“Help him,” Ulysses muttered, staring blankly ahead.

Since he was a kid, everyone treated him like he was destined for something greater, like a walking legend in the making. His father, the King of Valkarion, made sure of that—always boasting about his son at banquets, parading him around the nobles like some prized heir. Because of this, Ulysses had amassed a loyal following even at a young age. People who would die for him without hesitation.

“Your Highness! I’m Asval. Just a humble follower, but I’ll gladly lay down my life for your sake!” said an 18-year-old Asval, kneeling before a 15-year-old Ulysses at one of those grand banquets.

Ulysses blinked, confused. “You can... stand up, Asval,” he said, his voice uncertain.

“Yes, Your Highness.” Asval rose, moving with deliberate respect.

He was the first. The first person who ever openly swore loyalty to Ulysses. It caught the young prince entirely off guard—an unexpected moment that overwhelmed him. It wasn’t awkward, though. If anything, Ulysses felt a spark of gratitude, something rare in his carefully controlled life.

A follower who’d die for him. That was something new.

Over time, Ulysses and Asval’s relationship shifted. The formalities faded, and they became more like friends than masters and servants. It wasn’t precisely acceptable—a noble and a commoner, friends? That was asking for trouble.

But they didn’t care. They snuck around together, washing off sweat at the waterfalls, sharing meals, and sparring until their arms ached. Slowly, they built something genuine—a bond Ulysses had never experienced.

For the prince, it was like discovering what happiness felt like. His mother had died giving birth to him, or so his father claimed. And his father? He was always too busy ruling a kingdom to spare time for his son. Ulysses could count on one hand the number of times they’d had a real conversation. His siblings weren’t any better. Love and affection—were foreign concepts to the royal family.

Instead, Ulysses had grown up surrounded by plastic smiles and empty praise from people who just wanted to use him for their gain.

But Asval? Asval was different. Sure, he started stiff and respectful, but his devotion wasn’t fake. He trained with a sword, not for ambition but to protect something more significant—the crown, the kingdom, and the people. And without realizing it, Asval became something Ulysses had never had before a true friend.

“Asval,” Ulysses said, breaking the silence.

“Hm?” Asval glanced over, curious.

“Why did you choose to be my sword?” Ulysses asked out of nowhere, his tone serious.

Asval hesitated for a moment, then a tiny smile crossed his face. “Because I believe in you. I want to protect you... and help you build the future you’re fighting for,” he said simply.

But that trust and friendship didn’t last as long as it should have. They were being watched—spied on by someone with power. It ended with Asval’s exile and his family locked away.

Young Ulysses was devastated. He didn’t eat for a week, blaming himself for everything. If he hadn’t dragged Asval into his world, none of this would’ve happened. But eventually, he came to a decision. Starving himself wasn’t going to fix anything. He had to get stronger, even if the memories of Asval haunted him every time he faced a similar situation.

“Help who?” an elder asked, breaking Ulysses’ train of thought.

Ulysses hesitated. The elder handed him a glass of water, motioning for him to calm down. After a sip, Ulysses finally answered, spinning a careful lie. “I’m a noble from Valkarion. I was captured, but... a man helped me escape. The last thing I saw was him fighting off my captors.”

The elders exchanged worried glances, their concerns evident. Before they could say anything, a man with long white hair walked into the room, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed. His casual clothes were wrinkled, and his half-awake expression screamed, “Don’t bother me.”

“The golden boy,” the man said, locking eyes with Ulysses.

“Oh, Eudes! What brings you here so early?” one of the elders asked.

Eudes yawned, scratching his head. “I’m the one who found him, looking like death warmed over last night. Just checking to see if he’s still breathing.” He turned to Ulysses. “You alive, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ulysses replied, though his fever made it hard for him even to sit up. Defeated, he sank back onto the bed.

“Eudes,” an elder said.

“Yeah, old man?” Eudes replied, barely paying attention.

“He said someone’s still in the forest,” the elder explained.

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“Someone? So?” Eudes raised a brow.

“The person who saved him. Go look for him,” the elder said.

“Nope,” Eudes replied flatly.

Without a word, the elder pulled a handful of silver coins from his pocket and dropped them into Eudes’ hand. The man’s entire demeanor changed in an instant.

“Ohhh, why didn’t you say so earlier!” Eudes exclaimed, pocketing the coins with lightning speed. “I’m on it! Let me just grab my boots, maybe a snack... Oh, and if I find the guy, I’ll need more for hazard pay!”

His shameless grin made it painfully obvious—this man would do anything for money, and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. He even counted the coins before going off.

Ulysses couldn’t stay awake for long. His fever was relentless, pulling him back into unconsciousness not long after he woke up.

image [https://clipart-library.com/images_k/text-divider-transparent/text-divider-transparent-19.png]

Meanwhile, in the kingdom of Valkarion…

image [https://i.pinimg.com/736x/7c/2b/de/7c2bde174bd355641052a749be8dc7e0.jpg]

“She was devastated, my lord,” one of King Tiberius’ advisors reported, his voice unsteady. “Her hands were shaking… it seems she’s telling the truth.”

“Then stop wasting time!” Tiberius bellowed, his voice trembling with rage. “Take care of her, and FIND MY SON!”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the advisor replied, bowing before leaving the room.

Left alone, Tiberius paced, his hands trembling as his anger boiled over. His son—the heir of Valkarion—had been kidnapped. But his rage wasn’t born from fear of losing his child. No, it was something far colder.

He wasn’t afraid of losing his son.

He was afraid of losing the power his son carried.

Ulysses possessed the power of light—a gift that made him the kingdom’s most valuable treasure. Losing him meant losing an irreplaceable asset, one Tiberius could not allow to fall into enemy hands.

Driven by desperation, Tiberius made a reckless decision. He diverted critical military forces from the borders to join the search for Ulysses. The move caused silent outrage among his generals and advisors—leaving the kingdom’s defenses vulnerable was a massive risk. But Tiberius didn’t care. His selfish priorities outweighed the kingdom’s safety.

The people of Valkarion began to panic. Rumors of a Gorathian invasion spread like wildfire, forcing many citizens to flee. Tensions within the kingdom rose, with desperate appeals for protection falling on deaf ears.

“His son is all that matters to him,” people whispered, their resentment growing. To them, Tiberius was no longer a king—they saw him as a selfish ruler who cared more for his bloodline than the welfare of his people.

But no one dared challenge him.

Tiberius’ greed and hunger for power were nothing new. As the eldest of five siblings, he had secured the throne through a series of ruthless and secretive gambles.

As a prince, he led a double life—on the surface, he was the ideal heir, but in the shadows, he indulged in vices that would ruin any ordinary man. Gambling, drinking, affairs—even his marriage didn’t stop him from taking advantage of his position. When his second-eldest brother discovered his dark secrets, Tiberius acted swiftly. Fearful of losing his claim to the throne, he ordered his brother’s assassination.

image [https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e0/64/fe/e064fe36a9038e42e805af10828f523f.gif]

The death of his sibling was passed off as an accident, and Tiberius continued living as though nothing had happened. His debauchery worsened—he abused his power freely, sexually assaulting maids and brushing off any consequences.

Years later, a new threat emerged: another sibling. Unlike Tiberius, this brother was loved by the people for his kind and selfless nature. At first, Tiberius didn’t see him as a problem. But as the sibling gained favor, Tiberius’ paranoia grew.

He orchestrated another scheme, using his connections with high-ranking nobles to fabricate a crime. Accused of sexually assaulting a noble, the sibling was publicly condemned and burned at the stake.

One by one, Tiberius eliminated every obstacle in his path. When his father fell ill, no one was left to challenge him. He ascended to the throne without opposition, becoming the 5th King of Valkarion.

From the outside, he seemed untouchable. But beneath the crown was a man consumed by greed, fear, and a lust for power that knew no bounds.

image [https://clipart-library.com/images_k/text-divider-transparent/text-divider-transparent-19.png]

Meanwhile, Somewhere in Eldmoor, Kingdom of Gorathia.

“So, they failed?” A low, measured voice broke the tense silence.

The man speaking stood by the window, his lean frame silhouetted against the dim light. He wasn’t imposing, his build more wiry than muscular, but his presence alone made the room feel heavier. His jet-black hair fell messily over a calm, almost indifferent expression that contrasted with the bad news he’d just received.

The messenger standing before him visibly trembled, beads of sweat rolling down his face. Even without any overt anger, the man’s aura was suffocating.

“They did,” a woman’s voice interjected. She stood, brushing her long hair back with an elegant wave, her piercing gaze fixed on the messenger. Her movements were casual, but there was an edge to her presence.

“You’re dismissed,” the man said.

The messenger gave a hasty bow, practically sprinting toward the door. His shaking hands fumbled with the handle, the door refusing to cooperate with his panicked efforts until he finally managed to escape.

“It’s possible they’re dead,” the man said, turning his gaze back to the window.

“Possible,” the woman replied, picking up a gold coin from the table. She twirled it effortlessly between her fingers, the soft metallic clinks filling the silence. “The contract said they were supposed to arrive this morning. No sign of them, though, according to intel from the nearby towns.”

The mission was clear—kidnap the prince and use him to toy with the Kingdom of Valkarion. But the mercenaries hired for the job were now missing, their absence suggesting the plan had gone sideways.

“There’s a chance the prince escaped,” the man added, his voice calm and analytical as he turned to face her.

The woman smirked, her sharp eyes glinting as she met his gaze. “That’s why I’ve already ordered most of the hunters to spread out across the nearby towns between Valkarion and Eldrun.”

These two weren’t ordinary. Piers and Irène were leaders of The Lamented, a notorious group of six skilled operatives known for taking on the Kingdom of Gorathia’s most dangerous missions. Piers was the founder—calm, calculating, and always one step ahead. Irène, the co-founder, was his equal in wit and cunning, with a penchant for strategic foresight.

Piers gave a slight nod, a silent gesture of approval. Despite the setback, his demeanor remained unshaken, as if failure was just another variable in his calculations.

“I almost forgot,” Irène said, still idly flipping the coin. “Vera’s on her way to join the search, too.”

Piers raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Vera?”

“Mm-hmm,” Irène replied, finally catching the coin and examining it. “She insisted.”

“She was supposed to be resting,” Piers said, his tone carrying a mix of intrigue and mild concern.

"Resting? She was out there gambling her life away," Irène said, laughing as she leaned back in her chair.

Piers raised an eyebrow, idly scratching his ear. "And that doesn’t count as rest?"

"Rest? No way. She lost all her money, and the only thing she gained was a stress-induced headache," Irène shot back, smirking. "At this rate, we might have to start a charity fund just to keep her from selling her shoes."

Piers seemed satisfied with the answer, walked towards a tea pot and putting a tea on his cup. "You want?" He said pointing the tea to Irène, irène tho just respond with "nah" expression.

image [https://clipart-library.com/images_k/text-divider-transparent/text-divider-transparent-19.png]

Rivermarsh Plains

"Where the hell did you go?" Giselle asked Icarus as he grabbed his head, which was aching.

There was no response.

"Oi, tell me, what happened to you? Why is your hair different?" she asked again.

Since waking up, Icarus had walked through the entire forest to return to their town. When he woke up, though, there was no one in the forest, no dead bodies—just him. But then he remembered everything: the killings, the power that possessed him, all of it.

Upon entering the town, he found it filled with warriors of the Valkarion, some of them helping people get to safety.

"What’s happening?" Icarus asked Giselle, confusion visible on his face as he dropped the wood beside him.

"The king ordered that women and children must evacuate, but all the men must join the army to fight, I don't freaking get the king though, why would he command even the old people to fight like is he even thinking? Giselle explained. "But your mother's here, she insisted waiting for you, that's why I had to accompany her."

The information seemed to give Icarus a headache as he started walking toward their house to see his parents.

Giselle watched Icarus walk off. "Your father and the other men is on their way to Valkarion now," she said, but there was no response as Icarus continued toward his mother. Giselle followed him.

Most of the villagers—women and children—would evacuate, while the men, including even the oldest, would fight. That was the king's command, and they were on their way to Valkarion to be ready to defend and attack anytime.

Where war is slowly starting.