A Father's Revenge
980 Words
The mountain winds had begun to mellow. Dusk crept along the edges of the sky, dyeing the horizon with amber and indigo, casting long shadows over the marble corridors of the Seventh Queen's estate. The weight of the day hung thick in the air, as if the very walls remembered the blood that had been spilled at the banquet the night before. Servants whispered with wide eyes; nobles walked on edge.
Kenneth, dismissed from training by Malrik after a rough session, now wandered the secluded pathways of the royal gardens. His cloak fluttered faintly behind him, black and crimson catching the light of the dying sun. His arms hung loose at his sides, fingers flexing absently, still sore from his earlier drills. The clash of training blades echoed dimly in his ears.
Yet that wasn’t what lingered.
No matter how many times he blinked, he still saw the image—the King, standing still as stone behind Lord Halrix, his hand buried in the noble’s chest, the heart clenched tight in his pale fingers. The way the man collapsed, lifeless, before Kenneth could even process the first step.
Treason will not be tolerated.
Kenneth's brows furrowed. His steps slowed.
"Why can't I shake it off..." he murmured to himself.
"Because some truths stain deeper than blood."
Kenneth stopped.
A figure stood ahead on the path, framed by tall moon-bloom trees whose pale flowers shimmered in the twilight. The boy was maybe a few years older than Kenneth, but not by much. Tall, lean, with dark auburn hair tied back in a loose knot. He wore a deep forest-green tunic, with dark silver embroidery, the crest of a minor noble family stitched over the chest.
He smiled easily and extended his hand.
"Name's Corien Halrix. I believe you're Prince Kenneth, yes?"
Kenneth's heart stopped for half a second.
Halrix.
His gaze sharpened instantly. He looked at the boy’s face. Same high cheekbones. Same burning red eyes. Kenneth had seen him once before, in the background of a political summit long ago. The son of Lord Halrix.
"You knew my father," Corien said, as if reading his thoughts. "I saw you at the banquet. You were... quite the spectacle."
Kenneth didn’t return the handshake. His fingers hovered, tense.
"Your father tried to kill me."
"Yes," Corien said simply.
The smile never left his face.
And then it vanished in an instant.
With the speed of a striking viper, Corien drew a narrow silver blade from beneath his cloak and drove it into Kenneth’s abdomen. The impact forced Kenneth back a step, gasping. The sound of the blade piercing flesh was sickeningly soft. Warm blood spilled across Kenneth’s tunic.
Corien twisted the hilt.
"He died screaming your name," Corien whispered in his ear. "I thought it was only fair to send you after him."
Kenneth staggered.
Corien pulled the blade out with a sharp jerk, expecting the boy to collapse.
Instead, something unnatural happened.
As the blade left his gut, the wound closed with a flash of flesh and glowing veins. The blood stopped. The skin sealed.
Kenneth straightened, gasping, eyes wide in surprise even to himself.
"What the hell..." Corien muttered, stepping back.
Kenneth’s face twisted with pain, then focus. The surprise faded. His fingers clenched. Blood no longer poured from his shirt.
"You shouldn't have done that," he growled.
Corien regained composure quickly, spinning the blade in hand. "No wonder my father feared you."
Kenneth lunged.
Their blades clashed with a sudden flare of speed. Corien was fast—trained, brutal, unpredictable. But Kenneth was something else. His movements were fluid, brutal, honed from years under Varic and Malrik. He dodged each strike with inches to spare, weaving under cuts, side-stepping thrusts.
Corien's blade whipped toward his throat—blocked.
A sweep toward his ribs—parried.
A feint, a downward arc—countered.
Kenneth's elbow slammed into Corien's chest, knocking him back, but Corien recovered swiftly, slicing across Kenneth's forearm.
The wound sealed almost instantly.
Corien backed away, panting. "What in the gods' names are you?!"
Kenneth didn’t answer. He was breathing hard now, eyes flickering between red and blue, a haze of instinct starting to rise behind them.
Corien struck again, faster now, screaming with rage. Their blades met in a flurry, steel biting into the air, sparks flying from each impact. Kenneth was hit across the jaw. He reeled, then spun low, sweeping Corien's feet. The older boy fell hard.
Kenneth pinned him, blade to throat, breathing ragged.
"You came here... to kill me? To make some twisted point?"
Corien spat blood. "I came here... to show the Kingdom you're a monster."
Kenneth's hand shook.
Footsteps thundered toward them.
"HALT!" a guard bellowed.
Several armored soldiers surged into the garden, halberds drawn. They took one look at the scene and rushed to separate the boys.
Kenneth was pulled back forcefully, still reeling. Corien fought the grip of three guards, screaming,
"He’s not a child! He’s a goddamned beast! Look at him!"
Kenneth stood still now, breathing hard. His eyes dimmed back to blue. The blood on his tunic had already begun to dry.
"Take him," one of the senior guards said. "To the King. Immediately."
"What?" Corien shouted. "No! I have the right! My father was murdered!"
"You attacked a royal heir," the guard said coldly. "Whatever rights you had died the moment you raised that blade."
As the guards dragged Corien away, he kicked and cursed and screamed, his voice echoing down the garden corridors.
Kenneth stood there, frozen in place.
The pain in his gut was gone. The wound was gone. But something else stayed behind.
The fire.
He touched his stomach, feeling smooth skin. And for the first time, truly, he understood...
Something inside him had changed.
Something that didn’t bleed.
---
And in the distance, the high towers of the King’s palace loomed.
Waiting.
- Writer
