The night was silent.
Too silent.
After the battle with the spy, Ryo's body could no longer endure the strain. His veins still shimmered faintly, the crimson mark on his chest pulsing like a dying ember. Caro helped him to bed, whispering his name, but his eyes were already lost to exhaustion.
Sleep came to him like a storm — violent, burning, unrelenting.
And then, through the darkness, a voice echoed:
"Remember, Ryo Asskar. Remember where you come from."
The world dissolved.
He fell through shadows, deeper and deeper — into memory, into blood.
The Lost House of Asskar
When Ryo opened his eyes, sunlight flooded his vision — golden, pure, eternal.
He stood in a courtyard of white marble towers, crimson banners fluttering high above, each bearing the sigil of his house. The air shimmered with power; laughter and music filled the wind.
This wasn't a dream.
It was home.
Faces surrounded him — proud warriors, radiant mages, children chasing each other beneath the banners. He knew them without knowing.
And at the center stood three figures.
A tall, regal man whose very presence radiated warmth — King Rydan Asskar, Ryo's father.
Beside him, a woman graceful as moonlight — Queen Lyria, his mother.
And behind them, an elder with silver hair and eyes like tempered steel — Lord Seron, his grandfather, both mage and swordsman, the protector of their bloodline.
Their voices rang through the air, clear and divine.
"The gods chose House Asskar to bear their light," said Rydan.
"Our mark is not a curse. It is the proof of their trust."
The sigil on Ryo's chest glowed softly in answer.
The blood of gods flowed through him — alive, sacred, unbroken.
The Betrayal
The light dimmed. The music stopped.
A shadow crossed the gates.
Cloaked in royal blue, his eyes sharp with envy, came Deros.
He smiled as he approached Rydan, his tone dripping false sincerity.
"Old friend… let us drink to peace."
Rydan's brows tightened. "Peace? You bring soldiers to my home, Deros."
Deros chuckled darkly. "You stand blessed by gods, while I am left with mortal hands. Tell me — why did they choose you, and not me?"
Lyria stepped forward. "Because you seek power, not purpose. Leave before envy destroys you."
But envy had already consumed him.
At his signal, the palace gates shattered open. Soldiers in black armor stormed the courtyard.
Flames erupted, banners burned, screams tore through the marble halls.
The betrayal had begun.
The Fall of Salmara
Rydan's magic blazed like the sun itself. He struck down waves of traitors with divine fury, the earth trembling beneath his command. Beside him, Seron's sword danced with holy fire, cutting through darkness. Lyria raised barriers of light, shielding the children, her voice trembling with power.
But they were vastly outnumbered.
Deros moved like a serpent through the chaos, his blade dripping with malice. He cornered Lyria, pressing the edge to her throat.
"Drop your staff, Rydan… or she dies."
Rydan froze. His magic faltered.
Seron shouted, "No, my son! Don't—!"
But love was stronger than reason. Rydan threw down his staff.
Deros smiled — calm, cruel, victorious.
"That's the problem with men like you," he whispered. "You love too much."
He drove the blade into Lyria's heart.
Ryo's silent scream tore through the dream, echoing through every corner of his mind.
Rydan fell to his knees, broken, his light fading. Deros's soldiers swarmed him — blades flashing, armor clashing — until the greatest mage of the age lay lifeless in the blood of his own hall.
Seron roared, cutting through the enemy like a vengeful spirit. He killed dozens, his sword blazing gold, but even he fell when Deros himself struck him through the chest.
As Seron collapsed, he looked up at Deros and whispered his final prophecy:
"You can kill us, but not our blood. Our fire will return — and burn your name from the world."
Deros snarled. "Then I'll end your bloodline now."
The Child and the Fire
Deros turned to the cradle.
Inside, a newborn child — Ryo Asskar — his tiny chest pulsing with the sigil's golden light.
Deros raised his sword, eyes burning with hatred.
"Even gods can bleed."
But before the blade could strike, the mark erupted — a blinding surge of crimson and gold.
The explosion tore through the palace. Walls shattered, soldiers screamed, fire and light devoured everything. Deros was thrown across the hall, his armor melting under divine heat.
And when the light faded — the cradle was empty.
The child was gone.
Deros rose to his knees, face burned, eyes wide with fury.
"Find him!" he roared. "Search every ruin, every shadow! The boy must not live!"
For weeks, his men scoured the empire. At last, deep in the ashes of a fallen temple, they found him — alive, untouched, the mark still glowing faintly beneath his skin.
Deros stared at the infant, hatred twisting his face.
"So the gods protect you," he hissed. "Then I'll turn their gift into your curse."
The Lie
Days later, the people of Salmara gathered in the capital square. Smoke still rose from the ruins of the Asskar palace.
Deros stood before them, draped in black, holding the child in his arms. His voice trembled — heavy with false sorrow.
"My beloved people," he declared. "The noble Asskar bloodline has fallen… slain by their own cursed child. This mark—" he lifted the baby, showing the glowing sigil — "is proof of divine wrath. The child brought ruin to his kin!"
The crowd gasped. Fear spread like disease.
"But I, King Deros," he continued, "will protect this kingdom from his curse. I will raise the child as my own, and when he comes of age… he shall face divine judgment for the blood he has spilled."
The crowd cheered.
The lie was sealed.
From that day, the Cursed Prince was born — hated by all, bound in chains of poison and deceit.
Deros fed him a purple elixir that corroded his veins, burned his insides, and sealed his divine power. Whenever Ryo tried to call upon his strength, agony ripped through his body — a reminder that he was nothing but a tool, a prisoner in his own flesh.
The Awakening
Ryo's eyes snapped open.
He screamed.
The room trembled; light burst from his chest. Caro rushed to him, horror in her eyes.
"Ryo! What's happening? You're burning up!"
He gasped, clutching his chest. The mark blazed gold and crimson, veins pulsing with holy fire.
"I saw it," he whispered, trembling. "My father. My mother. What he did to them…"
Caro froze. "Deros?"
Ryo turned toward the window. Dawn was breaking — a red, blood-soaked dawn.
"He never feared me because I was cursed," Ryo said, voice low, trembling with rage.
"He feared me because I am Asskar — the last heir of the gods."
The air shifted violently. Candles burst, windows cracked.
The divine symbol on his chest flared like a rising sun.
Caro shielded her eyes, whispering in awe,
"Your blood… it's alive."
Ryo clenched his fists, fire and light dancing beneath his skin.
"Then it's time the gods remember their promise."
Outside, the dawn bled across the sky — and deep within the empire, something ancient stirred.
The fire of Asskar had awakened once more.