✧══════════════════════✧Chapter FourShadows and Sunlight 🌙🐉
1208 Words
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The training grounds of the Imperial Palace rang endlessly with the clash of steel.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
The sounds echoed across the vast stone arena like thunder trapped within ancient walls.
Sunlight streamed through the high arched windows, spilling golden rays across the polished floor. Tiny particles of dust floated lazily through the air, dancing within the warm light.
Around the arena, hundreds of soldiers trained tirelessly.
Some practiced sword forms.
Others repeated defensive stances.
Sweat rolled down their temples.
Boots scraped against stone.
Step... Step...
Shhk...
Commands echoed loudly.
Again.
And again.
Because in Elowen—
Strength was not inherited.
It was forged.
Yet slowly—
The soldiers' attention drifted away from their own training.
Toward the center of the arena.
Because two figures stood there.
And whenever they crossed blades...
The palace watched.
Outside the hall—
Footsteps echoed steadily.
Step... Step... Step...
Sir Kael walked calmly through the long corridor.
The Imperial Head Butler.
A man whose expression rarely changed.
Yet today—
His pace carried urgency.
Because when matters involved the princes—
There was no room for delay.
As he entered the training hall—
The atmosphere subtly shifted.
Soldiers straightened instantly.
The noise lowered.
Even the instructors grew quieter.
Because in the center—
Steel flashed.
CLANG!
Two swords collided fiercely.
Sparks scattered into the air.
For a brief moment—
Sunlight danced upon shining blades.
Prince Nathan Thoren stepped lightly backward.
His golden hair swayed gently as he adjusted his stance.
His breathing remained calm.
Controlled.
Every movement elegant.
Every step measured.
Nathan fought beautifully.
Not like someone craving victory.
But like someone endlessly chasing perfection.
His black eyes remained focused upon his opponent.
Beneath his jawline—
The Dragon birthmark appeared briefly.
A magnificent golden dragon.
The mark praised throughout the empire.
The symbol of hope.
And standing opposite him—
Was his elder brother.
Prince Zyren Thoren.
Dark black hair framed his handsome face.
Crystal-red eyes remained cold and distant.
No excitement.
No anger.
No pride.
Only silence.
He never glanced toward the crowd.
Never cared about whispers.
Never sought praise.
His entire attention rested on Nathan's blade.
Watching.
Waiting.
Responding.
Nathan moved first.
A swift strike aimed toward Zyren's shoulder.
Clang!
Zyren blocked effortlessly.
The impact rang throughout the hall.
Nathan smoothly twisted his wrist.
Changing angles.
Attacking again.
Clang!
Again—
Blocked.
Zyren stepped aside calmly.
His black cloak shifted behind him.
Shhhk...
Without hesitation—
He counterattacked.
Fast.
Precise.
Unforgiving.
Nathan's eyes widened slightly.
He immediately raised his sword.
CLANG!
The force pushed him several steps backward.
Shhk...
Boots slid across stone.
A few soldiers gasped quietly.
"So strong..."
Nathan quickly regained his balance.
Then smiled gently.
"As expected of my brother."
Zyren remained expressionless.
"Focus."
Only one word.
Cold.
Simple.
Nathan chuckled softly.
"Still as strict as always." 🤭
A few soldiers exchanged nervous glances.
How could Prince Nathan smile so naturally beside someone so feared?
Whispers quietly spread.
"Prince Nathan's swordsmanship is flawless..."
"He helped injured soldiers yesterday."
"He truly deserves the Dragon."
Then another voice whispered nervously—
"And Prince Zyren..."
Silence followed.
The young soldier swallowed.
"His eyes frighten me."
Another soldier lowered his voice.
"They say..."
"He has never lost a war."
Silence.
Because no one could deny it.
Prince Zyren Thoren—
The War Monster.
A prince feared not only by enemies.
But by his own people.
The duel continued.
Nathan attacked.
Elegant.
Graceful.
Zyren blocked.
Countered.
Dominated.
Clang!
Clang!
CLANG!
The sounds filled the hall.
Neither prince rushed.
Neither lost composure.
Yet their fighting reflected their souls.
Nathan—
Like sunlight.
Warm.
Steady.
Hopeful.
Zyren—
Like shadow beneath frozen waters.
Still.
Deep.
Unreachable.
At the edge of the arena—
Training gradually stopped.
Even veteran soldiers watched.
Because this was not merely a duel.
It was the empire's future.
Two brothers.
Two destinies.
And no one knew—
Which prophecy was true.
"Enough."
A calm voice interrupted.
Instant silence.
Everyone immediately turned.
Standing beside the arena—
Was Theon Falan.
Silver hair tied neatly behind him.
Brown eyes calm and observant.
At twenty-five—
He carried quiet authority.
The kind that did not need to be announced.
Because everyone respected him.
But to Zyren—
He was something far more important.
Family.
The only family who had never abandoned him.
Theon folded his arms calmly.
"Focus on your own training."
"Watching others will not sharpen your blade."
"Yes, Sir Theon!"
The soldiers immediately responded.
The tension gradually faded.
Then—
Tap... Tap...
Sir Kael approached.
He bowed deeply.
"Your Highnesses."
"His Majesty summons both princes."
Nathan lowered his sword immediately.
Zyren slowly sheathed his blade.
Shhk...
The sharp sound echoed softly.
Nathan asked politely,
"Has something happened?"
Kael answered calmly.
"Aldmoor has formally requested peace negotiations."
Nathan blinked.
Then nodded.
"I understand."
Zyren said nothing.
But his crimson eyes darkened slightly.
Peace.
How amusing.
Kings often called it peace.
But Zyren had seen enough battlefields to know—
Peace usually hid another war.
Both princes left the arena.
The corridor stretched endlessly before them.
Stone walls lined with silver dragon banners.
Step... Step... Step...
Nathan walked ahead.
Zyren followed.
Theon silently stayed nearby.
Always close enough.
Always watching.
Servants quickly bowed.
"Prince Nathan."
Their smiles were warm.
"Prince Zyren."
Their voices became nervous.
Zyren ignored everyone.
Nathan smiled politely.
The difference was painful.
Obvious.
Yet Zyren no longer cared.
Or perhaps—
He had simply forgotten how to care.
✧ Throne Chamber ✧
The massive doors slowly opened.
Emperor Alaric sat upon the throne.
Silver hair.
Black eyes.
Powerful.
Unapproachable.
Nathan bowed elegantly.
"I offer my respect to the Emperor of Elowen."
Zyren bowed as well.
Silent.
Theon lowered his head respectfully.
Alaric's eyes first landed upon Nathan.
A trace of satisfaction appeared.
Then—
His gaze shifted toward Zyren.
Only briefly.
"Aldmoor will arrive soon."
Nathan listened carefully.
" prince Nathan will prepare the royal reception."
"I entrust this duty to you."
Nathan bowed deeper.
"It is my honor."
"I will not disappoint you."
Alaric nodded approvingly.
Then—
His expression hardened.
He looked at Zyren.
"Do nothing improper."
The atmosphere instantly cooled.
"If you create trouble..."
"I will send you away."
"To a distant territory."
A pause.
Then came words Zyren had heard countless times.
"Learn from your brother."
"He is worthy."
Silence.
Nathan lowered his eyes sadly.
Theon's hands tightened slightly.
But Zyren...
Remained expressionless.
No anger.
No sadness.
Nothing.
Because these words—
Had stopped hurting long ago.
"Do you understand?"
Alaric asked coldly.
Zyren lowered his head.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
His voice was flat.
Emotionless.
He turned around.
And walked away.
Theon quietly followed.
Behind them—
Alaric watched silently.
Something flickered within his eyes.
Not hatred.
Not regret.
Something far more complicated.
A distance...
Born twenty-two years ago.
On the night of the Crimson Moon.
Outside—
Zyren walked alone through the corridor.
The praise Nathan received—
Never surprised him.
The rejection—
Never surprised him either.
Yet...
Deep inside—
A quiet thought remained.
If I am truly unworthy...
Why was I born as an heir?
His steps never slowed.
Because monsters...
Do not cry.
They carry their wounds in silence.
And continue walking.
🌙
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- Writer
