In the capital city of the Forsaken Land, King Vortigan had drowned the streets in blood. His army swept through the city like wildfire, crushing all who dared oppose him. Priests were hung, nobles beheaded, and temples set ablaze. The kingdom that once whispered of mercy now screamed of fear.
Beneath the royal castle, deep in the stone heart of the prison, Vortigan walked alone—his armored boots echoing through the dark corridor. His destination: the final cell, where an old priestess from the Grand Temple of Elaria had been imprisoned.
Inside the cell, the woman knelt in silence. Her wrists were chained to the cold stone wall. Her black and white ceremonial robes were stained with blood and ash. Her long, silver hair hung loosely over her face.
Vortigan opened the iron door and stepped in. The torchlight cast a flickering shadow behind him.
The priestess didn't raise her head.
"What do you seek?" she asked in a brittle whisper.
"My fate," Vortigan said with quiet venom.
The old woman slowly lifted her pale face, her white, sightless eyes locking toward his voice.
"You severed your fate the day you murdered the King and the royal bloodline," she said.
Vortigan leaned forward, his expression unreadable.
"That is exactly what I was meant to do... after what you did to me."
The priestess stared at him, her voice steady.
"You haven't changed the prophecy. You never will."
Vortigan let out a low, mocking laugh.
"You false-hearted witch. You think I'm like the rest? That I'd be deceived by your riddles and lies?"
Suddenly, he grabbed her hair violently, yanking her head up.
"The gods abandoned us long ago," he hissed. "These so-called prophecies—they're not divine. They come from you. You poisoned the people's minds. You ruined my mother… and me… with your cursed omens!"
She cried out in pain as his grip tightened.
Then, he released her, rising with a scowl of disgust.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure you suffer slowly. And die even slower."
He turned to leave.
But the priestess, still kneeling, spoke one final time—her voice calm, distant, and sharp like prophecy itself.
**"From the bloodline of Vathorn shall rise a son not born in glory, but in shadow.He shall slay the Corpse-King in the city long forgotten, and the land shall be freed of its ancient curse.He will gather the fractured banners of man, and unite the Six Kingdoms of Ethernia.He will silence the endless war.He will bring the final dawn.
And that man… is not you."**
Vortigan froze.
He didn't turn.
He didn't speak.
But after a moment, he muttered under his breath as he walked away:
"I'll prove it's me."
And then, with a darker whisper only he could hear:
"I will find you… no matter where you hide, little brother."
The iron doors slammed behind him.
Moments later, outside the prison, Vortigan barked to his generals:
"Keep searching. Find the last of the royal blood. I want his head before the next moon."
Scene Transition: Back to the Village
Night had fallen gently over the quiet village.
Inside Hogan's small wooden house, a candlelit dinner sat between four people: Hogan, Kaen, Lysa, and the mysterious boy, Sang.
The table was humble but warm—roasted meat, vegetable stew, dark bread, and soft cheese laid out in simple wooden bowls. The air was filled with the earthy scent of firewood and stew.
The room, however, was quiet. The villagers had already heard Hogan's story—how he found Sang alone in the wilds. Most weren't pleased. Another outsider, they whispered. Another burden. But Hogan had stood firm.
"If anything happens," he told them, "I'll take full responsibility."
At the table, Kaen and Lysa had begun to eat, but Sang hadn't moved. He stared at the food with hesitant eyes, unsure, as if afraid to touch anything.
Hogan noticed and smiled softly. He broke a piece of warm bread and handed it across the table.
"Eat, son. No need to be shy. This is your home now."
Sang didn't understand the words. But he understood the gesture. He accepted the bread gently and bowed his head in thanks—a gesture that surprised both Kaen and Lysa.
Lysa leaned in curiously. "Where do you think he's from?"
Kaen poured a wooden cup of water and handed it to Sang, smiling.
"He doesn't speak our language. He might be from another continent."
Lysa frowned. "But that's strange. Our kingdom hasn't been at war in years. And the King outlawed slavery a generation ago."
At her words, both Hogan and Kaen looked down in quiet thought. Sang glanced between them, sensing a sudden change in the mood—even if he couldn't understand their words.
Hogan finally spoke, his voice low."It's been a long time since our kingdom last saw war. That's the only reason we've survived here, even on land too dry to grow much. Our ancestors fled here ninety years ago… hoping this place would be better than the last."
He paused. His gaze dropped to the table.
"But now, after the king and royal family betrayed the kingdom's laws, they were slain by their own people."
Lysa frowned. "That doesn't make sense, Father. Why would the royal family do that? They had no reason."
Kaen shifted uncomfortably. He knew the truth—but said nothing.
Hogan let out a quiet sigh. "Anyone with common sense knows it was no betrayal from the crown. It was a betrayal for power."
Silence fell over the table.
Even Sang, though unaware of the words, could feel the heaviness settle. He continued chewing slowly, eyes low.
Then Hogan murmured, almost to himself," If this continues much longer… I fear hunger may come knocking."
After dinner, Sang and Kaen returned to their small hut begin Hogan house. Kaen quietly made his bed on the ground and pointed to the cot above.
"You sleep here," he said, patting it gently and offering a smile.
Sang hesitated. His body was still frail, his spirit tired. Taking someone else's bed felt wrong—but Kaen's kindness held no trace of pity or hesitation. Just genuine warmth.
Grateful, Sang bowed his head slightly and climbed into the cot, his movements slow, almost unsure.
Later that night, in the soft glow of moonlight slipping through the wooden walls, they tried to speak. Kaen then try to question Sang again like "So Sang, Do you remember Where you come from?" he tried to ask—but Sang only looked back in confusion.
The conversation faltered into silence.
Kaen chuckled awkwardly, scratching his head."Don't worry Sang, I'll teach you," he said with a quiet smile. "Bit by bit."
They laid down after that, the silence between them no longer awkward—just heavy with unspoken thoughts. It was clear both had things they wanted to say but couldn't.
An hour passed.
Sang had already fallen asleep, worn out from everything.
But Kaen couldn't sleep. The weight of memory—the faces he lost, the horrors he witnessed—still clung to him. Rest wouldn't come.
He quietly slipped out of bed and stepped outside.
The night air was sharp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and stone. In this high mountain region, the curse that plagued the rest of the Forsaken Land felt distant… almost forgotten.
He walked a little way from the hut and looked up.
The sky stretched endlessly above him, free of clouds. Every star burned brightly—countless white sparks scattered like shattered glass across a deep indigo canvas. One of the two moons glowed high in the sky, larger than any he remembered from stories. It shimmered like silver crystal, casting a gentle light over the rugged landscape.
A quiet moment passed.
For the first time in a long while, Kaen let himself breathe.
There was so much going on in Kaen's mind.
He knew he couldn't stay hidden here forever. Someday, he'd have to leave… to fight back… to take revenge. But he was still young, alone, and powerless. With no allies. No army. No plan.
His thoughts churned in circles until he heard footsteps behind him.
It was Hogan.
The old man stepped beside him, arms folded, eyes tired.
"Mr. Hogan?" Kaen asked. "What are you doing out here?"
"I couldn't sleep," Hogan replied. "Thinking about the future. What'll happen to these people?"
They stood side by side, gazing at the moonlit sky in silence. The stars shimmered above them like a promise.
"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" Hogan said softly.
Kaen nodded. "It is."
Hogan's tone shifted. "Kaen… when do you plan to go back?"
Kaen didn't answer. He just looked down.
"You know you can't hide here forever," Hogan added. "Not someone like you."
Kaen looked at him—surprised.
"When I first met you, I suspected who you were," Hogan continued. "And when you gave that essence to the boy… I knew it. You're the prince they're hunting for."
Kaen's eyes widened slightly, unsure of what to say.
"I took a risk helping you," Hogan said. "Because I believe… maybe you are the one. The one who can end the misery in this cursed land."
Kaen turned away, emotion flickering in his eyes.
"Take your time, son," Hogan said gently. "Stay as long as you need. No one will push you."
He smiled, and Kaen returned it—just slightly. A quiet moment passed between them.
In a world drowning in violence and betrayal, this simple act of kindness reminded Kaen… that goodness still existed.
Meanwhile, Sang—sleeping inside the small hut—began to stir.
In his dream, he was home.
He heard a soft voice, warm and familiar.
"Dear… Dear, wake up. It's almost time for school."
Sang opened his eyes slowly and blinked in confusion. He was sitting on his old mattress, inside their tiny room. The air felt warm. Safe. He looked around—his siblings were curled up beside him, and his father still snored lightly in the corner.
He rubbed his face, groggy and dazed. Then he looked at his mother, who stood by the doorway with that gentle smile.
"Mom… I think I had a nightmare," he mumbled. "A long one. It's been so long since I dreamt anything."
She stared at him for a moment, her smile slowly fading.
"I'm sorry, dear," she said in a hushed voice. "But that world… it needs your help."
Sang blinked. "What?"
Everything around him began to blur.
"Mom! Wait! MOM!" he shouted as her figure slipped away like smoke.
He gasped—his eyes shot open.
The sun was already rising, and the morning light poured in through the cracks of the hut. The bed above him was empty. Kaen had already gone out.
Sang sat up, breathing heavily. His chest tightened.
He looked around.
The wooden walls. The smell of ash. The distant sound of roosters in the village.
Nothing had changed.
It wasn't a dream.
This world was real.
He whispered to himself, voice trembling but firm:
"Isekai is real."