The morning sun rose softly over the Kingdom of Elarion, spreading warm gold across the meadows that stretched for miles. Spring had painted the land with colors—pale pink blossoms, bright green grass, and wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. It was a rare peaceful day, and King Hamza had brought his family outside, hoping they could breathe freely after weeks of quiet sorrow.
King Hamza stood at the edge of the meadow, his dark hair catching the breeze, his fire-power aura faint but warm around him. His eyes softened as he watched his family—his wife and their two children—moving through the field. Days like this felt fragile, like holding a small flame cupped in his hands.
Under a wide flowering tree, Queen Anila, only twenty-five but already a pillar of grace and strength, sat with her violet gown spread around her. Her beauty was gentle, but her eyes carried grief. Losing her newborn child months ago had left a shadow inside her—hidden behind her soft smile, tucked quietly in her heart. Still, she tried to breathe the calm of the day.
Five-year-old Princess Naima ran across the meadow with pure delight on her face. Her little hands were full of wildflowers, mostly crushed from her excitement, but to her they were perfect treasures.
"Mama, look!" Naima said, proudly lifting a crooked flower crown she had made.
Queen Anila lowered her head so Naima could place it gently on her hair.
"You've made me the most beautiful queen in the whole world," she whispered, pressing a kiss to Naima's forehead.
Naima giggled and ran off again, her tiny feet kicking up petals as she searched for more flowers.
A short distance away near the riverbank, Prince Ahmad, Seven years old and already far more serious than most children his age, stared thoughtfully at the flowing water. He was careful, observant, always analyzing the world in front of him. While Naima played, he studied the river with narrowed eyes.
He picked up a smooth stone and tossed it into the water. It skipped once and disappeared—but something else caught his attention.
A shape.
A bundle wrapped in cloth.
And it was drifting toward them.
Ahmad's brows furrowed. The bundle bobbed strangely, turning slowly with the current. Then he saw it twitch.
"Uncle Arsal!" he called out sharply, voice rising with fear. "Come here! Quick!"
The royal guard, Arsal, snapped to attention immediately. King Hamza turned, hearing the urgency in his son's tone.
"What's wrong?" the king asked, already rushing forward.
"There! Something's in the river!" Ahmad pointed, his hand shaking slightly.
Without a second thought, Arsal splashed into the cold water, grabbing the drifting bundle with firm hands. He lifted it carefully and carried it back to shore.
As he reached the grass, the cloth shifted.
Queen Anila stopped walking.
Prince Ahmad froze.
King Hamza's eyes widened slightly.
Inside the cloth was a child.
A small boy—no more than three years old—soaked, limp, and terribly hurt. His clothing, though torn and waterlogged, had once been fine and expensive. His little arms and legs were marked with bruises, some old and some fresh. Dark black hair clung to his skin, wet and tangled with blood from a deep, jagged wound above his forehead. His breathing was shallow—barely there.
Arsal laid him gently on the soft grass. The child didn't move.
King Hamza knelt beside him, wiping the wet hair away from the boy's face. His voice grew tight.
"This was not an accident," he said quietly, anger simmering beneath the calm. "Someone tried to kill him… and they almost succeeded."
Queen Anila arrived with Naima at her side. She saw the boy and froze in shock.
Ahmad quickly stepped forward, covering Naima's eyes with both hands.
"Don't look," he whispered gently.
"But—why?" Naima protested, confused.
"Just don't," Ahmad insisted, his voice trembling. He didn't want his little sister to see such cruelty.
Queen Anila knelt slowly beside the unconscious boy. Her hands glowed faintly as she summoned her healing ability. She studied the wound, moving her palm just above it, and her eyes softened with worry.
"This head injury is severe," she murmured. "If he survives… he may lose all his memories. Everything before this moment might disappear forever."
King Hamza closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a slow breath.
"We cannot let word of this child spread," he said firmly. "Arsal, take him to the hidden wing of the royal hospital. Only the most trusted healers will treat him. No names. No records. Not a single rumor outside this field."
Arsal bowed and carefully lifted the small boy again, cradling him with unexpected gentleness.
As the guard carried him away, Queen Anila watched, something aching deep inside her chest—a pull, a connection she couldn't explain. The loss of her own child still lived in her heart… and now a wounded, broken little boy had washed into their lives like a message from fate.
King Hamza turned back toward the river, staring at the place where the boy had floated moments ago. His fire-powered senses tingled faintly, like destiny brushing against him.
He didn't know who the child was.
He didn't know where he came from.
But something inside him whispered that this moment… this boy…
…would change the future of Elarion forever.