"I don't deserve it."

Young Prince Halo whispered these words to himself as he walked the crimson carpet toward the stage. Each step felt heavier than the last, like climbing a mountain, the weight of a thousand thoughts pressing on him. At the far end, the Grand Priest waited with a crown in hand—one that would make Halo the new Sage, ruler of the five duchies, the strongest person in Endland. Lords and high-ranking dignitaries from across the realm filled the hall, watching his every movement, judging him.

They began to whisper among themselves.

“Look at him—he lacks every quality his father and brother had.”

“Old enough to be a father, yet he walks like a frightened cat.”

“Poor boy. His father, the Sage Durrandon, was assassinated just a week ago, and his brother Leonard died fighting the Rui savages down south.”

“Give him a chance. We’ve never seen anything from him yet.”

“Doesn’t that tell you something?”

"I'm not my brother," Halo murmured, repeating it like a chant.

He thought back to when his father and brother were alive. Everyone had avoided him, and his only companion had been his eighty-year-old maid. His attempts to get closer to his father were always met with indifference. Leonard, on the other hand, had always been the golden son—always smiling, always at his father’s side.

Why me? he had often wondered. What had he ever done to deserve this?

One day, he had asked Leonard. Halo hesitated as his older brother sheathed his sword, his broad frame towering over him.

"Leonard," Halo said softly, "Why does everyone avoid me? Even Father... even you?"

Leonard sighed, glancing away. "Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Halo."

"I need to know!" Halo’s voice cracked. "What did I do wrong?"

Leonard’s jaw tightened, and his tone sharpened. "You didn’t do anything. You are the problem. Look at you. You’re unnatural. Your ears, your eyes... you remind everyone of what we lost—what Father lost. Mother died for you, and you’re all we got in return."

“That’s not fair,” Halo whispered, his eyes stinging with tears.

“Fair?” Leonard laughed bitterly. “Life isn’t fair, little brother. Now leave me alone. Go back to doing what you’re good at: nothing.”

Halo turned away, his fists clenched and heart heavier than ever. Years had passed, but he still remembered every word his brother had said.

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Halo looked at himself now—short, pointed ears, pale skin. He thought of Leonard—tall, handsome, a great warrior. The stark contrast burned in his chest.

As he walked down the aisle, the whispers grew louder.

“He looks hideous.”

“He’s nothing like his brother.”

“He should have died, not Argon.”

“Look at him. He can’t even walk straight.”

Or maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him.

Halo’s legs began to tremble. He wore the green silk robe of the Crise royal family and elegant heels for the first time—an unfamiliar choice that made his steps unsteady, as if every eye in the room was waiting for him to fall.

And then it happened. He stumbled. The floor seemed to tilt beneath him, and he fell forward onto the carpet. Laughter rippled through the crowd—sharp and mocking. He scrambled to his feet, but as soon as he did, he fell again, the laughter rising like waves crashing on rocks. His heart pounded, his breath quickened. Desperate to block out the mocking voices, he pressed his hands to his ears.

A firm hand gripped his shoulder, lifting him. It was his uncle, Boron, a battle-worn knight with a rough voice and a heart of steel.

“Get your act together, Hal,” Boron said, his tone stern but with a hint of warmth in his eyes. His weathered face looked fierce, but his gaze was steady.

“Listen to me," Boron continued quietly. "You’re not your father. You’re not Leonard—and that’s exactly what Endland needs. We don’t need another Durrandon, all pride and iron, or another Leonard, burning too bright to last. We need you.”

Halo shook his head, his voice breaking. “But I’m nothing. Weak. Awkward. They’re all right.”

“Enough.” Boron’s voice cut through like steel. “You’ve been beaten down, ignored, and yet here you are—still standing. That’s strength. And those lords? Their opinions change like the wind. Show them who you are, and they’ll cheer your name soon enough.”

“What if I fail?” Halo whispered.

Boron smirked, offering his hand. “Then fail gloriously. A Sage isn’t born; he’s forged. Get up every time you fall, and you’ll be stronger than all of them.”

The trembling in Halo’s legs stilled. The mocking voices faded into the background, like echoes from a dream. He looked around the grand hall, really seeing it for the first time—the towering spires, the gleaming quartz walls. The faces of the lords weren’t filled with scorn anymore, but with hope, with expectation. Straightening his back, Halo continued his walk to the stage.

The ceremony took place in the Temple of Aemedis, one of the most beautiful structures in Endland. It was a vast cylindrical hall, surrounded by towering spires, all made of lime-crystalled quartz. The walls glowed faintly in the light, and the air was filled with a sense of ancient reverence.

When he reached the Grand Priest, Halo knelt. The old man began chanting in the ancient Kalsyrian language. Halo closed his eyes, breathing deeply. When the priest placed the crown upon his head, Halo opened his eyes again. He was no longer a prince but the Sage of the five great duchies, ruler of the Crise Sagedom.

As he accepted the crown, the ground trembled. It lasted only two seconds, but it left a sense of unease hanging in the air. No one had any idea what had caused it.

Elsewhere, in the Harkenen Duchy, miners worked day and night in the vast quartz mines. The rhythmic clinks of pickaxes echoed through the tunnels. Quartz was one of the most valuable resources in the Sagedom, and overseers rarely allowed the workers more than a few moments' rest. When the time came for a break, the workers poured out of the mine, faces coated in dust—except for one man, who stumbled in the darkness, falling into a hidden crevice. He tumbled down into icy depths and landed with a splash in a shallow pool.

Struggling to his feet, the miner gasped, raising his torch. The light revealed a sight that made his blood run cold. What he thought was a pool of water was, in fact, thick, viscous blood coating his legs. A low groan echoed from the depths of the cavern, and he spun around, his torch trembling in his hand.

There, at the far end of the chamber, sat a massive green egg. Its shell was translucent, pulsing faintly, revealing the outline of something within—human-shaped, but twisted, with dark wings folded around it. The miner’s breath caught in his throat as a hairline crack appeared in the egg’s surface, and he heard a faint scratching from within.

To be continued...