The words struck Mike like a blade to the chest.
"You're... the king's son?"
Ron didn't look like royalty. His clothes were worn, his posture cautious, his eyes far too heavy for someone born into power. Yet he nodded slowly.
"I don't look like a king's son," Ron said bitterly. "But it's true. I'm Octavius Malfoy's son. Royal blood runs through me—whether I want it or not."
Mike took a step back, his hand instinctively tightening around his weapon. "Then why are you here?" he asked, suspicion sharpening his voice. "Are you here to capture me?"
Ron blinked, startled—then let out a hollow laugh. "I don't even know your name. Why would I be trying to catch you?"
The tension lingered between them, heavy as the night air.
"Then tell me," Mike said at last. "Why are you running?"
Ron's expression darkened. "Because my father killed my mother... and tried to kill me too."
Mike's breath caught. "What? But—you're his son."
"Yes," Ron replied quietly. "But I'm not his only son."
He looked away, shame creeping into his voice. "He has six sons. And among them... I am the weakest."
Mike frowned. "Weakest?"
"I can't fight like them," Ron continued. "I can't destroy cities or crush armies. I only have one power—healing. And running away."
He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it.
"That's not weak," Mike said immediately. "Healing can save lives. It's an incredible power."
Ron shook his head. "Not to him."
Then he hesitated. "I'll tell you everything... but you have to promise me you won't tell anyone."
Mike didn't hesitate. "I promise."
Ron closed his eyes.
And began.
Ron's father was an evil man long before Ron ever knew the meaning of fear.
Octavius Malfoy had already married three women before Ron's mother. All of them were dead. Murdered—discarded once they no longer pleased him. Ron's mother had been forced into marriage, her life stolen before she could understand what she was losing.
After Ron was born, the abuse began.
Octavius treated her like property. Like dirt beneath his feet. And when Ron failed to show signs of destructive power, the cruelty only worsened.
"You gave me a weak child," Octavius would roar. "You'll pay for this."
Ron remembered the beatings. The way his brothers laughed as his mother cried. The way they struck Ron too—again and again—until he curled into himself, shaking.
Every time, his mother would come running. She would hold him, wipe his tears, whisper comfort into his ears.
Once, Ron asked her, "Mother... why does he beat you?"
She had smiled sadly and said, "Because I am his slave."
"But you're his wife," Ron had said. "Why do they treat us like this?"
She knelt before him, cupping his face gently. "Promise me something, my son," she said. "Become a good man. Help others. Never become like your father."
Ron promised.
When Ron was five years old, his mother discovered his power. Healing. Gentle, quiet, life-giving.
She panicked.
"If your father finds out," she warned him, "he will take your power... and then he will kill you."
So Ron kept it secret.
Until the day everything broke.
His mother spilled tea on Octavius's clothes.
That was all.
Octavius erupted in rage. He beat her mercilessly, like a monster unleashed. Ron screamed for his brothers to help.
They laughed.
Ron ran to his mother, trying to shield her—but Octavius struck him across the face. Darkness swallowed him whole.
When Ron woke, the world was silent.
His mother lay on the floor, broken and bleeding. She reached toward him with trembling fingers.
"Mother!" Ron cried, crawling to her. "Please—please say something!"
Her voice was weak, fading. "Run, my son," she whispered. "If they find out you can heal... they will take your power... and kill you."
Ron shook his head, tears streaming. "No. I won't let you die."
He placed his hands on her wounds and tried to heal her.
That was when his brother saw.
"What is this?" his brother sneered. Then he shouted, loud enough to shake the walls. "Father! Come quickly! I have a surprise for you!"
Panic filled Ron's chest.
His mother grabbed his arm with what little strength she had left. "Run," she begged. "Go to Magnolia. Find Jon. He will help you."
"I won't leave you!" Ron cried.
She smiled through her pain. "Don't waste your life. You are special."
Her voice cracked. "I love you, my son."
As Ron turned to flee, his brother lunged toward him—but his mother clutched his leg, screaming, "RUN!"
That moment saved Ron's life.
He fled through the halls, past knights, through forests and darkness, chased relentlessly—until his legs burned and his lungs screamed.
And then... he met Mike.
Ron fell silent.
The forest seemed quieter somehow, as if the world itself was mourning with him.
Mike's eyes were wet. His throat ached with unshed tears.
"Let's go," Mike said finally, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll go to Magnolia together."
Ron looked up, stunned.
"We'll avenge your mother," Mike continued. "You're not alone anymore."
Ron broke down. He hugged Mike tightly, his body shaking. "Thank you."
Mike returned the embrace. "Friends don't say thank you."
When Ron pulled back, he asked softly, "What about you, Mike? What's your story?"
Mike smiled sadly. "I'll tell you... after we reach Magnolia."
Ron nodded. "The sun's rising. Let's go."
Mike clapped his hand against Ron's. "Let's go."
Together, they walked toward Magnolia—toward Jon, toward destiny.
And somewhere far above, beneath the endless sky, Gary watched.
I'm not alone anymore, Mike thought.
I made a new friend.
Next Chapter: Emotions Burn...