I rushed to the palace as fast as I could. The sun blazed high in the sky, casting long shadows over the towering stone walls. The sound of clashing steel echoed from the training grounds behind the palace, where the young warriors were preparing for the upcoming battle. Their movements were sharp but unrefined—discipline forged through endless drills.
But my focus was elsewhere.
Prince Osirian.
He was the most striking man I had ever seen, far beyond anyone from my time. His features were sharp, sculpted like a masterpiece of war and royalty combined. His presence alone could command a room, and his sheer aura of authority made it nearly impossible to doubt him. That's why it had been so easy for an Evil to take his form. But the moment I saw him, I knew.
The real Osirian had a scar beneath his ear—one that looked fresh, like he'd just battled a wild beast. But the one I met later? The imposter? No scar. And then there was his demeanor. The true Osirian moved with a warrior's precision, every step calculated, his body language controlled like a blade in motion. But the second one? He placed his hand on my shoulder—a mistake the real prince would never make.
I pushed my way through the crowd of soldiers, my gaze locked onto Osirian as he trained. He was a force of nature, his sword carving through the air with deadly elegance. Each strike was fluid, each movement honed to perfection. He didn't just fight—he dominated. His stance remained unwavering, his grip never faltered, and his footwork made it seem as if he was dancing with death itself. The blade glinted under the scorching sun, reflecting bursts of light as he swung it in arcs too fast for the eye to follow.
The soldiers around him were silent, watching in disciplined awe. They weren't just observing; they were absorbing. Memorizing. Hoping, perhaps foolishly, that they could reach his level someday.
I barely noticed I was holding my breath.
Then, without missing a beat, Osirian turned toward me, his golden eyes catching the sunlight. His sword stopped mid-air, inches from the throat of his sparring partner. He had sensed me before I even called his name.
"Prince Osirian! I need to speak with you!" I finally said, trying to steady my voice.
For a brief moment, he simply watched me. Then, with a small nod—a typical princely gesture—he sheathed his sword in one smooth motion and approached.
The closer he got, the more I realized how intense his training had been. His chest rose and fell steadily, beads of sweat trailing down his sharp jawline. He wasn't out of breath, but his body radiated heat from exertion. The smell of metal, sweat, and battle clung to him, though it was nowhere near as bad as the stench I carried from my own fight.
"Come inside" he said, his voice low and measured.
I followed him into the palace's shaded corridors, the sudden relief from the sun making me blink.
The moment we stepped in, he gave me a once-over, then wrinkled his nose slightly. "You reek" he muttered, frowning.
I exhaled sharply. "Nice to see you too, Prince."
His eyes narrowed. "Did you fight an Evil?"
I hesitated. "I—"
"Your eyes are bloodshot. Your lips are bruised. Your dress is torn. And that smell…" He tilted his head, studying me like a puzzle he was already solving.
A flicker of amusement crossed my face despite my exhaustion. "Observant, aren't you?"
His expression didn't change. "Answer me."
I sighed. "Yes, I fought an Evil."
"Oh… Well, it's a long story. There's this friend from my timeline—" I started explaining as we made our way toward the king's court.
Osirian cut me off, his tone intrigued. "How did you figure it out so quickly?"
"Victor. My friend's name is Victor. But I never told you that." I narrowed my eyes. "And your scar—it was fresh when I saw you yesterday. The Evils can replicate someone so perfectly that it's nearly impossible to tell them apart. But they missed your scar. That means the Evil had already taken your form days ago, before you even got injured."
Osirian didn't flinch, but there was the briefest pause—so small that most people wouldn't have noticed. But I did.
Osirian's golden eyes darkened. For a moment, the mask of a prince slipped. Not because he was shocked—but because he was impressed.
Then, just as quickly, his expression smoothed.
"A good observation" he admitted, his voice unreadable.
I folded my arms. "So? What now?"
Before he could respond, we arrived at the entrance to King Khastor's court. The guards stood at attention, waiting. Osirian straightened his posture, slipping back into his regal demeanor.
He didn't need to ask for permission. The doors opened for him before he even spoke.
We stepped inside.
The weight of our discovery settled over me like a cold shroud. If an Evil had been walking among us for days, then the palace—and the kingdom—was already in grave danger.
And the real question was… how many more were there?
As we entered the grand court, King Khastor sat upon his throne, his posture exuding authority and dominance. Even in stillness, he commanded the room. The tension in the air was thick, lingering like an unresolved debate had just been cut short by our arrival.
The moment his piercing gaze fell upon us, Prince Osirian bowed slightly in respect. I glanced at him, then at the king.
"Oh… Well, I can't bow due to my religious beliefs" I said, my voice steady but respectful.
King Khastor studied me for a brief moment before giving a small nod. "It is understood."
Before I could say anything else, his expression shifted slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the court. His nose wrinkled, and his deep voice resonated through the chamber.
"What is this stench?" he asked, directing his gaze toward the ministers seated in front of him.
They exchanged uncertain glances before leaning toward each other, whispering in hushed tones.
I sighed. "That would be me" I admitted. "I fought an Evil."
The effect of my words was instant. Every single person in the court shot to their feet, their expressions frozen in shock. Gasps rippled through the hall.
Despite the commotion, King Khastor remained composed, his aura unwavering. With a mere gesture of his hand, the ministers sank back into their seats, though their uneasy murmurs lingered.
His gaze sharpened. "Hm… In the sun?"
"Yes" I nodded.
His attention flickered to Osirian, who gave a small confirming nod. Then, his focus returned to me, his stare unreadable. "How did you survive?"
"They fear sunlight" I explained. "I didn't kill them. But once exposed to the sun, their bodies disintegrated into ashes. They'll regain their true forms at night."
His expression remained impassive, but I could sense the curiosity behind his piercing gaze. He leaned back slightly, then shifted his focus toward his ministers before returning his attention to me.
"Kylex" he began, his voice deep and measured, "you are not the only one who has battled an Evil. One of our ministers encountered one as well."
A cold feeling crept into my stomach. "And?"
"Unfortunately, we could not save him."
I straightened. "That's not possible, Your Majesty."
The king's brows furrowed slightly. "And why is that?"
I took a step forward. "Evils don't kill humans in the daylight. They keep them alive, draining their energy to grow stronger. If the minister was truly taken, he's still alive. Somewhere—hidden within the Evils' domain."
A murmur swept through the court. The possibility I had just presented stirred a new kind of unease.
"And I believe my friend Victor is alive too" I continued, my voice laced with certainty.
King Khastor studied me carefully, his expression betraying nothing. The silence stretched, the weight of my words settling over the chamber like an approaching storm.
Then, with a single decisive nod, he spoke. "We must find them before night falls."
A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. "Then let's not waste time."
"You will lead this search" the king declared, his voice firm. "Kylex, we are placing our trust in you. Do not break it."
A flicker of something—perhaps confidence, perhaps expectation—flashed in his eyes.
"I won't" I vowed.
"Princesses and Prince Osirian will assist you" he added.
I raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly is a princesses going to help me?"
"Trust me" he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I exhaled, mentally preparing for what was to come.
"But before you go…" The king's gaze flicked over me again, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You reek of battle and blood. You'd be better off washing that off before setting out."
A low chuckle escaped Osirian, the first sign of amusement I had seen from him today.
"Prince" the king commanded, "show him to the river near the palace."
Osirian let out a short breath, clearly enjoying my predicament. "With pleasure."
I sighed. "Great. A royal escort to a bath. Just what I needed."
Osirian merely smirked before turning on his heel, leading the way.
We had a war to prepare for, but first… I had to stop smelling like a walking corpse.