In the heart of the scorched lands, surrounded by molten valleys and towering obsidian spires, lies the Fire Kingdom — a place where the sun never rests, and even the shadows burn. Here, the fire does not warm — it judges.

  At its throne sat King Fyroth, the Flame Sovereign, a man whose rage forged empires and whose power was feared across the four realms. To him, strength was survival, and weakness — a death sentence.

  By his side was Queen Ravenna, quiet as a flicker, but sharp as a flame. She was not loud, but her gaze burned deeper than fire. Her words were scarce, her affection scarcer — but her love lived, hidden beneath layers of ash and fear.

  Their only son, Prince Roy, was born under a rare Blood Eclipse — when fire bled into the moon. It was said the sky itself had chosen him to lead. But unlike his father, Roy was not made of fury. He was made of conflict — of restraint, of thought, of quiet fire.

  From a young age, he was taught only one rule:

  “Obey the throne. Disobey, and burn.”

  And he obeyed.

  Until Zuleta vanished.

  “Father,” Roy had said, stepping into the war chamber, “I request to lead the bounty force myself. Let me bring her back… or end her.”

  King Fyroth looked up slowly, his sharp gaze scanning his son.

  “You?” he asked, a dangerous smile forming. “You who has never left the walls of this castle?”

  Roy didn’t flinch. “I am ready.”

  The king’s laughter echoed through the chamber like thunder.

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  “Then go. Prove you are more than fire in name. Bring her back dead — and show this world that the blood of the throne runs hot in your veins.”

  And with that, the order was given.

  But not all were convinced.

  In the corridor outside the war chamber, Queen Ravenna waited — not with anger, but with eyes full of something long buried.

  As Roy passed, she reached out — and for the first time in years, pulled her son into a hug.

  “Be careful,” she whispered softly, her lips near his ear. “And remember… what I taught you. Not him. Me.”

  Roy tensed.

  “Mother…”

  “Listen,” she interrupted. “The fire does not only destroy. It protects. Remember the people you will rule. Not just the crown you wear.”

  He swallowed hard.

  Then nodded.

  “I will remember.”

  As he turned to leave, her hand tightened slightly on his arm.

  “He will not forgive mercy,” she warned. “So be smart… and don’t come back the boy you were.”

  He didn’t respond. Just turned away and walked out into the searing wind, where the fire steeds were ready, and the bounty cards were loaded.

  The gates opened. The prince was leaving the castle for the first time.

  The people bowed.

  The guards marched behind him, eyes straight, armor blazing in the sun.

  But then — chaos.

  A girl — no older than nine — stumbled through the crowded road and accidentally spilled a jug of crimson nectar on his cloak.

  The guards reacted instantly.

  “You dare touch the prince?” one shouted, grabbing her by the arm.

  Another struck her.

  “Filthy brat!”

  The little girl cried out.

  Roy’s heart slammed.

  “Stop,” he ordered.

  But the guards didn’t.

  They obeyed one man — the king.

  “I said, stop!”

  Still, they struck her again.

  And something snapped.

  With a scream of steel and fire, Roy drew his sword — the Infernal Fang — and in one fluid movement, flames burst in an arc, and the guards were consumed.

  Gone.

  Silence fell. The crowd gasped.

  The girl crawled backward, trembling, untouched but terrified.

  Roy stepped toward her, offering his hand.

  “You’re safe now,” he whispered.

  But then — a familiar chill.

  The law.

  No royal may strike the royal guard.

  Only the king held that right.

  He looked up toward the balcony where his father stood, once smiling — now burning with wrath.

  “TRAITOR!” King Fyroth bellowed. “Seize him!”

  Roy’s eyes darted.

  The gates began to close.

  Soldiers poured from the towers.

  But then — a flash of movement from the upper balcony.

  His mother.

  Queen Ravenna raised her hand subtly, then made a sharp flick — a sign only Roy would understand:

  Run. Now.

  He didn’t hesitate.

  With a roar, he thrust his blade into the ground, channeling every ounce of power through it.

  A massive fire blast erupted — hot, blinding, consuming everything in a storm of light and ash.

  Smoke surged.

  Screams echoed.

  And in that chaos, the prince vanished — swallowed by his own flame.

  The kingdom would remember that moment forever.

  The day the prince defied the crown.

  The day fire chose its own path.