The sun shines gently over the Elarion Kingdom, casting golden warmth over the rolling meadows. A soft breeze stirs the grass and wildflowers, carrying the scent of spring and the promise of peace. It is a rare day—quiet, unburdened—and King Hamza has brought his family to the riverside in hopes of finding a moment of calm.
King Hamza stands at the edge of a wide meadow, his gaze soft as he watches his family. Queen Anila sits beneath a flowering tree, her violet gown fanned around her like petals in bloom. Her eyes distant but warm. Though her lips hold a gentle smile, her heart still aches from the loss of her newborn child. Grief lingers quietly within her, a shadow behind her gaze.
Three-year-old Princess Naima toddles through the field with arms full of wildflowers, her tiny fingers working hard to twist them into crooked crowns. She laughs freely as she runs toward her mother.
"This one is for Mama!" she says brightly, placing the crown on Queen Anila's head with a proud little grin.
Anila smiles, her hand cupping Naima's soft cheek, "You've made me the most beautiful queen in all the kingdom," she whispers. " Thank you, my flower".
Not far off, five-year-old Prince Ahmad walks along the riverbank, his eyes scanning the water. He is thoughtful, quiet—far more observant than most boys his age. While others play, he watches and wonders.
He picks up a smooth stone and skips it across the surface. One bounce. Two. Gone. But something strange floats into his view—a small bundle, bobbing gently in the current.
He squints. The bundle is wrapped in cloth… and it's moving.
His chest tightens.
"Arsal!" Ahmad cries out. "Come quickly!"
The royal guard nearby snaps to attention. King Hamza hears his son's cry and rushes to the riverbank, eyes narrowing.
"What is it?" he asks, already scanning the water.
"There," Ahmad points, voice trembling. "Something's in the river!"
Without hesitation, Arsal steps into the stream, boots splashing through the shallows. He grabs the bundle and pulls it from the current. As he lifts it, everyone goes still.
It's a child.
A boy—no older than two. Soaked, limp, and frighteningly pale. His tunic, though torn and waterlogged, had once been finely made. Bruises mark his small arms and legs. Blood mats his jet-black hair, running from a deep gash along the side of his forehead. The wound is raw, the edges jagged. His chest rises with shallow, uneven breaths.
Arsal lays him gently on the grass. The boy doesn't move.
King Hamza kneels beside him. "By the stars…" he breathes, brushing hair from the child's clammy forehead. "This wasn't an accident. Someone tried to kill him."
Footsteps pound through the grass. Queen Anila hurries into view, holding Naima's tiny hand. The smile has vanished from her face.
"What happened?" she asks, eyes wide—then she sees the child. Her breath catches.
Before Naima can see too clearly, Ahmad quickly steps in front of his little sister and puts his hands gently over her eyes.
"Don't look," he says softly.
Naima squirms. "Why not?"
"Just… don't," he whispers.
Queen Anila drops to her knees beside the boy, her hands glowing faintly with healing magic. She hovers them over the wound, her expression darkening.
"This head injury… it's serious," she says quietly. "If he survives, it may take his memories. Everything he was before could be lost."
King Hamza lowers his head. "He's not safe. Not yet. Arsal, take him to the secret wing of the royal hospital. Use only our most trusted healers. No names. No records."
Arsal nods and gently lifts the child into his arms again.
As the guard carries the boy away, Queen Anila watches him go, her heart heavy and silent.
King Hamza remains by the river, his eyes fixed on the flowing water. He doesn't know who the boy is, or why fate has brought him here. But something in his soul knows the truth.
This is not just a child.
He is a turning point.
And from this moment on, the Elarion Kingdom will never be the same again