The third figure, standing in the center, let out a low, sinister chuckle. Pulling back his hood just enough to reveal a wicked smile, he said, "Patience. There will always be another chance. The prophecy's safeguards may protect him now, but they won't last forever." His eyes glinted dangerously as he added, "We strike when he turns five. By then, the barrier will fade, and we'll ensure he is taught the dark ways. He will belong to us."
The others nodded in silent agreement, their displeased expressions replaced with calculating resolve. As the crowd continued to marvel at the miraculous child and the glowing seal, the three figures slipped away unnoticed, their dark intentions already set in motion.
*********
~ Three Years Later
The courtyard of the royal palace was alive with the laughter and footsteps of children running across the marble-paved grounds. It was a sunny day, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze provided a serene backdrop to the playful chatter. Six children darted between the meticulously pruned hedges and fountains, their vibrant garments glimmering under the sunlight.
Among the children, three were ten years old, two were eight, and one was seven. Each child bore features reminiscent of their respective mothers, a mixture of regal poise and youthful exuberance. But it was the youngest of them all, a three-year-old boy, who stood out like a beacon amidst the group.
This boy, Eryndor, the son of Elyria, was a sight to behold. His hair, stark white and silken, framed his cherubic face with an almost otherworldly beauty. Even at his tender age, it carried a natural elegance, curling slightly at the ends as though styled by divine hands. His skin was radiant, with a healthy glow that seemed to shine from within. His frame, though small, was visibly strong, his movements exuding a subtle confidence far beyond his years. His wide, silver-gray eyes were filled with curiosity and warmth, yet they hinted at a depth of understanding uncommon for one so young.
Eryndor held a toy in his small hands, a finely crafted miniature horse, gilded with gold and inlaid with tiny, glittering gemstones. It was a gift from the King, a gesture of his overwhelming affection for the boy. The toy was unlike anything the other children had ever received. As their eyes fell on the exquisite object, jealousy darkened their expressions. They had begged their father, King Alden, for something similar in the past, but their pleas had been ignored. Now, to see Eryndor, the child of Elyria, cherished so openly, resentment churned in their hearts.
The boy's presence alone was a reminder of the favoritism their father showed him, a truth that their mothers, queens and concubines alike never ceased to point out. Through whispered tales, half-truths, and outright lies, they fanned the flames of animosity in their children's hearts, sowing seeds of bitterness.
One of the boys who was eight-years-old, named Alaric, whose name was steeped in royal heritage, strode toward Eryndor with an air of superiority. His deep blue tunic swayed as he walked, his dark eyes glinting with mischief and irritation. Stretching out his hand, he commanded, "Give me the toy."
Eryndor blinked in confusion, instinctively clutching the toy tighter. Though barely three years old, he understood the significance of this confrontation. Elyria had always taught him to stand his ground and not allow anyone to intimidate him, no matter their age or rank. The boy, with his toy held protectively behind his back, shook his head in defiance.
Alaric's face twisted with frustration, and the other children closed in, forming a circle around Eryndor. Their voices chimed in unison, threatening, "Give it to us, or we won't play with you anymore!"
Eryndor's silver-gray eyes darted between them, assessing the situation. He remained silent but firm, unwilling to surrender his treasured possession. Alaric's patience snapped, and he lunged forward, attempting to snatch the toy from Eryndor's hands.
In that instant, Eryndor's small hand stretched out, not in fear, but in a reflexive gesture of defense. A sudden, invisible force erupted from him, colliding with Alaric and sending him hurtling backward through the air. He landed several feet away with a resounding thud, the wind knocked from his lungs. The remaining children gasped, staring at Eryndor in stunned silence.
Though the gesture had been simple, the power behind it was unmistakable. It was raw, untamed energy, far beyond the capability of any child who had yet to unlock their energy core. The courtyard grew deathly quiet, the only sound being Alaric's groan of pain as he struggled to sit up, his pride bruised far more than his body.
Eryndor stood amidst the stunned circle, his silver-gray eyes wide but unyielding, his toy still firmly in his grasp.
"Ahhhhhh!!!"
Alaric let out a piercing scream, his voice echoing across the courtyard. The children panicked, their faces pale with fear, some stepping back as if to distance themselves from the unfolding chaos. Within moments, the sound of hurried footsteps approached, and a woman, adorned in regal attire, burst into the courtyard. Her face was a mask of worry and fury, her piercing eyes scanning the scene until they fell upon the crumpled form of her son.
Queen Beatrix, Alaric's mother, was a striking woman, her golden hair braided elegantly, though now disheveled in her haste. She rushed to Alaric's side, her hands trembling as she knelt to examine him. "My son!" she cried out, her voice laced with panic. "Who did this to you?"
The other children, still frozen in place, cast hesitant glances at Eryndor. One of the boys, emboldened by the queen's anger, pointed toward the white-haired child and said, "Your Highness, it was Eryndor. He did this. We only wanted to play with his toy."
Beatrix's face twisted in fury. Her gaze locked onto Eryndor, and she stood, her voice a venomous hiss. "You cursed child! How dare you lay your filthy hands on my son? You'll pay for this!"
The young boy stood motionless, his silver-gray eyes wide but unflinching as the queen's anger bore down on him.
Beatrix raised her hands, her movements swift and deliberate. A crackling ball of energy formed between her palms, glowing with dangerous intensity. With a yell, she hurled the energy ball straight at Eryndor. The children gasped in unison, some covering their eyes, expecting a tragic outcome.
But the attack never reached him. As the energy ball collided with an invisible barrier surrounding Eryndor, it rebounded with a brilliant flash of light. The force of the deflected attack struck Beatrix squarely in the chest, sending her sprawling backward. She hit the ground hard, coughing violently, blood staining her lips as she struggled to regain her breath.
At that very moment, another figure arrived on the scene, her voice ringing out in a scream of both fury and fear. "Beatrix, stop!" Elyria, Eryndor's mother, sprinted toward her child, her emerald-green gown billowing behind her. Relief flooded her face as she saw Eryndor unharmed, standing resolute amidst the chaos.
Elyria strode forward and placed herself protectively in front of her son. Her green eyes blazed with anger as she addressed the queen. "How could you even think of harming a child? Aren't you a mother?"
Beatrix staggered to her feet, her expression twisted with rage and humiliation. "That thing behind you is no child," she spat, pointing a shaking finger at Eryndor. "He's a curse waiting to be unleashed!"
Elyria's voice was steady but firm as she retorted, "My son is no curse. He is a blessing to the whole of Orinthia. And if you ever try to harm him again, I will take this to the King."
Beatrix's face paled, her anger momentarily replaced by fear. The weight of Elyria's threat was clear. If the King were to hear of this incident, Beatrix knew she would face severe consequences. Swallowing her panic, she forced herself to calm, though her eyes still smoldered with resentment.
"You wait and see," she said coldly. "This is not over. Enjoy your precious child while it lasts." With that, she turned and stormed away, her royal demeanor barely concealing her fury.
Once she was gone, Elyria knelt and scooped Eryndor into her arms, holding him tightly. The boy buried his face in her shoulder, his small hands clutching her gown. "Mommy will always protect you," she whispered, her voice soft and soothing. "No harm will come to you as long as I'm here."
Eryndor nodded quietly, the warmth of his mother's embrace reassuring him that he was safe, at least for now.