The dungeon smelled of iron and damp stone.
Chains rattled softly as the boy lifted his head. Blood clung to his cheek, warm and drying, tracing a thin line down his jaw. His wrists were bound high above him, arms trembling—not from pain, but from how long he had been left like that.
Boots echoed across the stone floor.
Heavy. Familiar.
The torchlight bent as the King stepped into view, his shadow stretching grotesquely across the wall. His crown was gone. His sleeves were rolled up. His face was carved into something hard and final.
The boy watched him quietly.
No tears.
No flinching.
The King didn't speak at first. He simply raised his fist and drove it into the child's face.
The sound cracked through the dungeon.
The boy's head snapped to the side. Blood sprayed against the stone. The chains screamed as his body jerked, then slowly settled again.
The King breathed hard through his nose.
Another punch followed. Then another.
Each strike landed with the weight of authority—meant to teach, meant to crush, meant to remind the thing in chains of its place.
But the boy didn't scream.
His eyes lifted slowly, pale and reflective in the torchlight. Something flickered there—not fear, not pain.
Amusement.
The King froze.
"You'll never break," he snarled, voice tight with rage. "You hear me? You are nothing but a mistake."
He swung again.
This time, the boy moved.
Chains snapped taut as one small hand shot forward.
Fingers closed around the King's head.
The grip was wrong. Too strong. Bone ground beneath skin. The King's breath hitched violently as his feet left the ground.
His eyes widened.
"What—" His voice cracked. "What are you—"
The torch flickered wildly. The dungeon walls darkened, shadows stretching unnaturally, crawling like living things.
The King's crownless head trembled in the boy's grasp.
Tears welled in his eyes.
"Please," the King whispered, panic shattering his authority. His hands clawed uselessly at the child's wrist. "I'm your father."
The boy tilted his head.
Light bloomed in his eyes—cold white, swirling with black veins that pulsed like ink dropped into water.
A soft sound escaped his lips.
A chuckle.
Low. Broken. Empty.
"Father," the boy murmured.
The chains around his wrists disintegrated into dust.
"I am no child."
The shadows exploded outward.
They poured from his body in waves, swallowing the dungeon whole. The King screamed as the darkness wrapped around him, muffling the sound, crushing it, pulling him apart piece by piece.
The torch died.
The scream stopped.
Silence returned.
When the shadows receded, nothing remained of the King—not bone, not blood, not even ash.
The boy stood alone.
Unchained.
He turned and walked toward the dungeon gates. They groaned, iron bending as if afraid of him, crashing open under invisible pressure.
Moonlight spilled across the stone floor.
A shadow slipped out into the night.
The forest breathed.
Leaves trembled as the boy stepped into the clearing, moonlight washing over him. Shadows clung to his feet like loyal beasts, stretching and curling with each step.
His body convulsed.
Bones cracked. Muscles pulled tight beneath skin that rippled like liquid night. His spine straightened, lengthening, his limbs stretching unnaturally fast. Breath tore from his throat as veins lit up beneath his flesh, glowing faintly with dark electricity.
He staggered once—then steadied.
The child was gone.
In his place stood something taller. Broader. His silhouette warped and shimmered, edges blurring as shadows stitched themselves into his form.
His eyes burned.
Not white.
Not black.
Both.
He pressed a hand to his head.
Images slammed into him like blades.
A throne soaked in blood.
Men kneeling, screaming.
Orders spoken without mercy.
A dungeon door slamming shut.
And then—
Laughter.
Running feet.
A ball rolling through grass.
His fingers curled.
The ground beneath him fractured.
A tree exploded as he moved—no warning, no wind, just absence where he had been and devastation where he appeared. Trunk shattered, roots ripped free as if struck by something unseen.
He stared at his hand.
Flexed his fingers.
Picked up a stone.
He smashed it against his forearm.
Once.
Twice.
The rock disintegrated into dust. His skin didn't even bruise.
A low sound escaped his chest—not quite a laugh, not quite a breath.
Shadows surged outward, whipping through the clearing, bending trees toward him as if bowing. Clouds gathered overhead, moonlight fading as the forest darkened beneath the forming storm.
He lifted his gaze toward the distant kingdom, lights flickering faintly beyond the hills.
A smile touched his lips.
Not cruel.
Not kind.
Empty.
The forest fell silent.
And somewhere far away, bells began to ring—too late, unaware, ringing for a kingdom that had already lost its king.
The darkness took a step forward.
Unnoticed.
Unchallenged.
Awake.