The sun shone down on the narrow alleys of the slums, casting warm light that faded on the worn brick walls. Azalea opened his eyes slowly, the aroma of cooking wafting from the kitchen—before he even rose, a smile appeared on his face.
"Bel is up early again..." he murmured as she got up.
In the kitchen, Bel was busy stirring something in a small pot. Her chestnut hair was tied back haphazardly, yet there was calm and warmth in every movement.
"Good morning, Azalea. I made chicken porridge. You like it, right?" Bel said, turning to look at he.
"Of course! But… where did the chicken come from?"
"I swapped two loaves of bread with our neighbor yesterday. And don't ask how I bargained."
The day passed as usual. As always, Azalea blended into the bustling market crowd, sleight-of-hand taking wallets from foreign vendors. he returned with two small bags of coins and a sweet roll for Bel.
But the peaceful day changed when Zuriah, the king's trusted female general, arrived in the narrow slum alley. Her posture was upright, her black armor gleaming, and her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail.
"Princess Rubel Vanchess… I've finally found you," she whispered.
Bel—or rather, Rubel—fell silent. Her eyes widened. Azalea, standing beside her, reflexively grabbed his hand.
"R… Rubel?" Azalea whispered almost inaudibly.
Zuriah knelt with one hand over her chest. "Your Majesty, the entire kingdom has been searching for you."
Bel bowed her head, her voice soft. "Don't call me that name. I'm no longer part of them."
Zuriah looked at her gently but firmly. "Your Majesty, we are not authorized to take you by force. My orders are only to protect. I'll stay here."
Days passed. Zuriah became a distant protector. Azalea felt nervous but also admired her. One night, as they sat on the roof of that ramshackle house, Azalea looked at Zuriah.
"Teach me to fight."
Zuriah turned. "Why?"
"Because I want to avenge the person who killed my mother. And I want to protect Bel."
Zuriah was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Come to the field just outside the city tomorrow morning."
Two months passed. Azalea trained every day. His body grew stronger, his sword techniques sharper. Even usually stern Zuriah occasionally smiled at her pupil's progress.
he fell and rose again. Calluses formed on his hands. Wounds and bruises became constant companions. But Azalea didn't stop. he couldn't. Bel was the only reason she kept going.
One day, Zuriah said, "If I didn't know who you were, I'd think you came from a knightly lineage."
Azalea only laughed, "Sadly, I'm just a low-class thief."
Yet in her heart, she knew—he would become more than that.
One afternoon, returning from training, Azalea decided to buy some food at the market's edge. That's when her eyes locked onto a tall man in a gray cloak with a large scar on his cheek. Khalik. His father.
Azalea's world went silent. The market's noise faded. Only one sound remained—his heartbeat.
His hand trembled.
"Kh… Khalik…" he whispered.
Without thinking, Azalea drew his dagger and chased after his father. Khalik turned.
"My son… so you're still alive."
"DON'T CALL ME YOUR SON!!!" Azalea screamed.
His sword flashed forward, but Khalik effortlessly parried. They fought amid the ruins of the old market. People stepped back, leaving only two shadows clashing.
"You killed my mother!" Azalea swung again, her emotions boiling over.
Khalik looked at his coldly. "That was a sacrifice. For glory."
"SHE WAS MY MOTHER! SHE WAS YOUR WIFE!" Azalea shouted.
Zuriah appeared, stepping between them.
"Enough!!!"
Azalea swung his sword at Khalik, but Zuriah caught it with her own blade. The clang of metal echoed.
"Azalea, don't fight with anger!" Zuriah cried.
"He killed my mother, Zuriah!"
"And you'll die if you continue like this!"
Azalea pressed the attack, but Khalik caught his sword, twisted it, then kicked his back, sending his crashing against a wall.
Azalea gasped, blood trickling from his temple.
Khalik stepped forward, but didn't strike.
"You're still weak. But you have courage. That's what I wanted from my son."
"I AM NOT YOUR SON!!!"
Khalik stared at his for a long moment. Then he turned away.
"Keep training. I will return. And when that time comes, we'll settle everything."
With heavy steps, Khalik disappeared into the shadows of the ruins.
Zuriah helped Azalea to his feet. "You did well. But battles fueled by vengeance will never win."
Azalea gritted his teeth. His eyes were red. But he nodded.
Bel came running. "Azalea! You're hurt!"
Azalea looked at Bel and forced a smile. "I'll become strong. For you. For everyone."
The sunset sky closed that day with blazing red, like the anger burning in Azalea's chest.
Yet behind that fury, a vow took root.
Azalea swore he would defeat his father.
On his own terms.
And no one could stop him.