Royal Revenge

The gods have seen, the rightful crowned,

A royal blessing now unbound.

With untold might, the king will fight,

Under his rule, there will be light.

All beasts and foes, in battle’s cry,

Feel wounds returned, though still they try.

Each cut they deal, in fury wild,

Is met with vengeance swift and vile.

Those sworn in oath can only fall,

Their blows deflect, returned to them.

For every strike they dare to send,

Meets the most of [Royal Revenge].

The words echoed in my mind, the melody hauntingly beautiful, as if sung by a voice that transcended time itself. The song seemed to seep into my very soul, resonating with a truth I couldn’t quite grasp but could feel deep within myself. As the last note faded, a searing pain flared on my forehead, ripping me from the reverie.

My hand shot up instinctively, fingers brushing against the pale skin under my hazel bangs, where a scar-like mark had formed. I could see it clearly in my mind, a simple horizontal line with a diamond shape at its center, though the sensation it brought was anything but ordinary. Confusion flooded me—no mark on my arms, yet I knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that I had been blessed.

I pushed myself to my feet, unsteady and weak, my legs trembling beneath me. The world spun for a moment, and I had to blink hard to bring it back into focus. The garden was quiet, too quiet, as if everything was holding its breath. The nobles who had been seated when I first arrived were standing now, their eyes fixed on me with expressions ranging from curiosity to outright disdain.

“Look at him,” a voice sneered. I turned to see a boy of my own age, no older than sixteen, lounging casually near the edge of the garden. He was dressed in fine clothes, his hair slicked back, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. “Finally, we can stop bringing these runts to the World Tree. Our new king is here.”

King? My stomach twisted. What was he talking about?

The boy grinned, his voice mocking as he turned to one of the guards. “Kill him.”

I barely had time to process the words before the guard moved. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, drawing it with a metallic scrape that echoed in the stillness. Panic surged through me, a cold wave that gripped my chest and sent my pulse racing. I stumbled back, my feet moving before my mind could catch up.

The guard lunged, and I ducked, narrowly avoiding the blade. My heart pounded in my ears as I darted away, the world spinning around me in a blur of colors and sounds. I tried to run, but another guard caught me from behind, his arms locking around my chest and dragging me to the ground.

I struggled, gasping for breath as the weight of his body pressed down on me. My vision blurred, darkening at the edges as I felt the cold steel of the blade press against my skin.

This is it, I thought. I’m going to die.

But the killing blow never came. Instead, the guard holding me went rigid, his body stiffening unnaturally. His grip loosened, and I felt him slump to the side, collapsing onto the ground beside me. I blinked in confusion, staring at his lifeless form.

Blood pooled from the corner of his mouth, his eyes wide in shock.

“What…?”

The garden was silent. The nobles, who had been watching with bored indifference, now stood frozen, their faces pale with confusion. The boy who had given the order was no longer smiling. He glanced between the body of the guard and me, his expression hardening, while a woman stood up in a hurry.

“Kill him already!” Her voice cut through the air like a whip. She was older, regal, dressed in flowing robes that shimmered in the sunlight. Her eyes were cold, impatient. “Stop playing games.”

Another guard stepped forward, the marks on his wrist glowing as he conjured a blaze of fire between his hands. My heart leapt into my throat, and I scrambled back, barely able to register what was happening.

Flames roared to life, and for a moment, I thought it was over, again—that the fire would consume me. I braced for the heat, for the pain.

But when I opened my eyes, the guard lay on the ground, his body charred and smoking. I couldn’t breathe. The nobles, who had been so calm moments ago, now stood in shock, their faces twisted in disbelief.

The boy with the cruel grin cursed under his breath and stormed toward the first dead guard. He yanked the sword from the corpse’s limp hand, turning it over in his grip as if testing its weight.

“Enough of this,” he snarled. “I’ll do it myself.”

I tried to move, but my body refused to listen. Everything was happening too fast. The boy raised the sword, his face twisted with rage, and lunged.

“No!” a voice yelled. “Don’t do it!”

Time slowed.

I could see the blade descending, gleaming in the light as it cut through the air toward me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. All I could do was watch as the sword came down to my neck.

And then, the boy’s head snapped back. Blood sprayed through the air in a gory mess, and his body collapsed in front of me.

I blinked, struggling to understand what had just happened.

The garden erupted into chaos. Screams filled the air, the nobles scrambling back, some of them fleeing, others frozen in place.

“Nobody move!” A man’s voice boomed, deep and commanding, cutting through the panic. He was tall, older, with a sharp, calculating gaze that swept over the scene. He approached slowly, his movements deliberate, as if he was sizing up the situation that was already spiraling out of control.

When he reached me, he bowed slightly. The gesture felt out of place, respectful but tinged with something darker.

“My king,” he said, his voice smooth. “You must rest. Let the guards lead you to your new chambers.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. King? Me?

There was no time to question it. One of the remaining guards, his face pale with fear, stepped forward and gestured for me to follow. I walked, my steps unsteady, my mind numb.

As we passed the edge of the garden, my eyes caught a glimpse of something hidden in the shadows—a pile of bodies, discarded like trash. Among them, I saw a familiar face. Darrick.

His black eyes stared into nothingness.

I felt a hollow pit form in my stomach. Darrick was dead. But there was no relief, no satisfaction. Only a cold, sinking dread.

⟡⟡⟡

The room they brought me to was large and luxurious, but it felt like a prison. Thick carpets muffled my footsteps, the walls adorned with tapestries of battles and sceneries that seemed way too far removed from reality. A massive bed dominated the room, its silken sheets and ornate frame so different from everything I had ever known.

I paced the floor, my mind racing. King. Why did they call me king?

I glanced at the windows—too high to escape from. The door, solid and heavy, was locked from the outside. I was trapped.

They’re going to kill me.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. My thoughts spiraled back to the garden, to the blood, the bodies. I clenched my fists, trying to make sense of it all. The song that had played in my head earlier, the one I could remember as clearly as my own name, echoed again in my mind.

[Royal Revenge].

There was something about it, something that had saved me. I could feel it in my blood, humming just beneath the surface. A power I didn’t understand but that I couldn’t ignore. I knew about the songs, of course, I’d heard so many stories about them before, but still, none of this really made sense.

Then, the door creaked.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Someone was coming.

The door opened, and a figure stepped inside—a teen, dark, tall and lean, dressed in simple clothes, though he carried himself with the same practiced confidence most of the other nobles wore.

“You don’t have much time,” he whispered, glancing around the room before turning his brown eyes to me. “They are going to kill you.”

My heart raced. “Who are you?”

“There’s no time for that,” the boy said, urgency in his voice. “Listen, they’ve been hunting for you.”

My mind reeled. “Why?”

“Because you are the king?” His eyes met mine, sharp and full of warning. “They tried to free the spot for themselves.” He hesitated. “What did you hear before it all happened?”

I didn’t know what to say. “A song. It told me I couldn’t die,” I said, remembering all the stories and legends I used to hear about how much a blessing’s song could reveal about itself.

The boy’s expression darkened. “No blessing is all powerful.”

He turned to leave, but paused at the door, glancing back at me one last time. “Play along for now. Pretend to be their little puppet, you’ll have to buy me some time.”

And then he was gone, leaving me alone with the weight of his words.

King. The word echoed in my mind, but it didn’t feel real. Nothing about this did.

I stood in the center of the luxurious prison, staring at the door, knowing that whatever had started in that garden wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.