vaulted ceilings:

Sir Cedric Langley, President of GSSA England.

Akihiko Mori, President of GSSA Japan.

The High Lords and Ladies of England.

The Queen's parents, the powerful House of Redgrave.

The King's own family, the ancient House of Ashford.

At the head of the long oak table, King Alistair sat, brooding, his golden crown heavy upon his brow.

Lord Hawthorne (slamming a fist): "Your Majesty, we cannot allow this cursed child to live! His existence threatens us all!"

Lady Fairfax (coldly): "Darkness festers in him. It would be unwise to ignore the signs."

The Queen, Lady Eleanor, her face pale with fury, rose from her seat.

Queen Eleanor: "I say this not just as your Queen, but as a servant of God!

The demon within him must be destroyed before it grows! Before it damns us all!"

The Queen's father, Duke Redgrave, nodded solemnly:

Duke Redgrave: "Blood ties cannot blind us to the threat he represents."

But then, a softer voice rose across the tension — It was Akihiko Mori, the old friend from Japan.

Akihiko Mori (calmly): "He is but an infant. A child who has not sinned.

To end his life before he has even spoken his first words... is that justice?

Or fear?"

A murmur of dissent and shame rippled across the hall.

King Alistair's fists clenched the arms of his throne.

His voice thundered across the chamber.

King Alistair: "He is my son! I will not have my flesh and blood slain by fear and superstition!"

The chamber fell silent.

King Alistair (firmly): "Hear my decree!

Ronan Ashford will live under this roof, raised as a true son of Ashford.

His identity, however — his demon mark — shall remain a secret to the world."

The king's word was law.

Some Lords bowed in reluctant acceptance. Others gritted their teeth.

But none dared defy the King of England.

The years that followed were bittersweet for the Ashford family.

The Queen, once a woman of boundless grace, turned cold toward Ronan.

Her love showered only upon Draven, her "pure" son.

At nights, when Ronan, still a young boy, sought his mother's embrace, she would push him away with disdain.

One cold evening, as she knelt by Draven's bed, whispering prayers, Ronan approached hesitantly.

Ronan: "Mother... can I pray with you too?"

The Queen's face twisted in bitterness.

She pulled Draven closer, shielding him.

Queen Eleanor (whispering harshly): "Stay away from him... Cursed child.

You are not a blessing. You are a mistake we were forced to bear."

Little Ronan stood frozen, the words cutting deeper than any blade.

Draven, confused and innocent, looked between his mother and twin brother, sensing something was terribly wrong — but unable to understand why.

Thus, from the earliest days of their youth, love and hate grew side by side in the Ashford Palace...

Setting the stage for the tragedy that was to come.

The grand halls of Ashford Palace sparkled with gold and pride to the outside world,

but within its walls, a dark tension simmered — invisible to most... but suffocating to the young prince, Ronan.

The maids and lower servants treated Ronan kindly.

They smiled at him, bowed respectfully, offered him sweets after lessons.

In their eyes, he was still a child — a sweet, lonely boy.

But the High Lords who frequented the court looked at him as though he were a festering wound.

Whenever important meetings were held, and Ronan passed by — even accompanied by his twin brother — the nobles would grow silent.

They watched him with narrowed eyes, disgust barely hidden.

"The cursed prince," they whispered behind fans and thick beards.

"The black mark of the Ashford bloodline..."

And Ronan felt it.

Even at six years old, he could feel it —

The way conversations died when he entered a room.

The way lords stiffened and servants crossed themselves.

The golden halls that should have been his home felt colder with every step.

---

At night, after training or lessons, Draven would sometimes sneak into Ronan's room.

His small footsteps would echo lightly against the marble floors.

One such night, Ronan sat near his window, staring into the starry sky when Draven entered, his expression dark and uncertain.

Draven: "Ronan... why are you like this?"

Ronan blinked, confused.

Ronan: "Like what?"

Draven hesitated, then clenched his tiny fists.

Draven (voice shaking): "Mother says you're a curse...

That you're not supposed to be here.

That... that you should have died the moment you were born."

Ronan's heart froze.

He turned to his brother, tears stinging his eyes.

Ronan (softly): "Draven... why are you saying this?

I'm your brother..."

Draven's face twisted, confusion and hurt battling inside him.

Draven (angrily): "I wish you weren't!

I wish you were never born!"

Then Draven stormed out of the room, slamming the heavy door behind him.

Ronan sat frozen at the window, the cold moonlight washing over him like a pale shroud.

He curled into himself, hugging his knees tightly.

For the first time in his young life, Ronan wished...

he truly hadn't been born.

---

Even during lessons, Ronan noticed the difference.

While tutors praised Draven endlessly —

"So bright! So gifted! Truly a son of Ashford!"

—they barely acknowledged Ronan's presence unless necessary.

In sword training, Ronan fought harder, faster, desperate to earn praise...

but still the instructors turned their proud smiles toward Draven.

And at the heart of it all...

his mother, Queen Eleanor, nurtured the silent war between them.

Each word she spoke to Draven poisoned the young prince's mind against his twin.

"He carries evil in his veins, my sweet boy..."

"Never trust him. Never stand too close to him."

Little by little, a wall grew between the brothers.

A wall built by fear, by lies... and by destiny.

By the time Ronan and Draven turned ten years old, their lives had grown even further apart.

Draven attended Royal Crest Academy — the finest, most prestigious school in all of England, reserved for nobles and elites.

Meanwhile, Ronan was quietly enrolled in a normal but respectable school in the city, blending in among commoners and civilians.

It was a decision Queen Eleanor had pushed for heavily.

"Let him rot among the masses," she had said behind closed doors.

And so Ronan lived his days alone — carrying a heavy, invisible burden.

For nearly a year now, every night when he closed his eyes,

he was haunted by demonic figures — shifting shadows with crimson eyes and wicked smiles.

They whispered his name in tongues unknown...

called to him from the dark places beyond mortal understanding.

But Ronan told no one.

Who would believe him?

Who would even care?

He bottled the terror inside — each night leaving scars only he could feel.

Now, sitting at the back of his classroom, Ronan stared blankly at the whiteboard as his science teacher, Mrs. Hayward, lectured animatedly about the basics of energy and motion.

Mrs. Hayward (writing on the board):

"Kinetic energy is the energy of motion. When an object is in motion, it possesses kinetic energy proportional to its mass and speed..."

Ronan's pen hovered over his notebook... unmoving.

In his mind's eye, flashes of monstrous faces twisted and turned,

mouths opening in silent screams.

Sweat dampened the back of his neck.

His stomach churned.

He barely heard Mrs. Hayward calling his name.

Mrs. Hayward (sharp): "Ronan? Are you even listening?"

No response.

The class turned to look at him, a few students snickering quietly.

Mrs. Hayward (louder): "Ronan Ashford!"

Ronan jolted upright, blinking.

Ronan (stammering): "Y-yes, ma'am?"

Mrs. Hayward folded her arms, unimpressed.

Mrs. Hayward: "Are you concentrating?"

Ronan (quickly): "Of course, ma'am."

She raised an eyebrow.

Mrs. Hayward: "Good. Then tell me — what was the last thing I just explained?"

Ronan froze.

He opened his mouth... then closed it again.

He had no idea.

The class erupted into muffled giggles.

Mrs. Hayward sighed heavily.

Mrs. Hayward (coldly): "Exactly as I thought.

Concentrate, Ronan. Or you'll be hearing from me — and your guardians."

The students laughed louder this time, and Ronan's cheeks burned with shame.

Whispers followed him for the rest of the period.

"That's the cursed kid, right?"

"I heard he's a demon or something..."

"Why's he even allowed here?"

When the bell finally rang, Ronan gathered his bag slowly.

He walked out of the class with his head low, the weight of a hundred staring eyes pressing down on him.

As he passed groups of chattering students, they quieted —

only to break into fresh whispers once he had gone by.

Two boys near the lockers exchanged looks as Ronan passed.

First Boy (whispering): "Poor guy. It's not like he asked for it."

Second Boy (shrugging): "Yeah, but... it's still creepy. Real creepy."

They didn't mean harm — but pity stung just as much as hatred.

Ronan walked alone down the hall,

his reflection trailing him in the polished marble floors —

a boy with no place,

no friends,

and a darkness inside him he could not understand.

He kept his head down and pressed forward.

But fate wasn't kind that day.

Three older boys — notorious bullies from the senior classes — were waiting near the stairwell.

First Bully (mocking): "Hey, you. Demon boy. Come here."

Ronan froze but said nothing.

He kept walking, hoping to avoid trouble.

Second Bully (grinning): "Hey, don't ignore us, freak."

They moved to block his path.

Third Bully (threatening): "You think you're better than us? You think you can just walk around like you're normal?"

Ronan clenched his fists tightly by his sides.

Ronan (quietly): "Leave me alone."

He tried to walk past them, but one of the bullies shoved him roughly.

Another raised his fist, ready to punch him straight in the face.

That's when it happened.

From the depths of Ronan's being — two shadowy figures surged forth.

They were invisible to the bullies...

but Ronan saw them, faintly — dark shapes like living smoke.

One shadow moved first —

grabbing the attacking boy's arm just before the punch landed.

CRACK!

The boy screamed as his arm twisted unnaturally, the bone snapping with a sickening noise.

Before he could react, the same shadow punched him hard in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground, gasping for air.

The second shadow didn't hesitate either —

it slammed into the other two bullies, moving faster than their eyes could follow.

One boy was thrown against the lockers with a loud clang,

the other crashed down onto the tiled floor, groaning in pain.

Students around the hallway screamed and backed away,

eyes wide in absolute terror.

Student 1 (shouting): "What was that?!"

Student 2 (sobbing): "H-he's a monster!!"

Even the injured bullies — those still conscious

stared at Ronan with pale faces.

First Bully (whimpering): "Y-you're a freak... a real demon..."

The entire hall echoed with gasps and frightened whispers.

Ronan stood there, stunned —

the shadows had already retreated into him like mist returning to a cave.

No one else had seen them... but everyone felt that something unnatural had happened.

Tears burned at the edge of Ronan's eyes.

He hadn't asked for this. He never wanted this.

But there was no denying it now:

To them, he was a monster.

A siren blared from the security office.

Teachers and school staff came rushing through the halls.

Before anyone could touch him, a man dressed in a black royal uniform — with the crest of House Ashford — stepped forward through the crowd.

It was Sir Alden Vance, one of the palace's assigned guardians responsible for watching over Ronan in public.

He approached swiftly, his voice stern but calm.

Sir Alden (authoritative): "Stand aside."

He placed a firm hand on Ronan's shoulder.

Sir Alden (lower, to Ronan only): "Come with me. Now."

Without another word, Ronan was led away, the sea of terrified students parting before him like a ghost passing through the living.

Behind him, the bullies whimpered on the floor,

and the rumors that would follow him for years had just been born.

The car ride back to the palace was silent.

Sir Alden kept his eyes on the road, while Ronan stared blankly out of the window, lost in the fog of shame and confusion.

When they arrived, Sir Alden quietly led him through the grand halls and back to his room, offering no words — only a nod of farewell before disappearing down the corridor.

Ronan sat on his bed, still and heavy.

Moments later, a soft knock came.

King Alistair Ashford entered, dressed plainly, his face marked with tired concern.

He crossed the room and sat down beside Ronan, his voice soft and full of fatherly warmth.

King Alistair (gently):

"Ronan... I heard what happened today."

Ronan lowered his head, his fingers clenching the bedsheets.

King Alistair (calmly):

"Were you hurt? Do you want to talk about it?"

Ronan shook his head slowly.

King Alistair (carefully):

"Did anything... strange happen? Anything you didn't understand?"

There was a heavy pause.

Ronan thought about the shadows that burst out of him, protecting him.

He swallowed hard and whispered:

Ronan (barely audible):

"I... I don't know."

King Alistair placed a comforting hand on his back, his heart aching for the boy.

In his mind, he thought:

"It must be the demon inside him... it's starting to awaken..."

But his voice remained calm.

King Alistair (soothingly):

"It's alright, Ronan. You're not alone. I'm here with you. Always."

Ronan hesitated, then leaned gently against his father, finding a small moment of peace.

After a long silence, Ronan finally lifted his head.

Ronan (quietly):

"Father... can I ask you something?"

King Alistair smiled warmly.

King Alistair:

"Of course. What's on your mind, my son?"

Ronan hesitated, fear trembling in his voice.

Ronan (softly):

"Why does... why does mother hate me so much? She's my mother, isn't she... supposed to love me?"

The king's smile faltered.

A shadow crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with a deep sigh.

King Alistair (gently):

"She is your mother, Ronan. And she does love you in her own way... but she has strong beliefs."

"Your mother was raised in a very religious family — a family that has hated demons for generations."

Ronan blinked up at him, confused.

King Alistair (softly continuing):

"When your mother was twelve years old... she watched her younger brother — your uncle — be killed by a demon right in front of her."

"Since that day, her hatred grew stronger and stronger. It's not you she hates, Ronan... it's what's inside you."

Ronan's small hands tightened into fists.

He whispered:

Ronan (brokenly):

"So... I killed her brother?"

King Alistair's eyes widened in shock.

He grabbed Ronan's shoulders firmly but gently.

King Alistair (sternly but warmly):

"No! Ronan, look at me — you didn't kill anyone. You are not responsible for the past. You are a good boy."

"You haven't hurt anybody."

Ronan stared at the floor, his heart tearing itself apart.

Ronan (voice trembling):

"But I hurt those boys today... I almost... killed them..."

"I'm a monster..."

King Alistair pulled his son into a tight embrace, shutting his eyes against the burning sting of tears.

King Alistair (whispering into Ronan's hair):

"No, Ronan. You are not a monster. Never say that. You were defending yourself. You were scared. It's not your fault."

He pulled back slightly, placing both hands on Ronan's small face, forcing him to look up.

King Alistair (firm but loving):

"You are my son. My flesh and blood. Never forget that."

Ronan's lower lip trembled, but he nodded weakly.

The king smiled sadly and ruffled his hair.

King Alistair (softly):

"Now get some rest, alright? We'll talk more tomorrow."

"Be strong, my son... and behave yourself."

Ronan whispered:

Ronan:

"I'll try, Father."

With that, King Alistair rose to his feet, casting one final, loving look at his son before quietly leaving the room.

The heavy wooden door clicked softly behind him.

Ronan lay down slowly on his bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling a deep emptiness gnawing inside him.

And somewhere... deep, deep in his soul...

the shadows stirred again.