The cool morning wind rippled through my fur coat, tugging at the last remnants of warmth that clung to my skin. My mane lifted with the breeze, a silken cascade dancing to the rhythm of the quiet dawn. For a fleeting moment, I let myself drift, surrendering to the stillness. Beyond the confines of my pen, the world blurred, forgotten. There was only this moment—the gentle wind, the dew-laden grass, the soft light spreading across the horizon. It was enough to make me forget what I had become.

But then, the sound of her steps shattered the tranquility.

At first, it was subtle—a muted crunch of grass, as though the earth were reluctant to yield to her presence. But as she drew closer, the sound sharpened, deliberate, each step a crack that sent prickling unease up my ears. I turned my head toward the sound, and there she was—a silhouette against the pale morning light, her form impossibly graceful and otherworldly.

Her gown trailed along the ground like a wisp of mist, brushing over the dew-soaked blades with an eerie elegance. There was something wrong about her approach, something cold and measured. The air itself seemed to recoil in her wake. As her feet touched the grass, it whitened, frost blooming outward in thin tendrils as though even nature feared to remain untouched. I stood still, every muscle tensed, but the frost crawled closer, encircling my hooves.

When she stopped before me, the stillness became suffocating. Her gaze swept over me, those cold blue eyes assessing, as though I were no more than a brittle shard of porcelain she might crush with a flick of her wrist. It was a look devoid of warmth, devoid of humanity. She did not see me—not truly. She saw only a thing, something to be measured, evaluated, and used.

Her hand moved, slow and deliberate, trailing over my muzzle with a touch that was both featherlight and icy. Her fingers moved upward, brushing along the fur of my forehead until they rested at the base of my horn. Her touch lingered there, cool and probing, like the touch of death itself.

“Oh, you poor creature,” she murmured, her voice as soft as falling snow. The words carried no solace, no tenderness, only a strange, detached pity that sent a chill deeper into my bones. I tried to step back, to pull myself free from her, but my body refused to move. Something bound me in place, invisible chains tightening as the frost beneath her heels deepened, crunching like glass.

Her fingers pressed slightly against my horn, and I felt the sharp pang of mana stirring faintly within me, fragile and untamed. It was a spark I’d almost forgotten existed, buried deep beneath the weight of years spent as little more than a creature. Her eyes narrowed, sensing the flicker, and a faint, almost cruel smile played on her lips.

"You know not the trouble that stirs, waiting for you," she said, her voice no louder than a whisper, but the weight of her words pressed down on me like a heavy shroud. My breath came shallow, frost seeping into my lungs, and panic flared as the sensation of life itself seemed to slip away.

Then, her attention shifted.

“What are you doing, Mother?” a new voice called out, cutting through the oppressive stillness. The sound was sharp yet warm, carrying an undercurrent of defiance.

The invisible force holding me released its grip, and I staggered back, gasping as if I’d been underwater and only now breached the surface. My breath came in ragged pulls as I turned my gaze toward the speaker.

Blonde hair framed her face, catching the faint sunlight like strands of gold. She moved with a quiet confidence, yet her mismatched eyes—one icy blue, the other a rich golden hazel—sparkled with a warmth her mother lacked. Elara. Her presence alone seemed to banish some of the cold that clung to me.

Selene straightened, the frost queen’s imposing aura retracting ever so slightly. She smoothed the folds of her gown, her expression unreadable. “It seems Astralus hasn’t been himself lately,” she said smoothly, her voice carrying that dangerous, detached calm. “I came to check on him.”

I snorted, retreating another step, my gaze flicking between them. Elara’s presence emboldened me, but I wasn’t foolish enough to let my guard drop completely. Selene’s eyes lingered on me, sharp and calculating, but Elara quickly stepped closer, placing herself partially between us.

“He looks fine to me,” Elara said, her voice measured but firm. “Perhaps he’s just restless.” Her tone was calm, but I caught the way her fingers flexed at her sides, her stance subtly protective. She could feel it too—the tension, the danger that seemed to hang in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Selene’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.” She turned with the same deliberate grace and began to walk away, the frost melting slowly beneath her steps as she departed.

Elara watched her go, her shoulders relaxing slightly. But as she turned to face me, her expression softened. “Are you alright, Astralus?” she asked quietly, stepping closer. Her hand reached out, brushing lightly against my forehead where her mother’s cold touch had lingered. Her hand was warm, and I felt the last traces of the frost’s chill begin to fade.

I let out a quiet huff, nodding faintly. Her smile was small, tired, but genuine—a stark contrast to the frost queen’s frigid detachment.

“You’re stronger than you think,” she murmured, more to herself than to me, her mismatched eyes clouded with thought. Then, as if reminded of her place, she pulled back.

“Remain in your pen, Astralus,” she said, her voice tinged with something that sounded like regret. Her mother’s distant voice called her name, and she flinched, turning reluctantly to follow. As their forms disappeared into the distance, I remained frozen, the tension of the encounter still coiled tightly in my chest.

The hours passed, the sun climbing higher into the sky, but I stayed motionless, lost in thought. Once, I had known a life without fear. I was not a beast then. I was a man. A man who had stood at the apex, who had no reason to fear the frost queen or her icy grip. But that life was gone, buried beneath centuries of fur and silence. Now, all I had were fragments—a name, a shadow of bitterness that lingered on my tongue.

The sun reached its zenith when I caught movement from the corner of my eye. Elara, slipping into the pen with hurried, deliberate steps. She glanced over her shoulder before approaching me, her gaze alive with something I couldn’t quite place—determination, perhaps, or desperation.

“Come, boy,” she said, her voice soft but urgent. Her hand ran through my mane as she whispered, “Let’s go for a walk.”

We walked slowly along the edge of the pen, Elara keeping close at my side. Her hand occasionally brushed against my mane, a fleeting gesture that felt both reassuring and uncertain, as though she wasn’t entirely sure of her place. I glanced down at her, my sharp vision catching the flicker of something hidden behind her mismatched eyes. What was she planning? She had always been kind to me—kinder than the others in this gilded cage—but today, something felt… different.

Elara’s steps slowed as we approached the fence that bordered the central garden. Her gaze drifted beyond the pen, her expression contemplative. “Do you see that?” she asked, gesturing toward the center of the garden. There, gleaming under the high sun, was the statue of a young man astride a rearing unicorn. The polished marble caught the light like fire, its surface pristine despite the passage of time.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Prince Augustus,” Elara said softly, as though speaking the name aloud carried weight. “The empire’s greatest hero. And Imperator, his loyal steed.” She smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Don’t you want to be like that someday, Astralus? A grand mount, admired by all?” Her tone was light, teasing, but there was something deeper beneath her words—something wistful.

I followed her gaze, my eyes settling on the frozen figure of the unicorn. Its head was raised high, its horn pointed toward the heavens, a symbol of triumph and pride. But as I stared, I felt only bitterness. Admiration? Respect? What good were such things when they were stripped away so easily? My tail flicked sharply, and I snorted, shaking my head in rejection.

Elara laughed softly, her mismatched eyes sparkling for a brief moment. “I thought as much,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement. “You’ve always been stubborn, haven’t you?” Her hand reached out again, brushing over my mane. “But still… you’re capable of more than you realize. I can feel it.”

Her words hung in the air, heavier than she likely intended. I turned my gaze back to the statue, unwilling to meet her eyes. Imperator. The symbol of the Aurelian Empire, the steed that carried Augustus to glory and subjugated the Great Forest. Elara had told me the story once, her voice brimming with admiration. The man who united the warring kingdoms. The unicorn that summoned storms, unrivaled in power.

But all of it—Augustus, Imperator, the empire itself—was gone now. The Aurelian Empire had fallen in the thousand years since their time. What remained was a hollow shell, propped up by treaties and fragile alliances. Even the statue, gleaming as it was, felt more like a gravestone than a tribute.

‘Elara,’ I murmured silently in my mind, the name heavy on my soul. Would she still look at me with that same warmth if she knew the truth? Would she still see me as her loyal companion, her “Astralus,” if she knew what I had been? Or would the truth shatter the bond we had built over these years?

She broke the silence by reaching into her pocket, pulling out a small stone covered in strange engravings. The runes etched into its surface shimmered faintly in the sunlight, pulsing with a magic I didn’t recognize. Elara turned the stone over in her hands, her expression thoughtful, almost hesitant. Then, with a sudden motion, she flung it toward the edge of the pen.

The stone skipped once, twice, before coming to rest in the grass. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a faint ripple spread outward from where it landed, distorting the air around us like the surface of a disturbed pond. The ripple moved through the pen, faint but tangible, before vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

I tensed, my muscles coiling instinctively. Spacial magic. I had seen it before, long ago. Whatever spell she had just cast, it wasn’t simple. My gaze flicked toward her, questioning.

“It’s a barrier,” she said softly, answering the unspoken question in my eyes. “No one will see us, not for a while. I needed to make sure we wouldn’t be interrupted.” Her voice was calm, but there was a note of urgency beneath it. She turned to face me fully, her expression serious. “Astralus, this place may feel safe, but it isn’t. You know that, don’t you? You’ve always known.”

I tilted my head, watching her carefully. Her gaze was intense, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides as if trying to steady herself. She was afraid—afraid for me, or perhaps for herself. But why?

“You need to be stronger,” she continued, her tone firm now. “Strong enough to survive when safety isn’t guaranteed. Strong enough to—” She stopped, biting her lip. For a moment, she looked away, her golden eye catching the light. “There’s no time to explain,” she said finally, turning back to me. “But I’ve got an idea.”

She reached into her pocket again, pulling out a scroll this time. The parchment was old, its edges frayed and discolored with age. Symbols I didn’t recognize were scrawled across its surface, the ink faintly glowing. My ears flattened, unease prickling along my spine. Whatever that scroll was, it reeked of power.

Elara knelt before me, holding the scroll in one hand and a small blade in the other. She looked up at me, her mismatched eyes filled with a strange mixture of determination and guilt. “I need you to trust me,” she said quietly, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

I didn’t move. Could I trust her? She had never given me a reason to doubt her, not once. But this… this was different. The air around us grew heavy as she pressed the blade against her fingertip, drawing a bead of crimson. The scroll seemed to hum in response, its surface coming alive with light as her blood dripped onto it.

‘Elara,’ I tried to speak, but my voice came out as a strained, guttural whinny. She reached for me, her bloodied finger pressing against the base of my horn. The moment her touch connected, pain shot through me, sharp and electric, and I reared back instinctively. But I couldn’t move far. The air itself seemed to hold me in place, locking my limbs as the energy from the scroll surged through us both.

The symbols on the scroll began to writhe, twisting and shifting like living things. The pain deepened, spreading through my chest and limbs like fire. I tried to cry out, but my voice was trapped, strangled by the growing force between us.

Then, something stirred. A spark. A flicker of awareness I hadn’t felt in years. Memories, buried and fragmented, began to surface: battlefields drenched in blood, faces both familiar and forgotten, the clash of steel, the roar of mana surging through me.

Marcelo.

The name rang out in my mind, clear and undeniable. My name. My true name. The tidal wave of memory crashed over me, threatening to drown me. For a moment, I wasn’t Astralus. I wasn’t a beast. I was a man, a warrior, a leader. But as quickly as the memories came, they began to slip away, scattering like ashes in the wind.

The connection between us snapped abruptly, and I collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. My legs trembled beneath me, and my vision swam. When I looked up, Elara was kneeling beside me, her face pale and streaked with sweat. Blood smeared her fingertips, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re awake,” she said softly, her voice shaking. Relief flickered across her face, but it was fleeting. Her golden eye gleamed faintly in the dim light, a reflection of something I couldn’t quite place.

I stared at her, my heart pounding as the weight of what had just happened settled over me. The name lingered in my mind, quiet but persistent: Marcelo. My past, my identity—it was still there, buried but not gone.

As the first stars began to emerge in the sky, I felt it—a new strength coursing through me, wild and untamed. The mana that had eluded me for so long now pulsed within my veins, vibrant and alive. Whatever Elara had done, she had awakened something. But at what cost? 

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

Elara knelt beside me, the scroll discarded at her side, its runes now dull and lifeless. The blade in her hand trembled, her knuckles white as she gripped it tightly. Her breathing was ragged, shallow, and I could see the exhaustion weighing on her—both from the ritual and from the strain of whatever courage had pushed her to attempt it. She had given a part of herself, and I wasn’t sure she fully understood what she had awakened.

I stared at her, my chest still heaving. The rush of mana pulsing through me was exhilarating, yes, but it was also terrifying. It wasn’t just power—it was memory. Awareness. A fragment of myself that had lain dormant for so long was now stirring, refusing to be buried again. Marcelo. The name echoed in my mind, louder now, insistent. A name I had abandoned—or perhaps been forced to abandon. A name tied to a past that I wasn’t ready to face.

Elara’s mismatched eyes met mine. In her gaze, I saw a mixture of relief, hope, and a flicker of fear. She reached out hesitantly, her hand hovering just above my muzzle, but this time I pulled back, shaking my head. I couldn’t let her touch me—not yet. Not while my mind was still reeling.

“I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, lowering her hand. Her voice was unsteady, cracking under the weight of what she had done. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I had to try.”

But before I could dwell on her words, the air around us shifted.

A cold, oppressive presence seeped into the pen, coiling around us like a serpent. I stiffened, my ears flattening against my skull as the familiar frost began to creep across the ground. Elara froze, her head snapping toward the direction of the castle. Her golden eye narrowed, her jaw tightening.

“Mother,” she breathed.

I followed her gaze, my muscles tensing instinctively. Sure enough, Selene was there, her figure barely visible through the shadows of the garden. She wasn’t moving, but I could feel her watching us, her presence pressing down like a heavy weight. The frost queen had always carried herself with a quiet menace, but now, in the wake of what Elara had done, her aura was suffocating.

‘She knows,’ I murmured in my mind, though the words felt more like a warning than a revelation.

Elara rose to her feet quickly, her hands brushing against her skirts as though to compose herself. “Stay here,” she said quietly, her tone sharp. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.” Her mismatched eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw fear. Not for herself, but for me.

She stepped forward, moving toward the fence. Her movements were careful, deliberate, as though she were trying not to draw too much attention. But it was no use. Selene’s gaze was already locked on us, and even from a distance, I could feel the chill of her displeasure.

“Elara,” Selene called, her voice carrying through the stillness like the crack of ice. “What, exactly, are you doing out here?”