Inside the state governor's residence, Prince Eyrin sat cross-legged in his assigned chamber, his black hair cascading down his broad shoulders like a waterfall.
His chiseled torso, honed from years of rigorous training, glistened with a subtle sheen, accentuating the scars that etched his skin like battle badges. His eyes, piercing and intense, remained closed as he meditated, seeking inner balance.
A soft hum of energy emanated from his being, his essence swirling around him like an ethereal aura. The air seemed to vibrate with his presence, commanding respect.
Palov, entered the chamber with two cultivators from the Hall of Talents, their boots echoing off the floor. Palov bowed deeply, his head inclined in reverence.
Prince Eyrin's eyelids remained shut, his breathing steady and measured. Palov hesitated, unsure whether to interrupt the prince's meditation. After a moment's deliberation, he spoke in a hushed, respectful tone.
"Report to His Highness... Khailian was not found at the fisherman's house.
They claimed he didn't return. I've also consulted Master K, and he confirmed Khailian didn't meet with him either." Palov's voice trailed off, awaiting permission to continue.
The cultivators stood at attention, their eyes fixed on Prince Eyrin, awaiting his response.
"So finally, we had to find the person called Arnin," Palov continued, his voice measured.
"So?" Prince Eyrin asked calmly, his eyes still closed, his meditation unperturbed.
Palov and the two cultivators exchanged uneasy glances, wondering if they should reveal the unsettling news. "Replying to His Highness... we went to Arnin's place, but the place was... empty.
It was as if..." Palov gulped, steeling himself. "He fled, Your Highness."
Prince Eyrin's essence surged, his energy palpable. He suppressed it, opening his eyes sharply. His gaze locked onto Palov, piercing.
He rose from his meditative pose, his movements fluid and deliberate. Stepping onto the floor, he approached Palov, his bare feet making no sound.
"What do you mean he fled?!" Prince Eyrin demanded, his voice thundering through the chamber.
Palov and the cultivators immediately dropped to their knees, bowing their heads to the floor.
The state governor entered the chamber, bowing deeply. "Greetings, Your Highness."
Prince Eyrin's focus remained on Palov. "Have you checked General Didastimon's residence? Their daughter, Pherna, seems to be close to them."
Palov raised his head, wincing. "No, Your Highness."
Prince Eyrin's face contorted in rage, his lips curling into a snarl. "Stand," he commanded.
Palov hesitated, then rose to his feet. Prince Eyrin's eyes flashed with fury, and he delivered a swift kick that sent Palov flying across the room.
The state governor swiftly sidestepped, avoiding Palov's crashing body. Palov slammed into the wall, the impact echoing through the chamber. He struggled to his knees, bowing deeply towards Prince Eyrin.
"Forgive me for my incapacity, Your Highness," Palov pleaded, his voice shaking.
The state governor, eager to distance himself from the unfolding drama, smiled nervously and bowed. "What would you like to eat this morning, Your Highness?"
Prince Eyrin ignored him, his expression unyielding. He strode past the governor and the cultivators hastened to follow.
Palov scrambled to his feet, retrieving Prince Eyrin's outer robe. He trailed behind, hurrying to keep pace.
Outside the residence, cultivators from the Hall of Talents awaited. Prince Eyrin halted, scanning the area for his horse. Spotting the majestic steed, he strode towards it and mounted swiftly.
Palov approached, holding out the robe. "Your Highness," he said, his voice laced with caution.
Prince Eyrin's voice cut through the air, "You!" He summoned one of the guards, who hastened to his side.
"Your Highness," the guard said, bowing deeply.
"Mount a horse and lead me to General Didastimon's residence. Hurry!" Prince Eyrin commanded, his tone urgent.
The guard sprang into action. "Yes!" he yelled, leaping onto his horse and spurting forward.
Prince Eyrin followed closely, his horse's hooves pounding the ground. Palov swiftly mounted his own horse, leaving the other cultivators in their dust.
As they galloped through the bustling streets, Prince Eyrin drew attention.
His rugged, handsome features and powerful physique captivated passersby. Without his royal attire, few recognized the prince, but whispers spread like wildfire.
"Who is that majestic man on horseback?" a merchant whispered.
"Looks like a warrior," a young woman sighed.
Their gazes lingered on Prince Eyrin's broad shoulders and chiseled jawline, his dark hair flowing in the wind.
Palov kept pace beside him, his eyes scanning the surroundings, ever vigilant.
************************************
They arrived at General Didastimon's residence, halting before the guarded gate. The escorting guard announced, "His Highness, the First Prince, has arrived!"
A skeptical guard stepped forward, eyeing Prince Eyrin. "How do I know you're the prince?" he asked, hand on the hilt of his sword.
Prince Eyrin's smirk was a warning sign. He casually brushed aside the strand of hair obscuring his eye, his gaze piercing. "My patience... is running thin."
A fellow guard intervened, recognizing the State Governor's soldiers uniform. "You fool! Can't you see the escort's attire? Haven't you heard the First Prince is in the state? If he comes, don't you know where he'll reside?"
The guards swiftly dropped to their knees, bowing deeply. "Forgive us, Your Highness."
Prince Eyrin's focus wasn't on the guards; his mind was preoccupied with a more pressing concern.
"Just open the gates," Palov commanded, his tone firm.
The gates swung open, and they rode into the residence. Another guard awaited inside, standing at attention.
"Where is General Didastimon?" the guard from the State Governor's unit asked, his voice authoritative.
"The training grounds," the guard replied, and they continued riding through the expansive residence, its grandeur rivaling that of a palace.
Apart from Pherna, he had two other daughters and a son, all trained in the art of warfare.
As they approached the training grounds, the sound of clashing steel and shouted commands filled the air. General Didastimon stood at the center, guiding his soldiers through rigorous drills.
Upon hearing the approaching horses, the general turned.He wasn't wearing an armour for practice.
His eyes locked onto Prince Eyrin. He recognized the prince instantly and bellowed "The First Prince is here! Bow!"
His soldiers and he dropped to their knees, heads bowed in reverence. Prince Eyrin gazed down at them from his horse, his expression unreadable.
"Where is your daughter, Phera?" Prince Eyrin asked, his voice firm but laced with a hint of urgency.
General Didastimon's face brightened, misinterpreting the prince's interest. He thought Prince Eyrin had come to secure a marriage alliance, strengthening ties between their families.
"Someone!" the general yelled, summoning a nearby soldier. "Summon her, and be quick about it!"
The soldier sprinted off, eager to fulfill the general's command. "Yes, sir!" he called out, disappearing into the residence.
General Didastimon's smile broadened as he approached Prince Eyrin. "Your Highness, let me escort you to a comfortable waiting area for Phera."
Prince Eyrin's response was curt. "No need."
The general was excited. He had long hoped for a union between his daughter and the future emperor.
Though the title of Crown Prince hadn't been officially bestowed upon Prince Eyrin, the likelihood was high. And when that day came, Prince Eyrin would ascend to the imperial throne.
The general's mind raced with possibilities, his smile threatening to split his face.
Moments passed, and the soldier returned, alone.
General Didastimon's gaze snapped to the soldier, his brow furrowing. "Where is she?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.
The soldier's voice trembled. "She's... not here, sir."
The general's smile faltered, replaced by a mixture of confusion and alarm. He scanned the surrounding area, as if hoping to spot Phera.