–The Ancient Empire of Elicia, Royal Council Chamber–
Each chair, carved from gold and upholstered in the empire's finest leather, gleamed beneath the glow of resplendent chandeliers. Scarlet drapes clothed the long council table, and the walls surrounding it bore the marks of master sculptors—ornate, proud, and suffocatingly grand.
To the rushing servants, the meeting seemed calm—just another gathering of nobles demanding wine refills. But within the ring of gilded chairs, the air was thick with tension.
After a long, calculated sip of wine, a mustached noble with a furrowed brow finally spoke. "Your Majesty… with all due respect, you cannot possibly entrust such a mission to His Highness, the third prince."
Though his words were formal, his tone dripped with disdain.
"Oh?" The emperor's arms folded, a single brow rising with cool authority.
He sat like a lion at rest, his mane of red hair wild and full, his eyes a matching blood-red hue that blazed against his warm-toned skin.
To his left lounged the first prince, his chair tilted back lazily, a smirk dancing on his lips.
"Your Majesty, the count raises a fair point. I could handle this mission myself with just a handful of men and half the effort," he said, voice casual, almost amused. "Sending Darius would only complicate things."
He looked up, deliberately meeting his younger brother's glare. The sound of teeth grinding was audible.
"Fath—em… Your Majesty, if I may—"
"Yes, Darius?"
"Please, allow me to complete the mission."
The youngest prince's eyes were wide with conviction as he spoke. He didn't even need to turn to feel the weight of noble eyes upon him—gazes like daggers. Within seconds, whispers rippled through the room like a swarm of wasps.
The emperor gave a strained smile and nodded. "Then you have your orders. Travel to Valene Fortress. Retrieve its equipment and bring it safely to the capital before the demon's presence fully takes hold."
A pause.
"And what of the townspeople?" Darius had only murmured the question, but the chamber heard him as if he'd shouted it.
The stares turned venomous.
The first prince chuckled under his breath.
"Little brother… we're at war with three empires. And you're thoughts are saddled by mere peasants?"
"Then who do we fight for in the first place?" Darius snapped.
The first prince's smile vanished. "How naïve. The people you defend live only because of our conquests. This war is for Elicia—the fruit of our labor."
The nobles nodded, murmuring approval, glancing toward the emperor as if hoping he'd reverse his decision.
The emperor rose from his throne. "Darius. I've spoken. You have your orders—do nothing else. This meeting is over."
As he strode from the chamber, the whispers surged again—louder this time, mocking, cutting deep. Darius followed in silence, head bowed until the gilded doors shut behind him.
"Damn it—" he hissed, clenching his jaw, slamming a fist against the cold stone wall of the palace's main hall.
Servants caught in his path froze. Cloaked in regal black and crimson, Darius looked every bit the prince they feared. Some dropped to their knees, trembling, unable to meet his gaze. His very presence seemed to bring death in its wake.
He was used to it. That fear. That misunderstanding.
No matter how they viewed him, he only wanted one thing: a chance. A single chance to earn his father's love, to prove he was more than the empire's embarrassment.
This mission might be that chance. But if completing it meant turning a blind eye to innocent lives, it would betray everything he believed in.
The truth was bitter. The nobles had long oppressed the people of Maisine. The lower classes lived only to serve, to die buried in the very soil they toiled. Sons became knights, daughters became servants—or worse. Those who refused were branded weak.
Pawns at best. Fodder at worst.
Even with the demonic mist creeping ever closer, the nobility's cruelty persisted. And Elicia—his home—was no different. Its past was painted in blood. Every inch of land it claimed was taken without mercy.
And Darius was born of that legacy.
He had never known hunger. Never seen war up close. Never lived beyond the palace's high, impenetrable walls. And still, his ideals made him a stranger to his own kin. How could the son of conquerors be so… soft?
To them, he was a liability. An heir unfit to rule. That was why he was kept hidden, denied invitations, silenced at feasts.
Cloaked in black, seated at his father's right hand like a shadow that spoke no words.
To the court, he was a mistake. A symbol of weakness. The "Blood Sun" is what they called him.
To the common people, he was a monster. Groomed in secrecy, the perfect tyrant in waiting. And so they feared him, hated him—perhaps even more than the emperor himself.
They didn't know the truth. No one did.
As Darius moved forward, steps echoing through the marble hall, his eyes remained downcast. Every stride was heavy. Every breath, a silent plea.
Would he always remain the tragic prince of Elicia?
Or could he—somehow—become something more?