The lost prince and his dragon

The palace of Elaren shimmered like a beacon beneath the twin moons, its crystal spires catching the night’s silver glow. Lanterns floated across the courtyards, each infused with faint enchantments that made the light shimmer like living fireflies. The air smelled of roasted meats, spiced wine, and roses imported from the southern isles. To an outsider, it was a night of joy, music, and celebration. But Prince Kael felt only unease. He stood apart from the revelry, leaning against a marble balustrade that overlooked the torch-lit gardens. His people laughed and feasted below, oblivious to the tension simmering in the marrow of his bones. Something was wrong. The silence between the notes of the musicians seemed stretched, strained. The laughter was too sharp, like brittle glass. Across the banquet hall, Kael’s elder brother, Darius, raised a golden goblet, his handsome face glowing with triumph. The newly crowned king looked every inch the ruler their father had once been—strong jaw, commanding presence, the loyalty of courtiers who bowed and scraped at his every word. To the court, Darius was the perfect heir. To Kael, he was a shadow that had always loomed too large, too ambitious, too hungry. Earlier that evening, Darius had clasped Kael’s shoulder in what seemed a gesture of brotherhood. “Enjoy this night, Kael,” he’d said, voice smooth as velvet. “It may be the last of its kind.” The words had not left Kael’s mind since. Now, as Darius toasted to “peace and prosperity,” Kael’s unease coiled tighter. Peace rarely began with so much wine. The illusion shattered in the next breath. A scream cut through the music, followed by the clash of steel. Shouts erupted, boots thundered against marble. The doors to the hall burst open as armored men flooded in—soldiers of Elaren, yet their swords were raised not against invaders but against their own. Kael froze, disbelief locking his body. The gilded doors behind him slammed open. Seraya, his childhood friend and captain of his guard, stormed through, her leather armor torn and her blade already bloodied. Her eyes burned with urgency. “Prince! We must leave—now!” Kael’s heart hammered. “What madness is this?” “Your brother,” Seraya spat, grabbing his arm. “He’s declared you a traitor. He claims you conspired against the throne. The feast was a trap.” Kael staggered back as if struck. “Darius…? No. He would never—” “Wouldn’t he?” she snapped. “Look around you, Kael. His men are cutting down anyone loyal to you.” And she was right. From the balcony, Kael saw chaos below—his tutors, knights, even servants cut down as Darius’s soldiers turned the hall into a slaughterhouse. The once-proud banners of Elaren were torn and trampled. Fires licked at the velvet drapes. This was no misunderstanding. This was betrayal. Seraya shoved a sword into his hands. “Fight or die, my prince.” The door behind them splintered. Soldiers surged through. Kael raised his blade in time to parry a strike, the clang ringing in his bones. His training flooded back—stances drilled by tutors, forms perfected over years. But this was no sparring match. The soldier’s eyes were cold with intent to kill. Steel clashed, sparks dancing in the torchlight. Kael’s arms ached, his breath ragged, but Seraya fought beside him with the ferocity of a storm. Together they carved a path through the attackers, the marble floor slick with blood. “This way!” Seraya cried, dragging him down a side corridor. They ran through halls once filled with Kael’s childhood laughter—corridors where he’d played hide and seek, chambers where his father’s voice once echoed. Now those memories burned away in smoke and screams. Every step was a farewell. At last, they reached the outer gates. Beyond them lay the forest—dark, cold, but free. Seraya turned, her chest heaving. “I’ll hold them off. Go!” Kael whirled. “No! I can’t leave you—” “You must!” Her eyes blazed with loyalty and despair. “You are the last true heir. If you die here, the kingdom is lost forever. Run, Kael!” Before he could argue, she shoved him through the gates and slammed them shut. The forest swallowed him whole. Branches whipped his face, roots snagged his boots, but Kael ran. Behind him, shouts echoed, the baying of hounds rising like a dirge. His lungs burned, his wound from a grazing blade dripped blood, and still he forced his legs forward. Then—agony. An arrow struck his side, white-hot, ripping the breath from his lungs. He fell to his knees, clutching the wound as blood seeped between his fingers. The night spun. “So this is how it ends,” he rasped. “A prince slain like prey.” But the forest had other plans. The air shifted, heavy with unseen power. The ground hummed beneath him. His blood burned, his vision blazed white. Lightning crackled across his skin, jagged veins of storm-light erupting from his chest. A thunderclap split the sky. The shockwave blasted outward, hurling soldiers back, scattering hounds in terror. The forest lit with electric fury. Kael collapsed, trembling, staring at the faint sparks still dancing across his fingers. “What… am I?” he whispered. And then he heard it—a voice, soft yet resonant, like a song older than time. He forced his head up. There, beyond the trees, stood a figure cloaked in moonlight. A woman, her hair shimmering like silver flame, her eyes glowing with an unearthly fire. She did not move closer, yet her presence filled the clearing as though the world itself bent around her. “A prince touched by storms,” she murmured, her voice carrying without sound. “And cursed by fate.” Kael’s breath caught. “Who are you?” But before he could rise, the figure was gone. Not a single footprint marked the earth where she had stood. Only the echo of vast wings whispered through the canopy, as if something colossal had taken flight. Exhaustion dragged Kael into darkness. When he woke, dawn filtered through the leaves. His wound was bound with herbs, his sword laid neatly at his side. He touched the bandages—done by skilled hands, not his own. The woman. She had saved him. But her words weighed heavier than the pain in his body. A prince touched by storms… and cursed by fate.