The journey through the forest was uneventful at first, but Jackim couldn't shake the sense that he was being watched. The trees loomed tall and silent, their branches swaying gently in the wind, but no birds sang, no animals stirred. The world seemed suspended in time, as though nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
As he walked deeper into the woods, Jackim's mind drifted back to the letter he had received. The words echoed in his mind, each sentence more unsettling than the last. "You are the last of the royal bloodline. The throne awaits you, Jackim. But there are those who would see you dead before you ever reach it. You are not safe."
Who could have sent it? How did they know his name? And most importantly, what was he supposed to do with this information? Jackim had no answers, only questions, and the letter seemed to carry more weight with each step he took. He had to find out the truth, but where to begin?
He stopped at the edge of a small clearing and sat on a large rock, pulling the letter from his satchel once more. The handwriting was elegant, flowing with an almost regal quality, but the words themselves were cryptic and filled with urgency. It was clear that the sender knew much more than Jackim did, but how could he trust them? Was this some sort of trap?
"Find Tielen."
The name lingered in his mind like an unfamiliar melody. Tielen. He had never heard it before, yet it felt strangely familiar, as though it were part of a dream he couldn't quite recall. Who was this person? What role did they play in the mystery of his true identity?
A sudden rustle in the bushes snapped Jackim from his thoughts. His hand instinctively went to the dagger at his side, his senses on high alert. The forest had grown eerily quiet once again. As the rustling grew louder, Jackim's heart skipped a beat. Was someone following him?
Out of the shadows emerged a figure—a tall man with a hood pulled low over his face. The stranger moved with a quiet grace, his steps barely making a sound on the forest floor. Jackim's hand tightened around the hilt of his dagger, but the man raised his hands in a gesture of peace.
"I mean you no harm," the man said, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable authority.
Jackim studied the stranger carefully. His eyes were sharp, his features hidden beneath the hood, but there was something familiar about him. Something that tugged at Jackim's memory, though he couldn't place it.
"What do you want?" Jackim asked, his voice guarded.
The man took a step closer, his gaze never leaving Jackim's. "I'm Tielen," he said. "The one you seek. I've been waiting for you."
Jackim's heart raced. This was the man from the letter, but how could he be sure? Was this truly Tielen, or was this some elaborate trick?
"I've been following you," Tielen continued, his voice steady. "I knew you would come, eventually. You have questions, I can see it in your eyes. You're not sure if you can trust me. But the truth is, you have no choice. You are the heir to the throne, Jackim, whether you want it or not."
The words hit Jackim like a thunderclap. His mind reeled as he tried to process what Tielen was saying. The heir to the throne? How could that be possible? His entire life had been spent in this village, far from any royal court. His parents had never told him anything about a throne, or about his true identity.
"I know this is a lot to take in," Tielen said, his expression softening. "But there is no time to explain everything right now. You must come with me. We have much to discuss, and there are those who will stop at nothing to keep you from the throne."
Jackim's thoughts swirled in confusion, but something deep inside him told him to trust this man. There was no other option. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear—he was no longer just a blacksmith's apprentice. He was a prince, the last of a royal bloodline, and his journey had only just begun.
"Where are we going?" Jackim asked, finally lowering his dagger.
Tielen nodded, his eyes narrowing as if looking toward an unseen horizon. "To the royal city. To claim your birthright."