𝒜 ℋℯ𝒶𝓇𝓉 ℴ𝒻 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓁ℯ𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝓉ℯℯ𝓁

Chapter Two - Asher

Chapter Two - Asher

The clang of swords rang out in the training room, each strike sending jolts through my arms as I sparred with Dante. My brother moved with his usual fluid grace, his blade cutting through the air as if it were weightless. I swung my sword at him again, trying to match his precision, but he blocked my strike effortlessly, the clash of metal echoing through the stone chamber.

"You're getting better," Dante grinned, though I could see the focus in his eyes. He wasn't going easy on me, and I appreciated that. The sweat dripped down my brow, stinging my eyes, but I pushed through, the heat of our duel igniting a fire within me.

"I have to," I replied, breathless, stepping back to catch my breath. "There's no room for mistakes when hunting dragons." The weight of those words sat heavily on my shoulders, a reminder of the stakes involved in our family legacy. Dragon hunting was more than a duty—it was a rite of passage.

Our family had been dragon hunters for generations, a legacy I was expected to uphold. I could almost hear the whispers of my ancestors echoing through the ages, urging me to rise to the occasion. Dante had already proven himself, his first hunt a success, and now it was my turn. I could feel the pressure building with every session, every sparring match, every lesson.

Dante lowered his sword, his grin widening. "Loosen up, Asher. You're too stiff."

I tried to roll my shoulders, easing the tension, but before I could raise my sword again, a voice interrupted us.

"Prince Asher," came a formal tone from the doorway.

I turned to see a court messenger bowing low, his crisp uniform contrasting sharply with the worn stone of the training room. "The king summons you to his study."

My stomach dropped. Father. Summoning me now? I exchanged a glance with Dante, who raised an eyebrow, his grin fading into a look of concern. "Go on," he said, lowering his sword. "Don't keep Father waiting. We'll finish later."

I handed my sword to a nearby attendant, wiping the sweat from my brow, the chill of apprehension creeping in as I walked through the palace halls. Each step felt heavier, the weight of expectation pressing down on me. The palace was grand, its tall windows casting light over tapestries and statues of heroes long dead, but I barely noticed. The closer I got to my father's study, the more my steps slowed, the distant sounds of the court fading into a murmur behind me.

King Darius wasn't a man you could approach lightly. His expectations weighed heavily, and no matter what I did, I always felt like I was falling short. My pulse quickened as I reached the heavy wooden door to his study, intricately etched with the royal crest. The messenger knocked before stepping aside to let me in, the sound echoing ominously in the quiet corridor.

Inside, my father stood by the window, his silhouette outlined against the fading daylight. The study smelled of old parchment and wax, the fire in the hearth crackling softly, casting flickering shadows that danced across the room. Maps and books lined the shelves, evidence of the kingdom's long history—and Father's relentless dedication to it. Each piece of parchment told tales of conquests, battles won and lost, all leading to this moment.

"Father," I said, stepping inside, my voice steady despite the tension coiling in my chest. I could feel the heat radiating from the fire, but it did nothing to warm the chill of anxiety settling over me.

King Darius turned from the window, his sharp gaze cutting through me. "Asher," he greeted, his tone as commanding as ever, devoid of any warmth. He gestured for me to come closer, and I obeyed, trying to keep my posture straight and my expression neutral.

"How did your training with your brother go?"

"It went well," I replied, keeping my words careful, my expression unreadable. With Father, it was always best to tread lightly, like navigating a minefield.

He studied me for a moment, his eyes searching mine as if he were trying to decipher a hidden code. "You've made progress," he said, though his tone gave no warmth. "But there is more to ruling and leading this kingdom than learning how to swing a sword or hunt dragons."

The weight of his words hung in the air, wrapping around me like chains. I nodded, unsure of where this conversation was going. I knew what he expected—he had drilled it into me for as long as I could remember. But there was something in his voice today that felt different, heavier.

"I summoned you because your training is nearly complete," Father continued, his voice steady and unyielding. "Soon, it will be time for your first hunt."

My heart skipped a beat. My first dragon hunt. The moment I had been preparing for since I could hold a sword. But before I could let the excitement take root, he continued, his voice hardening, slicing through my anticipation like a blade.

"You will not be going alone."

I blinked, the words hanging in the air like a dark omen. "But, Father—"

"Dante will lead the hunt," he said, cutting me off with an authority that brooked no argument. "You will follow his command."

A wave of disappointment washed over me, tightening my chest, a bitter taste rising in my throat. "But I'm ready—"

"You are not ready to lead," Father interrupted, his eyes narrowing, sending a chill down my spine. "This is not up for debate, Asher. Dante has proven himself. You have not. You will follow his orders, and you will learn. This is for the safety of the kingdom, and you will not question it. After the hunt, I'll decide if you're ready or not."

I bit my tongue, the fire of protest burning in my chest, but I knew better than to argue. Father's decisions were final. Always. "Yes, Father," I muttered, keeping my frustration in check, a familiar defeat washing over me.

He nodded, satisfied, the lines of authority etching deeper into his stern features. "Good. Prepare yourself. The hunt begins at dawn."

I bowed slightly, turning to leave, but before I could reach the door, his voice called me back, an edge of warning underlying his tone.

"Asher," he said, his tone slightly softer but still firm. "Remember who you are. You are a prince of Evervale. More will always be expected of you than others. Do not fail to rise to it."

His words hung heavy in the air as I left the study, like a weight anchoring me to the ground. The hunt awaited, but the weight of my father's expectations pressed down harder than ever. Tomorrow, I would follow Dante into the hunt, but the true battle was already raging within me.

I wasn't just hunting dragons. I was fighting to prove that I could carry the weight of being a prince of Evervale—and, one day, the future king.

As I walked back through the halls, the polished marble beneath my feet reflecting the glow of the sconces, I found my thoughts swirling with doubt and determination. I would have asked Father what the goals of the Royal Family were, but I'd never know unless I proved enough to him.

But in Father's eyes, anything less than perfection would never be enough. Each step felt like a march toward a destiny that was both exhilarating and terrifying, and as I took a deep breath, I steeled myself for the challenges that lay ahead. The thought of dragon hunting ignited a spark within me, a longing to prove my worth—not just to my father, but to myself. The legacy of my family weighed heavily on my shoulders, but I would not let that weight crush me. I would rise to the occasion, ready or not, for the Kingdom of Evervale depended on it.