The marketplace of Ashkar stood frozen.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Even the wind seemed afraid to make a sound.

Dozens of daggers lay scattered across the stone street.

Moments earlier they had been flying toward a terrified little girl.

Now they rested harmlessly on the ground.

And standing in the center of them all—

was a ragged fifteen-year-old boy.

Barefoot.

Covered in dust.

One arm protectively wrapped around his younger sister.

Golden light burned within his eyes.

Above him—

the assassin slowly stepped backward across the rooftop.

His confidence had vanished.

For years he had killed kings.

Generals.

Nobles.

Entire groups of armed soldiers.

He had never missed.

Never.

Yet every dagger he threw had stopped in mid-air.

Not blocked.

Not deflected.

Stopped.

As though reality itself had obeyed the boy.

The assassin whispered:

“No…”

The golden eyes looked directly at him.

And somehow—

the killer felt exposed.

Like every secret he had ever buried was suddenly visible.

The boy slowly released his sister.

“Stay behind me.”

The girl nodded immediately.

Her small hands clutched his torn shirt.

Terrified.

Confused.

But safe.

The assassin clenched his fists.

Then did something unexpected.

He turned.

And ran.

Gasps spread through the marketplace.

The legendary assassin was fleeing.

The crowd watched him leap across rooftops.

Fast.

Desperate.

The boy’s glowing eyes followed him.

Then—

the golden light vanished.

The marketplace exhaled.

The strange pressure disappeared.

The boy staggered.

His knees nearly buckled.

The girl immediately grabbed him.

“Brother!”

“I’m okay.”

But he wasn’t.

A headache exploded behind his eyes.

Fragments of strange memories flashed through his mind.

A golden throne.

Ancient banners.

A crown.

Then darkness.

The visions vanished.

Leaving only confusion.

The crowd slowly approached.

Nobody came too close.

They were afraid.

Not of violence.

Of what they had witnessed.

An elderly merchant swallowed hard.

“What are you?”

The boy looked down.

Then gave the same answer he always gave.

“Just her brother.”

The crowd remained silent.

Nobody believed that.

Not anymore.

Far across the city—

the assassin sprinted through abandoned alleys.

Rain began falling.

Cold droplets hammered the rooftops.

His breathing was uneven.

His heart pounded.

He had to leave.

Immediately.

Because his mission had failed.

And failure meant death.

Not from the target.

From the people who hired him.

Then—

a voice echoed behind him.

“You found him.”

The assassin froze.

Standing beneath an archway waited a hooded figure.

The killer immediately lowered his head.

“My lord.”

The hooded man stepped forward.

His face remained hidden.

“Tell me.”

The assassin swallowed.

“The stories were true.”

Silence.

“The boy stopped every dagger.”

The hooded figure remained motionless.

Then asked quietly:

“Did his eyes turn gold?”

The assassin felt cold.

“Yes.”

The hooded man closed his eyes.

Almost as though he had expected this.

Then he whispered:

“The Heir has awakened.”

Thunder rolled across the city.

The assassin frowned.

“What heir?”

The hooded figure slowly looked toward the distant marketplace.

Toward the boy.

And for the first time—

fear appeared in his voice.

“The true king.”

The assassin stared.

“No.”

The hooded man nodded.

“Sixteen years ago.”

Rain intensified.

“The royal family was slaughtered.”

The assassin knew the story.

Everyone did.

The kingdom mourned.

The royal bloodline supposedly ended.

A new king took the throne.

History moved on.

The hooded figure laughed bitterly.

“A lie.”

The assassin’s eyes widened.

The man continued.

“One child survived.”

The killer felt his stomach tighten.

“The youngest prince.”

The rain hammered the streets.

“He disappeared.”

The hooded figure slowly clenched his fists.

“And now he’s back.”

Silence followed.

Then another voice interrupted.

“Not quite.”

Both men turned instantly.

A woman stood atop the wall nearby.

White hair.

Royal armor.

A silver cloak.

The captain of the Queen’s Guard.

Commander Seraphine.

The hooded man cursed.

The assassin drew a dagger.

Seraphine smiled.

“Too late.”

Dozens of soldiers emerged from surrounding shadows.

Crossbows aimed.

Swords ready.

The hooded figure immediately ran.

The assassin followed.

The chase erupted through the city.

Meanwhile—

the boy knew nothing.

He sat beside his sister inside their small home.

A simple wooden shack near the edge of Ashkar.

Rain tapped against the roof.

The girl watched him nervously.

“You scared me.”

The boy smiled.

“You scare easily.”

She hit his shoulder.

He laughed.

For a moment—

everything felt normal.

Then someone knocked on the door.

Three slow knocks.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

The boy frowned.

Nobody visited this late.

He stood.

Opened the door.

And froze.

Commander Seraphine stood outside.

Rain dripped from her armor.

Royal soldiers waited behind her.

The boy immediately stepped in front of his sister.

Protective.

Careful.

Seraphine noticed.

Something softened in her eyes.

Then—

to the boy’s complete shock—

she knelt.

The soldiers knelt too.

The entire street went silent.

The boy blinked.

“What are you doing?”

Seraphine lowered her head.

“My prince.”

The world stopped.

The girl stared.

The soldiers remained motionless.

The boy laughed nervously.

“Wrong house.”

Nobody moved.

Nobody smiled.

Nobody corrected themselves.

The boy slowly realized they were serious.

His smile disappeared.

“What did you call me?”

Seraphine looked up.

Tears shimmered in her eyes.

“My prince.”

The headache returned instantly.

Visions exploded through his mind.

A palace.

A nursery.

A woman singing.

A king lifting him into the air.

Then blood.

Fire.

Screaming.

Darkness.

The boy stumbled backward.

The girl grabbed him.

“Brother!”

His breathing accelerated.

The memories kept coming.

A hidden tunnel.

A dying guard.

A final promise.

“Protect the prince.”

The boy collapsed to one knee.

The golden light returned.

Brighter than before.

The entire house shook.

The soldiers lowered their heads.

The girl looked terrified.

Then—

something impossible happened.

A symbol appeared above the boy.

A golden crown.

Made entirely of light.

The room filled with ancient energy.

Seraphine closed her eyes.

Relief washed across her face.

After sixteen years—

the search was over.

The lost prince had been found.

But elsewhere in Ashkar—

inside the royal palace—

another man watched the same golden light from his tower window.

King Darius.

The ruler of Ashkar.

The man who had built his throne upon a massacre.

His wine glass slipped from his hand.

CRASH.

Glass shattered across the floor.

The king stared at the distant light.

His face had become completely pale.

Because he recognized it.

The Crown Mark.

The symbol of the true royal bloodline.

The symbol he thought he had erased forever.

The king whispered:

“No.”

Then louder:

“No!”

His hands trembled.

Sixteen years of lies.

Sixteen years of stolen power.

Sixteen years of certainty.

Gone.

Because somewhere in his kingdom—

the child he failed to kill had finally awakened.

And for the first time since taking the throne—

the king was afraid.

Truly afraid.

Because the assassin’s daggers had failed.

The prince was alive.

The people had seen the miracle.

And destiny was already moving toward him.

Whether anyone could stop it anymore—

was another matter entirely.

For deep inside his memories, the boy finally remembered his real name.

Prince Kael of Ashkar.

The heir everyone believed was dead.

The child who stopped the daggers.

The child who would soon shake an entire kingdom.