Darian walked through the bustling streets toward the castle gates, his tattered cloak dragging behind him. His once-pristine armor was now dull and scratched, his face smeared with dirt, and his hair wilder than before. The grueling training had changed him—not just in body, but in presence.
Unlike the night he had fled, there was no need for secrecy now. Hardly anyone had cared about his disappearance, and he doubted his return would be any different. Yet, as he approached the towering iron gates of the castle, he caught the wary gazes of the stationed guards.
One of them, a burly man with a scar over his left eye, took a step forward. "Halt," he commanded, gripping his spear. "State your name and business."
Darian frowned. Did they not recognize him?
He reached up and wiped some of the dirt from his face, revealing his features more clearly. The guards exchanged uncertain glances, whispering among themselves.
"Do you know him?" one muttered.
"He looks… familiar," another replied hesitantly.
Darian let out an exasperated sigh. He pulled out the golden crest of Ashthorn and held it up.
The moment their eyes landed on the insignia, their faces paled.
"The prince…?" one of them stammered, his grip on the spear loosening.
"But he was—" the other started, but his words trailed off into stunned silence.
Darian's voice was calm but firm. "I suggest you step aside."
The guards exchanged nervous looks before hastily moving out of his way.
"Forgive us, Your Highness! We… we didn't recognize you," the scarred guard said hurriedly, bowing his head.
Darian didn't bother responding. Without another word, he strode past them, his mind set on what lay ahead.
Darian walked through the castle halls with steady steps, his presence barely acknowledged by the passing servants.
Reaching his chamber, he pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. Without a second thought, he shut the door behind him and let out a weary sigh.
Exhaustion weighed on him like a mountain. His limbs ached, his mind felt sluggish, and all he wanted was rest. Kicking off his boots, he collapsed onto the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. The moment his head hit the pillow, sleep threatened to pull him under.
But just as his consciousness began to slip away—
Knock. Knock.
For a moment, he simply lay there, breathing deeply, trying to clear the haze of fatigue from his mind.
Another knock followed, softer this time.
Darian sat up, running a hand through his unruly hair. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and made his way to the door, pulling it open cautiously.
Standing before him was Marie.
Marie's gaze swept over Darian, her lips pressing into a thin line. His clothes were a mess—dirt smeared across his tunic, the edges frayed as if they'd been caught on something. His boots were caked in mud, and a few stray leaves clung to his disheveled hair. There was a faint but distinct scent of damp earth and pine lingering around him.
Her arms folded. "Did you go somewhere?" Her tone was measured, but there was a trace of doubt in her eyes as she could guess .
Darian exhaled, brushing off a stubborn leaf. "Why do you ask?"
Marie's gaze didn't waver. "You look like you crawled through the forest." A pause. "And it hasn't even been a day since we last spoke."
She waited, expecting an answer. Darian simply smirked, offering none.
Through countless conversations and shared moments, Marie and Darian had grown familiar with each other, their frequent encounters gradually closing the distance between them.
Marie let out an exaggerated sigh, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. "Must you always be so cryptic?"
Darian chuckled softly, but didn't respond.
She dropped her hand and leveled him with a look. "If you insist on being mysterious, at least try not to look like you wrestled with a tree."
Her gaze flicked over him once more before she shook her head. "Honestly."
"so,why did you came this late at night?" he asked, voice low.
Marie let out a short hum—one of those small, recognizable sounds she made when she had a reason but didn't immediately state it. But as the sound left her lips, she suddenly stiffened, as if just recalling something important.
"His Majesty has summoned you," she said, her tone sharp now. "You are to appear before him immediately."
"His Majesty?" Darian muttered, confusion flickering across his face. Ever since he had arrived, he hadn't encountered anyone from the royal family. And now, out of nowhere, the king was summoning him? It didn't make sense.
"Yes," Marie confirmed, her voice steady. "He is waiting for you in the courtroom."
Darian fell silent, processing the sudden turn of events. Finally, he exhaled. "Alright, I'll be right there."
Without another word, he turned and stepped back inside his room. Meeting the king like this—disheveled from training, dust on his clothes—was out of the question.
As Darian stepped into the warm bath, he let out a sigh, feeling the tension melt away. He ran a hand over his arm, noting the firmness of his muscles.
"Hah… never thought I'd see the day," he muttered to himself, recalling the soft, sluggish body he had when he first arrived. Training had changed him—more than he had realized.
Once he was clean, he stepped out, drying himself before moving to his wardrobe. His fingers trailed over the fabric before pulling out a dark tunic with silver embroidery.
"This should do," he murmured, slipping it on. The fit was snug, highlighting his toned frame. He paired it with matching trousers and sturdy leather boots before fastening his belt.
Darian was busy with his daily schedule that he didn't bother much with appearance but still he could feel these changes which was natural
With the intense training he is having with aldric.
Turning to the mirror, he took in his reflection. His beige hair, still damp, framed his face in soft waves, no longer clinging to round cheeks but resting above a sharp, well-defined jawline. His blue eyes, once dull, now carried a piercing clarity.
Darian tilted his head, smirking slightly. "Not bad," he muttered before nodding in satisfaction. "Alright… time to meet the king."