Corridor
Aslan walked down the long, quiet corridor, Only the sound of his steps — tap… tap… tap…echoed through the silence.
Then suddenly, he stopped. A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye and fell to the floor. Tap.
Then, in an instant, All at once, the tears surged, pouring down his cheeks like a river he could no longer hold back. It was as if something deep inside him had snapped.
He sank to his knees, shoulders shaking, unable to contain the grief anymore. The tears came harder now, blurring his vision as they streamed down his face. An ugly, broken cry rose from deep within him as the weight of it all crashed down.
He buried his face in the crook of his shoulder, trying desperately to wipe the tears away. But the harder he tried, the more they came — falling from his chin and splashing onto the marble floor. The faint sound of each drop punctured the silence.
Then came the sound. A raw, desperate sound torn from the depths of his heart.
"Ahhhh… sob… sob…"
In that long, lonely hallway, only the sound of Aslan's grief remained.
Aslan slammed both fists down onto the floor with a sickening thud.
His eyes burned with a fiery, almost feral rage — a burning that spoke of a man ready to drink the blood of those who had taken everything from him, a beast poised to kill without mercy.
Through clenched teeth, he roared, his voice echoing down the corridor.
"Why?! Why can no one ever let me live in peace?"
Flames of vengeance blazed in his crimson eyes as he rose to his knees.
"Whoever did this… they will pay the price," he hissed.
"Their blood will be the price."
He drew a shaking breath, and then a dark, bitter smile twisted across his lips.
"Everyone watched the sacrifice of a hero… Now they'll witness my revenge."
With a voice that promised ruin, he growled,
"Watch how a broken hero becomes a ruthless villain.
When a silent man finally rises… no one is safe from the storm he brings."
He tightened his fists until the knuckles turned white.
"Now… tell me… who can save them from me?"
"Those who stole my peace will learn that death is too merciful for them."
"When flames take the place of tears…
know this — the one who rises now, rises to set the world ablaze."
---
After the King's accident and the Empress's poisoning shook the palace, the atmosphere across the Elaris Empire turned cold and tense. The corridors fell silent, servants' smiles grew stiff, and every head bowed lower than before.
But to the Empire and the royal family, this was more than just a threat within the palace walls. It was a warning — a signal that the shadows had begun to stir.
---
Outside Aslan's room, servants whispered in worry — it had been three days, and the Third Prince still hadn't emerged.
But inside, Aslan sat surrounded by documents, scanning each one with a deepening frown.
"This is a mess," he muttered. "More than 80% of the council is now against Lucian… and he didn't tell me a word about it."
He clenched the paper tight.
"Our businesses have ground to a halt. The farms are ruined by pests. The state of the Empire is… far worse than I imagined."
Meanwhile, in the Grand Duke Valehart's territory…
Eiren stood atop the castle walls, gazing out at the misty hills, when a small blue messenger bird swooped down and landed gracefully on his outstretched arm.
He carefully untied the tiny scroll from its leg and unfurled it.
"Oh… it's from Aslan," Eiren murmured, scanning the message.
The words were brief, sharp, and urgent:
I need people I can trust.
An assassin.
A spy.
A mage.
An informant.
A swordsman.
Eiren's brow furrowed as he read, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"So… the prince is making his move," he said quietly.
"Very well, Aslan. Let's see who we can rally for you."
It was late at night. Aslan was going through a stack of documents when suddenly, he tensed, every sense sharp and wary.
"Who's there? I won't repeat myself," he said, voice low and commanding.
Silence.
Then, in a flash, Aslan drew his blade and pressed it to the throat of a masked figure standing just behind the window. The assassin, dressed in black, froze — swallowing hard.