The royal square of Ashkar was filled with people.

Thousands of citizens gathered beneath dark storm clouds.

Royal banners fluttered above the crowd.

Nobles stood beside the stone platform.

And at the center of it all—

stood the King.

His voice echoed across the square as he addressed his people.

Every eye was fixed upon him.

Then—

a small 11-year-old boy suddenly pushed through the crowd.

Barefoot.

Wearing torn ragged clothes stained with mud and dust.

His dirty face stood out among the well-dressed citizens.

The guards barely noticed him.

Until—

SMACK.

The boy slapped the King across the face.

The sound echoed through the square.

Silence.

Complete silence.

Thousands of people froze.

Nobody could believe what they had just seen.

Then chaos erupted.

“SEIZE THE BOY!”

Guards drew their swords.

Nobles shouted in outrage.

Citizens stumbled backward in shock.

The King staggered sideways.

His hand rose to his cheek.

The royal platform became a storm of confusion.

Yet the boy did not run.

He did not speak.

He simply stood before the King.

Watching.

Waiting.

The guards charged toward him.

Then—

far above the square—

inside a distant watchtower—

a masked figure moved.

Hidden behind a narrow window.

A bow was already drawn.

The assassin’s eyes locked onto the King.

The string tightened.

Then—

TWANG.

The arrow was released.

It shot through the storm-dark air.

Faster than any horse.

Faster than any warning.

Straight toward the King’s head.

The crowd knew nothing.

The guards knew nothing.

Only the boy.

The arrow screamed across the square.

Closing the distance in a heartbeat.

Then—

SHHHHK.

The projectile flashed past the King’s face.

Missing by mere inches.

The arrow slammed into a stone pillar behind him.

THUNK.

The impact cracked the stone.

The square fell silent once again.

Everyone stared.

The King’s eyes widened.

Only moments earlier—

his head had been exactly where the arrow passed.

Had the boy not struck him—

the assassin’s shot would have hit its target.

A noble whispered,

“He saved His Majesty…”

The realization spread through the crowd.

The child had not attacked the King.

He had saved his life.

The guards slowed.

Their swords lowered.

The King turned slowly toward the arrow embedded in the stone.

Rain began falling from the dark sky.

The banners snapped violently in the wind.

Then—

the boy lifted his gaze.

Toward the distant watchtower.

Toward the narrow window where the shot had come from.

The King followed his eyes.

For a brief moment—

a shadowy figure stood inside the tower.

Watching.

Then the figure disappeared.

Vanishing into the darkness.

The assassin was gone.

The crowd remained frozen.

The guards no longer knew whether to arrest the child or thank him.

The King slowly turned toward the boy.

His expression was unreadable.

“Who are you?”

The child looked up.

“Ash.”

The King frowned.

Just a name.

Nothing more.

No family.

No title.

No explanation.

Then Captain Rael, commander of the royal guard, stepped forward.

“We must search the tower immediately.”

The King nodded.

“Go.”

Rael led dozens of soldiers into the storm.

Meanwhile, the square remained silent.

Thousands of people stared at the boy.

The same child they had been ready to execute moments earlier.

Then—

another voice spoke.

“Something is wrong.”

It came from an elderly noble.

Lord Cedric.

Keeper of the royal archives.

His eyes were fixed on the arrow.

Not the assassin.

The arrow.

The old man approached slowly.

Rain dripped from his silver cloak.

Then his face turned pale.

“No…”

The King noticed.

“What is it?”

Cedric pointed.

The arrowhead carried a symbol.

A black crown wrapped in thorns.

The old man’s voice trembled.

“That mark disappeared twenty years ago.”

The King’s expression hardened immediately.

The Black Crown.

A secret organization.

The same group responsible for the bloodiest rebellion in Ashkar’s history.

A rebellion believed destroyed.

Yet somehow—

their symbol had returned.

Thunder rolled overhead.

Then a horn echoed from the city walls.

BWOOOOOOOM.

Every soldier froze.

A second horn answered.

Then a third.

The King’s face changed.

Those weren’t alarm horns.

They were invasion horns.

Captain Rael’s voice suddenly echoed from the far side of the square.

“YOUR MAJESTY!”

The commander emerged from the storm.

Covered in rain.

Out of breath.

His face was white.

“The tower was empty.”

The King frowned.

“What?”

Rael swallowed.

“No assassin.”

“No bow.”

“No footprints.”

The square fell silent.

That made no sense.

Everyone had seen the figure.

Yet nobody was there.

Then the boy spoke.

For the first time since the arrow.

“Because he’s already inside the palace.”

The crowd turned.

Ash stared toward the royal castle.

His eyes narrowed.

The King looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

Ash hesitated.

Then pointed.

Straight toward the royal family.

Toward the nobles standing behind the throne.

The entire square froze.

Several nobles stepped backward.

The King’s voice became cold.

“Choose your next words carefully.”

The boy didn’t flinch.

“The assassin wasn’t trying to kill you.”

The King frowned.

“What?”

“The arrow was meant to miss.”

The crowd gasped.

Ash continued.

“He wanted everyone looking at the tower.”

Silence.

Then realization slowly appeared in Rael’s eyes.

A distraction.

The assassin had never intended to succeed.

He wanted the guards looking away from something else.

Something happening right now.

Suddenly—

BOOOOOOOOM.

An explosion shook the palace.

Fire erupted from one of the royal towers.

Citizens screamed.

The King’s face darkened.

Then another explosion.

And another.

The attack had already begun.

The city erupted into chaos.

Black smoke rose into the sky.

The Black Crown had infiltrated the capital.

The rebellion wasn’t returning.

It had never truly ended.

The King drew his sword.

“Protect the palace!”

Soldiers rushed through the streets.

Nobles fled.

Citizens panicked.

Yet Ash remained standing.

Watching the burning tower.

Something about the fire felt familiar.

Then—

he saw it.

A figure standing atop the flames.

A man dressed entirely in black.

Watching from the burning tower.

Even from this distance—

Ash recognized him.

His heart stopped.

Because years ago—

he had seen that face.

The night his village burned.

The night his parents died.

The man slowly raised one hand.

Then vanished into the smoke.

The boy’s fists tightened.

The King noticed.

“You know him.”

It wasn’t a question.

Ash nodded.

The King’s expression changed.

For the first time—

he truly looked at the child.

Not as a beggar.

Not as a peasant.

But as someone connected to this mystery.

Then Lord Cedric suddenly grabbed Ash’s arm.

The old archivist stared at the boy’s wrist.

His eyes widened.

“No…”

The rain washed mud away from the skin.

Revealing a mark.

A small silver crest.

Almost invisible.

The old man’s breathing became unsteady.

The King frowned.

“What is it?”

Cedric looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“That crest…”

The old man slowly looked into Ash’s eyes.

Then whispered words that changed everything.

“The last prince carried the same mark.”

The world seemed to stop.

The King froze.

Captain Rael froze.

The nobles froze.

Because twenty years ago—

the royal family lost a child.

A prince.

An infant believed dead during the Black Crown rebellion.

A prince whose body was never found.

Thunder exploded overhead.

The old man stared at Ash.

Then at the mark.

Then back at Ash.

His voice shook.

“Impossible.”

The boy stood speechless.

Because he had carried that mark his entire life.

And suddenly—

the burning palace.

The assassin.

The rebellion.

The attack.

None of it seemed random anymore.

The Black Crown wasn’t hunting the King.

They were hunting him.

The realization struck everyone at the same time.

The attack had never been about the throne.

It was about the lost heir.

And somewhere beyond the flames—

the man in black was smiling.

Because after eleven years—

he had finally found the child who survived.

The storm intensified.

The palace burned.

The rebellion returned.

And standing at the center of it all—

was the barefoot boy who had slapped the King.

The child who saved a kingdom.

And the heir who never knew he was a prince.

For the first time in eleven years—

the hunt had begun.