The rain fell in heavy sheets, drumming against the stone walls of the palace like a relentless battle in the night. Each drop seemed to echo the pounding of Kael's heart, loud and unsteady beneath his ribs. The air smelled of wet earth and cold metal, with a hint of smoke curling from distant chimneys.
Kael had always found comfort in storms—the wildness, the chaos—but tonight, even the storm felt like a warning. Lightning fractured the sky with jagged white fingers, illuminating the vast corridors of the palace. Shadows stretched long and threatening, swallowing each flicker of light like claws.
He moved quickly but silently, the soft thud of his boots muffled by the thick carpets lining the floor. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, but he forced himself to stay calm. Every second counted.
Behind him, the heavy iron door to the throne room slammed shut with a sound that still echoed in his ears. His father, the king, was gone. The poison was swift, cruel, and now the palace was a cage, sealing around Kael tighter with each passing moment.
"Your Highness!"
The voice was sharp—urgent, but also accusing. Kael's eyes narrowed. They were closing in.
He rounded a corner and ducked into the study where his mother's belongings were kept. The room was dim, lit only by a single flickering oil lamp on the desk. Dust motes hovered in the faint glow like tiny ghosts, disturbed from their long rest.
Kael's fingers trembled as he reached the leather-bound journal that lay there waiting—as if hoping he might find the answers it held. The book was heavy with history, filled with cryptic drawings of plants and chemicals, notes scrawled in his mother's delicate handwriting. Alchemy was forbidden, but it was all Kael had left—a sliver of hope in a kingdom turning to shadow.
His chest tightened as the footsteps grew louder outside, the guards' armor clinking like distant thunder.
He tucked the journal beneath his coat and slipped toward the window.
The rain blurred the city beyond, but in the distance, he could just make out the flickering torches of men already searching for him.
Betrayed by those he once called family.
The window gave way easily—a consequence of the storm's fury in recent weeks. Kael hesitated just a moment, his eyes lingering on the familiar skyline one last time—the towering spires, the halls where he had learned to walk and speak and dream.
Then he dropped into the cold, muddy garden below.
A sharp pain lanced through his ankle as he landed awkwardly on a twisted root, but he forced himself to move. There was no time to nurse wounds. If they caught him here, it would end everything.
The rain soaked through his cloak, chilling him to the bone, but he welcomed the numbness. It muffled the fear threatening to consume him.
"Your Highness!" The shout was closer now.
Kael darted between hedges, branches whipping his face and arms. The garden, once a sanctuary, had become a maze of thorns and treachery.
He paused briefly behind a broken statue, the stone face cracked and weathered, its meaning lost to time.
His mind raced.
Who had set the poison? Why? He didn't belong in the palace anymore—if he ever had. They branded him a traitor, murderer, a monster.
But Kael knew the truth was far more complicated.
His father's death was just the beginning.
A single candle flickered in the distance, a sign of life in the sprawling darkness of the city beyond the palace gates. Kael's legs carried him toward it, fueled by desperation and grim determination.
He could feel eyes watching him—the hidden spies, the loyalists turned traitors.
His breath hitched when a sharp cry split the night—footsteps pounding nearer, voices shouting orders.
"Stop him! He must answer for his crimes!"
Kael's palms stung as he clutched the journal tighter. It was a lifeline, a map to power he never sought but now needed desperately.
He stumbled into a narrow alley, heart slamming against his ribs.
The poison pulsed in his veins like a death sentence ticking closer, but Kael refused to fall.
He dropped to the ground behind a barrel, the wet cobblestones slick beneath him.
The sound of heavy boots thundered past, too close for comfort.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his body to stillness.
Only the rain was alive now, pattering relentlessly around him.
Minutes passed—or was it hours? Time lost meaning when survival was the only thought.
At last, the patrol voices faded into the distance like ghosts retreating from a nightmare.
Kael pushed himself upright, joints stiff and aching.
The city was no longer a home; it was a battlefield.
Every face could mask a foe. Every shadow could hide a knife.
But the journal promised secrets—powers—beyond the reach of kings and regents alike.
He had to believe that.
In the dark, cold night, that was all he had.