The courtyard was silent in the early dawn, save for the rhythmic clash of wooden swords. Prince Lucien moved through the forms with deliberate precision, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill. Each strike, each parry, was a memory—of what had been lost, of what could be won. The old scars of his past life lingered in his mind, guiding his every motion.
He trained alone, by choice. The palace guards had long since learned to keep their distance when he was in this mood. Even Roland, his older brother, had stopped challenging him to friendly duels, unsettled by Lucien's relentless focus.
Lucien finished a final, sweeping arc and let his sword drop. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the sharp scent of dew and stone. The world was quiet, but his mind was anything but.
He had been back for only a few months, yet already the palace felt different. He saw every flaw in its defenses, every crack in its foundation. He watched the knights drill and saw the gaps in their stances, the hesitation in their eyes. He listened to the whispers in the halls—of war, of monsters, of the Demon King's shadow stretching ever closer.
He remembered the day his world had ended: the betrayal, the blood, the desperate flight. He remembered the faces of those who had died for him, and those who had died because of him. He remembered the vow he had made in the darkness: Never again.
Now, every day was a step toward that promise.
After training, Lucien walked the length of the palace walls, inspecting the guards. He stopped to correct a young sentry's grip on his spear, offering a quiet word of encouragement. The boy's eyes widened, and he straightened, pride and resolve blooming on his face.
Lucien moved on, hiding a smile. He knew the value of small kindnesses. Loyalty was not bought with gold or fear, but with respect.
He spent his mornings in the library, pouring over old battle records and treatises on strategy. He studied the art of war, not as a noble pastime, but as a matter of survival. He memorized the names of every knight, every squire, every captain who had stood with him—or against him—in the old timeline. He wrote their names in a leather-bound journal, marking those he could trust, those he must watch, and those he would one day confront.
In the afternoons, Lucien trained with the knights. He watched their drills, noting who moved with confidence and who faltered. He challenged the best of them to sparring matches, pushing them to their limits. He offered advice, sometimes harsh, but always fair.
At first, some resented his interference. He was the prince, after all, not their captain. But as the weeks passed, respect grew. They saw his skill, his dedication, his willingness to bleed alongside them. They began to seek his counsel, to ask for extra lessons, to follow his lead in the yard and on patrol.
Lucien was careful not to overstep. He knew the dangers of ambition, the suspicion it could breed. He worked quietly, building trust one soldier at a time.
He also spent time with his siblings. Roland, ever the proud warrior, was slow to accept Lucien's new intensity, but their sparring matches became more frequent, more honest. Elise, his younger sister, blossomed under his encouragement, her magical talents growing by the day. Lucien made sure she had the best tutors, and he often joined her in the library, discussing theory and practice late into the night.
His parents watched his transformation with a mixture of pride and concern. His mother, Queen Isolde, asked gentle questions about his sleepless nights and bruised knuckles. His father, King Aldric, observed in silence, weighing his son with the eyes of a ruler and a father.
One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, Lucien sat alone in the garden, the city lights flickering in the distance. He turned his journal over in his hands, reading the names he had written: Gareth, Mirielle, Voss, Tomas, Halden. Some were loyal, some were dangerous, all were pieces on the board.
He thought of the future—the war that was coming, the monsters that would soon threaten the kingdom. He thought of the knights he had watched die, the friends he had lost. He thought of the power he would need, the trust he would have to build, the lines he would have to draw.
He knew what he had to do.
The next morning, Lucien rose before dawn and dressed in his finest training armor. He made his way to the throne room, where his father was already meeting with advisors. The king looked up as Lucien entered, his expression unreadable.
"Lucien," he said, dismissing the others with a wave. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Lucien bowed. "Father, I have a request."
The king studied him, waiting.
"I wish to form a new order of knights," Lucien said, his voice steady. "A group trained by me, loyal only to me. Not even to the crown—only to their commander."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
King Aldric's eyes narrowed. "You would have knights who answer to you alone?"
Lucien met his gaze. "Yes. I want to build something that cannot be corrupted, something that will not betray us when the storm comes. I want to train them myself, choose them myself. I want to make sure that what happened before—what almost destroyed us—never happens again."
The king was silent for a long time. Lucien stood his ground, heart pounding.
Finally, the king spoke. "And if I say no?"
Lucien bowed his head. "Then I will obey, as your son and your subject. But I ask you to trust me. I have seen what is coming. I know what we will face. I need this, Father. The kingdom needs this."
The king rose from his throne, descending the steps to stand before Lucien. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder, his grip firm.
"You have changed, Lucien. You are not the boy you once were. There is steel in you now, and shadows, too. I do not know if that is a blessing or a curse."
Lucien met his father's eyes. "It is what the kingdom needs."
The king was silent, weighing the future.
"Very well," he said at last. "But know this: such power comes with a price. You will be watched. You will be tested. And if you fail—if you become what you fear—then I will be the one to stop you."
Lucien nodded, accepting the burden.
The king turned away, his voice low. "Choose your knights wisely. And remember—loyalty is earned, not commanded."
Lucien bowed and left the throne room, his mind racing with plans.
He would build his order. He would train them in secret, teach them not just to fight, but to think, to question, to stand firm in the face of darkness. He would make them more than soldiers—he would make them legends.
But as he stepped into the morning light, a shadow passed over the city. In the distance, the bells began to ring—a warning of trouble at the gates.
Lucien froze, heart pounding. The storm he had feared was coming sooner than he had hoped.