As night finally folded over the ruined world, silence fell like a shroud over the undone, the lost, the broken, and the cast aside. The Nyx had ceased—for now.

  Draven sat alone, just beyond the campfires, watching the soldiers laugh and share in something he never quite understood—something warm, something human.

  "Alone," he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, "in this broken place… with a broken Eos."

  At his words, the Eos within him flickered—light pulsing in quiet defiance, as if to say I’m not broken.

  His lips curled faintly. “What a joke,” he exhaled, eyes drifting toward the distant dark.

  "What am I? A savior? Is that what they want me to be?”

  He paused, then cut himself off, voice sharpening like drawn steel.

  “No… it doesn’t matter. If they need one, I’ll be it. Even if it costs me everything. I don’t have anything left to lose.”

  His eyes closed.

  And then—

  Somewhere else. Or perhaps, somewhere buried deep—

  “MOTHER—MOTHER!”

  A child’s voice cracked through the dark.

  “Don’t leave me alone… I’m scared…” he sobbed, trembling.

  From the golden haze of memory, a woman emerged—regal, commanding, eyes colder than steel, sharper than fate. The boy ran to her, clinging, desperate.

  “Mother, look at me!”

  She turned. And walked away. Her silken robes gliding past the white flame of the eternal Rix—life essence trapped and burning in the hollow heart of Senos. She left him there in the gilded corridor, drowned in light that never warmed.

  The child cried alone… until he turned.

  There, standing where no one should be—himself. But older. Hardened. Twisted by time.

  "Why?" the child asked, voice fragile. “Why won’t she look at me? Why won’t she—”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “SHUT UP!” Draven roared.

  “I’ll kill you right here,” he growled, seizing the boy by the throat.

  “Just die. Let the pain end.”

  Tiny fists struck his chest. Helpless. Futile.

  And then—he saw it. A tear. Just one. A single drop sliding down the boy’s cheek.

  His grip loosened. Shame flooded him. He turned away, hiding his face.

  Then—

  "Commander? Commander? Hellooo~?"

  A soft voice pulled him back. A girl. Too young to be here. Too kind for a place like this.

  Draven’s eyes, devoid of warmth, shifted to her. “What do you want?”

  She smiled faintly. “You seemed lost in thought.”

  This was no place for someone like her. A battlefield between Eos-blessed and Nyx-born. She was one of the silent ones—those ordered to die, unable to resist. A shame. She wouldn’t survive this. He already saw the bleeding.

  "You’re bleeding," Draven said quietly.

  "I can’t do this anymore," she replied, smiling with tired eyes.

  "I see…" he whispered, voice flat, distant.

  "Can I sit here?"

  "Do what you want."

  "They’re all gone," she said, looking to the stars. “My friends… my family. This war took them all.”

  Draven said nothing. Just silence.

  She stood. “I’ll take my leave then.”

  "Yeah," he said. Just that. Nothing more.

  The next morning, a murmur rose—soft at first, then swelling into a crowd near one of the tents.

  Her tent.

  Her body lay still, already succumbing to the rot—the slow, cruel decay brought by the Nyx-laced air that clung to the battlefield like a curse.

  "What a shame... what a shame," someone muttered.

  "She was too young."

  "She was beautiful, too," another voice added, almost wistfully.

  "Look at this idiot—drooling over a corpse," someone barked, laughing.

  And the others joined in, their laughter hollow, sharp. The kind that comes from people too used to death… or too afraid to feel it anymore.

  Draven stood at the edge of the crowd, silent.

  Watching.

  Not the girl. Not the body.

  Them.

  Their words. Their faces. Their eyes, glazed and void. The rot hadn’t spared them either—just started from the inside.

  His gaze lingered a moment longer. No one noticed. Or maybe they did, and simply didn’t care.

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Not a word.

  Just a faint pulse of something… deep beneath his skin. The Eos flickered.

  The sun blazed high over Agarias, its golden light reflecting off the polished armor of knights locked in fierce combat. Dust rose with every strike, the clang of steel echoing through the coliseum.

  At the center—Lucian Dawncrest, the golden prince.

  The crowd roared.

  “LUCIAN! LUCIAN! LUCIAN!”

  His blade danced—elegant, unyielding. Each movement blessed by Eos, every strike radiant, precise. His opponent, a seasoned knight of formidable strength, faltered under the brilliance.

  Lucian's golden hair glinted beneath the light. His eyes burned like twin suns. And at his chest—an Eos Sphere, radiant, nearly blinding in its purity. Almost Divine. Almost.

  The final strike landed—clean, unforgiving.

  Victory.

  The crowd erupted.

  “Our prince!” “The true heir of Dawncrest!” “So strong! So perfect!” “I want him…” whispered the girls, breathless and dazzled.

  Up in the royal balcony, his father—the king—rose with pride.

  "That’s my boy!" he declared, voice thunderous, smile wide.

  Lucian bowed. Raised his sword. Bathed in glory.

  Then—

  He turned. Walked into the shade.

  Inside the hall, far from the cheers, he tore off his armor.

  His smile dissolved.

  His eyes flared—but not with joy. With rage.

  He struck the marble wall. A crack spread.

  "Why him?" he hissed.

  "Why Draven? Why was it him and not me?"

  His breath trembled. Wrath simmered in every word.

  "He was weak. A disgrace. Barely even alive. And he was the one to bear it…”

  He stared into the polished surface of a golden mirror.

  "That power should have been mine."

  Moments later, Lucian stepped into the open again, expression reset—mask perfect.

  The air outside buzzed with excitement. Applause. Cheers. Adoration.

  A group of noblewomen approached, giddy and breathless.

  "Prince Lucian!"

  "That duel… you were magnificent!"

  "You moved like a god… we’ve never seen anything like it!"

  He smiled. Radiant. Innocent. Heroic. The boy made of sunlight.

  "You flatter me," he said gently, bowing just enough to charm. "But I’m afraid I can’t stay."

  He placed a hand to his chest—where the Eos Sphere pulsed like a quiet lie.

  "Some matters require my attention."

  The girls pouted. Sighed. Swooned.

  He walked away, golden cloak trailing behind him.

  Behind the smile… only silence.

  Inside his eyes, the light flickered once again.

  He didn’t hear the whispers behind him. Or maybe, like Draven, he simply didn’t care anymore.