Ash fell from the sky like snow.
The holy city of **Elarith** was burning. The great towers, once shining with gold, were now black and broken. Fire roared through the streets. Screams filled the air. The people who once prayed to the gods were now begging for their lives.
And in the middle of it all… he knelt.
**Auron Vale**, the prince of the kingdom, the boy said to have divine blood, was on his knees. His royal clothes were ripped and dirty. His hands were chained behind his back. His long silver hair was wet with blood. His golden eyes, once bright like the sun, were full of pain.
He had lost everything.
The people he trusted now stood around him, watching like he was a criminal. His uncle, **Lord Vael**, wore a new robe, gold and red, and a crown that didn't belong to him.
The man smiled.
"You were always too soft, Auron," Lord Vael said. "You believed in hope, in gods, in justice. But in the real world, power is all that matters."
Auron looked up slowly. His face was bruised, his lips bleeding, but his voice was steady.
"You betrayed me," he said. "You killed my family. You burned my home. And still… you're afraid of me."
Vael laughed. "Afraid? Of a broken boy in chains?"
But even as he laughed, a flash of fear showed in his eyes.
Auron didn't speak again. He simply stared into the sky, where black clouds were gathering.
The High Priest stepped forward. His staff glowed with holy light.
"Auron Vale," he said loudly, "you are guilty of treason, of dark magic, and of lying to the people. The gods have turned away from you. Your blood is no longer divine."
Auron stayed silent.
He had nothing left to say.
The executioner stepped up, carrying a long, black sword made to cut not just flesh, but soul.
The crowd watched.
The sword rose.
Auron closed his eyes.
The sword fell.
---
But Auron didn't wake up in heaven.
There was no light. No warmth. No peace.
Only pain.
Sharp, cold pain.
He opened his eyes and coughed hard. Dust filled his mouth. His throat felt dry like sand. His body was weak. His arms were thin, and his skin was covered in cuts and bruises.
He wasn't wearing royal robes anymore. Just dirty rags.
He wasn't in a palace. He was lying on the floor of a dark tunnel, deep underground.
The walls glowed faintly with strange blue crystals. The air smelled like sweat and metal. All around him, people were digging—boys, girls, old men. Slaves.
"Get up," someone growled.
Auron turned. A guard stood nearby, holding a whip.
"Stop pretending. Back to work, scum."
Before Auron could react, the whip snapped across his back.
He gasped as pain exploded through him.
But something strange happened.
> **\[System Activated]**
> **\[Pain Threshold Reached: +1 Endurance]**
> **\[Title Gained: The Dethroned]**
Auron froze.
"What… was that?" he whispered.
> **\[Welcome, Host.]**
> **\[You have died. Your soul has been reborn.]**
> **\[Cursed Class: Forsaken Monarch – Bound.]**
> **\[Your new journey begins here.]**
Auron stared at his hands. They were not his own. His body was weak, small. But inside him, something had changed.
He remembered dying.
And now, he was alive again.
Reborn.
But not as a prince.
As a slave.
---
That night, Auron sat in the slave pit. Around him, children coughed, cried, or stared at the walls in silence. Some were so thin he could see their bones. All of them had glowing red marks on their necks — the mark of control.
He touched his own neck. The same mark was there.
[New Quest: Survive 7 Days in the Pit]
[Reward: Skill Unlock – Flame Memory]
Auron looked at the message floating in his mind.
He remembered the stories. Long ago, people spoke of cursed systems — strange, magical forces that chose people in moments of death or great pain. Most who got them went insane. Some became monsters.
Now, one had chosen him.
Auron smiled weakly. It wasn't a happy smile. It was a smile full of pain, anger… and something sharp.
"Fine," he whispered. "If I have to start from nothing, I will."
He clenched his fist.
"They took my crown. They killed my family. They buried my name."
He looked at the broken pickaxe beside him.
"I'll rise from the dirt."
---
The next day, he woke before the others. His back still burned from the whip. His body ached. But he stood. He picked up the pickaxe. He began to dig.
Every strike sent shocks of pain through his arms.
(+1 Strength)
(+3 XP)
He smiled.
Pain was power now.
And he would suffer as long as it took.
The guards laughed at him. The others ignored him. But Auron didn't care.
He had a secret.
He was not just a boy.
He was a fallen prince with a burning system inside him.
And one day, the world would kneel.