In a land tucked gently between mountains and rivers, the Kingdom of Obelion stood neither mighty nor meek. It was a peaceful realm—neither feared nor pitied—prosperous in its own quiet way. What set Obelion apart was not its wealth or armies, but the rarest of treasures: a royal family genuinely loved by its people.
At the heart of Obelion ruled King Augustus de Obelion, a sovereign known for his wisdom and calm. His voice was rarely raised, his judgments rarely questioned. Yet behind his serene eyes lived the ache of loss. Years ago, his beloved queen had perished during childbirth, and the infant princess she bore followed shortly after. Since that day, the king had never remarried. He carried his grief with grace, channeling his sorrow into just governance, never allowing the pain to cloud his rule.
Left behind was their only son, Crown Prince Octavio de Obelion—a boy with wildfire in his heart and a restlessness in his bones. Unlike his father, Octavio could never sit still. He was not reckless, but he was curious, constantly yearning for the world beyond Obelion's serene borders. While the king preferred stillness, Octavio longed for motion. He wanted to touch distant soil, breathe foreign air, and prove that knowledge could not bloom in confinement.
But the king, haunted by the fragility of legacy and family, forbade travel. "Your time will come," he would say. "After you are king, do as you wish."
Octavio understood the weight behind those words. They were not a promise, but a cage.
His only solace came in the form of parchment and ink. Years ago, during a diplomatic visit from the coastal Kingdom of Rala, Octavio had met Prince Fabale de Rala, a young noble as bright and lively as the sea he hailed from. They became fast friends, and after Fabale returned to his own kingdom, their bond was sealed through letters.
Fabale's words were windows. He wrote of voyages over cerulean waters, festivals by the shore, and the rush of freedom. He shared tales of strange lands and people, of riding ships through storms and watching the moon rise over the ocean. Through these letters, Octavio lived many lives—but it was never enough. Ink could not replace the wind on his skin.
By the time he turned twenty, Octavio's yearning had only deepened. He continued to clash with his father in hushed, heated conversations. Though both were shaped by loss and responsibility, they were alike in one thing: unyielding will. Their arguments, always passionate, always ended the same way—with Augustus's final words:
"After you become king."
Octavio knew the unspoken meaning: Only when I'm gone.
But instead of pressing further, he turned to what he could control. As tradition dictated, a coming-of-age ceremony was held in Obelion's royal court to celebrate the prince's twentieth birthday. Nobles gathered in splendid attire, and the capital bloomed with celebration.
For the occasion, Octavio sent a personal invitation to Prince Fabale, his dearest friend and a living reminder of the world he was forbidden to see.
The celebration was grand. Obelion's halls glowed with lanternlight and music. Octavio hosted with practiced elegance—smiling, nodding, playing the royal part. The people cheered their future king.
King Augustus gave the ceremonial blessing, speaking with gentle pride, then excused himself, retiring to his chambers—leaving the stage to the prince.
When the festivities eased into comfort, Fabale found Octavio in the quieter corner of the banquet.
"So, Prince of Obelion," he teased, nudging his friend. "Now that you're all grown up, it's time you marry, sire some heirs, take the throne, and rule the kingdom. Easy, right? Ha ha ha!"
His laughter was bright, affectionate.
But to Octavio, the words cut like a blade wrapped in silk.
He gave a tight smile, masking the sting. Marriage? He had never thought of it. How could he, when he hadn't even seen the world? Marriage, heirs, ruling—it felt like surrendering the last piece of himself.
That night, when the last song faded and the guests returned to their homes, Octavio did not rest. Instead, he walked the moonlit corridors of the palace alone. The stone felt colder than usual, the air heavier.
He stopped in front of the massive double doors of the king's chambers.
Tonight, he would not ask.
Tonight, he would demand.
And yet…
Whatever words he had prepared melted away as his hand hovered near the door. A flicker of doubt. A whisper of hesitation.
But fate did not wait for him to speak.
Because that night, something happened—
—something that would turn the lives of Augustus, Octavio, and Fabale upside down.
And the peaceful Kingdom of Obelion would never be the same again.