In the velvet-draped solitude of his tower chamber, Heath, on his cloak, looking like a stature, stood before a mirror, tracing the delicate rune etched along his wrist. The mark pulsed faintly—an ancient seal of power passed down through bloodlines, one his father had carved into his skin as a child. To the world, Heath was the kingdom's greatest protector, the revered sorcerer who had kept the borders safe with spells that held back invaders and enchanted beasts alike. But within, he harbored an ambition far darker, more dangerous than anyone suspected. It is something that has lingered for decades, and it's getting close to coming to life.
Heath's father, Malrick, had been a sorcerer of immense power and bitterness. Banished from court during the reign of the late King Hadrian—Darius and Valerie's father—Malrick had sworn vengeance. He thought that with the powers he had, he should be the one ruling the Kingdom. He thought It wasn't fair for someone with such mighty power to be the servant, serving the king. He wanted to be the king himself.
In the remote mountains, he raised Heath, not just with spells and scrolls, but with stories of betrayal. "That throne was ours," Malrick would seethe by firelight. "Stolen by weaklings who hide behind crowns and call themselves kings. You, my son, will take it back. You have to, you are my only hope. You need to rule this kingdom and make it a better place. We're not supposed to be servants. We're rulers. Ruler's with supernatural powers."
From the age of five, Heath's childhood had been stripped from him. He trained not just in magic, but in strategy, deception, and the art of feigned loyalty. He learned how to manipulate energy with a whisper, how to poison minds with suggestion. Malrick's lessons were harsh, his punishments harsher. But it was all to shape Heath into a weapon.
And the weapon had waited long enough.
By the time Heath returned to the capital, cloaked in years of discipline and charm, he presented himself as a patriot. The kingdom embraced him. His charisma dazzled nobles, his loyalty soothed King Darius, and his magic saved hundreds. No one questioned his intentions.
No one but himself.
Each time Heath cast a protection spell, he marked the walls with sigils only he understood—gateways to unravel his own enchantments. He knew every secret passage in the castle, had slipped into rooms no one suspected, planted spies among the servants, and bribed guards with silver smiles.
He'd even managed to win the trust of Princess Ariana. She was a means to an end, a useful ally obsessed with status and power. Since his power had no effect on royal blood, he could use her to get to the King at least. That is why he must ensure King Darius marries her.
He fed her insecurities about Odi, fanned her desperation to become queen, and used her affection to divert Darius's attention.
But Heath wanted more than the throne, he wanted the heartstone. He wanted it all.
In private, he studied forbidden tomes bound in human skin, summoned spirits that whispered madness, and bent shadow to his will. At night, he wore a different face entirely—one not seen by the court. In the catacombs beneath the palace, Heath kept a chamber where he communed with the dead. There, his father's soul—bound by an ancient curse—lingered like a phantom flame.
"You're close now," Malrick's voice echoed whenever Heath lit the chamber's obsidian brazier. "The king is soft, incapable, you may not be able to get to him with your powers, but you can get to him physically with the help of his loved ones. I know he has a sibling, you should watch out for that one because something doesn't feel right."
But even with his father's urgings, Heath played the long game.
He worked to isolate Darius—gently advising him against trusting the council, subtly steering him away from any other counsel but his, and encouraging the king's detachment from court life. The more Darius grew dependent on him, the closer Heath came to the crown.
The only complication now… was Odi.
Heath had watched her from afar. Unlike the other servants, she didn't seek favors. She asked no questions, didn't grovel, and carried herself with a strange resilience that intrigued him. And then, there was the prophecy.
The one buried deep in the sacred texts, the one only he had read.
When the True Sorcerer and the Cursed Flame meet, the kingdom shall burn or be reborn.
Heath believed himself to be the true sorcerer, the chosen one. But who was the cursed flame? At first, he thought it was Darius. Now, a part of him wondered if there was more to what meets the eyes.
He had a strange feeling about Odi. He had tried manipulating her once but she had shields. She didn't succumb to his powers. He is confused. It's either it was just a coincidence or she's just something else.
Whatever the answer, he knew he had to neutralize her. Not yet. But soon.
Tonight, he returned to the catacombs, the walls flickering with ethereal blue fire. He stood before the spectral remnant of Malrick, bound in an arcane circle.
"There's a girl that baffles me. She resists my powers." Heath complained to his father.
Malrick hissed, the sound like boiling tar. "Then tear out that heart. Before it turns the kingdom against you."
Heath tightened his fists. "I will. But first, I'll make her mine. If I know her mind, I control her future."
Malrick's ghost cackled, eyes glowing. "Then you must move quickly. The stars shift. The blood moon nears. The time to claim the throne is close."
As the fire died, Heath ascended the stairs back into the palace. His mask of civility already settling into place. Tomorrow, he would advise Darius as usual. Tomorrow, he would indulge Ariana more, nod politely at Valerie, and perhaps cross paths with Odi in the hall.
But tonight, in the silence of his chambers, Heath smiled to himself.
They thought him their protector.
But soon, they would know:
He was their reckoning.