Fifteen years. Fifteen years since he had last seen his homeland, fifteen years since he had felt the warmth of the Medinan sun on his skin. Fifteen years of exile, of whispers and shadows, of longing for a life he had never truly known. Hugh, now a lean and sinewy youth, sat opposite Lysandra in the small, stone cottage overlooking the emerald green valley. The air was thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth, a stark contrast to the vibrant life he imagined pulsed through the streets of Medina.

  "Lysandra," he began, his voice rough with unspoken emotion, "I want to go home."

  Lysandra, her face etched with the lines of worry and the weight of years, looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and a flicker of fear. "Hugh, you know it is too dangerous. They are still out there, searching for you."

  "But I am no longer a child," he insisted, his voice rising. "I can defend myself. I can help. I can… I can reclaim my birthright."

  Lysandra reached out, her hand gently resting on his. "Your birthright is not a battlefield, Hugh. It is a legacy of peace, of justice. A legacy that was stolen from you."

  He pulled away, his frustration growing. "But what about the people? What about Medina? They need a king, Lysandra. They need someone to lead them, to protect them from the darkness."

  Lysandra sighed, the weight of the years settling upon her shoulders. "You are right, Hugh. But you cannot return yet. Not until you are stronger, until you are ready."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He looked out at the valley, the vibrant green a stark contrast to the memories of his childhood, memories of a life filled with laughter and the warmth of his father's embrace. A life that had been brutally snatched away.

  Meanwhile, across the vast expanse of the Blue Sea, in the heart of Carlradon, a chilling silence had descended upon the land. Fifteen years had passed since the death of King Beal Sigmund, and the kingdom, once a beacon of hope, now teetered on the brink of chaos.

  Alaric Thalor, his grip on power tightening with each passing year, had become Governor of Medina, his shadow stretching long over the once vibrant city. Valerius Goldwyn, a man of iron will and ruthless ambition, ruled Taus from the imposing Goldwyn Tower, his influence spreading like a creeping vine.

  Eldric Thalor, Alaric's brother, held sway over Seadale from his stronghold, Stormwatch Hold, a man known for his brutality and his unwavering loyalty to his elder brother. Wilfred Basil, the younger brother of the High Priest, ruled Arion from Frosthaven, a man of cunning and deceit, his eyes always fixed on the prize of ultimate power.

  Willem Tostig, Governor of Sandars, ruled from Gravemourn, a man of shadows and whispers, his influence felt more than seen, his methods shrouded in an air of mystery.

  And finally, Theo Hildegard, Governor of Velostria, held court in Grimstone, a woman of formidable intellect and unwavering ambition, her gaze fixed on the shifting sands of power, ever watchful, ever calculating.

  The great houses, once stewards of the realm under the king, now wielded absolute power, their influence seeping into every corner of their respective domains. The delicate balance of power, once maintained by the king, had shattered, replaced by a web of shifting alliances and simmering resentments.

  Alaric Thalor, sitting in the throne room of Medina, surveyed his domain with a cold, calculating gaze. Fifteen years. Fifteen years since he had orchestrated the king's demise. Fifteen years since he had tasted the intoxicating power that flowed through his veins.

  But doubts still lingered. The whereabouts of the missing prince, the gnawing fear that the past might rise to haunt him. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that Hugh Sigmund, if he still lived, would be a threat to his rule.

  Alaric rose from his throne, his eyes gleaming with a chilling resolve. He would not allow the past to disrupt his plans. He would consolidate his power, eliminate any threats, and ensure that the darkness that had consumed the kingdom would remain his to command.

  The seeds of rebellion, however, were already sown. In the hidden valleys, in the whispering forests, a young man named Hugh Sigmund, fueled by a yearning for justice and a thirst for revenge, was preparing to reclaim his birthright, to challenge the dark forces that had consumed his world.