The night I was exiled still burned in my mind, no matter how much time had passed. The Aurelion sky had been crimson that evening, just before the trial began—a sky that looked like it was bleeding for the fall of its own prince.
I remembered standing in the grand hall of the Solaryn Citadel, chains of light binding my wrists. Around me, nobles whispered like vultures circling a dying beast. The gold on the pillars gleamed cold, as if mocking my title. It was two years ago, but in my heart, it felt like yesterday.
On the throne, my uncle sat—Prince Varcan Solaryn, the king-tier ruler who held the realm in his palm. His crown glowed faintly with Aurelion's fire. He looked down at me, expression carved in stone. At his side stood Helmor Veyne, the Royal Chancellor—slim, grey-haired, with eyes sharp enough to cut through lies but full of deceit themselves.
"Prince Mukul Ardyn Solaryn," Helmor's voice rang through the hall. "You stand accused of treason, theft of sacred flames, and conspiring to open a Rift Gate without royal consent."
The words stung. Treason. The same man calling me a traitor had been the one whispering in my ear weeks before, pretending to be my ally.
"That's a lie," I said calmly, though my voice trembled slightly. "The Rift Gate was part of the defence project—we needed it to protect Solaryn from the void storm."
Helmor sneered. "And yet, conveniently, every document related to that project was destroyed... all except your signature approving it."
A glowing tablet was held up. My seal blazed at the bottom—perfectly forged, yet real enough to fool even the royal judge. Murmurs filled the chamber.
I looked toward Varcan. "Uncle, you know me. I would never betray the crown. You of all people should—"
His eyes hardened. "Enough."
That single word silenced the room.
Varcan rose from his throne and descended the steps slowly. His aura flared—flames of pure gold swirling around him. I could feel the pressure, heavy and suffocating. He stood before me, face unreadable.
"You have your mother's stubborn heart," he said at last. "Always believing your righteousness gives you the right to disobey."
I clenched my fists. "I disobeyed to protect us. The Rift energy could've stabilised the Aurelion storms. It was never meant for conquest."
But Varcan didn't listen.
Helmor stepped forward smoothly, bowing at first. "Your Majesty, the evidence is clear. If you spare him, the people will think the royal blood stands above the law. You must act for the honour of the Solaryn line."
For a long moment, only silence stretched between us. The court held its breath. Varcan's golden eyes met mine, and for an instant I saw something—hesitation, regret maybe—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
"By decree of the High Council," Varcan said finally, his voice heavy, "Mukul Ardyn Solaryn, you are stripped of all rank and title. For two years, you are exiled beyond the Rift. Should you return before your term ends, your soul will be unbound from your body."
The words hit harder than any blade. The guards dragged me to my knees as the sigils of exile flared across the floor. I remember shouting, "Helmor forged everything! You know it!"
Helmor gave a small smile. "Proof, my prince. Always proof."
And then the world burned white.
When the flash faded, I lay at the boundary between worlds. The sky was empty, and my power was sealed. That began the two-year exile—a time when I wandered across forgotten realms, hunted by bounty mages and Rift shadows sent by the council to make sure I "never returned."
But even stripped of status, I was not powerless. My divine essence, though weakened, refused to die. Every night, I trained under alien moons, rebuilding what had been broken. I learned how Aurelion's magic intertwined with the Rift's current. The power that grew inside me during those years wasn't the gilded flame of Solaryn anymore—it was something else. Wilder. Purer.
Still, the nights weren't only filled with training. They were filled with voices—echoes of betrayal, faces of people I trusted staring back in my dreams. And always, Helmor's cold smirk lingered at the edge of memory.
I once crossed paths with a rogue priest who told me a secret. "The Chancellor's name appears in every fallen house," the priest said. "When the Solaryn council wants something gone, Helmor makes it disappear."
That confirmed what my heart already knew. The betrayal wasn't born from politics alone. There was something darker beneath it—something involving the Rift itself. Someone wanted control over the gates, and I had stood in their way.
Two years of exile taught me silence, patience, and survival. But it also taught me the language of the world's power—the very thing Helmor feared I'd learn.
When those years ended, I didn't return through mercy or pardon. The Rift itself opened before me, like destiny waiting to be claimed. My soul had adapted. The seals that bound me shattered on their own.
And now, standing once again in the lands of Aurelion, I finally understood: exile wasn't punishment. It was a rebirth.
The memory faded as the suns of Aurelion returned to view. I realised my hands were clenched tightly. A faint glow of an old flame danced across my palms.
Faith's voice brought me back to the present. "You were remembering again, weren't you?"
I nodded quietly. "Two years. It feels like the world forgot, but I remember every heartbeat of it."
Luna tilted her head. "Planning on forgiving them?"
A soft smile tugged at my lips. "Forgiving? No. But I'll thank them when I reclaim everything they tried to take."
Nira rested her hand on her blade. "Then the next step is clear."
I looked toward the horizon, where the golden spires of Solaryn shimmered like a mirage. The past was no longer a ghost. It was a weapon.
And for the first time in two years, I was ready to strike back.