Prophecy. It has a funny ring to it, doesn't it? A prediction of a future yet to come, and this prophecy was the most famous of all. Some folks think it was divine inspiration that led the high cardinals in the west to come up with it. Others believe it came from the strange creatures beyond the coasts of the east, mumbling mysterious nothings. Some reckon it might just be someone making things up, going a bit crazy thinking they can see the future – not that it is entirely fantasy in these lands where there are rare instances of fortune-tellers, often to the detriment of others and themselves. Perhaps it's the very mystery of where it came from that makes it so endearing. While other things are forgotten – a shopping list, an anniversary, for example – unlike these, everyone knows about "the boy and the light." A prophecy foretelling the age of stone and the time of monsters, and a boy who will save us from destruction, crafted in boiling blood and ravenous rage, a boy born from the Acatan Dynasty. My dynasty. A prophecy told and re-told through sons passed down generations of old until it reached me. It is know my burden to carry. Many thought nothing of it, older brother included, but a children's bedtime story to kindle young imaginations, a half-forgotten tale that didn't mean anything. But for me, it meant everything…

A heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit corridor of the castle's dungeon. The only light that would reach this place was given through candlelight. Sir Daven stood in the doorway, his armor gleaming faintly orange in the huge of the flickering torchlight. The scent of damp stone and musty straw filled the air. 

In front of the knight sat a young boy, dressed in simple tunic and trousers of a prisoner, his feet chained but his expression was calm and collected. "Sir Daven," the young boy began, his voice firm. As Sir Daven stood in the doorway, his gaze fell upon the young lord. There was a subtle downturn of Sir Daven's lips, "it's time my young lord" said the knight. The boy smiled slightly. "You must no longer call me young lord." the boy rebuked "you are no longer in my patronage."

Sir Daven's shoulders slumped slightly; his hand lingered on the doorframe. "Forgive me, my young lord." Sir Daven said with a sigh "I mean no disrespect. But allow me to accompany you as your knight one last time." The young lord shook his head, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "In that case I am in your care, Sir Daven." 

"Have you decided what to bring, my young lord?" Sir Daven asked, his tone tinged with concern. The young lord's wry smile brightened "Yes!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, his voice echoing off the cold stone. "I have exactly what I need." He affirms…

As the carriage rumbled through the dense forest, the canopy of towering trees casted dappled shadows on the child chained in the wooden box. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting patterns of light and dark upon his face. The boy sat with his back against the rough wood, the rays of light illuminating worn pages of a book held firmly in his hands. His gaze remained fixated on its text.

"Head glued to books, I see," remarked the carriage driver, his voice gruff. He sat on the driver's' seat, rains in hand, guiding black horses along the cobble path. Sir Daven, in shining armour rode beside the carriage, glanced at the boy.

"Hindson, focus on the road and leave the young… boy to his books. Better a quiet child than a snarky one." Sir Daven advised, his voice stern. 

The boy, however, paid no heed to the knights comments his focus remains in the pages of his book. The title reads "A tale of old" a children's book of fantasy with tales of magic. 

"Very well, was just some harmless curiosity Sir Daven." remarked Hindson, eyes know focused on the road. Beams of light illuminated his attire, rugged cloths, worn and discoloured with stain of animal dung and dust.

Sir Tristan, another knight riding alongside the carriage, shook his head in disbelief "haha" he chuckled. "You're only allowed to take one item to the White Castle, and the boy choose to bring a book. Of all things... what a stupid boy. We won't be seeing him again; he'll probably die before the first nights over." he remarked callously, his voice lined with disdain.

He glanced over at the boy, who still sat huddled against the corner of the wooden wage. Sir Daven turned to Sir Tristan with a raised eyebrow. "Are you perhaps suggesting we gift the boy with a more useful item?" he inquired, his steel plate gleaming in the dappled sunlight. His armor meticulously crafted, each piece polished to a mirror-like shine, adorned with intricate engravings. Most prominent, was the numeral V.

Similarly dressed Sir Tristan rebukes Sir Daven. "I doubt a boy who choose to bring a book would survive either way." he retorted, his tone apprehensive. "Anyways, its his fate. Whatever the gods have decided for his destiny will be it." He added. 

Meanwhile, the boy remained silent, gripping his book more intensely. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves echoed against the towering trees, rustling of leaves and creaking of carriage wheels filled the air.

"I would of taken a small knife if it were me" added Hindson as he continued "Or maybe something useful like a small sword. Although given the boys age…" 

"I've seen many of those during my time working these roads." remarked Sir Trison cutting Hindson mid-sentence. "They are always embroiled with their families' emblems as well. Well, that is if they have a family." 

"I see." commented Hindson.

The boy glanced down his face turned sour and gloomy. 

Elsewhere, a man stands tall upon the weathered rooftop of a castle, his gaze fixated on the dense forest below as a carriage slowly fades from view. "You think I've made a grievous mistake don't you." he utters, directed towards a rugged servant who stands behind him. 

"Sire, you have chosen a path for the boy. In one way you have given him salvation, a son of a rebel baron is normally executed." the servant claimed continuing "the boy possesses a sharp mind. He will grow well in the white castle I am sure of it... However, if he were to return..." 

"I see." the man acknowledges with a solemn nod. Though his statue exudes the commanding presence of a lord, a discernible tremor in his hands does not.

"Lord Hums, if i may speak candidly?" asked the servant, to which Lord Hums silently consents with a nod. "When the boy returns, there is no certainty whether this seed will yield a good harvest for you, my lord, or if it will sprout thorns. A prickly seed would cause complications for you, my lord," the servant warns. 

"If this seed grows thorns and if those thorns are directed at me, I will cut the plant outright." Lord Hums acknowledges resolutely, his gaze stretched beyond the horizon. 

Meanwhile, within the castle walls, men gather and engage in earnest discussion around a grand circular wooden table, its surface intricately adorned with lavish engravings. The atmosphere is tense, their voices resonated within the halls with power. Each participant boar the weight of their words and responsibilities.

This gathering comprises the most trusted advisors of the lord, forming a council consisting of the major lords beneath Lord Hums family. Among them stood Lord Tidlewood, an elderly man, tasked with guarding the northern borders from invasion. A military strategist, with an army that rivals his master.

Lord Fersten, another venerable figure, presided in all matters relating to coin and commerce with a shrewd eye from his stronghold in his hometown of Festeren. His domain serves as a vital hub of trade within Lord Hums territory, his ships ensured the economic prosperity of the realm bringing wealth from foreign lands. 

Completing the council are Lords Greenstone and Yurith, both respected lords were responsible for the governance of the fertile farmlands and bustling towns nestled throughout Lord Hums domain. Their combined efforts sustained the livelihoods of thousands.

Together, these influential lords forms the pinnacle of power within Lord Hums domain. This council of men, the pentagon as it is more commonly called. Decisions forged within this chamber held sway over all who live beneath Lord Hums jurisdiction. 

Lord Tidlewood's voice reverberated throughout the grand hall, echoing off the castle stone walls. "I strongly object to this!" Lord Tidlewood shouted across the circular table. "The Lord should of cut him down instead of sending the boy to the White Castle." he thundered. The other lords nod in solemn agreement like a wave around the circular table, their expressions reflecting his concern. 

"I fail to see why keeping the boy alive would benefit us in any way." lord Yurith interjects, amidst the fervour of Tidewood's objection, his voice was sharp and cuts through the room. His tone laced with doubt and skepticism. "He will return with nothing but vengeance for cutting his family down" he continued. 

"A vengeance that would be directed towards me, my army, and my family." Lord Tidlewood responds urgently, his gaze bore into the other lords, piercing through them and his words hanged heavy. 

"Tidlewood, you speak as if you're the only one whose blade was pointed at baron Acatan." Lord Fersten interjected, "it is Lord Hums who would be the one to lose the most out of this." Pausing before continuing allowing his words to sink into the room "regardless you speak of this young boy as if he's the devil reincarnate. With an army of ten thousand at your doorstep, he is a boy, nothing more." 

Lords Greenstone and Yurith silently nod in agreement, their expressions softened. Lord Tidewood clenched his fist and slammed it into the table. "Fersten, do I need to remind you that this boy is an Acatan? There blood is thick and strong!" 

"So what of it?" Fersten challenged, his gaze steady and unwavering, their eyes meet. "your army is strong your walls are thicker than any family's blood. The protector of the realm… should be able to protect himself should he not?"

"Enough!" shouted Lord Hums silencing everyone in the hall, "I sent the boy to serve in the white castle. He will grow old and the Acatans blood will rot there, forgotten. As it should be." The other lords stay silent in contemplation.