I sat alone in my chambers long after our conversation, the dim glow of candlelight flickering across the cold stone walls. My heart was still racing. No matter how I tried to steady my breath, the echo of his words lingered—threading through my thoughts like a cold draft that refused to fade.
His voice had been so calm—too calm for someone so young to speak of war and death with such certainty. Yet beneath that calm, I had glimpsed something darker. A weight. A storm beneath the surface of his gaze, as though he had already seen too much—known too much.
And yet… when he stared into my eyes, I saw kindness. The same boy I had raised. His face was unchanged from the first time I placed him in the queen's arms. That softness was still there—buried beneath the growing shadow of a king in the making.
He had trusted me enough to reveal part of his plan—a gesture of faith that should have reassured me. Instead, it terrified me. Because I believed him. His certainty about the coming war—the way he spoke of it as inevitable—left no room for doubt. He had seen something the rest of us hadn't.
I stood outside the courtroom as he faced the king and his ministers. His first step—Phase-I—was underway: reforming the military, restructuring the economy, and securing influence in the royal court.
The young prince, standing alone against the weight of the court—and winning—was simply astonishing. It should have been impossible. Yet there he stood, a five-year-old boy cutting through opposition with the composure of a seasoned ruler. I couldn't look away.
I leaned back against the cold stone wall, pressing a hand over my racing heart. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to feel this way—this quiet, trembling sense of awe mixed with fear.
I had pledged to serve the kingdom, to guide the prince where I could. But now… now I wondered if it was already too late for guidance. He didn't need it. He didn't need me to teach him.
He needed me to follow him.
And I would.
Because after today, I no longer doubted that he would lead us to victory.
What terrified me was what he might become to achieve it.
After several meetings and demonstrations, the reforms were underway. Phase I was progressing smoothly. His Sparta System had been adopted without resistance from the nobles, ministers, or the army. I watched as the regular soldiers spat blood from the brutal training methods—but they carried on. He had lit a fire under their hearts.
But our work was far from done. Phase II had already begun.
The crown prince ordered me to gather the kingdom's orphans—the ones left behind by the previous king's cruelty. Those abandoned on the streets, those whose parents had died in the king's wars or under his blade. Boys and girls between six and eight years old.
I followed his orders and brought them to a secluded garrison deep within the forest. He was already there, waiting.
I had missed his speech at Fort Hope, but the court was still talking about it. Another impossible feat for a boy his age, they said. I didn't need to hear it to know they were right.
Now, I stood before him at Rivera Garrison with three hundred orphans—two hundred boys and one hundred girls.
Phase II was brutal—far harsher than the regular Sparta System training for soldiers and new recruits. The goal was to create a unit that could adapt to any battlefield situation—a unit capable of turning the tide of war alone. A trump card for the kingdom.
But the prince didn't spare himself from this grueling regime. He trained with them every day, demanding no special treatment from the overseers. He endured the same pain, bled with them, and pushed himself harder than anyone else.
I couldn't bear to watch the training. Instead, I remained at the castle, helping the queen manage the kingdom's economic changes alongside the military reforms.
Every two months, we visited him. Every time, I saw the difference. His body grew stronger, his posture more controlled. His eyes sharper, his speech more measured—he sounded wiser with each visit.
And the orphans… those lifeless children with dead eyes… had changed too. Their eyes now burned with purpose. They had found something worth fighting for.
They had found him.
The prince blended in with them. They treated him as one of their own, following his commands without hesitation. He had given them a home. A purpose. A reason to live.
The queen was worried—how could she not be? But seeing this newfound strength in both her son and the orphans eased her mind. Her loneliness didn't last long either—she gave birth to another child, a girl.
For the first time in years, I saw the queen truly smile. The princess was… normal. She cried and fussed like a baby should. The prince was overjoyed, introducing his little sister to his comrades with quiet pride, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
Even in the mountains, he kept track of things. He read every new record and document from the royal court. He knew the state of the kingdom better than most ministers.
Four years had passed.
The prince finally descended from the mountain garrison. He had made a promise at Fort Hope—and now he would make good on it.
His physique had changed drastically. Gone was the small, lean frame of a child. His shoulders were broader, his stance heavier with purpose. His face had sharpened, his eyes colder. Yet despite the transformation, they knew him immediately when he stepped onto the stage.
He was no longer a boy.
He was a warrior.
He was to lead this campaign to reclaim Fort Gehena—the kingdom's deepest scar. The place where their pride had been shattered. The place where their fathers and brothers had died.
Thousands of soldiers stood assembled, their armor glinting beneath the morning sun. The air was thick with anticipation.
He stood before them, unmoving, eyes scanning the crowd with quiet intensity. Then—
"CLANG!"
His sword struck the stone platform beneath his feet, the sharp metallic ring cutting through the noise.
"Silence."
His voice lashed out like a whip.
The camp fell deathly quiet.
"I have trained for four years in the mountains," his voice was steady, each word carrying across the gathered ranks. "I have endured the same pain you have. I have bled alongside those orphans who are your brothers and sisters. Even now they train to catch up to you."
"I know the shame of Fort Gehena. I know the fear you carry in your hearts. But today…"
He raised his sword high, the polished mythril blade catching the morning sun.
"Today, we take it back."
A heartbeat of silence followed—then the ground trembled beneath their roar.
Spears were raised. Shields were slammed together. Veterans banged their helmets against their chests. The sound of war drums echoed through the valley.
"I will lead you," he said, voice sharp with certainty. "Not as a prince—not as a child—but as one of you. I will fight with you. Bleed with you. And I will die with you if that is what it takes. But I don't plan on dying—nor are any of you allowed to fall. You are strong. One of you now holds the strength of ten men. I can vouch for it.
Show those barbarians the new army of Drakseid."
The soldiers' roars intensified, a rising storm.
His sword came down, pointed toward the horizon. "Fort Gehena stands before us. Four years ago, we lost it. Now we march to reclaim it."
He turned, his crimson cloak billowing behind him as he stepped down from the platform.
"Prepare for war. We shall slaughter them."
Behind him, the roars of the army shattered the morning sky.