The great hall of the royal palace gleamed with wealth and extravagance. Golden chandeliers cast their brilliance over polished marble floors, and the air buzzed with the laughter and chatter of nobles. The celebration was in full swing, a feast fit for a kingdom. Long tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, exotic fruits, and silver goblets brimming with wine.
At the center of it all, King Darius sat on his high throne, a towering figure with a commanding presence. To his right sat his queen, regal and cold, and his legitimate children, their faces shining with pride. And at the very end of the grand table, barely within the circle of light, sat Kaelion.
The boy was conspicuously out of place in his plain, threadbare tunic. His dark hair was neatly combed, but there was no disguising the faint patches where it had been tugged too roughly by the castle's sneering maids. Kaelion kept his head down, hands folded on his lap, ignoring the occasional snickers from his half-siblings and the sharp glances from the nobles.
"Tomorrow," King Darius announced, his voice booming across the hall, "marks a momentous occasion for our family. The day my sons and daughters awaken to their destined classes." He turned toward the eldest prince, Eldric, his pride evident. "May the gods bless you with a class befitting your station."
The nobles cheered, raising their goblets.
"And of course," the king added, his tone almost dismissive, "even our less fortunate child will take part in the ceremony."
Kaelion's heart clenched. A ripple of laughter spread through the hall, as if the king had told a particularly clever joke.
"Do you think the gods even remember bastards like him?" Eldric muttered loudly to his sister, earning a round of chuckles from those nearby.
Kaelion gripped the edge of the table. The laughter burned, but he didn't dare respond. Years of mistreatment had taught him that defiance only brought harsher punishments.
The Stain of Wine
The feast dragged on, every moment a reminder of Kaelion's place in the world. Servants bustled around, refilling goblets and replacing empty platters. One of them, a noble named Lord Harwick, "accidentally" bumped into Kaelion, spilling wine across his lap.
"Ah, my apologies," Harwick said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Such a shame to ruin such fine attire."
The room erupted in laughter again. Kaelion's cheeks burned as he forced himself to dab at the stain with a napkin, his head bowed to hide the hot tears welling in his eyes.
The Ruined Garden
When the feast finally ended, Kaelion slipped away from the bustling halls, the jeers and sneers echoing in his mind. He made his way to the old garden at the edge of the palace grounds. Once a place of beauty, it was now overgrown with weeds and vines, forgotten like so many other things the royals had no use for.
Here, Kaelion felt a measure of peace. The broken statues and cracked fountains didn't judge him or remind him of his illegitimacy.
Sitting on the edge of a moss-covered stone bench, he gazed up at the stars.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Tomorrow, everything will change."
The thought filled him with equal parts hope and dread. Every child dreamed of awakening a powerful class—knight, mage, summoner, perhaps even something rare and revered like Saint or Hero. But Kaelion knew the odds. His life had always been defined by misfortune, and he feared awakening something common or useless, sealing his fate as the palace's outcast.
He clenched his fists. "No," he said more firmly. "I'll show them. I'll awaken something great. Something that will make them regret every insult, every beating, every sneer."
The wind rustled through the garden, as if whispering back to him.
The Night Before Awakening
When Kaelion returned to his chambers, he found a servant waiting for him. The man handed him a simple outfit for tomorrow's ceremony a plain tunic and trousers, the kind a stable boy might wear.
"The king's orders," the servant said curtly before leaving.
Kaelion stared at the clothes, his jaw tightening. He thought of his siblings, who would be adorned in fine silks and embroidered cloaks tomorrow, radiant as royalty.
He set the clothes aside and sat on the edge of his narrow bed. The room was cold and bare, with a single small window overlooking the city. Kaelion gazed out, his thoughts drifting to his mother.
She had died when he was only five, leaving him alone in a world that despised him. He remembered her gentle voice, her stories of heroes and their triumphs. "You'll do great things one day, my Kaelion," she had said. "You just have to survive until then."
Survive. That was all he had ever done.
As he drifted to sleep, his mind was filled with vivid dreams. He saw a battlefield littered with corpses, a sky burning with crimson light, and a throne crumbling to dust.
A dark figure emerged from the shadows, its voice deep and resonant. "They will never accept you. But I will. Together, we will make them bow."
Kaelion woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. The first rays of dawn spilled into his room. It was the day of his awakening.
And Kaelion could feel that his life would never be the same again.