Erythian had always been an enigma. His presence, was quiet yet commanding, he drew both reverence and suspicion. With his golden blonde hair falling loosely around his chiseled jaw and piercing blue eyes that seed to see through everyone, he exuded an aura of calm and control. But beneath his composed exterior lay the weight of secrets,a burden he had carried since childhood.
Erythian was born under a rare celestial alignnt, a phenonon the kingdom of Zethro viewed as a divine blessing. From his earliest days, however, his gift had felt more like a curse. He could sense danger, feel the hidden emotions of others, and, with a re touch, journey into their minds. His mother, Lady Elira, the king's second wife, was the only one who saw the tornt this power inflicted on her son.
"Erythian," she would whisper, brushing back his blonde curls as he sat trembling after yet another sleepless night. "Your gift is not a curse. You were chosen to carry this because you are strong enough to bear it. Never forget that." She said as she watches him sleep.
But even Elira's soothing words were never able to erase the mories Erythian carried. By the ti he was ten, he had felt the rage of one of the people who plotted to murder his father, King Jaman. He had touched the trembling hand of a dying soldier and experienced his agony as blood drained from his body. Every burden, every emotion, every secret beca his to keep.
The worst ca when Erythian was only twelve years old. One fateful night, his mother was assassinated within the palace walls. The killer was never caught, though rumors swirled that it was the work of one of the king's rivals. Erythian had been too young to understand the political gas that had likely led to her death, but he knew one thing: the grief he felt when he touched her lifeless body was not his own. It was hers, she had been grieving for him for so long.
"I wasn't ready," he whispered into the cold night air, clutching her hand as tears stread down his face. "I'm sorry, Mother. I should have protected you."
Her loss changed him. Erythian withdrew, speaking less and observing more. He began training in combat, mastering the sword and strategies of war, not because he desired violence but because he vowed never to be powerless again.
Despite his reserved nature, Erythian's actions spoke volus. Even as a boy, he found ways to protect the people of Zethro.
When a flood threatened to destroy a village in the northern region, Erythian, barely a teenager traveled there with a group of guards. His advisors begged him to stay behind, but he refused. Standing knee-deep in muddy waters, he directed the villagers to higher ground, using his ability to sense danger to anticipate where the river would overflow next.
"You don't have to do this," one of the villagers told him, her hands trembling as she took her child to safety. "You're the prince."
"That's exactly why I have to," Erythian replied, his voice calm but resolute.
By the ti the floodwaters receded, Erythian was hailed as a hero. But he brushed off the praise, retreating once more to the solitude of the palace.
Alaric, the son of King Jaman's first wife, was everything Erythian was not, he was bold, outspoken, and quick to anger. Despite their differences, the two brothers shared a complicated bond. Alaric admired Erythian's intellect but resented his calm deanor, mistaking it for indifference.
On the day of Alaric's coronation as king, Erythian made a choice that would forever change their relationship.
Zethro's council had long debated Alaric's ability to rule. His fiery temper and impulsive decisions made him a liability in their eyes. Erythuan steps up to the council, expressing his desire for the throne but no one knew the reason why because up until today, Erythian has never desired the throne.
The coup was supposed to be swift and bloodless. Loyal guards would detained Alaric before he could take his oath, and Erythian would step forward, announcing his intent to lead the kingdom.
But alas!, against Erythian's plans, The palace erupted in chaos, Alaric's coronation turning into a bloodbath. Amid the clash of swords, Erythian's gaze fell on Iva's lifeless body, her blue gown soaked in blood, the silver locket she always wore clutched in her hand.
Alaric dropped to his knees beside her, his scream cut through the chaos. "Iva!"
His eyes snapped to Erythian, blazing with grief and fury as he ran towards her, it was his sister, his little baby; Alaric absolutely adored Iva and hoped to raise her to the strongest and most reliable leader.
"You did this!" he shouted, his voice breaking.
Erythian, frozen in place, whispered, "It wasn't supposed to..." But Alaric's roar shattered the air. "You've killed her! You've killed everything!"
"You betrayed ," Alaric spat as he was dragged from the throne room, his voice dripping with venom. "You, the perfect son, the calm one. You're no better than , Erythian. You're worse."
Erythian didn't respond. He simply watched as his brother was escorted away, his expression was unreadable.
A while passed and nobody has heard from Alaric but Erythian begins to perform his duties.
As king, Erythian devoted himself to the welfare of Zethro. He traveled across the kingdom, listening to the concerns of his people and implenting reforms to improve their lives. But his power to sense emotions and danger continued to weigh heavily on him.
Late at night, he would sit alone in the palace gardens, his mind a whirlwind of mories and secrets he wished he could forget.
"Why do you always look so sad?" a young servant once asked him, her wide eyes filled with curiosity.
Erythian smiled faintly. "Because there are things I know that I wish I didn't."
Years passed, and Erythian's reputation as a fair and just ruler grew. But beneath the surface, he remained haunted by the knowledge and secrets he carried; knowledge that he never shared with anyone, not even his most trusted advisors.
Then, one day, he made a startling announcent.
"I wish to marry Queen Lysandra of Calithea," he told his council during a routine eting.
The room fell silent. The council mbers exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of what to make of the proposal.
"Your Majesty," one of them finally said, "Calithea is in ruins. Their coffers are empty, and their armies are weak. What possible benefit could such an alliance bring to Zethro?"
Erythian's gaze was steady as he replied. "Calithea may be weak now, but its people are resilient. They need our help, and we need their loyalty. Together, we can create sothing stronger than either of us could alone."
The council reluctantly agreed to begin negotiations with Queen Lysandra, but questions lingered in their minds about Erythians intention for making such a visibly unfavorable decision.
Why did he feel such a strong pull toward Calithea? Why did he insist on marrying Lysandra, a queen he had never t?
What does he really want?
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