𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 cut scene. . .
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As the scene unfolds with a digital haze, the title cuts through the void: "A Father's Gaze" A loading bar appears as we delve deeper into Prince Raynard's perspective.
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This is my chance, Prince Raynard thought to himself, chin held high as he strode through the great daemon castle, his footsteps echoing off the towering obsidian walls built by his father's many human slaves.
The hallways were lined with the keepers of silence, their heads bowed as he passed, faces hidden beneath the shadows of their hoods.
Reaching the throne room, Raynard paused before the imposing doors, where a dragon was carved within, the engraving lit by moving molten lava that flowed like veins of fire through the stone.
Two guards stood at the entrance, pulling open the heavy, ringed knobs and granting him access.
There, upon the dais, sat Raynard's father, the daemon king, his ember gaze fixed distantly out the window, as if he had seen a long-forgotten ghost.
In all of Raynard's hundred years, he had never witnessed his father in such a contemplative, almost troubled state.
Who was this marked boy? And why had his presence brought his father into a mood no one understood?
"Can your king help you, Prince Raynard?" came a voice from beside the throne, and Raynard turned to see the king's left-hand man, Drallon, his long white hair coiffed into a low-hanging ponytail, eyes green as the first blossoms of spring.
Prince Raynard scoffed. Drallon was his father's left-hand man, though if anyone asked him, it should've been Keeper Zy. But he guessed anyone who had the power to oppose his father made him paranoid.
"I'll let you know when I care to talk to someone lesser than me," quipped Raynard before his gaze drifted over to his father. "I've received word that the boy you seek is in the free cities."
Silence hung thick in the throne room as Prince Raynard stood before his father, the feared King Zyres, to respond. But Raynard's words fell on deaf ears—the king did not so much as glance in his direction, his smoldering gaze fixed firmly ahead.
Raynard was no stranger to this cold indifference. He had long ago grown accustomed to his father's disdain, the icy contempt that seeped from the king's every pore whenever their eyes met.
But where once there had been a faint glimmer of hope, a childish yearning for parental affection, now there was only a vast, echoing emptiness, the need for power to fill that void his father left behind.
If only I were my brother, the heir to the Hellfire throne, Raynard thought bitterly, his teeth clenching as his fingers curled into tight fists at his sides. Then I will be the only thing my father looks at before he dies. The thing he ignored.
But right now, Raynard was nothing more than a bitter reminder of a love long lost, a living ghost of the only queen who had stolen King Zyres' heart, only to have it shattered by her untimely death.
Finally, Raynard cleared his throat, breaking the oppressive silence. "Father," he began, his voice measured and controlled.
At that, the king's smoldering gaze snapped to life, burning with undisguised loathing as it fixed upon Raynard. "I am a king before I am a father," Zyres hissed, his upper lip curling in a sneer of pure distaste. "Respect my title!"
Raynard swallowed hard, fighting to contain the rage that threatened to consume him. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me break, he vowed silently.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted his chin and spoke again. "I plan to retrieve him."
One dark, heavy brow arched in amusement. "Oh, is that so?"
Nodding once, Raynard pressed on. "The child is a pawn. A mere tool to strengthen our hold on the world."
The words had scarcely left his lips when Zyres moved, a blur of motion so swift that Raynard had no time to react.
One moment, he was standing tall, the next he was flying backwards, the world spinning as he struck the hard, unyielding floor of the throne room.
The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, and Raynard let out a guttural growl as he pushed himself up on one elbow, glaring up at his father, who now towered over him, eyes blazing with unbridled fury and something else—something Raynard had never seen before in his father's gaze. Was it... fear?
"This child is not a pawn. Not a tool," the king snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "He is a walking corpse. He must die." Each word fell like a hammer blow and the increasing pressure of the king's foot on Raynard's throat. "For once, in all my existence, he. Is. A. Threat. To. This. Kingdom."
Raynard lay there, pinned beneath his father's weight, but something had shifted within him. The cup of his anger, long simmering, finally spilled over. A crazed laugh bubbled up from his crushed windpipe, startling even the king.
"Mother was right," Raynard wheezed out, his gaze unwavering despite the agony coursing through him.
King Zyres froze, his foot still pressed against Raynard's throat. "What did you just say?" The words were barely more than a whisper, but they carried the weight of an avalanche—a final chance for Raynard to recant, to save himself.
But Raynard was beyond salvation now. He let out another choked laugh, relishing the flicker of uncertainty in his father's eyes. "I smell fear on you," he rasped. "The great daemon king is scared of some—"
"As much as I loved your mother," Zyres cut him off, his voice glacial, "I should've scooped your little ass out of her when I had the chance."
The words were so casually cruel. Zyres lifted his foot, preparing to bring it crashing down on Raynard's skull. But Raynard refused to flinch, refused to show even a sliver of fear. If this was to be his end, he would meet it with defiance.
Just as the blow was about to fall, the massive doors of the throne room burst open with a thunderous crash. A figure glided in, robes billowing around him like smoke, the hood of his cloak obscuring all but a pair of glowing milky white eyes.
"If I may, my king?" The newcomer's voice was soft, yet it carried easily across the cavernous chamber. He came to a stop mere inches from where Raynard lay prostrate.
King Zyres's foot remained poised in the air, trembling slightly with the effort of restraint. "You may," he ground out, his gaze never leaving Raynard.
"He's right," the hooded figure continued, gesturing towards Raynard. "This boy may be of some use to us. I've gone to the nether planes. I've seen what he's capable of destroying... and what he's capable of giving to us."
A tense silence fell over the throne room. Raynard could feel his father's indecision, could almost hear the gears turning in the king's mind as he weighed his options.
Finally, King Zyres spoke, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "Use that cursed magic of yours and show me, Keeper Zy."
Raynard's eyes widened. Keeper Zy—the sorcerer whose powers were whispered about in the darkest corners of the great daemon kingdom. What visions had he seen in the nether planes?
As Keeper Zy began to weave his spell, tendrils of shadow coalescing around his outstretched hands, Raynard caught a final glimpse of his father's face. The king's foot still hovered above him, poised to crush the life from his body.
The throne room held its breath as King Zyres considered Keeper Zy's words. Shadows danced at the edges of the sorcerer's outstretched hands, hungry tendrils of darkness eager to reveal their secrets.
Raynard lay motionless on the cold stone floor, his father's foot still hovering inches from his face, a silent promise of violence barely restrained.
Finally, King Zyres's lips curled into a cruel smile. With deliberate slowness, he removed his foot from above Raynard's head, stepping back to create space for whatever dark magic was about to unfold.
"Very well," the king's voice slithered through the air, dripping with malice. "Let my son see this vision." His ember eyes flickered between Raynard and Keeper Zy. "We know weak Daemons die. At least I'll have an excuse to rid myself of him if he doesn't survive your... revelation."
The words struck Raynard like physical blows. Even now, with the promise of some world-altering vision before them, his father could think only of how to be rid of him.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows, ignoring the ache in his throat where the king's foot had pressed moments before.
"How kind of you, Father," Raynard rasped, his voice raw but edged with bitter sarcasm. "To grant me one last chance to prove my worth before you snuff out my existence."
King Zyres's nostrils flared, but before he could respond, Keeper Zy stepped forward. The sorcerer's milky eyes seemed to glow brighter beneath his hood, fixed on some point beyond the mortal plane.
"My lord," Keeper Zy intoned, "what I am about to show you comes not just from the nether planes, but from the very fabric of fate itself. Be warned: the future is a fickle thing, ever-changing, ever-shifting. What you see may come to pass... or it may be averted by the very act of witnessing it."
Keeper Zy raised his hands. The shadows around him spreading, forming a swirling vortex of darkness that expanded outward, engulfing Raynard in its inky embrace.
Raynard felt a chill seep into his bones as the world around him faded away. The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him completely was his father's face—a mask of hope that surely his most hated son would die.