Chapter 10 - The Legend reborn
Five years later.
The Kingdom of Aurelian had transformed. The high walls that once separated the rich from the poor in the capital had been knocked down, replaced by sweeping public parks, trade halls, and open archery academies where children from any background—noble or beggar—could learn the art of the bow.
The northern provinces, once scarred by war and neglect, now flourished with harvest fields and prosperous trade routes.
High atop Mount Crag, where the impossible target had once stood, a magnificent white stone monument had been built. It depicted a single arrow piercing through a cloud, carved in solid marble.
At the base of the mountain, on the royal shooting platform of the rebuilt arena, fifteen-year-old William stood beneath a warm afternoon sun. He was tall now, broad-shouldered, wearing a simple blue tunic devoid of excessive golden ornaments. On his hip hung his father’s silver-hilted dagger, and in his hands was the ancient ash-wood war bow.
Beside him stood General Brandon, his hair entirely white now, sitting comfortably in a carved wooden chair, a warm smile on his weathered face as he watched his grandson.
"Your form is still leaning slightly to the left, lad," Brandon chuckled, sipping warm tea from a clay mug.
William smiled, turning his head slightly. "The wind is coming from the east today, Grandfather. I'm compensating."
A young boy, no older than seven, wearing worn, patched clothes from the lower district, ran up to the platform, holding a wooden practice bow.
"My Lord!" the little boy gasped, out of breath. "Is it true? Is it true you hit a target two miles away when you were my age?"
William lowered his bow and knelt down to match the young boy's eye level. He adjusted the child’s small hands on the wooden grip of his practice bow, correcting his posture with gentle patience.
"It doesn't matter how far the target is, little one," William said softly, looking out over the peaceful, thriving city of Aurelian. "What matters is why you shoot. If you shoot for pride, the arrow will always fall short. But if you shoot to protect those who cannot protect themselves... the arrow will never miss."
The little boy nodded eagerly, his eyes shining with inspiration as he turned toward the targets, his heart filled with hope.
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Under the golden sky of a peaceful kingdom, the legend of the Beggar Prince lived on—not as a story of vengeance, but as a timeless promise that true royalty is found not in crowns or gold, but in the strength of one's honor and the mercy of one's heart.
THE END
