I washed my hands, scrubbing harder than I needed to, but the stain in my mind wouldn’t fade. Back in my large, ornate prince’s bed, I stared at the ceiling, motionless. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape the memory of the bunny.

The next day, I went back to my training, but it didn’t feel the same. My swings were harder, more forceful. Each strike against the wooden dummy felt like I was trying to break something inside me. The guards whispered among themselves about how I had changed so quickly.

During one session, I felt my mother’s soft hand on my shoulder. “Kael,” she said gently, her voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t answer. I just kept swinging, letting the weight of the wooden blade drown out her words. All I could think about was my father, his strength, his coldness. I had to be like him. I had to be strong.

That night, while lying in bed, I heard their voices through the walls. My father and mother were arguing again, and this time, it was about me.

I crept closer, pressing my ear against the wall.

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“He needs to become a man,” my father said, his voice firm and commanding. “Powerful, strong, fearless. I won’t have a weakling holding the future of this kingdom. The lands are already unstable, and war is inevitable. We must defend our people!”

My mother’s voice came next, softer but full of pain. “Kael is only ten! It’s not the age to show him such brutal things!”

“The world beyond these walls is cruel,” my father countered sharply, “but what’s more cruel is—”

I couldn’t hear the rest. My mother’s voice grew muffled, and then my father’s tone dropped, colder than before. “Watch your tone. Don’t tell me how to raise my son.”

I stepped away from the wall, my chest tight. Back in my bed, I reached up, letting the candlelight flicker against my hand. I felt different, like a chain had been wrapped around me, pulling me down.

First, the innocent bunny. Now, my parents. Everything felt... wrong.

I couldn’t sleep. I got up quietly and went to my sister’s crib. She lay there peacefully, her small body rising and falling with each breath. I reached out and gently patted her head. She didn’t stir.

Turning to leave, I snuffed out the candle, the room falling into darkness.

I didn’t stop at my bed. My feet carried me to the armory. I didn’t ask permission, didn’t hesitate. My hands found the hilt of a real sword. It was heavier than the wooden ones I had practiced with, but it felt right.

The moonlight caught the blade as I stepped outside. I swung it with all my strength, cutting through bushes and branches. Each swing brought an odd mix of satisfaction and emptiness.

I kept swinging, even as the night grew colder, even as my arms began to ache.

Something inside me whispered: This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

But I didn’t stop.

Because I knew, deep down, that “how it’s supposed to be” wasn’t for someone like me.