Blaze Cromwell's POV
My parents called me Blaze. My mother always used to tell me that I was going to be the sun of this country after my father. Father and I were quite the opposite—he was the darkness you must fear, while I was the light, reflecting joy to everyone around me. But now, I can't help but wonder if I truly have that light within me anymore.
One Day in the Palace
"Quickly! Get me the crown prince now!" The king's voice rang through the palace, filled with anger. No one dared question him. His voice alone struck fear into the hearts of anyone who heard it. "Yes, your highness," the servants stuttered, their voices barely audible.
Mason, the personal servant of the prince, was no longer just a servant to Blaze. He had been Blaze's confidante for years, always there to support him. Though Mason was a good man, the weight of the kingdom's and his the king's pressure bore heavily on him too. With a resigned sigh, he rushed toward Blaze's chambers.
"Your highness, his highness is calling for you," Mason said, bowing his head in respect. "I suggest you head to his study room."
Blaze's body felt heavy with exhaustion. His eyes struggled to stay open, but he nodded. "Tell him I'm coming." His voice was quiet, you could feel the pain in his voice.
The king had pushed all the burdens of running the kingdom onto Blaze, despite the fact that Blaze was only 16. What kind of king does that? His own father, the king, a dark mage whose very presence invoked fear, cared for little other than power. Blaze often wondered if he could ever live up to the image his mother had painted for him, of a bright future leading this country as its shining sun.
As he trudged toward the study, thoughts of rebellion stirred within him. The king's demands were constant, and yet Blaze couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how much he gave, it would never be enough.
He reached the door to the study, but by then, his body was on the verge of giving out. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt truly rested, truly free. The pressure, the expectations, the weight of the crown that hadn't even fully belonged to him yet—it was all too much.
With every step, he fought the darkness creeping at the edges of his mind. When he finally entered the study, the sight of his father seated behind a large, wooden desk, as cold and unmoving as always, only made his exhaustion worse.
"I am here, your highness," Blaze said softly, though his voice barely held any strength. "Your son, what is your wish?"
The king didn't look up from his papers, his dark eyes scanning the documents as though Blaze's arrival was an inconvenience. "Well, son," he began in a voice like cold steel, "I'm a bit busy, so can you take these tasks for me?" His words lacked mercy, as they always did.
Blaze's hands clenched into fists, but he remained silent. He could feel his vision growing blurry. The room seemed to spin, and for a moment, he wondered if he would collapse. His father's voice continued, cold and distant, but everything around Blaze began to fade.
"Father, please..." he pleaded, his voice weak. "Have mercy on me..."
But it was too much. Blaze's legs gave way, and he fell to the floor. Darkness claimed him.