The Prince Left Behind
1169 Words
The wind was soft that evening, brushing across the crimson banners that hung high from the obsidian towers of the Seventh Queen’s castle. The skies above were bruised purple and copper, painted by the sun’s descent behind the jagged mountains that shielded the Vampire Realm from the rest of the world.
Inside his private vehicle, Prince Kenneth Valdros sat in silence as the polished black vessel hummed across the castle bridges. He sat upright, arms folded, eyes cast down. The King’s words still echoed in his mind.
> “You are more important than you know.”
At eight years old, Kenneth was many things—brilliant, powerful, fast beyond logic—but not foolish. He knew there was meaning behind those words, deeper than a simple compliment. His father—the King—was not a man of empty phrases. And those words had been spoken before the eyes of his elder brothers, each already bloodied and seasoned by war.
He stared out the tinted windows, jaw clenched.
> Why am I being left behind…?
The vehicle came to a smooth halt at the castle entrance. Two royal guards bowed as Kenneth stepped out, long dark curls trailing behind him like a silken cloak. His glowing azure eyes flickered with something darker than usual—a quiet conflict that couldn’t be named.
He didn’t speak to the maids. He didn’t ask after his mother. He walked straight to the east courtyard and summoned the training wardens. Wordlessly.
--
That evening at the training grounds..
.
The marble floors were slick with sweat and old blood—proof of his relentless pace. Twin katanas sang in his hands as Kenneth danced across the stone floor, slashing at wooden mannequins enchanted to regenerate and counterattack.
He was beautiful in motion—like a tempest sculpted from elegance and violence.
But there was no joy in his face. No wonder in his movement. Only frustration.
Each blow struck harder than the last. His breath came faster. Sparks danced from the enchanted wood, and then—
A crimson burst. Wild and sharp. His blood pulsed from his palm mid-strike, involuntarily, exploding with force.
> Boom!
The wooden dummy shattered into flaming splinters, and the blood spilled uncontrolled from Kenneth’s hand, twisting violently in the air—unstable.
> “Kenneth!” came a stern voice from the shadows.
Varic stepped forward, the silent Weaponsmaster. His black armored silhouette emerged like a shadow from stone, his deep-set eyes glowing faintly red.
Kenneth clutched his arm, wincing, trying to control the trembling in his fingers.
> “I didn’t mean to—”
“You lost focus,” Varic said simply. “Again.”
> “I didn’t! I—!” Kenneth bit his tongue, eyes burning. “…I don’t know what’s wrong.”
The air around him thickened. The scent of blood was sharp. His breathing ragged.
> “You are not wrong,” Varic said after a pause. “You are young. And your power is… tangled.”
“Tangled?” Kenneth asked bitterly. “Is that another way of saying I’m broken?”
Varic didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward and gently pressed Kenneth’s trembling hand closed with his gloved fingers.
> “You wield the sharpest blades in the realm. Learn not to turn them against yourself.”
Then he turned and walked away, leaving Kenneth standing there alone beneath the towering moon.
---
Later that night at the Queen's private chamber.....
The candlelight was warm in the Queen’s room, casting amber hues across the velvet walls. Queen Seraphina stood by the open balcony, the wind rustling the sheer silks of her royal robe. Her pale hair glowed beneath the moonlight.
Malrik stood by her side, arms behind his back, eyes narrowed with concern.
> “It’s getting worse,” she murmured. “He’s growing too fast.”
> “He’s beginning to feel the pressure,” Malrik said. “You saw his eyes today.”
> “He’s still a child.”
> “He won’t remain one for long.”
They fell silent as the door creaked open. Kenneth stood in the doorway, his expression composed but his aura dimmer than usual. There were bruises on his hands. His shoulder still twitched from the earlier incident.
> “You sent for me?” he asked quietly.
Seraphina extended a hand. “Come, my little moon.”
Kenneth walked over and melted into her embrace. She held him close, pressing her cheek to the crown of his head.
> “I saw your training,” she said softly. “You push yourself too hard.”
> “I have to,” Kenneth replied. “Father said I’m important. But I don’t know what that means. Why am I here, training, while the others fight?”
Malrik finally turned to face him, voice calm and firm.
> “Because you are not meant to fight the same battles as they are, Kenneth.”
> “Then what am I meant to do?” he asked. “I want to fight. I want to be strong.”
> “You are strong,” the Queen whispered. “But your path is… different.”
Kenneth looked between the two of them. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
Malrik crouched to his level, locking eyes with him.
> “Because one day, the future of this kingdom may rest on your shoulders—and not in the way it rests on theirs. You must be strong in here—” he tapped Kenneth’s temple, “and in here.” He placed his hand over Kenneth’s heart.
> “That’s vague,” Kenneth muttered.
Seraphina chuckled softly. “It’s meant to be. You’re not ready to know everything yet. But you will, in time. For now, just remember—you’re not behind, Kenneth. You’re exactly where you must be.”
The young prince looked down, then nodded slowly.
> “Okay. I’ll wait. I’ll be patient.”
Malrik smiled faintly. “That’s harder than any sword technique. And yet… you’ll master it too.”
---
Meanwhile, at the edge of the Vampire-Werewolf Border
The storm howled over the mountain cliffs. In the distance, blood-red banners snapped against the wind as thousands of vampire knights trudged through thick snow and blackened pine.
Inside the lead war vehicle, Aurelius Valdros sat in silence, jaw clenched, eyes forward. The mark of command weighed heavily on his back.
Darien sat beside him, arms folded, face unreadable. Lucien leaned near a window, expression contemplative. Sevrin, silent as always, toyed with a vial of glowing crimson liquid, lost in his own dark thoughts.
> “The witches are with them,” Aurelius muttered. “Father knows it. That’s why he sent us here. Because it’s madness.”
Darien didn’t answer. Neither did Lucien.
In the silence, a single thought echoed among them all—
> Why is Kenneth still safe… when we are walking into war?
---
- Writer
