The witch's single eye, clouded like stormy glass, narrowed upon the little prince as the flickering candlelight danced against the warped interior of her hut.
Shadows curled and stretched across the stone walls....walls that bore bones of animals and twisted runes written in languages long forgotten by the realm.
Prince Vaelric Stormborne stood at the threshold, his small frame shivering from the chill that clung to the misty woods. His foots were soaked in mud, tunic damp with dew, and a cut stained his cheek where a branch had kissed too hard. But it wasn't the cold or blood that made him tremble.
It was fear.
Still, his shoulders squared. His hands, though clenched tightly by his sides, betrayed how hard he tried to be brave.
The witch's voice rasped through the curling smoke and scent of damp wood and sage.
"What is it you seek, little prince?"
Her words lingered in the air like a spell not yet spoken.
Vaelric's jaw tensed. "Rumor has it that you answer two questions and grant one wish."
The witch chuckled, her lips curling like a dried leaf before a flame. "If it is rumor… then it must be true."
A crooked grin tore at the corners of her mouth. "And all that… comes with a price."
Vaelric hesitated, brow furrowing. "What price?"
"Three drops of your blood, little prince," she said with a glint in her single eye, her fingers twitching as though already tasting it.
"Why my blood?" he asked, cautious.
The witch waved a clawed hand. "That doesn't concern you. Ask your questions. Speak your wish. Take your answers and go. That is the trade. Are you still willing to pay?"
He was silent for a long breath, but his heart beat like war drums in his chest. There were things he needed to know...things he heard people whispered behind his back, things his father never answered. And a wish… A wish that had nothing to do with gold or glory.
Just truth.
"Yes," he said at last. "I will pay."
The wind outside howled like a wolf calling to the stars.
The forest and the hut swallowed him whole.
Morning broke over Valkoron like a blade of silver slashing through the sea. The storm had passed in the night, leaving behind a sky blushed in hues of peach and coral. But the castle grounds felt tense...guards whispered, stable boys held reins too tightly, and the scent of something unsettled lingered in the air like iron.
Inside a grand chamber carved from stone and hung with gold banners, the boy stirred.
Vaelric blinked awake beneath a thick wool blanket tucked under his chin. The fire nearby crackled and spat embers into the hearth, casting a soft orange glow across the tiled floor. For a fleeting second, he thought the night had been a dream.
But then came the scent....salt, steel, and cold wind.
"Vaelric."
He turned his head. There, seated beside his bed, was a man cloaked in shadows and armor.
His father.
Valerian Stormborne, the Storm Lord of Valkoron...his braids still damp from sea spray, his shoulders wrapped in the remnants of battle....looked older than the boy remembered. Wearier. The lines around his mouth had deepened, and the light in his steel-gray eyes dimmed by worry.
"You're awake," Valerian breathed. "By Vireon's name… you scared me."
Vaelric didn't answer at first. He simply stared. Then, slowly, he sat up.
"You came."
"I arrived past the ninth bell," Valerian replied, dragging a calloused hand over his face. "But by then, you were already gone."
"I waited," Vaelric whispered. His voice was low, flat. Hurt.
"I know, my son. I know."
Silence stretched between them, heavy as chainmail.
Valerian reached out, brushing damp strands of hair from his son's brow. "The Caelmont dispute turned into bloodshed. I left the moment it ended. The moment I heard you'd run off....gods, Vaelric, we searched the woods until dawn."
"How did you find me?"
"You were beneath the old ash tree," Valerian answered. "Curled like a cub. Alone. Not a soul around."
Vaelric's eyes drifted away.
Then, softly, Valerian asked, "Why? Why would you leave the safety of the castle?"
The boy turned back to him. His gaze, sharp and stormy, held the weight of something more than a tantrum or a boy's mischief.
"Because you broke your promise."
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Valerian closed his eyes briefly, shame flickering across his face.
"I did. And I am sorry."
"You always say that."
"Not always."
"Often," Vaelric said, his voice trembling.
Valerian's lips pressed into a line.
"You're always the Storm Lord," the boy continued. "But I'm just your son. And you forget that."
The wind rattled the glass panes. Even the flames seemed to quiet.
"No war," Valerian said after a long silence, "no crown, no council… is worth losing you."
Vaelric looked at him long and hard. "Then prove it."
Valerian's brow lifted slightly. "How?"
"Make an oath," Vaelric said, suddenly solemn. "Swear in the name of the Storm God."
Valerian's expression darkened. "That's no light thing to ask, Vaelric."
"I don't want gifts or feasts," the boy replied. "I want your word."
"What kind of oath?"
"That you'll grant me one request," Vaelric said, his voice low. "Anything I ask, whenever the time comes. No matter how strange. No matter how foolish."
Valerian studied his son then. Truly studied him.
The boy he saw… wasn't just a boy. Not anymore.
There was something else behind his eyes. A quiet knowing. A weight too heavy for such young shoulders.
"Vaelric…"
"Do you trust me?" the boy asked softly.
A pause.
"I trust you."
"Then swear it."
Valerian inhaled sharply, then rose to his full height. His voice carried the command of storms. His hands lifted, palms open.
"I, Valerian Stormborne, Lord of Tempests and Shield of Valkoron, swear before the Storm God Vireon to fulfill one promise to my son, Vaelric Stormborne, whenever he calls upon it....no matter how foolish, no matter how impossible."
A single bolt of lightning cracked in the distance.
Sealed.
Vaelric nodded once. "You've sealed it now."
Valerian tilted his head, suspicion laced with curiosity. "What exactly do you plan to ask, little storm?"
The boy smiled faintly, curling back under the blanket.
"I don't know yet."
Far beyond the castle walls, in the deep woods where no birds dared sing, the one-eyed witch stirred her cauldron of silver fire. The flames rose and flickered, dancing with images not yet born. Her fingers, crooked like old tree roots, dipped into the bubbling brew.
A boy's voice echoed in the curling mist.
Two questions.
One wish.
And the price had already been taken.
A name forgotten.
A memory stolen.
A love yet to be broken.
And as she dipped her gnarled fingers into the fire, her smile curled like smoke.