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With a jolt, I shot up in bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. My room was dimly lit by the morning light, everything as it should be. I clutched my chest, my heart racing, the images of the corpses still vivid in my mind.

"Shit... That dream again..."

I rubbed my temples, trying to shake off the lingering remnants of the nightmare. It was the same damn thing every night—some messed-up vision of another life where I wasn't Eldric Valen, prince of this shitty Eldoria Kingdom. I was someone else, someone burdened with all sorts of responsibilities I couldn't care less about. But no matter how much I tried to dismiss it, the dream felt too real, too damn persistent.

"Darius Caelum," I muttered under my breath, sneering at the name that haunted my sleep. "Who the hell is that supposed to be? I'm Eldric Valen, damn it." I slammed my fist into the mattress, trying to force the name out of my head. It was like a cursed whisper that wouldn't leave me alone.

Throwing off the covers, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, the cold floor sending a shiver through me. The room was as it always was—lavish, filled with expensive furnishings and decorations fit for royalty. But none of it mattered. Not when every morning started with the same damn question: who the hell am I?

"Eldric Valen," I said again, louder this time, as if trying to convince myself. "I'm the prince of Eldoria. The son of King Valen Markus Eldoria." I glanced at the full-length mirror across the room, catching sight of my disheveled reflection. My black hair was a mess, and my green eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. I looked like hell, but who cared? The world already thought I was a failure.

I grabbed a nearby robe and threw it on, not bothering to tidy myself up. What was the point? No one in this godforsaken kingdom expected anything from me. Hell, they barely tolerated me.

I stormed out of my room, not caring if I woke up the servants or anyone else in the palace. Let them see me. Let them whisper about the useless prince who couldn't even surpass the Copper rank in cultivation. They could all go to hell for all I cared.

The hallways were empty as I made my way toward the dining room, my footsteps echoing off the marble floors. Breakfast was already set out on the long table—a feast fit for a king. But when I saw the spread, all I felt was disgust. The food looked too perfect, too pristine, like it was mocking me.

I slumped into the nearest chair, grabbed a piece of bread, and tore into it with more aggression than necessary. The bread was soft, freshly baked, but it tasted like ash in my mouth. I choked it down, washing it away with a gulp of wine. It was too early for alcohol, but I didn't care. Anything to drown out the gnawing sense of emptiness inside me.

The servants hovered nearby, their eyes downcast, probably praying I wouldn't notice them. They knew better than to speak to me unless I gave them an order. The less they interacted with me, the better for everyone.

I finished eating—or pretending to eat—and shoved the plate away, the clatter of silverware loud in the silence. "Get this shit out of my sight," I barked at the nearest servant. They jumped, hurrying to clear the table without a word. Good. At least they knew their place.

I pushed myself out of the chair and headed for the door. It was time to get out of this suffocating palace and find something—anything—to distract myself from the constant, nagging sense of inadequacy. I needed to remind the world who I was, even if that meant playing the role they all expected of me.

Outside, the morning air was crisp, a sharp contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside the palace. The capital city of Eldoria stretched out before me, a sprawling mess of stone buildings, narrow streets, and the ever-present stench of sweat and smoke. It was a kingdom that had seen better days, much like its prince.

A group of knights waited near the entrance, their armor polished and gleaming in the sunlight. They were supposed to be my bodyguards, but I knew better. They were here to keep an eye on me, to make sure I didn't do anything too reckless or stupid. Not that it ever stopped me.

"Let's go," I said, waving a hand dismissively as I walked past them. They fell into step behind me, their silence heavy with judgment. I could feel their eyes on me, see the disappointment in their faces when they thought I wasn't looking. I was supposed to be one of them, a warrior, a leader. But I wasn't even close.

As we made our way through the city, I caught sight of the citizens going about their day—merchants hawking their wares, children playing in the streets, beggars pleading for scraps. They all avoided looking at me, turning away as if my presence was an insult to their already miserable lives.

Not that I blamed them. What kind of prince was I, anyway? A lazy, arrogant, and domineering one. I wasn't worth their respect, and I sure as hell wasn't going to waste my time trying to earn it.

My destination was a seedy tavern near the outskirts of the capital, a place where the dregs of society gathered to drink, gamble, and forget their troubles. It was where I met my so-called friends, a group of misfit knights who were just as disillusioned with the kingdom as I was. They were the only ones who didn't give a damn about who I was or what I was supposed to be.

The tavern was loud and rowdy, filled with the stench of alcohol and unwashed bodies. My kind of place. I pushed open the door and was immediately greeted by the sight of my companions, already deep into their cups and laughing like they didn't have a care in the world.

"Eldric!" one of them shouted, raising a tankard in my direction. "About time you showed up! We were starting to think you'd gone soft on us!"

"Yeah, right," I snorted, making my way over to them. "I wouldn't miss this for the world." I grabbed an empty chair and plopped down, accepting the tankard of ale that was shoved into my hand.

We drank, we laughed, we made crude jokes at each other's expense. It was all so mind-numbingly familiar, and that's what I liked about it. I didn't have to think or worry about anything when I was with them. I could just exist, free from the expectations and the endless pressure to be something I wasn't.

At some point, the conversation turned to the state of the kingdom, as it always did. One of the knights, a grizzled veteran with more scars than I could count, slammed his tankard down on the table, spilling ale everywhere.

"This place is falling apart," he growled, his words slurred from drink. "And what's the royal family doing about it? Not a damn thing, that's what."

I knew he was baiting me, trying to get a rise out of me. And I knew exactly what they expected me to say—some half-hearted defense of my father or the kingdom. But I wasn't in the mood for pretending.

"Yeah, well, what do you expect?" I said, taking a long swig of ale. "It's not like I care what happens to this dump. Let it burn for all I care."

My words were met with a mixture of laughter and uneasy silence. They didn't know whether to take me seriously or if I was just being my usual, obnoxious self. And honestly, I didn't know either. Maybe I meant it. Maybe I didn't. What did it matter?

"Still stuck at Copper rank, huh?" one of the younger knights asked, changing the subject. He grinned, but there was a hint of pity in his eyes that made my blood boil.

"Yeah," I snapped, narrowing my eyes at him. "Got a problem with that?"

"No, no problem," he said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Just wondering when you're gonna catch up to the rest of us, that's all."

I knew they all thought the same thing—that I was a disgrace, a failure who couldn't even get past the lowest rank of cultivation. Copper rank was for children, for gods' sake. Anyone with half a brain and a shred of discipline could surpass it. But not me. I was stuck, and I hated it.

"You know what?" I said, standing up abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Screw this. I don't need to sit here and listen to you lot talk down to me."

I threw a handful of coins onto the table, more than enough to cover my share of the drinks, and stormed out of the tavern. The knights watched me go, their laughter dying down as they exchanged uneasy glances. They didn't follow me. Good. I needed to be alone.

The cool evening air hit me like a slap in the face as I stumbled out into the street. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the city. I didn't have a destination in mind; I just needed to walk, to clear my head. Maybe I'd find another tavern, or maybe I'd just wander until I passed out from exhaustion.

But before I could get far, a distant sound reached my ears—a low rumble that grew louder with each passing second. It wasn't the usual noise of the city—the clamor of merchants, the shouts of children playing, or the general din of life in the capital. No, this was something different, something ominous.

I stopped in my tracks, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. The air felt charged, thick with tension, as if the city itself was holding its breath. The rumble became a roar, and then I heard it—screams, distant but unmistakable, rising from the direction of the city gates.

"What the hell…?" I muttered, my heart pounding in my chest. For a moment, I was frozen, torn between the urge to run and the nagging sense that something was terribly wrong.

Then the captain of the knights—an older man named Ser Rodrick, who had served my father for decades—came barreling down the street, his face pale with fear. He spotted me and skidded to a halt, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Your Highness!" he called out, his voice trembling with urgency. "The city… it's under attack!"