In a lavish, yet barren throne room, a solitary throne stood tall. Its golden frame shimmered, accentuated by intricate designs of bright, gleaming metals, an unmistakable symbol of untold wealth. The room was vast, cold, and empty—save for the single occupant of the throne. The man sitting there was middle-aged, his features stern and hardened by time. He sat motionless, eyes closed, as if the weight of eternity hung around him.
Minutes, hours—perhaps even days—passed in silence before his eyes fluttered open. The very air seemed to shift with his awakening, the pressure within the room intensifying as though the space itself responded to his presence. He was no ordinary man.
Slowly, his gaze shifted toward the grand entrance. There, standing as silent sentinels, were four men—each holding a bloodied sword, their bodies still marked by the violence they'd just committed. The sight was nothing new to the man on the throne. His expression, however, remained unmoved. He merely uttered a single word.
"Hmph."
In an instant, the world seemed to freeze. The four men were decapitated in a blink—before their heads could even hit the ground, their lifeless bodies crumpled to the cold stone floor with a hollow clang of metal.
The man on the throne didn't flinch. His gaze lingered on the empty space before him.
"Come on out."
A slow, deliberate applause echoed throughout the room. A figure materialized from the shadows, stepping into view. He was cloaked in an aura of arrogance, a smile curling on his lips as he bowed with mock respect.
"Your Majesty," the stranger began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I see you still have some fight left in you. Even after all these years of poisoning, you remain as strong as ever."
The emperor's only response was a flicker of his eyes—no more, no less.
The stranger's smile faltered, his patience thinning. He straightened, fury rising within him as he hissed, "ENOUGH, FATHER!"
The words hung in the air, sharp and venomous. "All my life, I've been ignored! Everything I did was for you—yet you did nothing but favor that... mutt. And now, after everything, he takes your throne, your empire. I deserve it! I AM THE TRUE HEIR!"
The emperor remained silent, unmoving, his face an impassive mask.
The prince's anger boiled over, and with a final, bitter laugh, he drew his sword—a blade forged from Aether itself, humming with ethereal power. His hands trembled with rage as he pointed the tip of the weapon at his father.
"You never thought me worthy of your strength," he spat, "but I'll prove it. I'll prove I'm better than all of them—better than him."
Without hesitation, the crown prince lunged, his sword plunging toward the emperor's heart. For a moment, it seemed as if time itself had stilled. The prince's breath caught in his throat, expecting a dramatic clash, a final resistance. But instead, the blade met no resistance. His father's body remained still, lifeless.
The emperor—the strongest mortal to ever walk this world—had died without a single struggle. No defense. No fight. Just... death.
The prince stood there, frozen for a heartbeat, as the truth of his actions sank in. He had killed his father. And for what? To claim a throne that would never hold the same weight as the one who sat upon it.
But there was no satisfaction. No moment of triumph.
His fury flared again, a wild fire in his chest.
"Why?!" the prince roared, his voice echoing through the hollow throne room. "Why did you never see me? After everything I've done... after everything I've sacrificed, you still choose him?!"
He kicked the emperor's throne, causing several dents into the throne, illustrating its strength. The prince panted heavily, his chest rising and falling with his uncontrolled rage.
"Goodbye, Father," he spat bitterly, his words full of spite. "I'll show you. I'll show everyone that I'm better than that bastard. Better than you ever could be!"
With one final, venomous glance at the body of his father, the prince turned, disappearing into the shadows. But even as he vanished from the throne room, the rage within him still burned bright.
His father was dead. The throne was his.
But all the prince could feel was the gnawing emptiness, a hollowness that no throne would ever fill. And that, above all else, only deepened his fury.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In a small, remote village deep in the snowy northern parts of a kingdom, where the most exciting event in a day might be a sheep wandering off, an orphanage stood perched on a hill, visible from miles away. Its silhouette, solemn and stoic, overlooked the quiet world below.
"Nero! … Nero! Where are you?" A young nun's voice rang out, tinged with nervousness. Sister Anne, new to her vows and barely a week into her life at the orphanage, was frantically searching for one of the orphans entrusted to her by Father Elias. Her footsteps crunched over the gravel of the courtyard as she scanned every corner.
"Come out now, Nero. This isn't funny anymore!" she called again, her voice rising with both urgency and worry. "It's almost time for dinner," she added, her tone softening but still edged with exasperation.
The courtyard stretched about fifty square meters, barren save for a towering tree in its center. Its thick branches cast broad shadows, a natural refuge for the children on hot days. The tree now stood eerily silent—until the soft rustle of leaves broke the stillness.
A small voice drifted down from above. "I don't want to go to dinner."
Anne spun toward the tree and squinted upward. There, perched on one of the thicker branches with his legs swinging lazily, was Nero. Relief washed over her as she took in the familiar sight of the boy: 13 years old, his dirty blond hair disheveled and his hazel eyes peeking out from under unruly bangs. Nero's fingers traced the delicate edges of a pendant, the snowflake's intricate design cool against his skin. He spun it idly between his thumb and forefinger, watching how the faint light caught on the tiny sword-shaped arm, his thoughts drifting like the frost-laden winds of winter.
"Nero, there you are!" she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest as her breath steadied. "Come down this instant."
"No, I don't wanna," he replied, sulking. His stubborn tone gave her pause. Something was clearly wrong.
Anne softened her voice. "Hey, is something bothering you? Did one of the other kids say something? If Barry or anyone else is picking on you again, I'll have a word with them myself."
"..." Nero remained silent, his gaze fixed on a faraway point beyond the hills.
Anne took a step closer, shielding her eyes from the fading sunlight filtering through the branches. "Nero, listen to me. There's nothing wrong with being a orp-."
The boy's voice quivered as he finally spoke. "Am I cursed, Sister Anne?"
Anne froze, her heart aching at the weight of his words. "What? Of course not," she said quickly, trying to mask her own shock.
"Then why am I still alive? Barry and the others said I'm cursed because... because I was the only one who survived." His voice grew smaller with each word, fragile like a porcelain figure on the verge of shattering.
Anne stepped beneath the tree, her face tilted up to meet his gaze. "Oh, Nero," she said softly, her tone laced with both sadness and reassurance. "That doesn't mean you're cursed. Not at all. The Lord has a plan for everyone, even if it doesn't always make sense. And you have a family here, right? Me, Sister Marry, and your friends—we're all one big family, and you're an important part of it."
"...." he sat in silence.
"You know as a Sister of the Church I wouldn't lie to you right?" she said firmly. "Now, why don't you come down and get something to eat before Charlie devours everything?"
The mention of Charlie's infamous appetite pulled a small chuckle from Nero. He began climbing down the tree with surprising speed and landed lightly on the ground. Without hesitation, he ran to Anne and wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Thanks, Sister Anne," he murmured gently.
She returned the hug, her smile warm and unwavering. "Of course, Nero. Always."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After making sure the kids were asleep, Sister Anne slowly walked up the stairs and knocked a door three times. After waiting a short while she heard a raspy voice respond.
"Come in."
Slowly opening the door, Sister Anne walked into a small office with papers thrown all around the place. In the center was a desk with a elderly man siting on a small chair looking over certain papers. A small candle was lit on the desk, assisting him with reading.
Looking around the place, Sister Anne could help but chuckle as she asked," Who was it this time?"
Without looking up the elderly man smiled helplessly as he responded, " Who else but those three."
Those three he was referencing was a known trio of troublemakers. Finn, Charlie and Will. "And before you say anything, I didn't punish them too hard, only 5 lash's each. I don't know what do with them those three." Slowly putting the papers in his hand down, he looked up for the first time and asked, "So what brings you here at this late hour Sister."
With a sigh in her heart she responded with," Father I wanted to talk about Nero."
Upon hearing her, Father Elias could only shake his head while rubbing his eyes. "Is he being bullied again?"
"Yes Father. Today he even asked me if he was cursed! Those kids are being too mean filling his head with such negative thoughts. Please Father, could you please ask the Village Head to do something about this." Sister Anne pleaded with Father Elias.
"Sigh. Listen Sister Anne, I can't do anything more than I've already done. The fact they haven't exiled him or worse is because I've asked for understanding."
"Understanding for what?" Sister Anne asked in confusion.
Father Elias leaned back in his creaking chair, his face shadowed by the dim candlelight. For a moment, he seemed to wrestle with whether to speak, his tired eyes drifting to the flame flickering on the desk.
"You're new here, Sister Anne," he began, his voice low and heavy. "You wouldn't know... but several years ago, something happened that this village still hasn't forgotten."
Sister Anne frowned, her heart sinking as the weight of his tone settled over the room. "What do you mean?"
Elias exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the small window, as though he could see the past lingering outside.
"Nero and his parents weren't originally from this village. They'd just arrived on a random day a couple of years ago. Rumors ran wild about them but after a while it got better. The villagers got accustomed to their presence. It helped that the father was quite a warrior, or so I heard. It was fine for a while but then the first signs of winter came." He took a sigh and continued.
"It was a winter unlike any we'd seen before—bitter, relentless. The snow came down for weeks, choking the roads, burying homes. The villagers were trapped, rationing what little food they had. For one family... Nero's family... the winter was a death sentence."
Anne's breath hitched as Father Elias continued, his voice distant.
"They lived on the outskirts of the village, in a small cottage past the eastern woods. Nero's father, who had picked up woodcutting, had gone to gather supplies and never came back. The cold must have taken him. Days turned into weeks, and no one could reach the house, not even to check on them. By the time the snow thawed and we made it out there..." Elias paused, rubbing his weathered hands together as if to chase off an old chill.
Anne felt her throat tighten. "What... what did you find?"
Elias looked at her, his expression solemn. "The family was gone, Sister Anne. His mother, his older sister —all lost to hunger and cold. But in that frozen house, in a corner where the fire had long since gone out, we found a boy."
"Nero," Anne whispered, the image of a small, lonely child sending a shiver through her.
Elias nodded. "He was barely alive, curled under a threadbare blanket with a single loaf of bread beside him—likely the last they had. He hadn't eaten all of it, you see. His mother must have left it for him, and he... he couldn't bring himself to finish it."
The room was silent, save for the crackling of the candle. Anne covered her mouth, tears pricking her eyes. "Oh, that poor child..."
"The village didn't take it well," Elias continued. "They called it unnatural—a curse. How could a child survive when the rest of his family perished? Whispers spread, ugly things about dark omens and ill luck. You know how superstition festers in small places like this." He sighed. "I took him in after that. No one else would."
"But he was just a child," Anne said softly, her voice trembling. "He is just a child."
"Yes. But to them, he's a reminder of what they lost that winter—a ghost of their own fears and failures. It's easier to blame him than the cruel hand fate dealt.... especially since he wasn't a local."
Anne's hands curled into fists at her sides. "It's not fair, Father. He didn't ask for any of this."
"No, he didn't," Elias agreed, his eyes heavy with unspoken sorrow. "But life rarely is. Nero carries the scars of that winter, Sister, even if he doesn't know it yet. "
Anne took a deep breath, determination lighting her face. "Then I'll help him carry them. He deserves better than this. Better than whispers and cruelty."
Elias gave her a faint, weary smile. "You have a kind heart, Sister Anne. Just don't forgot the reason you were brought here.... and be careful. Kindness is not always welcomed in a place that's learned to live with its bitterness."
Anne straightened, her resolve clear. "Don't worry Father. I understand that my duty comes first, however I can do both. I'll teach them how to be kind again." before bowing her head and turning around. This conversation was over.
Father Elias said nothing at first, only watching as she left with a tired pride. Finally, he leaned forward, extinguishing the candle with a soft breath. "For Nero's sake, I hope you can, Sister. I truly do." he mumbled.
The room plunged into darkness, but Anne carried the light of her determination with her as she left the office. Somewhere, in the cold shadows of the orphanage, a boy needed her—and she wouldn't let him down.