The king ran.
His legs burned, his lungs screamed, but he didn't stop. The birthing room was close—just a few more corridors, a few more turns. His wife was there. His *son* was there.
But his body betrayed him.
Age and sickness had been gnawing at him for years, and now, when he needed strength the most, his limbs turned to lead. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one sharper than the last.
A vicious stitch tore through his side, sending white-hot pain lancing through his ribs. He stumbled, vision swimming, and for a heartbeat, he thought he would collapse.
Then his hand found the edge of a closet, fingers digging into the wood. He steadied himself, swallowing back the bile rising in his throat.
A shuffling step sounded behind him. The ancient doctor, the one who had trailed him from his chambers, appeared at his side. The old man's face was lined with concern.
"Breathe, Your Majesty," he urged. "Deep breaths. Hold them—then release."
The king shook his head, sweat beading on his brow. "No time," he rasped. "*She* needs me."
The doctor didn't argue. He simply pressed a steadying hand to the king's shoulder and guided him forward, step by agonizing step, until the birthing room doors loomed before them.
Inside, the other physicians bowed low, their faces grim but relieved. A chair was offered immediately, but the king barely noticed. His gaze locked onto the bed—onto his wife.
She lay still, too still, her skin pale against the bloodstained sheets. The incision from the birth was fresh, the stitches stark against her skin. The scent of iron hung thick in the air.
For a moment, the newborn child didn't exist. There was only *her*, only the fear clawing at his chest.
"Will she live?" The words tore from him, raw and desperate.
One of the doctors nodded. "The birth was difficult, but we saved them both. The queen needs rest, but she will recover."
The king exhaled, his shoulders sagging. Only then did he allow himself to look at the child.
A physician approached, cradling the newborn in a warm, damp cloth, gently cleaning away the remnants of birth. The baby was small, fragile, his tiny fists clenched tight.
When the child was placed in the king's arms, something inside him *shifted*. A warmth, fierce and unyielding, flooded his chest.
He smiled, brushing a thumb over the baby's cheek. "I can't wait for your mother to wake," he murmured. "So we can give you the name you deserve."
The throne room was empty.
Aurelius stood alone, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. His brother was gone—off to play the doting father, the loving king. The thought twisted something inside him.
He strode toward the castle gates, his boots echoing against the stone.
Two guards stood at attention. "Another patrol, my lord?" one asked.
Aurelius didn't look at them. "No," he said, voice distant. "Just a walk."
He stepped past them, into the cold air beyond the castle walls.
Had he done the right thing?
The question gnawed at him. He thought of Darian, of the way the crown had settled so easily on his brother's brow.
There had been a time, long ago, when Aurelius hadn't cared. When the throne had been nothing but a gilded cage.
He had always been the one who sought freedom—who climbed mountains, who hunted beasts, who craved the wildness beyond the castle's suffocating walls.
Politics disgusted him. The endless scheming, the nobles groveling at his feet, their daughters thrust toward him like bargaining chips. They feared him, or they wanted his name. Nothing more.
And he wanted *none* of it.
Years Ago...
Snow crunched beneath his boots as Aurelius trekked through the forest, his breath fogging in the frigid air. Behind him, the guards assigned to his "protection" muttered amongst themselves. He ignored them.
He was hunting the one-horned beast—a creature of legend, part horse, part nightmare, with a horn that could pierce steel. It was said to stalk these woods at sundown, drawn by the scent of blood.
They set up camp as dusk fell, laying traps, preparing bait. Aurelius was eating when one of the guards shouted.
"I saw it!"
Aurelius was on his feet in an instant. "Where?"
The man trembled. "By the traps—it's *feeding*."
Aurelius' pulse quickened. "How big? What color?"
"Massive," the guard breathed. "Pale—like the snow."
A grin curled Aurelius' lips. He gave the order.
The traitor was dragged forward—a nobleman who had tried to force his daughter into Aurelius' bed in exchange for protection. The man begged, but Aurelius silenced him with a knife across the throat.
Blood spilled onto the snow.
Aurelius extinguished the torches, nocked an arrow, and waited.
The night deepened. The forest grew still.
Then—*footsteps*. Heavy. Deliberate.
Aurelius' fingers tightened around his bow.
The beast emerged from the shadows, its massive form nearly invisible in the dark. Its breath was hot, rancid. Its horn gleamed like polished bone.
But it wasn't going for the bait ... it was going for Aurelius.
The beast *lunged*at Aurelius,who couldn't see the beast,because it was dark...
Its hoof came down on his elbow with a sickening *crack*. Pain exploded through him. He screamed, but instinct took over. He drove an arrow into the beast's leg.
It roared, rearing back—then charged again.
Aurelius rolled, barely avoiding the deadly horn. His arm was useless now. He couldn't draw his bow.
So he *improvised*.
He snatched another arrow, hurling it like a spear toward the beast's eye.
The horn deflected it at the last second.
The beast *charged*—
And something inside Aurelius *snapped*.
Darkness surged through him, cold and suffocating at first, then burning, *violent*. His muscles coiled with unnatural strength. His vision sharpened, the world tinted red.
Power. *Raw, untamed power.*
But in that instant, a dark power surged within him,
The dark power that surged within Aurelius felt like a cold, suffocating presence at first—almost like a shadow creeping under his skin.
It was sharp, jagged, and hungry, clawing its way through him, filling every inch of his body with a chilling force.
Then, as it took hold, it transformed into something violent and raw, like fire coursing through his veins.
His muscles tightened with unnatural strength, and his senses sharpened, but there was something off about it—something twisted.
His eyes shifted to a deep, glowing red, and the world around him seemed to dim, as if the very air was thickening with darkness.
It wasn't just power; it was a malevolent force, ancient and relentless, and the more Aurelius gave into it, the harder it became to control.
He could feel the darkness pushing against his own will, threatening to overtake him, but in that moment, he didn't care.
It made him faster, stronger, and more brutal, turning him into something he didn't recognize—something terrifying.
With a primal scream, he grabbed the beast's horn, yanking it toward him. Using an arrow, he slashed at the creature's sensitive eye, ear, and mouth, finally driving it into its stomach.
Then With one final, powerful motion, he crushed the beast's horn with his bare hands, and the creature collapsed.
As it fell, Aurelius' eyes returned to their normal state, and he exhaled in relief.
As the white snow , wasn't white anymore.
Aurelius stood over it,panting but in his eyes,pride could be seen
"Finally," he muttered. "It came."
Present..
The hooded men waited in the shadows.
One stepped forward. "Are we ready?"
Aurelius turned. His eyes burned crimson once more.
"You aren't going anywhere," he said, voice like ice.