I was born beneath an omen.
The Solar Obelisk, a sacred monument said to burn only at the birth of great rulers, shone with golden flames for three days when I entered this world. Priests whispered of prophecy, scholars wrote of destiny, and warriors pledged their lives to a name I had not yet spoken.
But fate is a cruel and fickle thing.
I did not come into power as a divine heir. I was not handed a kingdom draped in silk and gold. No—my birthright was blood and betrayal.
My earliest memories are not of soft lullabies, but of steel clashing against steel. My father, Cassian Valerius, the Lion of Solmaris, did not raise me with the tenderness of a father, but with the discipline of a soldier.
"A ruler who does not fight his own battles is unworthy of his throne."
That was the first lesson he taught me. And at thirteen years old, I took my first life.
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The Velkan Rebellion – My First War
The rebels came at dusk.
They were peasants with rusted blades, fueled by desperation. They believed my father's rule was unjust, that the empire was crumbling, that a child like me could never understand their suffering.
I understood it well enough.
When the first wave of rebels breached the outer gates, I was not hidden behind palace walls. I was on the battlefield, sword in hand, beside the hardened veterans of my father's army.
I was afraid. Not of dying—but of disappointing him.
"Hold the line!" My father's voice was thunder over the battlefield. "Let them break upon us like waves against stone!"
I gripped my blade, my breath shallow. A man rushed toward me, swinging a rusted axe. He was older—twice my size, with fury in his eyes.
He thought I was just a boy.
His mistake.
I stepped aside at the last moment, steel flashing. My sword found his throat before he could even scream.
His blood painted my hands, warm and thick. I watched the life fade from his eyes.
My heart pounded. My breath came fast.
I had killed a man.
And I felt nothing.
No guilt. No hesitation. Only clarity.
That night, we crushed the rebellion. Their corpses littered the battlefield, and the stench of death filled the air. I stood beside my father, covered in blood, as he surveyed the dead.
"You did well," he said, his voice void of praise or affection. He placed his hand on my shoulder, his grip ironclad. "A ruler must know war before he knows peace."
I nodded.
But as I looked upon the field of the slain, I did not feel like a ruler.
I felt like a weapon.
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The Beginning of My Legend
That was only the beginning.
For five more years, I was forged in the crucible of war. Every battle I fought, every kingdom I conquered, every enemy I cut down—I became something more than a prince.
I became Aurelian Valerius, the Lion Reborn.
But fate had one last lesson for me.
The day my father was assassinated was the day my true war began.
And I would burn the world to take back what was mine.