Cold water splashed over Eryndor's unconscious body, forcing him to jolt awake. He gasped, disoriented, his body trembling from the cold as droplets dripped down his face. The world around him was blurry, his ears ringing from the shock.
His vision focused, and the first thing he saw was the towering figure of his father, the King, his face carved with fury. "Get up," the King commanded, his voice ice-cold.
Before Eryndor could fully rise, a thunderous slap sent him sprawling back to the cold marble floor. The force of the blow was so strong that he felt something shift in his mouth, a sharp pain and then a tooth clattered to the floor.
"F-Father?" he stammered, cradling his burning cheek, his voice quivering with disbelief. His eyes filled with tears, not just from the physical pain but from the unimaginable reality of his father striking him. The King had never raised a hand against him before. It was the first time his father had ever raised a hand against him.
Another slap landed on the other side of his face, knocking him sideways. His ears rang, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "Don't call me that!" the King roared, his voice shaking the walls. "I am not your father. I can never be a father to someone as worthless as you!"
Eryndor, his vision spinning, struggled to sit up. His lips trembled as he spoke, "What….. what are you saying? I am your son! I am the child of the prophecy, just like Mother said!"
The King laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that echoed in the vast hall. "The child of the prophecy? You? Don't make me laugh! Then tell me boy, where is the Seal of the Creator?"
Confused, Eryndor's hand instinctively shot to his neck, where the Seal had always been, a comforting mark of his destiny. His heart plummeted when his fingers met nothing but smooth, unmarked skin. "No… no, no, no," he whispered, frantically feeling around. His mind raced in panic.
"It was here!" he cried out desperately. "Father, I swear, it was here! I don't know what happened!"
The King's face twisted with disgust. "You don't know what happened? How convenient! You've always been nothing but a fraud. Your mother passed you off as some destined savior, and I believed her lies. But look at you now! A pathetic excuse for a prince. You're no son of mine!"
"I swear, I don't know what happened! My mother… my mother would never deceive you. Please!"
The King's eyes flared with fury, his voice booming. "Don't speak of your mother! She's as much a liar as you are! She dared to deceive me and this kingdom, passing you off as a chosen one when you're nothing but a fraud! Stop calling me father, you're a bastard! A disgrace to this royal lineage!"
Tears streamed down Eryndor's face as he shook his head violently. "No! I am your son! I am not a fraud! Please, Father, you have to believe me. Something must have happened, this isn't right!"
"Believe you?" The King sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "Not only can you not locate your energy core, but you dare call yourself my son? I could never father a fool like you. Guards!" he bellowed, his voice booming.
The heavy doors to the hall swung open, and armed guards stepped in, their faces stoic.
The King pointed a trembling finger at Eryndor. "Strip him of all his royal privileges. Dress him in rags worse than a beggar's! He will no longer eat at the royal table, nor shall he step foot in the royal quarters. Let him sleep in the shed with the rats!"
Eryndor gasped, his chest heaving with sobs as he fell to his knees. "No… no! Please, Father, don't do this! I'll prove myself, I swear! Just give me a chance!"
The King's expression was unrelenting. "If you want to eat, you'll earn it. Triple the workload of the palace servants, no, quadruple it. Let him earn every scrap of food he consumes!"
Eryndor crawled forward, clutching the hem of the King's robe. "Father, please! I beg you, don't do this! I'll prove to you that I'm not a fraud!"
The King kicked him away, sending him sprawling back onto the floor. "Stop calling me father! You're nothing but a bastard, a stain on this royal family. Guards, take him away!"
As the guards moved to seize him, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Eryndor's younger sisters burst into the room, their faces pale with fear and tears streaming down their cheeks. "Father, please!" one of them cried, falling to her knees. "Don't do this to Eryndor! He's our brother!"
The youngest sister, barely able to control her sobs, ran to the King and clung to his leg. "Father, please!" she pleaded. "You can't do this! Eryndor doesn't deserve this!"
The King's face darkened further. "Get away from me!" he growled, shaking his leg to free himself from her grip.
The eldest sister, her voice breaking, sobbed, "How can you do this? You're condemning your own son! Mother would never forgive you for this!"
"Silence!" the King thundered.
The youngest sister, still clinging to his leg, cried out again, "Please, Father! He's innocent! Don't…."
The King's patience snapped. With a sharp wave of his hand, an invisible force hurled her across the room. Her small body slammed against a marble pillar with a sickening crack.
Eryndor's scream tore through the air. "No!" He scrambled to her side, his hands trembling as he cradled her motionless body. Blood trickled from her temple, staining her pale skin. She lay still, her chest no longer rising.
"Wake up," he whispered desperately, his tears falling onto her face. "Please, wake up… please…"
But she didn't move.
The eldest sister crawled to her, sobbing uncontrollably. "She's not breathing! Father, what have you done?!"
The King turned away, his face cold and unmoved. "Take that boy out of my sight," he ordered the guards, his voice devoid of emotion.
Eryndor clung to his sister's lifeless body as the guards pried him away. He screamed, his voice raw with grief and despair. "She's your daughter! How could you do this?!"
The King didn't look back. "She was foolish, just like you. Get him out of here."
As the guards dragged Eryndor away, his cries echoed in the empty hall. "Father, please! Don't do this! Father!"
But the King's heart had turned to stone, and his son's pleas fell on deaf ears.
But Eryndor wasn't ready to give up. Summoning strength fueled by desperation, he twisted violently against their grip, managing to set himself free. Stumbling forward, he fell to his knees at his father's feet, clutching the King's robes tightly.
"Father, please!" Eryndor's voice cracked with emotion, his tears falling onto the cold marble floor. "I know you can bring her back! You have the power! Just get the healers, give her the Life Pill, please! Please, Father, don't let her die!"
The King looked down at him with a cold, unyielding gaze. His lips curled in disdain as he spoke. "Bring her back? Waste my resources on something so useless? Never. A foolish child's mistake does not deserve the kingdom's aid."
Eryndor shook his head violently, still holding on. "No, Father, please! She's your daughter, she's innocent! I'll do anything you want, just don't let her die!"
His desperation only seemed to fuel the King's anger. With a swift motion, he yanked his leg free, causing Eryndor to fall forward, sprawled on the ground. "Enough!" the King bellowed, his voice reverberating through the hall. "Guards, flog him. One hundred strokes of the iron whip."
The hall fell deathly silent.
"Father!" Maltida cried out as she rushed forward. She dropped to her knees, clasping her hands together in a pleading gesture. "Please, my King! He's just a boy! He's only ten! He can't survive such punishment, he'll die!"
Her eyes glimmered with fake tears, but in her heart, she whispered with dark satisfaction, It's better he dies now.
Queen Margret, pale and trembling, stepped forward. "My King, please don't do this! He's your son, he shouldn't suffer for the sins of his mother. Let him grieve his sister's death!"
Maltida, her voice steady, added, "Your Majesty, this is not justice, it's cruelty."
The King's face remained indifferent, his eyes flickering with irritation. Without sparing any of them a glance, he turned on his heel and began to walk away. As he passed the guards, he lifted a hand, silently signaling them to carry out his orders.
"No!" Eryndor screamed as the guards grabbed him again. His small, frail body fought against their hold, but it was no use. He craned his neck, his tear-streaked face turning toward his father's retreating form. "Father! Please! Don't let her die! Don't leave me!"
But the King didn't look back.
The guards dragged Eryndor to the dark, cold torture chamber beneath the palace. The air reeked of blood and damp stone. Eryndor's struggles were futile as they forced him onto a wooden table, strapping his arms and legs down tightly.
One guard held up the iron whip, its jagged edges gleamed ominously under the dim torchlight. Without hesitation, he brought it down with a sickening crack against Eryndor's back.
Eryndor screamed, his body arching against the restraints. The pain was unbearable, each lash tearing into his skin and drawing blood. But his cries weren't for himself; they were for his sister. "CiCi… I'm sorry… I couldn't save you…" he sobbed between lashes, his voice breaking.
The guards showed no mercy, delivering stroke after stroke. Blood pooled beneath the table, staining the stone floor. Eryndor's body convulsed with each strike, but his cries grew quieter. Not because the pain lessened, but because his strength was fading.
Above, Queen Margret paced in the hall, her face a mask of worry. "This isn't right," she murmured. "How could he do this to his own son?"
Maltida smirked from her corner, hiding her satisfaction behind a mask of fake sorrow. "The boy brought it upon himself," she said under her breath, earning a sharp glare from Glade, their youngest sister, who had yet to speak.
"You're heartless," Seraphine spat, her voice trembling. "No matter what, he's still our brother!"
Freya rolled her eyes, feigning indifference. "Step-brother you mean. He was never fit to be a prince. Maybe now Father will see that."
Back in the torture chamber, the guards delivered the final stroke, the whip cutting so deep that Eryndor's body convulsed violently. His back was a gruesome mess of torn flesh and blood, and his breaths were shallow, each one a struggle.
"Untie him," one of the guards said, his voice void of emotion.
"No," another replied. "Leave him. Let him think about his failures."
And with that, they left him, still tied to the bloodstained table, his body broken and his spirit crushed. The torches flickered, casting long shadows on the walls, as Eryndor lay there, unable to move. His heart ached, not just from the pain, but from the loss of his sister and the betrayal of his father.
In the suffocating silence of the chamber, tears streamed down his face as he whispered hoarsely, "CiCi… I'll protect you… next time… I promise…"
But even as he made the vow, darkness crept into the edges of his vision, threatening to claim him.