They lost.
That was the thought that crossed Aeron Drakenheart's mind, the last ruler of the Dragon Kingdom, as he lay on the ground in a pool mixed with his own blood and that of his comrades.
His strength had left his body long ago. His magic was completely depleted. He had once felt invincible due to his great magical talent and enormous mana reserves, but all of that had proven useless. He had been naive, a fool who believed his power meant something.
He was merely a small fish before the entity before him. No, rather before the thing that watched him with an arrogant face, brimming with superiority.
The Demon King. Phamtaminum. Or at least, that's what his kind called him.
Really, Aeron didn't care about its name. That thing was responsible for this situation, for the continent in flames, for the lifeless bodies covering fields that were once green and fertile.
No...
That wasn't entirely true either. The situation wasn't different. Before, when the six kingdoms fell into war, a long and bloody war to decide the fate of the continent, humans were already killing each other. It was in the midst of that conflict that demons emerged from the cracks in the world, beginning to ravage everything in their path, taking advantage of the weakness of the divided kingdoms.
In the end, the Dragon King's Kingdom—his kingdom—became the last bastion resisting the demons. However, it too fell.
Aeron wanted to laugh at how ridiculous the situation was, at the absurdity of fighting for years only to end up like this, but instead of a laugh, only a gurgle of thick, warm blood came from his cracked lips. The metallic taste filled his mouth, mixed with the bitterness of defeat.
His eyes, once blue and full of life and vigor, were now dull and empty, fixed on Phamtaminum's silhouette.
Phamtaminum had a humanoid appearance, wrapped in black robes that covered his entire body. The only thing visible through the fabric was pure darkness, a deep void that seemed to absorb the light from the surroundings. From his hood, only two red points emerged, glowing intensely, like embers in the night.
"I must admit, you were an impressive human," the Demon King said in a calm, almost conversational tone, as if he weren't standing among hundreds of corpses. "Of all the kingdoms, yours was the most tenacious, the one that gave me the most trouble. Feel proud, I, Phamtaminum, acknowledge you as strong."
Aeron didn't react upon hearing that empty praise from the demon's vile mouth. Proud? What could he possibly be proud of? He had failed. He had watched each of his soldiers die, each of his friends, every person he had sworn to protect. His kingdom was ashes. His lineage ended with him. There was nothing proud about that.
Aeron looked once more at the sky, covered in thick, grey clouds. The smell of blood, metal, and soot filled the air. Everything that was once a beautiful field had now transformed into an infernal landscape, shattered, burned, dead. He could see the bodies of his knights scattered around him, their armor broken, their faces frozen in expressions of pain and despair. Men and women who had trusted him, who had fought by his side until the end.
All dead.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Phamtaminum asked with a hint of boredom. "Well, it doesn't matter."
He raised his sword, a crimson blade, long and straight, which descended with the precision of one who has executed thousands before. The blade plunged deep into Aeron's heart, piercing his chest with terrifying ease.
Aeron felt a burning pain for a moment, an icy fire that ran through every fiber of his being, and the next instant, his heart stopped beating. His world darkened slowly, as if black ink were spilling over his memories, over his life, over everything he had been.
But before the darkness was complete, before his consciousness faded entirely, thoughts came flooding in.
He felt powerless over the fate of his kingdom. Over the fate of the world. But above all, he felt powerless over himself. Over his own decisions. Over his own mistakes.
If only he had done something. If only he hadn't acted like the arrogant, selfish bastard he was in the past, the one who didn't care about the world's fate, the one who only sought his own pleasure and benefit while the kingdoms bled dry.
All the war between the six kingdoms. All the deaths that occurred. All the suffering generated by human stupidity, by the greed of kings, by the blindness of nobles who preferred to maintain their privileges rather than unite against a common enemy.
And he had been no different. He too had been part of that game. He too had looked the other way when he should have acted. He too had prioritized his pride, his position, his comfort, while the continent slowly burned.
If only he had another chance. If he could go back and do it all differently. He would give his utmost effort to change the world's fate and avoid all the suffering that had been caused. He would give up everything to save those he had lost.
Aeron felt his consciousness fading slowly, how the threads binding him to existence loosened one by one. The cold of death began to creep up his limbs, numbing his body, silencing his thoughts.
Before fading completely, one last thought crossed his dying mind strongly. One he never thought he would think. A name. A person. The only one who truly mattered to him in this cursed world.
"I'm sorry, Celestia..."
With that last thought, Aeron closed his eyes forever...
Or that's what was supposed to happen, when suddenly he opened them with a start.
Aeron sat up violently in bed, his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. His heart beat so hard he could feel it in his temples, in his throat, in every pulse of his body. He gasped, trying to breathe, but the air didn't seem to reach his lungs.
His head spun. The world revolved around him like an out-of-control carousel. He felt cold, a tremendous cold running through his entire body even though his skin was covered in cold, clammy sweat. He looked at his hands and saw them tremble uncontrollably.
He heard the sound of something falling to the floor, a metal tray perhaps, but he didn't care. He was filled with confusion, filled with emotions so intense and contradictory that they kept him paralyzed in place.
Breathe slowly and calm down, he ordered himself, repeating the techniques warrior masters taught to maintain calm in high-stress situations. Focus on breathing. Ignore the rest. Just breathe.
He took slower breaths, forcing his lungs to fill and empty at a steady rhythm. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Little by little, his heart began to calm. The furious palpitations turned into strong but controlled beats. The emotional shock slowly dissipated, like fog under the morning sun. When he managed to dampen his emotions enough, Aeron finally looked towards the voice that had spoken to him.
"Prince! Are you alright? What's happening?! Please, tell me what's wrong!"
The first thing he saw were large green eyes looking at him with deep concern, followed by a face that was too close to identify clearly, although he recognized the black locks of hair framing that familiar countenance.
Before he could think, his instinct spoke first.
"You're too close, Marie. Move away," he said in a hoarse, rough voice, as if he had been shouting for hours.
The girl, realizing her mistake, saw her concern transform into fear before she moved several steps back, almost tripping over her own feet.
"I-I'm so sorry, Your Highness!" she exclaimed quickly, bowing her head in a nervous reverence.
Aeron could finally see the girl clearly, and what he saw made him blink in surprise. He recognized this person. She was hard to forget.
Short black hair reaching her neck, disheveled from the rush. White, almost pale skin contrasting with her green eyes like tree leaves in spring. Dressed in a simple but clean maid's outfit reaching her ankles, with a white apron over the dark skirt.
She was Marie. His personal maid. The only maid who hadn't fled his service because of his terrible behavior in the past. The only one who had stayed by his side despite everything.
"M-Marie..." Aeron's voice trembled. "Are you... are you alive?"
The girl blinked confusedly for a few seconds, as if replaying the question several times in her mind without finding sense in it. A thoughtful sound escaped her lips before she responded.
"Of course I'm alive, Prince Aeron. Did you have a nightmare?" the maid asked with evident confusion, tilting her head slightly.
Aeron blinked, lowering his face to look at the fine white linen sheets covering his bed. Clean sheets. Sheets without blood. Sheets that didn't smell of death.
"Marie," he said in a voice he tried to keep steady. "Leave me alone for a few minutes."
The maid looked at her lord with a strange expression, clearly worried about his unusual behavior. However, she simply nodded and left the room, carefully closing the door behind her. Aeron could hear her footsteps fading down the stone hallway.
As soon as he was alone, Aeron hugged himself as he trembled.
But he wasn't trembling from fear.
He was trembling from emotion.
He was trembling because he recognized this room. He recognized it because he had grown up in it. The dark oak furniture, the unlit fireplace on the left wall, the window overlooking the castle's inner garden, the messy desk with piled scrolls and books left carelessly.
This was his room in the Dragon Kingdom's castle. But not the room from the final siege, not the cold, dilapidated chamber of the last days. This was his childhood room. The one he occupied when he was fifteen, before everything went wrong, before the continent burned.
Somehow, he had returned to the past.
This wasn't a dream. Dreams didn't have this clarity, this texture, this overwhelming reality. He could feel the cold of the stone through the sheets, could smell the wood of the furniture, could hear the distant song of birds in the garden.
He had truly returned.
He could change everything.
He could do so many things. He could avoid so many deaths, so many betrayals, so much suffering. He knew every mistake, every wrong decision, every turning point where the continent's fate hung by a thread and fell on the wrong side.
He knew who would betray. He knew which alliances would fail. He knew which kings were trustworthy and which only sought their own benefit. And above all, he knew when and where the demons would emerge, taking advantage of human weakness.
Thinking about all this, Aeron became more emotional than ever before in his life. His emotion was so intense that he simply began to laugh out loud while lying on his bed, spreading his arms as if wanting to embrace the whole world.
He laughed and laughed until the laughter turned into something like a sob, until he felt tears begin to slide down his cheeks. Tears of joy, tears of relief, tears for all those who had died and who now might live.
Looking at the stone ceiling, he raised his right hand before his eyes. It was a different hand from the one he remembered. Smaller, softer, without the scars from countless battles. A young hand. A hand that had not yet wielded a sword in defense of his kingdom.
He closed his fist tightly.
"I have another chance," he whispered to himself, savoring each word. "I have a chance to change everything. To fix everything."
He sat up in bed again, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. His breathing stabilized, his heart calmed, and in his blue eyes, a different flame began to burn. It wasn't the arrogant flame of a spoiled prince who believed the world belonged to him. It was something deeper, darker, more determined.
"This time will be different," he vowed to himself, in a voice that didn't tremble. "This time I won't let pride and stupidity destroy what I love. This time I won't be a forgotten prince. I'll be the king this continent needs."
He sighed deeply, letting the reality of his situation settle in his mind. He had thirty years of future knowledge. Thirty years of advantage over everyone else. Thirty years to prepare, to strengthen his kingdom, to forge alliances, to identify enemies.
But he was also fifteen. A child in the world's eyes. A prince without real power, at the mercy of his father the king and the nobles who pulled the kingdom's strings from the shadows. He would have to be careful. He would have to be smart. He would have to be patient.
Because this time, when the demons returned, he wouldn't face them as the last ruler of a fallen kingdom. He would face them as the king of a united continent.
Even if he had to manipulate, conquer, or destroy.
Even if he had to face kings, gods, and entire armies.
Even if he had to stain his hands with blood to cleanse the future.
This time, he would not fail.
This time, the forgotten prince would become a legend.