Kaelion stood before the full-length mirror in his chambers, the pale morning light streaming through the window and illuminating his reflection. His breath caught as he raised a trembling hand, running it over his arm. His muscles, once soft and underdeveloped, now held a faint definition—nothing extraordinary, but enough to hint at strength. His body, though still frail, no longer looked as though a strong gust of wind might topple it.
A smile crept onto his face, unbidden and genuine. Yesterday, the wooden practice sword had felt like a slab of iron in his hands. Today, he felt as though he might be able to wield it without his body rebelling against him.
But the smile faded as memories of the night before surfaced. After collapsing into his bed, a strange sensation had enveloped him—a warm, calming presence, like a hand resting lightly on his shoulder. The Crown of Balance had worked through the night, analyzing his frail frame and the forces acting upon it.
And it had found the truth.
The curse that had plagued Kaelion since birth was no natural affliction. It was the result of his father's ambition, a subtle yet insidious punishment wrought by the laws of balance themselves. The Emperor, in conquering the lands and rising to unchallenged power, had taken more than his due. The world demanded equilibrium, and the price had been paid by his firstborn son.
Last night, the Crown had lashed out in quiet retaliation. The curse on Kaelion hadn't been lifted—his magic lacked the strength to undo such a deep-rooted imbalance—but it had shared the burden. Somewhere in the palace, the Emperor had felt it.
The King leaned heavily on the armrest of his throne, his vision swimming. His chest felt tight, and a dull ache radiated from his limbs. It wasn't enough to alarm the court or even to draw attention, but it was enough to make him frown.
"Your Majesty?" one of his advisors asked.
The Emperor waved him off, standing and forcing his usual commanding posture. "I'm fine," he said, though his voice lacked its usual resonance. "Just tired. Continue."
But as he sat back down, the shadow of doubt crept into his mind. Am I… weakening...even more than usual?
Kaelion, oblivious to his father's plight, strode toward the training grounds with newfound purpose. The wooden sword in his hand felt lighter today, more manageable, and the trembling in his legs had lessened. As he approached, the other boys glanced his way, their disdain replaced by something more subdued.
One boy even offered a small nod of acknowledgment.
"Back again, Your Highness?" Sir Vellor's gruff voice called out. He stepped forward, his arms crossed. His eyes lingered on Kaelion's stance, and for the first time, there was no mockery in his gaze. "You're persistent, I'll give you that. Let's see if that persistence can actually teach you something."
Kaelion grinned despite himself and took his place across from the rotational training dummy. The device was an intimidating construct of wood and steel, its limbs jointed and capable of striking back at its opponent. It whirred softly as it came to life, its arms spinning and pivoting unpredictably.
Kaelion tightened his grip on the sword, his knuckles whitening. He lunged forward, swinging with all the precision he could muster.
The dummy reacted instantly, its wooden arm sweeping toward him. Kaelion barely managed to duck, but in his haste, he lost his balance and tumbled to the ground.
The boys watching burst into laughter, and Kaelion flushed. As he scrambled to his feet, he misjudged the distance to the dummy and struck his head on one of its outstretched arms.
"Gah!" Kaelion yelled, clutching his head as a comical bump formed. He glared at the dummy, his frustration bubbling over. "You—you stupid—rotating piece of junk!"
The laughter grew louder, but Kaelion didn't let it stop him. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and returned to his stance.
This time, he moved more cautiously, watching the dummy's joints and predicting its movements. He ducked one strike, sidestepped another, and managed to land a clean hit on its torso.
Cheers erupted from the crowd, albeit half-hearted, but it was enough to fuel Kaelion's determination. He struck again, and again, dodging the dummy's counterattacks with growing confidence. By the time he landed his third hit, his arms were trembling and his legs felt like jelly, but his heart soared.
"Not bad," Sir Vellor muttered under his breath, though Kaelion didn't hear him.
That night, Kaelion lay in bed, his body aching but his spirit light. He traced the faint definition of his arm muscles with his fingers, marveling at the change. It wasn't just his magic or the training—it was the simple fact that, for the first time, he felt like he was moving forward.
The somber weight of his curse lingered in the back of his mind, but he pushed it aside. Whatever price the Emperor had paid to gain his throne, Kaelion would bear it. He would use his magic, his determination, and whatever strength he could build to carve his own path.
As sleep claimed him, the Crown of Balance stirred once more, its invisible hand guiding Kaelion's body to recover and strengthen itself for the trials ahead. And somewhere in the palace, the Emperor rubbed his temples, a strange fatigue gnawing at the edges of his formidable will.
Kaelion's journey was only just beginning, but for the first time, he believed he could walk it.