The Kingdom of Lincer, one of the many that formed the nds of Ophendosia, appeared at first gnce to be a symbol of peace and harmony. In its capital, Lakewall, the streets bustled with life under the warm sunlight, which bathed the fa?ades of homes while the constant murmur of the crowd filled the air.

  Inside a royal carriage adorned with the family crest, Leader Von Lincer, firstborn of the royal bloodline, sat in silence, watching the ndscape unfold around him. His eyes followed the rays of sunlight dancing over the capital’s cobblestones, creating flickers of gold across the ground. In the past, such flickers would have soothed his mind. But now, as he returned home after a long absence, the weight of his destiny felt heavier than ever.

  “What does my father expect of me this time?” Leader wondered, his jaw clenched tight. The responsibility of being heir was a burden he couldn’t cast off. Duty, loyalty, and the protection of his people had defined his life—but tely, something deeper, something darker, had begun to stir inside him. Was he truly the leader his kingdom needed?

  The carriage came to a sudden stop, snapping him out of his thoughts. The abrupt jolt nearly sent him crashing into the opposite seat. The calm in his expression vanished at once, repced by a sharp look of irritation.

  —“What the hell is going on?” he growled, his tone sharper than usual. Leader wasn’t typically short-tempered, but recent days had worn his patience thin. Something felt off.

  —“Drive more carefully!” he barked again.

  From outside, the voice of the driver came, nervous and uncertain.

  —“My apologies, Your Highness... but there’s a problem. We can’t cross the bridge.”

  Leader leaned forward, brushing aside the carriage curtain. His gaze swept the surroundings. A problem? There was no room for deys today. Tensions were already rising across the kingdom. One wrong move could jeopardize everything.

  —“What kind of problem?” he asked, trying to control his frustration. What now?

  —“Someone attacked the royal guards. They’re fighting right now, and a crowd has gathered. We can’t go any further, my prince.”

  Leader’s heart skipped a beat. An attack... during my return? Without waiting for further expnation, he stepped out of the carriage. Ignoring the warnings of the guards, he walked directly toward the source of the commotion.

  I can’t allow chaos to spread in my nds.

  When he reached the heart of the crowd, the scene before him stopped him cold. What he’d imagined to be a dangerous ambush turned out to be something else entirely.

  In the middle of the guards and the spectators, a boy no older than thirteen fought desperately, defending himself with surprising tenacity. He wasn’t alone—a younger girl clung to his back, sobbing.

  What is this...? Leader’s eyes narrowed. The boy fought with every ounce of strength he had left, protecting the girl with feral intensity. His body was covered in cuts, trembling with exhaustion, yet his stance never wavered.

  The crowd looked on with morbid fascination, some even entertained. The guards—clearly in control—took turns beating the child as if it were sport.

  —“Enough!” Leader’s voice rang out above the noise. Unquestionable. Commanding.

  The guards stopped at once, recognizing the prince instantly. The crowd began to disperse, their curiosity slowly giving way to unease, until Leader stood before the wounded child.

  He stepped closer, cautiously. The boy panted, blood smeared across his face. Yet his eyes—his eyes still burned with defiance.

  What makes a child fight like this? What could drive someone so young to resist so fiercely?

  Leader knelt beside him, careful not to startle him. He touched the boy’s shoulder gently, assessing his injuries. The child trembled, but didn’t flinch—his gaze locked on Leader’s, full of pain and an unshakable will.

  —“Why are you doing this?” Leader asked, his tone calm—curious, even compassionate.

  Before the boy could answer, one of the guards spoke up, venom in his voice.

  —“First Prince, step away from that brat. He’s just a Null. A thief. Abandoned by the gods. He’s not worth your time.”

  Leader’s teeth clenched.

  He ignored the guard completely and kept tending to the boy, wiping the blood gently from his face.

  —“I don’t care what you think,” he said, his tone steel. “Not every act of violence deserves punishment. Not without understanding why it happened.”

  For a fleeting moment, he saw his younger self in this child. The harsh training. The rigid orders. The burden of a crown.

  How far have I drifted since then?

  The boy looked up, stunned by the prince’s kindness. His bruised face quivered—but he still stood his ground.

  —“Why did you do it?” Leader asked again, unable to look away. There was something painfully familiar in the child’s defiance. The kind of strength that comes only from love.

  —“I was protecting my sister,” the boy whispered, just loud enough to be heard.

  Protection. Simple. Pure. Unbreakable.

  Leader nodded slowly, his chest tight. He understood.

  He stood and turned to the guards, his expression hard as stone.

  —“I, Leader Von Lincer, crown prince of the Kingdom of Lincer, cim responsibility for these children. Any debt they owe, I will pay personally.”

  The guards looked at each other, unsure. One finally dared to object.

  —“With respect, Your Highness... they’re just street rats. Nulls and thieves. They deserve punishment like the rest.”

  Leader’s gaze sharpened.

  Without a word, he raised one hand—and in an instant, a gust of green wind sliced across the man’s cheek, sending him to the ground, blood dripping from a fresh cut.

  Gasps rippled through the crowd.

  —“They’re children!” Leader snarled. “If I ever catch you doing this again, not even your title will protect you.”

  The silence was deafening.

  With a flick of his hand, he dismissed the guards. They obeyed instantly, retreating without another word.

  Leader bent down, picked up the apples the children had stolen, wiped them clean, and handed them back with a much softer expression.

  —“Don’t steal again,” he warned, firm but not cruel. “If you’re hungry, ask for help. There are good people in this kingdom. I promise.”

  The children nodded quickly, the girl hiding behind her brother.

  Before leaving, Leader noticed a small doll lying in the dust. He picked it up gently and offered it to the girl with a faint smile.

  Then, to the boy:

  —“What you did today... that was bravery. Take care of your sister. You’re stronger than you know.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked back to the carriage. But peace didn’t come with him.

  Stolen apples. Beaten like criminals.

  How many more like them are out there?

  He boarded the carriage again, but the serenity he’d hoped for never came. His mind was caught in a storm of doubt. How many suffered in silence while the nobles sat in towers, blind to the truth?

  The image of the boy shielding his sister refused to fade.

  For too long, he’d believed the kingdom was stable—that after his mother’s death, his father had everything under control.

  But now... he wasn’t so sure.

  The carriage advanced slowly toward the castle, its wheels cttering over the cobblestones.Lakewall stretched across the horizon, protected by two imposing walls that separated the nobility from the common folk.Within those walls, most people lived at their own pace, unaware of the decisions and burdens carried by the crown.

  But the nobles—more importantly—wielded direct influence over the royal family.

  When they finally reached the massive wooden gate that led into the castle, two high-ranking guards were waiting. As soon as Leader stepped down, they stood to attention and saluted him with sharp discipline. He returned the gesture quickly, his mind still haunted by the scene he’d witnessed earlier.

  The castle welcomed him with its towering spires and sprawling gardens, but the grandeur of the pce had little effect on him now.The weight of duty had never felt heavier.

  He walked through halls he knew by heart, but with every step, he felt more distant—as though the walls were no longer his shelter but his prison.

  Upon entering the grand foyer, he was greeted by his stepmother, Teresa, who wrapped her arms around him with sincere warmth.“It brings me joy to see you back, my son. We’ve missed you dearly,” she said, her voice soft, her smile worn from worry.

  Leader embraced her gently, but his mind remained elsewhere.

  His younger sister, Norgara, ran to him with bright enthusiasm.“Brother! You’re finally back!” she cried, clinging to his arm.Leader smiled faintly, ruffling her hair. “I missed you too,” he said, though his voice was more distant than he would have liked.He knew something more important awaited.

  Teresa observed him carefully, noting the tension in his features.“You already know, don’t you?” she said, her tone more serious. “Your father wants to see you. He’s waiting in his study.”

  Leader nodded. There was no avoiding this. Not after what he had done. Facing his father was inevitable.

  As he walked toward the study, his heartbeat quickened.Val Heramir Von Lincer, King of Lincer, was a rigid man—a monarch who had kept the kingdom in check for decades.But their visions of the world had begun to diverge, especially after Leader’s acceptance into the magical academy of Alveria.

  The knowledge he had gained from beyond these walls made him question the king’s judgment—his focus on preserving legacy and power, rather than lifting the weakest. It wasn’t what his mother would have wanted.

  And what had happened today, with those children, only confirmed it.

  The silence of the study was thick—so dense it felt like the air itself had turned heavy with tension.

  Leader kept his back straight, refusing to look away from the man who, despite his towering presence, was still his father.A father who never truly understood him.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”The king’s voice crashed through the room like thunder. There was no wild fury in his tone—only a cold, calcuted weight that hurt even more.

  “I saved two children from being executed like criminals,” Leader replied, shoulders squared. “Is that a crime now in Lincer? Is that what we’ve become? A kingdom that kills children in the streets just for existing?”

  The king narrowed his eyes, a flicker of restrained rage dancing within them. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them.“You have no right to question this kingdom’s ws. Not yet,” he said, his voice a bde sheathed in ice. “You think you’re above tradition—above the bloodline, the centuries of order forged through sacrifice. But you’re nothing more than a child with empty ideals. This kingdom isn’t ruled with mercy, Leader. It’s ruled with power.”

  “Power?” Leader let out a bitter ugh. “Is that your legacy? That fear governs justice? I thought we stood for more than that. I thought there was still honor in Lincer.”

  The king exhaled sharply, his patience fraying.“You speak of honor like you understand what it means,” he said, and this time his voice cut deeper than any insult. “But you’ve never known war. You’ve never seen what happens when order falls apart. You know nothing of what it means to make choices that cost lives in order to save others.”

  “And I never will,” Leader shot back, “not if you keep treating me like a child. If the crown will one day be mine—if I’m to inherit this damned throne—then let me decide what kind of king I want to be.”

  The king fell silent for a long moment, then sighed. His face turned to stone.

  “You are not king. Not yet,” he said at st. “But you will learn the weight of your choices. Three months of service in the lower quarters—outside the walls. Perhaps then, you’ll understand that the world isn’t as simple as your ideals make it seem.”

  Leader’s stomach twisted, but he held his ground. He would not look away.

  The king turned his back, signaling the end of the audience. But for the first time, Leader saw it—something small, fragile, buried beneath that iron fa?ade: weariness in his shoulders, a shadow clinging to his rigid posture. He wasn’t just a king enforcing his will. He was a man carrying his own burden.

  And that, somehow, enraged Leader even more.

  The king’s words echoed in his mind long after the silence returned.“The kingdom isn’t ruled with mercy… it’s ruled with power.”

  Was that what it meant to be king? A throne built on sacrifice and cold decisions?

  He thought of his mother—the stories she’d told when he was young, painting Lincer as a beacon of justice and hope. But now, standing in the same room where his father passed judgment as if handing out fate, that image crumbled.

  Leader turned to the rge window, watching the lights of the city flicker in the distance.Out there, people lived under the weight of his father’s decrees, of ws passed down like shackles. But how many were actually being protected?

  Three months in the lower districts.

  The king had said it like a punishment. But Leader saw it differently.

  Maybe—just maybe—his father had given him the one thing he needed most:

  A chance to see the truth for himself.

  He clenched his fists.

  If the crown had forgotten its people… he would not.

  Not now. Not ever.

  The audience had ended, but he wasn’t finished.

  Leader turned back toward the door, every step resonating with newfound purpose.

  “That’s not how Velyra ruled this kingdom,” he muttered, gncing defiantly at his father.

  Val smmed his fist on the desk with a thunderous crack, leaving a deep dent in the wood. His voice, stripped of royal composure, burst with fury:“Don’t you dare use your mother’s name against me, boy. I may be king—but I am still your father.”

  Leader left the room without looking back. He knew, without a doubt, this was the beginning of a long road. One that would force him to choose between following in his father’s footsteps… or forging his own path toward leadership.

  When he finally left the study, the king let out a long, slow breath.He turned toward the window once more, watching the city skyline bathed in sunlight. The breeze carried the sounds of life—chatter, footsteps, the perfume of flowers blooming in the pace gardens.

  And yet, all he could think about was his son.

  Would they ever find understanding? Could they ever walk the same path?

  Their bond had never recovered from the death of his first wife—his confidante, the woman descended from the heroes of the Great War, who had led the kingdom to greatness. Her death had shattered everything.

  The boy was a remarkable young man—gifted, driven, chosen by Zephirion, the celestial spirit of wind and motion. He had the potential to become the greatest king the realm had ever seen…

  But he was still too young. Still too blind to the harsh truths of the world.

  As long as he clung to those ideals, he would remain unprepared.

  The king’s gaze drifted to the forests beyond the castle walls, letting the quiet beauty draw him in for a moment. He sighed again.

  He would give Leader more than just punishment.He would give him responsibility—tasks in governance, decisions to make. Let him taste what it meant to lead not just in theory, but in practice.

  In that moment, a messenger entered the room, sweat glistening on his brow. He stepped forward, holding out a sealed envelope.

  The wax seal was old, barely recognizable beneath the bckened residue.King Val took the letter with a grim expression.

  He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

  His eyes darkened.

  The ink, dry and red, had bled into the paper—almost as if it had been written with blood. Ash stained the folds. The handwriting was shaky, desperate.

  “To whoever reads this… if there is still anyone left to read it…”

  Val’s blood ran cold.

  There was no name. No call for aid.

  Only terror. A warning hurled into the dark.

  He closed the letter slowly, his fingers tightening around it.

  His advisors waited in tense silence. But the king did not speak.

  He turned toward the window once again, looking over the calm, sunlit capital.

  How much time did they have before that same darkness reached their walls?

  There had been no resistance. No warning.

  And now… it was coming for them.

  His heart pounded—but his face betrayed nothing.

  Eryon was gone.

  And Lincer might be next.

  But from whom?

  A refugee? A harbinger?Or something far worse?

  With a hardened expression, he folded the parchment and tucked it into his robe.

  Then he turned to the messenger, his voice cold and resolute:

  “Summon the full royal council. We need to hold an emergency meeting.”