Each swing made his arms ache less.
His stance improved.
His footwork grew smoother.
The sword felt more and more like part of him.
But hunger started gnawing at him.
At first, he ignored it, thinking he could just keep training.
If he improved enough, maybe the Sovereign would return.
Maybe then he would be acknowledged.
But he was still a child.
Eventually, the hunger beca bigger than his fear of the Sovereign.
His stomach churned, twisting with pain, and the loneliness in the room beca too loud.
He stepped out.
The corridor was dark, with cracked stones and ancient patterns etched into the walls.
Several doors lined the hallway, but he walked past them and moved toward the staircase at the end.
It took him ti to climb.
His legs trembled, and he had to stop and rest more than once.
At the top of the stairs, he pushed open a heavy door.
Warm light greeted him.
He stepped into a massive palace hall.
The ceiling was high, the walls lined with obsidian stone and red-glowing crystals.
He walked forward, trying to take in everything.
Several staff mbers and maids were moving about.
They stopped when they saw him.
Whispers started to spread.
"Red eyes... black hair..."
"...Could he be the Sovereign’s son...?"
A maid, maybe the bravest among them, approached him cautiously.
She crouched down to his level and spoke gently.
"Who are you? What’s your na? Why are you walking around the palace by yourself?"
"Aa... sss..."
The child opened his mouth, but only strange sounds ca out.
Speaking was harder than he could’ve thought.
Despite all the knowledge embedded in his mind, speech and other knowledge necessary for day-to-day life hadn’t been part of it.
He could swing a sword with supernatural precision, but he didn’t know how to form words.
The knowledge only taught him how to fight and destroy.
His stomach growled loudly.
The maid blinked, surprised, but then smiled warmly.
"Are you hungry?"
He nodded quickly.
She stood and offered him her hand.
"Co with ."
She led him through another hallway and into a large kitchen.
The scent of food made his mouth water.
Inside, cooks were preparing a lavish al.
Seeing his red eyes and black hair, the cooks paused.
"He looks like him..."
"Could it be...?"
Whatever their thoughts, they didn’t stop her from seating him and serving food.
They placed dish after dish in front of him.
He ate fast, ravenously.
For the first ti since his birth, he felt comfort.
The maid stayed beside him, talking gently even though he couldn’t respond properly.
She laughed and poked his cheek once, making him smile a little.
When he finally finished eating, he got up and started wandering around the kitchen.
He watched the cooks, eyes focused on how they chopped, stirred, and arranged ingredients.
The head cook noticed him and scowled.
"Hey, brat. Don’t get in the way."
But he didn’t shove him out.
Instead, he let the boy watch. Even pointed things out once or twice.
The child watched, fascinated.
That was when the guards arrived.
"Where is he?"
"I saw him being brought here!"
A staff mber that brought the guards pointed toward the boy.
The guards rushed in.
Their swords were drawn, and their expressions was tense.
"There he is!"
They surrounded him.
The child didn’t move.
Their weapons didn’t scare him.
It was not scary like the Sovereign’s cold gaze or the silence of the chamber.
The maid stepped in between, confused.
"What’s going on? He didn’t do anything."
"Step aside. That child is a devil," one guard barked.
The maid flinched.
The child took a step toward her, unsure why her reaction made his chest ache.
She stumbled back, not letting him touch her.
Fear was evident in her eyes.
The boy froze.
Then the head cook walked over, annoyed.
"What the hell are you yelling for? He’s a kid."
"He’s a devil!"
"So is the Sovereign."
The head of the guard turned sharply.
"How dare you compare the filthy Devils to the Sovereign—"
"He looks like him. That’s why everyone assud he was his son. Even if he’s not, he’s still a child. Stop shouting. You’re making a scene."
The guards hesitated.
Then their leader stepped forward, grabbed the boy by the arm, and yanked him away.
They dragged him back through the corridors.
They threw him back into the chamber.
The door slamd shut, and the sound of a lock turning echoed.
"Don’t leave without permission again," the guard said through the door.
Silence followed.
The child walked up to the door and sat down.
He stared at it for a while, then raised his hand and scratched at it weakly.
"Let... ... out..."
His voice cracked as he tried to speak for the first ti.
"Let out... let ..."
His throat burned.
His words were barely recognizable.
But he continued to call out to the guards.
He scread until he couldn’t anymore.
Then he curled up and fell asleep, exhausted.
When he woke up, he didn’t scream again.
He picked up the sword.
He stared at the door.
Then, he swung.
The door shook.
He swung again.
And again.
He kept going, over and over.
Each ti he struck the door, the blade cut deeper.
He didn’t stop.
His hunger returned.
His body scread for food, but he ignored it.
He rembered the warmth of the kitchen. The presence of the people. The sizzling food.
He wanted to go back.
He wanted to cook too.
He didn’t want to be alone anymore, not after realizing there was sothing much warr than the cold of his chamber.
The more desperate he got, the sharper his strikes beca.
The sword felt like an extension of his body.
It was the first thing he had ever touched. He held it as soon as he was born. Every motion felt natural.
Finally, the door broke.
He stumbled out, panting.
His hands were sore.
His stomach felt like it was twisting in on itself.
But he had made it out.
He turned to the hallway.
That’s when he saw the Sovereign descending the stairs.
The child froze.
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