Ainsworth's breath came in ragged gasps as he sprinted through the dense forest, the shouts of soldiers echoing behind him. His heart pounded wildly, his lungs burned, but he pushed on, ignoring the branches clawing at his clothes and face. He couldn't let them catch him.
They were getting closer. The clinking of armor and sharp cries of orders grew louder. Ainsworth stumbled over a root but caught himself, his thoughts flashing to his father—the Emperor of Edun. The stern, unyielding man who expected greatness. Strength. Power. The thought of returning sent a cold dread through him. He'd failed once and been forced to flee in shame. He couldn't fail again.
"Keep moving," he whispered fiercely, forcing his legs to keep going, even as exhaustion clawed at him.
The forest thickened, shadows deepening under the heavy canopy. Ainsworth darted through the underbrush, his ears straining to pick up any sound of pursuit. But there were too many of them. They would catch him soon.
Then, through the blur of trees, he saw it—a break in the forest, the glint of sunlight. He pushed toward it, hope flaring. Maybe, just maybe—
But when he burst through, he skidded to a halt.
A cliff.
The ground fell away in a sheer drop of at least a hundred feet, jagged rocks below glinting like fangs. Waves crashed violently against the base, sending plumes of spray high into the air. Ainsworth's heart sank. He was trapped.
"There he is!" a soldier shouted behind him.
"Stop, Prince Ainsworth!" another barked. "Come back with us, by order of your father!"
Ainsworth took a step back, his heel teetering over the edge. The soldiers spread out, swords drawn. Their expressions were hard, determined. They would drag him back—kicking and screaming if necessary.
"There's nowhere to run," their leader said, stepping forward. "Come back. Your father awaits."
"My father…" Ainsworth's voice was raw with pain. "I'm just a failure to him."
"Enough!" The soldier's tone turned harsh. "Don't make this difficult—"
Ainsworth didn't wait. He turned sharply, looking down at the churning waters below. His whole body trembled. But there was no other choice.
"If I survive this…" he whispered. "I'll become stronger. I'll make you proud, Father."
Taking a deep breath, Ainsworth closed his eyes and leaped off the cliff.
The world seemed to slow as he fell, the wind roaring in his ears. He felt weightless, suspended between life and death. Then, with a bone-jarring impact, the waves surged up to meet him.
Cold. The icy water stole his breath. Ainsworth hit hard, pain lancing through his body. He gasped, mouth filling with saltwater. The current seized him, dragging him under.
No! I can't die here!
Panic gripped him as he fought desperately, kicking and clawing his way up. He broke the surface just long enough to gulp in air before being pulled down again. His chest burned, his lungs screamed. But he refused to give up. He had promised himself—promised he'd survive. He'd find a way to become strong.
With a surge of willpower, Ainsworth forced his limbs to move, his head breaking the surface one last time before darkness closed in around him.
When he awoke, he wasn't in the water. A thin, tattered sheet covered his body, and he lay on a rough bed of dried grass. The flickering light of a campfire cast long shadows. He sat up quickly, heart pounding.
Where am I?
His armor and spear lay neatly beside him. Relief washed over him, but so did suspicion. Who had saved him? And why?
He grabbed his spear, turning to face the man sitting by the fire. The stranger was older, with ragged brown hair, a scraggly beard, and deep, tired eyes. His clothes were tattered, but his posture was alert, exuding quiet strength.
"Who are you?" Ainsworth demanded, aiming his spear. "Where am I?"
The man didn't look up. "Sit down, boy," he said roughly. "You're in no shape to be waving that around."
Ainsworth's eyes narrowed. "Do you know who I am? I'm Ainsworth, son of the Emperor of Edun! Tell me where I am, or—"
"Sit," the man repeated calmly.
The dismissive tone made Ainsworth's blood boil. How dare this nobody speak to him like that? "You—!" Ainsworth lunged forward.
But the man moved faster. In a flash, he sidestepped, grabbed the spear, and twisted. Ainsworth cried out as the weapon was ripped from his hands. The next thing he knew, he was on his back, his own spear pointed at his throat.
The man looked down at him, expression unreadable.
Ainsworth lay there, humiliation burning through him. He'd never been defeated so easily. Weak. Just as his father always said. Just as everyone always said. Slowly, trembling, he pushed himself up.
The man tossed the spear aside and turned back to the fire. He didn't speak, didn't gloat—just resumed poking at the flames.
The silence crushed Ainsworth. His vision blurred as tears welled up. He couldn't hold them back. He'd tried so hard, but nothing ever changed. He was still the same—weak, pathetic, worthless.
"I'm a failure," he whispered, the words spilling out. "I can't do anything right. No matter how hard I try, I always fail. I'm not strong like my brother. I'm not clever like my sister. I'm… I'm nothing."
The man didn't respond. Ainsworth sank to his knees, body trembling. "I'm weak," he choked out, the tears spilling down his cheeks. "My father… he hates me. Everyone does. They look at me and all they see is a worthless, pathetic child—"
"Enough," the man said softly.
Ainsworth fell silent, staring at the stranger, his vision blurred.
"You want to be strong?" the man asked quietly.
Ainsworth nodded desperately. "Yes," he whispered. "More than anything."
"Are you willing to do whatever it takes?" The man's gaze was piercing. "Even if it means giving up everything you are?"
Ainsworth thought of his father's cold eyes, his siblings' sneers. He thought of every failure, every time he'd been called weak.
"Yes," he whispered fiercely. "Even if I have to sell my soul. I'll do it."
The man nodded slowly. "Good. Then we begin."
Ainsworth blinked. "What… what do you mean?"
The man turned away. "Rest now. You'll need your strength for what's next."
Before Ainsworth could respond, exhaustion crashed over him, pulling him into darkness.
"You may have been weak before," he heard the man murmur. "But not for long."
The next morning, Ainsworth awoke to a firm hand shaking him. "Up."
Groggy and sore, he followed the man to a clearing. A waterfall roared, spraying icy mist. "Stand under it," the man ordered.
Ainsworth hesitated but obeyed, stepping into the freezing water. The force of the falls beat down on him relentlessly. He buckled, falling to his knees.
"Stand up," the man called out.
"I… I can't!"
"Stand up."
Ainsworth growled, forcing himself to rise. Pain shot through his body, but he stayed standing.
"Good," the man said. "Now stay there."
The following days were a blur of pain. Running, hitting rocks until his hands bled, standing under waterfalls until his bones ached. Through it all, the man pushed him, never relenting.
Finally, Ainsworth demanded answers. "What am I training for?"
The man's gaze hardened. "Asula," he said.
"Asula?"
Ainsworth stared at the man, his heart racing as the weight of what he had agreed to began to settle in. Asula. The word felt strange and dangerous on his tongue, like handling a blade with bare hands. This wasn't just another form of training—it was something more. Something volatile and unpredictable. But he had made his choice.
"What exactly is Asula?" Ainsworth asked slowly, his voice steady despite the uncertainty tightening his chest. "Why is it so different from El?"
The man remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Then, slowly, he turned back to Ainsworth, his expression grim. "El is about enhancement—making what you already have stronger, more durable. It's a refinement of your body and weapons, channeling your energy to become more than you are."
He paused, his dark eyes locking onto Ainsworth's. "But Asula… Asula isn't about control or balance. It's pure, raw power. It's like trying to harness a storm—unpredictable and devastating. While El strengthens and Lei commands, Asula explodes. It's not something you wield; it's something you unleash."
Ainsworth swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "And… you think I can handle it?"
The man's lips twitched into a faint smile, one that held no humor. "That's what we're going to find out. Asula is dangerous because it draws on your very essence—your emotions, your will, your resolve. If you're not strong enough, it will consume you from the inside out."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense. "That's why you're here. You want to be strong, don't you? Strong enough to face your father, to prove to him—and everyone else—that you're more than a failure."
Ainsworth's fists clenched at his sides. The man's words cut deep, each one striking at the core of his insecurities, his doubts. But that pain… it also stoked a fire inside him. A fire that had been smoldering for far too long.
"Yes," he whispered fiercely. "I want to be strong."
"Then you need to master Asula," the man said flatly. "But be warned—if you can't control it, it will kill you."
Ainsworth met the man's gaze, his heart thundering in his chest. There was no fear in his eyes, only a fierce determination. "I don't care. I'll do whatever it takes. I won't die as a weakling."
The man studied him for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Good. Because if you want to master Asula, you need to be willing to break your limits every single day. What we've done so far? That was just to see if you were serious."
Ainsworth blinked, surprise flickering across his face. "That was… just a test?"
The man's smile was thin and cold. "The real training starts tomorrow. If you want to control Asula, you'll need to learn how to push past your pain, your fear, your exhaustion—until there's nothing left but raw willpower."
He leaned back, his gaze never leaving Ainsworth's. "It won't be easy. You'll curse me, hate me, and there will be times when you'll beg for me to stop."
"I won't beg," Ainsworth said sharply, his jaw tight.
The man arched an eyebrow. "We'll see. But remember this: once you start down this path, there's no turning back. Asula changes you—inside and out. It will make you stronger, yes. But it will also make you dangerous."
Ainsworth held his gaze, his expression unwavering. "I don't care. I want this."
"Then get some rest," the man said softly, his voice carrying a note of finality. "Because when dawn breaks, we're going to push you harder than you've ever been pushed before. We're going to strip you down to your very core—and then build you back up."
He turned away, his silhouette stark against the flickering light of the campfire. "Tomorrow, you'll learn what true strength is."
Ainsworth watched him for a long moment, his thoughts churning. He had been through pain, through humiliation. He had tasted defeat and felt the crushing weight of failure. But something about this—about the way the man spoke, the intensity in his gaze—made him believe that this time, things would be different.
This time, he wouldn't fail.
Slowly, he lay back down, his body aching and bruised. But the exhaustion that pulled at him was different now. It was laced with a fierce, burning resolve. Tomorrow, everything would change. Tomorrow, he would face the storm—and come out stronger.
"I'll show you, Father," he whispered softly, his eyes drifting shut. "I'll become someone you can be proud of."
As he fell into a restless sleep, the man sat silently by the fire, his gaze distant. "You may become strong, boy," he murmured quietly to himself. "But strength always comes at a price."
The flames flickered, casting long, dark shadows around the camp. And as dawn began to creep across the horizon, the man's eyes narrowed.
"I wonder how much longer I have until they come. This boy, I wonder if he knew how evil his siblings truly are. Hopefully, it will be enough time. While the nobles fight for more dominance over their lands and the crown, the world will soon be in flames. What fools. This child...he will be one of the chosen who I hope will bring an end to this wretched world of hate and despair."
The man then grabs a picture from his rags. It is a picture of a much younger man with a pretty woman and a young, blonde, smiling girl.
"Elizabeth, Anna, please wait for me. I will be joining you guys soon. This boy, he is of royalty, but unlike the others, he seems to be able to change. I hope, sincerely, he will shape how the future of such nobles will be. Once upon a time, they were just people too, doing their best to ensure the lives of their loved ones. But once upon another time, they became murderers. All of them."