King Mortifer was dying.
He lay on his grand obsidian bed, skin grey, breaths faint and uneven. His power—once sharp enough to shake the realm—had faded into nothing but trembling fingers and the low rasp of a dying man.
Healers had come from across the kingdom.
Every one of them left the same way: drained completely, staggering out with empty eyes and hands that no longer glowed with power.
Mortifer consumed every strand of their strength…
and still grew weaker.
It was clear now.
The king had reached the end of his era.
No-one stays forever.
Only his sons surrounded him—seven princes, the strongest bloodline after Mortifer himself. They stood in a half-circle around the bed, silent, tense, each one waiting… but for what, they did not say.
Because all of them were thinking the same thing:
Where was Tenebrarum?
The crown prince.
The heir.
Mortifer's favorite son.
He should have been here first.
He should have been kneeling at the bedside.
But the chamber doors remained closed.
The silence grew heavier—good enough to strangle.
Then Magnus, the first born prince, finally snapped.
"Why are we all standing here so quietly?" he scoffed, pacing with restless anger.
"Because Tenebrarum is not here yet?"
His tone was sharp, almost mocking.
He glanced around at his brothers, and none denied the truth in his voice.
Every one of them hated Tenebrarum.
Not because he was weak—he was the strongest among them.
Not because he was cruel—cruelty was a family trait.
They hated him because Mortifer chose him.
Chosen at birth.
Given the crown before he could even speak.
Praised for power that frightened even Mortifer's enemies.
Magnus's jaw tightened, resentment twisting his features.
"Father will die soon…" he said, voice growing darker, "and Tenebrarum will become king. A monster on the throne."
A few of the brothers exchanged looks—fear, jealousy, anger.
Tenebrarum, whose power swallowed others whole.
Tenebrarum, who answered to no one except his father.
And now the father who controlled him…
was dying.
Magnus leaned down beside Mortifer, whispering bitterly:
"Does he even care you're dying, Father? Or is he too busy tormenting people?"
Magnus sneered the words, his voice dripping with bitterness.
The king did not respond.
Mortifer's eyelids fluttered weakly, barely catching the sound—his breaths shallow, his strength fading by the second.
"Magnus! Behave maturely for once!" Rhazor snapped, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. He stepped forward, anger burning in his eyes. "Have you forgotten? You were supposed to be the crown prince."
Magnus stiffened.
Rhazor continued—louder, harsher—
"You are the first son. By birthright, the throne should be yours. And yet our 'loving' king chose to give it to the second."
The room fell silent.
The insult to the king hung heavily in the air, but none of the brothers defended Mortifer.
Because Rhazor had spoken the truth.
Every one of them resented the same thing:
Tenebrarum was chosen.
Not them.
And now, with the king's life slipping away…
their hatred only grew sharper.
"You were so, so evil to us, Father. You loved Tenebrarum with all your heart, and now where is h—"
Before Tiberius could finish, the doors slammed open.
Tenebrarum strode in like a storm.
His long coat snapped behind him, the black fabric dragging shadows across the floor. His boots struck the stone with controlled fury, each step echoing through the silent chamber. His hair—thick, black, and falling freely to his shoulders—flicked as he moved, and in the dim firelight the strands caught a faint red sheen, like embers hidden in darkness.
The brothers stiffened. They didn't need to be told to move;
his presence shoved them aside without a word.
"Father!"
He dropped to his knees beside the bed so fast the fabric of his coat swept across the floor. His hand trembled as he reached for the old king, and the brothers silently gave way, resentment tightening their jaws.
"Father, you didn't even send a message that you were ill. How long were you going to keep this from me?"
Tenebrarum's voice cracked—barely audible, but real.
King Mortifer raised a shaking hand, searching for his son's face.
"At least… let me see my son."
Tenebrarum froze.
Slowly, he lifted both hands to the mask that had never left his face in public. His fingers hesitated for a fraction of a breath—then he removed it.
His hair fell forward with the motion, a dark curtain streaked with that strange, red glimmer.
His brothers blinked as the light hit his features:
His irises swirling red and violently beautiful.
nose sharp and perfectly carved.
His lips drained of all colours, pale.
—a beauty sharp enough to wound.
His face was cold, ethereal—almost too flawless for the eye to bear.
Even his own brothers faltered. A few staggered back, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his presence.
some of his brothers recoiled or turned away completely, seduced against their will by the sheer force of his appearance. A few stumbled out of the room, ashamed of their own reaction.
And Tenebrarum didn't notice any of it.
His entire world was the dying king beneath his hands.
"My son…"
King Mortifer's voice was barely more than a breath of dust. His hand shook as it rose, fingers thin, bones sharp beneath the skin. Tenebrarum leaned closer immediately, bowing his head so the king wouldn't strain himself.
Mortifer's palm pressed against Tenebrarum's cheek.
Tenebrarum went completely still.
The king's thumb traced the line of his jaw, slow and trembling, as if memorising the face he knew he would not see again. Tenebrarum's black hair slipped forward, brushing Mortifer's wrist—soft strands with that faint red glow catching the dim light like dying coals.
"My son…" Mortifer whispered again, his voice cracking.
"You came."
Tenebrarum caught his father's hand in both of his, holding it carefully, almost reverently. His fingers curled around the old king's frail ones as though afraid the slightest pressure would shatter him.
"I will always come," Tenebrarum murmured, his voice low, shaking. "Always."
Behind them, the brothers shifted uneasily—some glaring, some helplessly drawn in by the quiet intimacy. Magnus's jaw clenched. Rhazor looked away. Kaelen exhaled, long and bitter.
But Tenebrarum didn't notice them.
His eyes stayed locked on his father, his hair falling over his shoulders, his chest rising and falling too fast as he held that fading hand to his cheek like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.
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To be continued...