Outside the banquet hall, hidden corridors twisted beneath vaulted ceilings. Amy pressed her palm to the cold stone wall. Tears welled behind her eyelids, but none fell. Her breath was the only sound, shallow and quiet. Her body trembled—still locked in the shock of what she had overheard.
Ari walked alone through the corridor, torchlight flickering across his face as he passed darkened archways and unopened doors. He paused beneath a window—the same one he'd shouted from. Now, his voice was gone. He exhaled, slow and deliberate.
Their eyes met in the hallway. Amy stepped forward. Ari gave a quiet nod. She answered with a steady smile, no words needed between them.
When they left the palace together, it was in silence—but not an empty one. In that wordless moment, they forged a bond stronger than any oath. No kneeling, no formal vows—just understanding. Politics, magic, betrayal… all of it loomed. But here, they were simply two friends preparing for a war neither of them fully understood.
Above them, branches whispered. Leaves rustled in a hush. The world shifted as they crossed a threshold—leaving behind their childhood and stepping into the future as weapons destined for war.
---
Weeks passed.
In the training grounds beyond the village, Ari and Amy stood face to face, wooden swords in hand. Sweat clung to their skin, and the dirt beneath their boots had long been kicked up in the clash of their sparring.
Amy's blade moved with precision. She swung at Ari, light on her feet, using her gravity magic to increase the weight of the world around him. Ari staggered, his movements slowed by the invisible force, but he did not yield.
He gritted his teeth, pushing forward, each strike of his sword slower but deliberate.
"He's still keeping up?" Amy thought in surprise. "I've increased the gravity twice already."
She ducked another swing and swept his legs, but Ari twisted away, panting. Their wooden swords clashed again. Each strike echoed across the field. The duel felt evenly matched—despite the odds.
Finally, both collapsed to the ground, breathless and sweat-drenched. They sat side by side, panting.
"Hey, Ari," Amy said, glancing at him. "Do you really think what you did last week… going to the banquet just to threaten them… was smart? Isn't that going to make things worse?"
"We're not in more danger," Ari replied between breaths. "I did it for two reasons. First—so my father would know my mother is dead. He'll be forced to investigate, to increase security. That means the people who tried to kill me won't act for a while."
Amy stayed quiet, listening.
"Second," Ari continued, "I needed them to think I'm not afraid. Even if they send assassins, they'll hesitate if they think I have powerful allies backing me. Fear works both ways."
He turned to her, brushing his fingers gently against her cheek. "Amy… I know you're scared. I am too. But fear doesn't help unless we act."
Amy reached up and placed her hand over his. "Ari… I won't lie. I am scared."
He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "I already lost someone important. I won't lose you. I swear, even if the entire kingdom stands against me—I'll protect you."
From that day forward, they trained harder than ever. Swordplay, strategy, endurance. Amy honed her magic; Ari sharpened his instincts. Day by day, they grew stronger.
Weeks turned into months.
Until the day came.
Ari was called to leave the village—to face the Trial of Heir.
---
Beyond the Kingdom's border, a sprawling military encampment stood beneath storm-gray skies. watchtowers, and stone walls surrounded it. This is the Trial Ground, where the heirs of the royal family would gather to compete for the throne.
Princes and princesses arrived, one by one. Some came with entourages, others with silent pride. They gathered before the gate, all wearing the crest of Calverin—until the final figure arrived.
Ari.
He walked alone.
As silence fell over the group, a sudden gust swept the field. A figure descended from the sky—hovering just above the gate. The man wore a white cloak that rippled in the wind.
"I am William," he announced, his voice sharp and commanding. "Right hand of the King."
He surveyed the gathered heirs.
"Today, you are not princes or princesses. Your title, your bloodline—it means nothing here. From this moment on, you are simply candidates. No privilege, no power. You are equals."
A hush spread through the crowd.
"You will remain in this camp until one of you becomes King—or Queen. Even if it takes years. This is the Trial of Heir."
Murmurs rose. Some shifted uneasily.
William raised a hand.
"For the first trial," he declared, "you must overcome a challenge of the mind."
A second figure stepped forward beside him—a woman in deep blue robes with silver embroidery. Her eyes were dark, unreadable.
"This is Ava," William said. "An illusionist. She will test you."
Ava's voice was calm, almost bored. "This will be a D-rank illusion. Simple. You will either dispel it—or endure it for one hour. It will show you the worst trauma you have experienced."
Gasps rippled through the heirs.
Ava raised her hands. Magic shimmered across the air like heat rising from stone.
"One who rules must walk through fire," she said. "If you cannot overcome your pain, you are not fit to rule."
The spell struck.
All around Ari, the world collapsed.
He was back in the shadow of his fear. His mother screaming. Blood on the walls. The assassin. Over and over. Again. Again. Her body falling. His cries. Her last breath. The explosion. The darkness.
He couldn't break free.
Others screamed. Some clawed at the dirt. A few bled from their eyes or ears. One collapsed entirely and had to be carried away.
But Ari… Ari didn't fall.
He stood rooted to the ground, fists clenched, veins bulging.
He had no magic to shield himself. No mana to push back. He had only willpower.
"Fool," muttered a nearby prince named Ozai. "Trying to act mighty, and he can't even pass the first test."
Ari's nose bled. Then his eyes. Blood trickled from his ears. Still, he didn't fall. Every second dragged on like an eternity.
Ava watched from above, frowning.
"He's… still standing," she said to herself. "No mana, no magical resistance. Only raw will."
Fifty-nine minutes passed.
Ava narrowed her eyes. "Let's see how far you'll go."
She intensified the illusion.
Ari staggered. Blood gushed from his mouth. His whole body trembled. Muscles spasmed. But his eyes—his eyes burned with defiance.
"Enough," William said, stepping forward. "The hour has passed."
Ava canceled the spell.
Ari gasped as reality snapped back into focus. He blinked through blood and tears, standing unsteadily.
"That boy…" Ava whispered. "He endured more than any of them. I amplified the illusion, manipulated his emotions to the brink of collapse—and he refused to fall."
William smirked. "He is the King's son, after all."
He descended to the gate, landing in front of the heirs.
"Congratulations to those who endured the first trial," he said. "You may now enter the camp."
The heirs moved forward. Some walked proudly. Others limped, shaken.
Ari stumbled past William, barely able to stay upright.
"You've proven yourself," William said quietly. "You have that you can compete for the crown."
He turned to the remaining candidates who had failed.
"As for the rest—your trial ends here. You will be taken to the infirmary, then returned to your families. Your titles… and the name Calverin… will be stripped from you."
The gates opened. Ari stepped through.
Behind him, the kingdom held its breath. Ahead of him, destiny waited.