The kingdom of Veloria had long been ruled by the royal family, whose bloodline was steeped in power, fear, and tyranny. The streets whispered of their cruelty, and the towers of the castle loomed high above, casting shadows over the commoners who toiled beneath them. But on the day of his birth, the castle was filled with hope.

In the grand chamber of the royal palace, under the watchful eyes of the kingdom's most trusted healers and servants, the air was thick with anticipation. The queen, a strong and noble woman, had long been revered for her grace and strength, but today, she was only a mother.

She gripped the hands of the king, whose face was drawn with exhaustion but also with the pride of a man who had everything. A child of his blood was about to be born, the next heir to the throne. The boy would be raised in the kingdom's image, prepared to rule, to command, and to continue the legacy of cruelty the royal family was known for.

At last, after hours of labor, the cries of a newborn prince echoed through the chamber. The king's heart swelled with triumph. His son was born, strong and healthy, destined to take his place on the throne one day. A crown, however distant, seemed already within the child's reach.

But as the prince's tiny fingers gripped the world for the first time, a strange feeling passed through the queen. There was something different in the air, a faint whisper that seemed to reach deep into her soul. She looked into the prince's eyes, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as if a great weight had been placed upon his shoulders.

In that instant, she saw not just the future king, but the beginning of something far more complicated. A cycle of cruelty, of war, and of bloodshed was already forming around him. A future too heavy for such small hands.

The king leaned down to kiss the child's forehead. "Our son will grow to be great, stronger than any ruler before him," he declared, his voice full of certainty.

But the queen held her gaze on her son, a silent promise burning in her heart. I will not allow this child to follow the same path. Not while I still breathe.

And so, the prince was born into a world of power, hatred, and expectation. He was the youngest of his siblings, destined to rise in a family where strength was measured in violence, and compassion was a weakness. His birth, marked by both hope and foreboding, would soon be the beginning of a long, painful journey.

The prince would have to choose his own path, but that choice would come with a price—one he would not understand until many years later, when he would meet a girl who would change his fate forever.