Chapter 8: – The Choice
878 Words
Chapter 8 – The Choice
Reino’s past continues to haunt him. He was born broken, despised by his father, and mocked by nobles and servants. When his uncle betrayed the throne, his brother was executed, his mother imprisoned, and Reino cast away to the farmlands. There, he found fleeting warmth in Mara—a girl who loved him without pity. But the fragile peace shattered when his uncle arrived, dragging both Mara and his mother before him. With a cruel smile, he forced Reino to face the unthinkable: choose who would live, and who would die.
“Choose.”
The word cut sharper than any blade.
My uncle’s voice was calm, almost amused, but beneath it lay a cruelty far worse than the sword he once used to strike down my father.
On one side knelt Mara, trembling but fierce. Her eyes—wide, burning with defiance—never left mine, even as soldiers forced her down. On the other side lay my mother, bruised and broken, blood staining her lips as she gasped for breath.
“Son…” she whispered, lifting her head with effort. “Don’t—don’t think of me. Save her.”
Mara shook her head violently, her hair falling over her face. “No! He needs you. He cannot lose you too. Choose me instead—let your mother live!”
Their words stabbed into me, tearing me apart from the inside.
How could I choose?
The two people who gave me hope, who reminded me I was more than weakness—how could I condemn one to death and believe the other could ever survive it?
“Please,” I begged, turning to my uncle. “Don’t make me—”
He cut me off with a laugh. “The cursed prince who cannot even decide. Pathetic. You have ten breaths to choose, boy. After that, I’ll kill them both.”
The soldiers tightened their grip on Mara and my mother. My chest heaved. My vision blurred as panic clawed at me.
One. Two. Three…
Mara’s eyes locked with mine. Live for me, her gaze seemed to plead.
Four. Five…
My mother’s trembling hand reached toward me, her broken voice rasping, “My son… my heart… survive. Please.”
Six. Seven. Eight…
I screamed, clawing at my useless legs, forcing them to move. “Take me instead! Kill me, not them!”
Nine.
My uncle’s lips curled into a cruel smile.
“Ten.”
The sword flashed.
I remember the sound. Not just the slice of steel through air—but the gasp that tore from my throat as one life ended before me.
I remember Mara’s cry—or was it my mother’s? I cannot tell anymore. Sometimes I dream it is Mara’s scream. Sometimes my mother’s. But always, always, the sound rips me apart.
Blood stained the earth, warm and endless.
I collapsed, my screams filling the night. My uncle’s laughter thundered over me, cruel and victorious.
“This,” he said, pressing his hand against my head, “is the fate of weak princes. To watch, helpless, as the strong decide the world.”
I lost them that night. Not just the one who died—but both. For the survivor lived only in grief, her eyes hollow, her spirit broken.
And I? I was nothing. Less than nothing.
Days passed. Or weeks. Time became meaningless.
Sometimes I saw Mara’s face when I closed my eyes, her smile fading into screams. Sometimes I saw my mother, whispering comfort through blood. I could no longer tell which memory was true.
Perhaps that was my curse from the very beginning—not knowing whose life I had damned.
But worse still was the hatred that grew inside me.
A black fire. Hotter than grief, darker than sorrow.
I swore that if I could not save the people I loved, then I would make the world feel the same agony I felt.
If my uncle had stripped me of power, I would take it back.
If the gods had abandoned me, then I would defy them.
Even if it meant becoming a monster.
One night, chained in the farm’s dark storehouse, I heard it.
A whisper. Not of man. Not of angel. Something deeper. Something older.
Do you wish for power?
I froze, my heart pounding. “Who—who’s there?”
Do you wish for vengeance?
The voice coiled around me like smoke, seeping into my bones.
“Yes,” I whispered hoarsely.
“Yes! Give me strength!
Give me anything to destroy him!
To destroy them all!”
Then you will have it… but power has a price.
Coldness sank into me, drowning the fire of my grief. My twisted legs burned as if molten steel coursed through them, then went numb. My veins darkened. Shadows carved black lines across my skin, glowing faintly like embers in the dark.
And inside me, something stirred.
A hunger. A thirst that could not be quenched.
I stood.
For the first time in my life, I stood on my own.
No longer the weak, broken boy.
But something cursed.
Something feared.
That night, I was reborn.
The world would one day call me not a prince, not a savior…
But The Cursed Prince.
- Writer
