Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Past
The arena did not just go quiet; it felt as though the entire world had stopped breathing.
A target two miles away, perched on a mountain peak, hit straight down through the clouds. A feat that had not been accomplished in over half a century. A feat that was considered a myth, a bedtime story told to young children to inspire them to practice their archery.
Prince Adrian stood frozen, his arms dropping to his sides. His face was a mask of utter horror and humiliation. His golden moment, his grand spectacle designed to consolidate his power before his upcoming coronation, had been utterly obliterated by a boy who looked like he hadn't eaten a full meal in a month.
"No..." Adrian muttered, his voice trembling. "No! It’s a trick! It’s a lie! He couldn't have made that shot! Scout, you are bribed! Guards, cut that scout’s throat!"
"Enough, Adrian!" King Robert’s voice thundered across the entire arena. The King was shaking, not with anger, but with an emotion no one had seen on his face in decades: profound, overwhelming awe.
King Robert pushed past his guards and walked down the grand stone staircase of the royal box, his heavy velvet cape trailing behind him. He stepped onto the dusty floor of the arena, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel as he walked straight toward the shooting platform.
The crowd watched in breathless anticipation as the King of Aurelian stopped five feet away from the young boy and the old beggar.
William stood his ground, holding the unstrung bow in his left hand. His small chest rose and fell evenly.
King Robert looked down at the child, then his eyes drifted to the old beggar standing beside him. The King’s eyes narrowed. He looked closer at the old man’s weathered face, tracing the long, jagged scar that ran from the man's left ear down to his collarbone.
The King’s breath caught in his throat.
"It... it can't be," Robert whispered, taking a step back as if he had seen a phantom. "You died. You died at the Battle of the Iron River thirty years ago."
The old beggar raised his head slowly. He didn't look like a beggar anymore. His posture straightened, his shoulders rolling back, revealing a broad, powerful frame beneath the ragged cloths. He tilted his wooden walking stick and pressed a hidden latch near the handle.
CLICK.
The cheap wooden exterior peeled away, sliding off to reveal a blade of gleaming, brilliant blue steel—an ancient royal longsword forged from meteor iron.
"I did die that day, Robert," the old man said, his voice dropping its raspy tone, replaced by a deep, commanding bass that reverberated through the stones. "The man who served you with honor died when you betrayed the Old Code and slaughtered the Northern House of Vance to take the throne."
A collective gasp echoed across the arena.
"General Brandon..." King Robert breathed, his voice barely audible. "The Ghost of the North."
The name acted like a thunderbolt striking the crowd. General Brandon Vance was a legendary figure—the supreme commander of the Old Royal Guard, a man famed for his unmatched mastery of the bow and sword, believed to have perished when King Robert seized power during the bloody coup three decades ago.
"And this boy..." King Robert’s eyes darted to William, realization dawning upon him like a cold bucket of water. "He isn't just a beggar child."
"His name is William Vance," Brandon declared, his voice ringing out so every soul in the arena could hear. "He is the last surviving heir of the Northern Duke. The true bloodline that your son, Prince Adrian, tried to erase five years ago when he burned our village to the ground!"
The crowd broke into a frenzy of murmurs and terrified whispers. The nobles began whispering frantically behind their silk fans. The dark history of the royal family’s ruthless expansion was suddenly laid bare before thousands of witnesses.
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Prince Adrian snapped. The humiliation, the exposure of his secret war crime, and the sudden appearance of a rival bloodline shattered his composure.
"LIARS!" Adrian shrieked, drawing his longsword from its scabbard with a loud screech of steel. "They are rebels! Traitors trying to usurp the crown! Guards, kill them both where they stand! A thousand gold pieces to the man who brings me their heads!"
