"Brian!!"
My voice reverberated through the grand chamber, shattering the stillness of the night. I lay sprawled across my majestic bed, its silken sheets pooling around me like liquid moonlight. The bedposts rose high, ornately carved with images of dragons, lions, and ancient symbols of the Kingdom of Ethel's former glory. Above me, the arched canopy gleamed with threads of gold interwoven into deep sapphire fabric, shimmering faintly in the pale moonlight that spilled into the room.
The gust of wind from the open window toyed with my short, black hair, ruffling it lazily as if nature itself sought to provoke me. My eyes drifted to the massive window—an architectural marvel with its stained glass depicting the great battle of Ethel's founding. Now, its beauty was fractured, a single crack running through the face of the goddess Alea.
The chamber around me was a testament to faded opulence. Polished marble floors reflected faint hues of the night sky, their golden veins dulled with time. Velvet drapes lined the walls, each embroidered with intricate depictions of Ethel's triumphs. A once-proud chandelier hung above, its crystals catching the moonlight in fractured bursts of brilliance. Yet, beneath the splendor, an air of melancholy lingered—a shadow of the kingdom's decay.
The door to my chambers began to ripple, its surface distorting unnaturally like water disturbed by a sudden breeze. I didn't move. This was nothing new. I'd grown used to Brian's flair for the dramatic.
With a faint hum, the distortion solidified into his familiar form as he stepped through.
Brian was an enigma, a mirror image of myself yet so starkly different. He bore my face, my features—but his appearance was a cruel twist of fate's mirror. His white hair, short and pristine, gleamed like freshly fallen snow. His red eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light, seemed to pierce through everything, their intensity unsettling.
In contrast, my own short hair was black as night, unruly as the wind that blew through the room. My yellow eyes, dull and weary, held none of the fire that his carried.
Brian's attire only added to the surreal contrast between us. He wore the robes of a high mage, a flowing garment of immaculate white adorned with faint golden runes. A yellow cross, the symbol of magic's elite, rested proudly on his chest. It was a mark of his station, one reserved for the highest order of mages.
Mages were a rare and revered race, not born but chosen. Across all bloodlines and species, Mana, the Goddess of Magic herself, would handpick those worthy of her blessing. They were scholars, wielders of devastating power, and the guardians of knowledge.
But Brian was different. He had an unsettling duality to him—a curious blend of innocence and cunning. His ever-present smile and wide-eyed expression gave the illusion of naivety, but the sharp glint in his glowing eyes betrayed something far more calculated.
"Sire," Brian greeted, his tone light, laced with mockery as he tilted his head.
I glared at him, irritation flaring. His smirk widened, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
"I hate you," I muttered, venom in my voice.
He gasped theatrically, placing a hand over his chest as if I'd struck him. "Oh, but Your Highness, you wound me!"
Ignoring my scorn, he conjured a loaf of bread and a goblet of wine with a flick of his wrist. Before I could protest, he poured the wine and tore the bread into pieces, feeding them to me as if I were some helpless infant.
"You don't have to do this," I mumbled between mouthfuls.
Brian's face softened momentarily, but the sly gleam in his eyes never quite faded. "Oh, but who else would care for you, Your Highness? Certainly not you."
I sighed, exasperated. "You shouldn't bother chatting with the Prince of Insanity, even if you are a mage. Besides, I can take care of myself."
Brian's smile faltered for a moment, replaced by something darker—something almost sad. But it was fleeting, and his grin returned with practiced ease.
I was no ordinary prince, that much was true.
The Great Firstborn Prince of Ethel. That was my title at birth. But the world no longer called me that. Now, I was the Star of Doom, the cursed child whose very existence brought ruin to the kingdom.
My father? Driven mad by visions of despair.
My mother? Banished, branded a witch.
My uncle? A usurper who seized the throne, leading Ethel to ruin.
The once-mighty Kingdom of Ethel was now a crumbling husk of its former self, a wasteland of despair. Even the goddess Alea, who had watched over our people for centuries, abandoned us when her apostle—my mother—was exiled.
My gaze softened as I looked at Brian, his figure bathed in moonlight. For all his sly remarks and infuriating antics, he was the only one left who cared.
"Can you please undo the magic?" I asked, my voice quieter now, almost pleading.
Brian froze, the playful mask slipping. Panic flickered across his face, his red eyes darting to the side as if searching for an escape. Before he could respond, a low, commanding voice echoed through the chamber.
"Do as he says."
The doors to my chamber rippled violently, their surface warping with a deafening hum. My heart sank as I turned to face the figure who entered.
He had arrived.
The man before me was a force of nature, his presence overwhelming. He was tall, his posture regal and unyielding. His whitish hair, tinged with streaks of silver, cascaded to his shoulders like a river of light. It shimmered unnaturally, as though imbued with a glow of its own.
His right eye, an icy blue, burned with a cold intensity that seemed to pierce through my very soul. His left eye was hidden beneath a rugged leather patch, adding a hint of mystery and danger to his visage.
He wore the golden uniform of a general, its design both functional and opulent. The high collar framed his chiseled jawline, and the heavy coat draped over his broad shoulders swayed slightly as he walked. Crimson and black embroidery of dragons and swords adorned the edges of the coat, symbols of his victories and his station.
Every step he took toward me felt like an eternity. His aura was suffocating, an oppressive weight that pressed down on everything in the room.
"Uncle," I gasped, my voice barely audible.
This man had once been my guardian, my protector. He had raised me with kindness and love, but that was a lifetime ago. Now, he stood before me as a stranger—a reminder of all that I had lost.
Here we were, bound by blood yet divided by fate. Abandoned by each other.