I was running—no, not just running, I was flying.
Grass as soft as silk brushed against my bare feet, and sunlight spilled over everything in golden waves, as if the whole world was holding its breath just for me. The fields stretched endlessly, dotted with wildflowers that burst into brilliant colors, blurring as I raced past. There were no walls here, no ceilings, no towers looming over me. Only freedom.
I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't care. I sprinted across the fields and leapt over clear, babbling streams that glinted like silver. Birds called from above, darting playfully through the air as if inviting me to follow. And I did. I ran faster, laughing, the sound echoing in the vast open space around me. My chest filled with something wild and boundless, something I never felt within the stone walls of the palace.
In this world, I was free. No titles, no demands. Just me and the endless horizon.
I climbed a hill that rose like a gentle giant from the earth, and at the top, the land opened up to an immense valley. I stretched out my arm and looked far below, there was a village filled with homes of wood and stone, little houses that dotted the landscape like stars. People walked about, smiling, laughing, living simple, happy lives. They didn't look up to where I stood—they had no reason to. To them, I wasn't a prince. I was just another soul, one among many.
A normal human.
The wind picked up, carrying the smell of freshly baked bread, smoke from a distant hearth, and the tang of the river cutting through the valley. I closed my eyes, letting it wash over me. I wanted to stay here, to feel this way forever.
I lay back on the hilltop, staring up at the sky so blue it hurt, as if it stretched on forever. Clouds drifted lazily by, forming shapes that seemed to dance just for me. I felt light, as if the weight of the entire world had lifted from my shoulders. In that moment, I wasn't Kaizen Valor, the prince with duties and expectations; I was just a boy, alone in the vastness of his own perfect world.
Then, a shadow moved across the sun.
The warmth began to drain, the sky dimming, and the village below started to fade. One by one, the people disappeared, swallowed by darkness. The trees withered, the streams ran dry, and the once-golden fields turned to barren dirt. My chest tightened, a chill creeping into my bones. The vast, open world began to close in, shrinking until the hilltop was all that remained.
I tried to hold on, tried to keep the warmth, the light, the freedom. But it was slipping, replaced by a cold, suffocating weight that wrapped around me like chains. I wanted to scream, to fight it, but my voice was gone. The sky darkened, thick with storm clouds that pressed down on me.
Then I heard it—a voice, deep and heavy, whispering my name like a summons.
"Kaizen…"
I shot awake, heart racing, as the last traces of the dream dissolved into the cold, gray reality of my room in the palace.
I blinked against the harsh light filtering through the ornate curtains of my room, a space that felt more like a cage than a royal sanctuary. My eyes roamed over the lavish furnishings, the intricate gold-leaf designs that adorned the walls, and the massive four-poster bed draped in crimson velvet. It was all so extravagant, yet it suffocated me.
Every detail was a reminder of my station—a polished mahogany desk lined with books bound in leather, their spines gleaming like trophies. Portraits of ancestors with stern expressions stared down at me, judging, always judging. My room was grand, fit for a prince, but to me, it felt like a prison cell decorated with the illusion of wealth. The golden accents, the plush carpets, and the crystal chandeliers hung like shackles, reminding me of the responsibilities and expectations that bound me.
"Kaizen," a voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back into the present. Marcus stood in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the bright hallway. He had that same authoritative look, the kind that made it clear he wasn't here for pleasantries. His black hair slicked back and emerald eyes radiated seriousness.
"It's time for your training."
I sighed, dragging my hands over my face, trying to wipe away the remnants of sleep and the weight of the dream.
"Do we have to do this again?"
"You know how it is. These are the rules."
I felt my heart sink at his words. The same routine, day in and day out: practice sessions filled with sword drills and endless sparring matches. Each day bled into the next, all of it blending together like a muted palette of grays, this isn't life, I am just a doll being controlled by expectations.
"Every day is the same," I muttered, "Why can't we do something different? Anything different?"
"You have to embrace the routine, Kaizen. It builds discipline. You know that."
Discipline. The word echoed in my mind like a bad dream, but all it did was fuel my disdain for the life I was trapped in. My brothers had their destinies mapped out; Marcus, strong and capable, always seeming to excel at all fighting styles, he will become the leader of the guard once Connor takes over from father. Connor, the heir to the kingdom exceled at everything he wanted, he is living the life he worked for. I felt like I was only a shadow in their wake, struggling to find my footing.
"Fine, Let's just get it over with."
I trudged out of my room behind Marcus, the familiar chill of the palace air doing little to clear the heaviness clinging to me. We walked down the long, marbled corridors, the golden accents of the palace glimmering in the sunlight, but all I could see was a reminder of the life I didn't choose.
As we stepped into the training grounds, the sun blazed overhead, casting sharp shadows on the sand-strewn floor. The sound of swords clashing and the sharp grunts of fellow trainees filled the air, a cacophony that was both familiar and grating.
"Zamir's waiting for you,"
Marcus said, gesturing to the far end of the yard where my instructor stood, a towering figure of strength and discipline. His large build, his white hair and big beard showing the affects of his age, Zamir Wittington was a master swordsman, his reputation echoing through the world. He was a man of few words, but his piercing gaze spoke volumes. A man that is one of the top few swordsman in the world that reached grandmaster.
"Good morning, Kaizen, Are you ready to begin?"
I nodded, forcing down the heaviness in my chest. There was no escaping the routine, no use in resisting. I picked up my sword, feeling the familiar weight in my hands. The cool metal, the polished wood of the hilt—it all felt right, even if my heart wasn't in it.
The training commenced, a series of drills designed to hone my skills. I moved through the motions, my body remembering the steps while my mind drifted elsewhere. I could feel Zamir's scrutiny, his hawk-like gaze assessing my every move. He pushed me, as always, demanding precision and speed, but inside, I was a storm of frustration and longing for something different—something real.
"Again," he commanded after I stumbled through a sequence, and I complied, sweat trickling down my brow as I swung the sword with a renewed effort. The repetition was maddening, but there was an odd comfort in the familiar rhythm.
After what felt like hours, I finally stepped back, panting.
"I can't keep doing this every day," I said, frustration bubbling over.
"You have talent, Kaizen. I've trained many, but you possess a skill that is rare. It's a shame to see it wasted on half-hearted effort."
"I don't have talent, I have seen brother Marcus and Connor, they have talent I do not."
"Your technique is near perfection, but it lacks passion. You need to find that fire within you, and your talent will shine"
I clenched my jaw, the truth of their words hitting me like a physical blow. They didn't understand. I didn't want to be a great warrior. I wanted to be free, to experience the world beyond a prince, to laugh like those villagers in my dreams and not always go outside with people expecting greatness of me.
"I'll try harder," I said finally, though the words felt hollow.
But in his heart, he knew it was just another empty promise.
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode toward the edge of the training yard, the harsh clanking of swords and shouts of his fellow trainees fading into the background. As he walked, the weight of the golden armband on his arm seemed to grow heavier with every step, like a constant reminder of everything he could never escape.
Marcus watched his younger brother leave, his expression unreadable. He turned to Zamir, who stood silently, his gaze following Kaizen's retreating figure.
Zamir sighed, his white beard moving slightly with the exhale.
"He's a mystery, that boy. I've seen many talented fighters, but none like him. His movements—they're instinctive, almost as if the sword is an extension of him."
Marcus frowned, arms crossed. "I know. But he won't let himself be great. He's... different. He's not like me or Connor. He doesn't care for the throne or the guard, and I can't figure out why. If he could just find a way to channel that potential..."
"It's not the sword that's the problem, Marcus. It's his heart. He doesn't have anything that moves his heart."
"Then what do we do? He could be the greatest—he could surpass even Connor, if he wanted to."
Zamir looked at Marcus, his gaze steady and calm. "That is for Kaizen to decide. If he chooses to rise above his doubts, his fears, and his burdens... then yes, Marcus. He could become the greatest swordsman this world has ever seen. His potential is limitless, but only if he can find the fire inside him to pursue it."
"But he doesn't want that. He doesn't want any of this." He glanced over at the training yard, his voice quiet. "How can we help him when he refuses to help himself?"
Zamir's expression softened for a moment, the hard edge of his persona slipping just enough to show the understanding beneath.
"Sometimes, the greatest struggle is not with others, but with oneself. Kaizen will find his path when he's ready. It's not something we can force him into. But rest assured, Marcus, if he chooses it—if he lets go of the chains that hold him back—he will be unstoppable."
The weight of Zamir's words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither spoke. Marcus's gaze lingered on the spot where Kaizen had disappeared, the heavy silence pressing down on him. He didn't fully understand his brother's turmoil, but he could sense the potential lurking there, just out of reach.
"I just hope he doesn't wait too long, The world doesn't always give you the time you think you have."
Zamir nodded, his face unreadable. "That may be true, Marcus. But if Kaizen chooses to become the warrior he's meant to be, he will rise above any obstacle, no matter how great."
Marcus couldn't help but have a small smile, looking at the back of his younger brother.
"Only time will tell if Kaizen will find that fire. But one thing is certain—he cannot run forever."