The sound of wood splintering echoed around the room. Black shadows falling from the walls, leaving a disaster in their wake. The three other men in the room coward, afraid for their lives as they remained in the path of a storm brewing. A dangerous low hum coming from within the shadows, as they swallowed the room whole. The large table in the middle of the room that contained a map of the continent, seemingly snapped in half as shadows raced around it. An unknown force smashed the broken pieces of the table into the cracked walls.

The cause of this reaction stood unscathed at the end of the room. Shadows pooled at his feet, like a fire going out. Prince Kyril Drakkos. The ruthless, cunning, arrogant General of the Vraeria Military. The male much preferred to be recognized as the lethal General of his Kingdom than a Prince. He wanted to bury that title, next to his mother and brother. The giant of a man, glared daggers at the wall opposite of him. His chest heaving, as he let his rage run wild. Not a care for the disaster left behind. Stretching his arm out in front of him, the letter that arrived for him laid crumpled in his leather clad palm. Shadows swirled up his arm, reaching the crumpled parchment paper before seemingly disappearing into nothing. Shadows falling away from his hand like smoke. He dropped his hand back to his side.

Stepping over the broken furniture, he passed the shivering men. "Clean this up." His voice dripped with authority. The double doors flew open as he took his leave. Mind racing, matching the speed of his wrath. To hell with the King. He wouldn't answer his fathers summons. An arranged marriage. His life wasn't a simple play thing for his father to toy with how he pleased. It was his life. He didn’t climb the ranks for years just to throw it all away for a marriage he didn’t even want in the first place. Marriage wasn’t in his future, or at least that’s how he saw it. How dare his father throw this on him. Off all his brothers, why him? The only way his father could get him to come back home was if he drugged him, tied him up, and threw him on the back of a horse. He wouldn’t go willing, or without putting up a fight that would go down in history.

King Torsten liked to keep his sons close by. Kyril was the one that got away. Running off in the dead of night to join the ranks without his father knowing. King Torsten just about tore the Kingdom apart in search of his run away son. That was 8 years ago, when Kyril had only just turned 18. At the 2 year mark of Kyril running his father finally gave up. Just another year later, Kyril was a General. A young one at that with quite the reputation. At that point nothing could be done to return his son back home. It was odd when one really thought about it. His oldest son was 30 years of age yet he still had yet to flee the coop. Well, his sons didn’t have much control in that matter to begin with.

***

A few days later…

Mercenaries. His own father sent mercenaries for him. Baited and trapped. Kyril had only managed to kill a dozen if not more of the damned bastards. He’d have his fathers head for this embarrassment he’s placed on him. They weren’t just regular mercenaries either. They were the elite kind, the best one could hire. Guaranteed job well done kind. Hell, they must have shot 30+ darts into him before he gained a slight stumble. Still unwilling to back down. Another 15 darts before Kyril dropped to his knees. Managing to slice the neck of one more mercenary who dared to step too close. A few seconds later he was out like a light. Of course, the mercenaries hadn’t done their calculations correctly. With Kyril’s sheer size of course the regular dose doubles if not tripled to be able to take him out. Even then still fighting to the very last waking second.

Just like that he found himself chained like a dog. Reaching for his ability he was met with nothing. Damn, they must have drugged him with a solution that dulled his ability. He grunted as he sat up, the chains rattling as he moved. A growl escaped his lips as he bumped his head on the low ceiling of the wagon that carried him hostage. Dried blood splattered on the bare parts of his skin. Without a doubt there was blood on his face. Of course, it wasn’t his own blood. He gazed at his wrists bound by thick chains. It rubbed his skin in an uncomfortable way. Who knows how long they had been on the road. Kyril was reporting to an outpost that was practically on the other side of the Continent. Coming from there back to the Kingdom was just under a month's travel time. He let his exhausted body slump to the wood. The motion of the wagon moving made him sick.

Suddenly, the wagon halted. He sat up hurriedly, carefully so as to not knock himself out again. His ears strained to hear what was going on outside of the dark enclosed wagon. Swiftly sliding his large body to the bottom part of the wagon. Chains dragging behind him with the motion. His skin hummed. Shadows rolled off of him. He could feel his body surge with power. The solution must have worn off by now. Muffled voices spoke from outside, moving as they spoke to one another. His eyes narrowed as he readied himself. The locking mechanism creaked as the people outside opened it. Light seeped through the small opening. Kyril braced himself on his forearms as he waited a moment, before striking. Kicking the doors open the rest of the way, he heard an obvious crack and thump. Swinging his large body out of the wagon, he didn’t waste a second longer. Two men held their faces in their hands, groaning loudly. Blood seeped through their fingers. Using the chain that bound his wrists he wrapped it around one of the men’s necks. Yanking back, the man struggled against him. After a few more moments, the man stopped struggling, laying limp. Rising he snapped the other's neck.

Taking in his surroundings, he cursed. He was home. Brought here against his will. They’d stop towards the back of the enormous palace. Searching the wagon, he found dozens of weapons. Loading his weapons back into their respective spots, he spun to look at the palace that loomed over him. So far he hadn’t been spotted. Seeing as the wagon arrived alone with only two guards, his father wanted to keep this under wraps. Not wanting to alert others that he just kidnapped his son. A storm brewed in his gray eyes, as he glared at the castle he was raised in. A puff of shadows dropped from his chained up wrist. A clank sounded as the chain link snapped with ease, releasing his wrists from their binds. The shackles still hugged his wrists, but he had range of motion now.

Oddly enough he hadn’t passed a single breathing person as he made his way to the throne room. That was his father’s favorite place to lounge in for hours, if not the whole day. The man loved ordering those under him around like little puppets. Even his own child weren’t safe from his constant need to have control over everything and everyone. Although, the orders directed to his children was different. Those were along the lines of, “Attend classes.” Or, “Train more.” Hell, his least favorite was, “Stop slouching.” Just thinking of his childhood, only angered him more. Just what the hell was his father’s plan?

Kyril’s footfalls were heavy and purposeful. The polished marble beneath his heavy boots cracked loudly with each step. Shadows leaving the cracks like smoke. The chains that dangled from his wrists and ankles rattled silently. With a flick of his fingers he threw the grand doors to the throne room open with a force strong enough to dent the walls. All eyes were on him in an instant. People backed away, leaving a direct path to where his father sat proudly on his black throne. Spikes spurted out from behind the throne. There were gasps as he charged forward. Not slowing his pace until he reached the first step to the throne. King Torsten looked amused at the sight of his long lost son, Kyril. “Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise.” His voice carried throughout the room.

Fists balled at his side, as he glared daggers at his father. The shackles around his wrists and ankles dropped to the ground. “Get to explaining yourself old man. My patience is running low.” He growled, venom dripped from his words. The King chuckled, “Thats no way to greet your father, son.” There was amusement in the King’s voice, as he addressed his son. Shadows raced across the ground. In one swift motion, the King’s crown toppled to the ground. A crack echoed out. Gasps rippled through the crowd. The King’s jaw clenched as he eyed his broken crown. A piece of the amethyst stone had chipped. There was deafening silence for a moment. Kyril never taking his eyes off his father. “Leave. Everyone leave!” His voice boomed, as he stood up abruptly. Footsteps shuffled quickly, as people scurried to exit the room.

Once it was just the two of them, his father sat down. His hand rubbing at his coarse black beard, his eyes trained on his son. “Clearly, theres been a misunderstanding between us, son.” His tone was calm. Too calm. “The war is over.” He shrugged his shoulders. Kyril scoffed, “Yeah, and what did it cost you, huh.” It wasn’t a question. There was silence between the two. “My son.” He finally answered. Kyril shook his head in utter disbelief. “Oh don’t give me that bullshit, Torsten! This is all because I left, isn’t it?!” He snapped at his father. He stalked up the steps like a predator about to pounce on it’s prey. “You can’t handle not being in complete control for five gods damned seconds, you power hungry pig!” He seethed. “What next?! You want me to forfeit my title as General so I can what? Play house under your damn roof?!” His chest heaved, as rage radiated off of his body.

King Torsten just looked upon his son in utter silence. “I choose to put an end to this war. To save thousands of our peoples lives. To put a stop to this bloodshed!” He hissed. “I did not propose this marriage-” Kyril cut his father off. “But you picked me! Out of all of your damn sons, you picked me!” He snapped. Kyril didn’t care for the war coming to end. Good. He could use a well deserved break. The matter he wanted to discuss was the arranged marriage that was placed onto his shoulders. He was met with more deafening silence. “Because you're heir to the Throne, Kyril.” His tone was calm as he spoke his truth. He shook his head, “Have you lost your memory, Torsten? Zemislav and Cyprian are next in line for the Throne." He corrected his father with a sneer. "Your brothers married outside of the Royal Kingdoms. They forfeited their rights to the Throne." His father shoot back. What? When did his brothers get married? He shook his head, this didn't make sense. Why would his brothers do that?

"It's you Kyril. You're next in line for King."