Shadow Prince

The halls of Alpin's royal palace were grand, built of dark stone and adorned with banners bearing the golden sigil of the Alpin lineage—a crossed gold and dull steel sword, engulfed by a soft white flame. To the outside world, it was a place of power, a kingdom's beating heart, the stronghold of the most magically rich land in Eldoria.

To William, it was nothing more than a gilded cage.

He was neither hated nor loved, neither groomed for greatness nor cast aside in disgrace. He simply existed—a prince by blood, yet an afterthought in the eyes of his father and the kingdom. Unlike his older brother Jacob, who carried the weight of succession with pride and responsibility, or his twin Jackson, who thrived on ambition, William was expected to be nothing.

And for the most part, that suited him just fine.

Yet even in the quiet shadows of his forgotten place in the world, something stirred. A presence unseen, a whisper on the edges of his mind. The shadows beneath his feet felt too still, the air around him too watchful. He had always been different, though he could never say how—only that his body moved before he thought, that his senses sometimes stretched beyond the walls of his own flesh.

And soon, he would learn just how different he truly was.

"RIIIING!"

William startled awake as the high-pitched chime of his alarm clock shattered the last remnants of sleep. He groaned, rolling over, blinking against the dim light filtering through the curtains.

"Blasted magic," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

That's right—magic.

His alarm clock was no ordinary timepiece. Inside the small brass bell, runes etched into the metal flared faintly, set to ring at a precise moment. It was a simple form of time magic—not powerful, not flashy. Just useful.

"Not like it could turn back time or anything…"

…He thinks.

Yawning, William swung his legs over the side of the bed, pushing his dark cloak off his shoulders as the cold castle air nipped at his skin. He rubbed the lingering sleep from his face, his mind already wandering.

"Tomorrow's my birthday," he thought, standing. "Seven already… Might as well brush up on my swordsmanship. I officially start learning Aether manipulation tomorrow."

That part made his stomach twist—magic lessons. Not because he was afraid of learning, but because he didn't know what would happen when he did.

Would he fail? Would he even be able to use it?

Or… would something else happen?

He pushed the thought aside as he got dressed.

William's clothing reflected his life in the palace—noble, yet unremarkable.

He pulled on a dark, loose-fitted tunic, soft and flexible, marked with subtle dark-blue embroidery along the seams—nothing extravagant, just fine enough to show his status. His pants were fitted, plain but well-made, fastened with a leather belt engraved with the sigil of Alpin.

A golden sword crossed with a dull, unpolished one, both engulfed in a soft white flame. A reminder that strength can come from anywhere.

Over his clothes, he draped a thin, dark cloak, something light yet comfortable in the castle's ever-present chill. His boots were unadorned, simple leather made for walking, not battle.

Nothing fancy. Nothing loud.

And yet, even if he walked in complete silence, people still wouldn't notice him.

As William fastened his cloak, a strange pull settled deep in his chest. A feeling. It wasn't something he could explain—just a quiet certainty that he needed to go somewhere.

The library.

It wasn't unusual. He often had these moments—a quick flash of a memory, an urge to move, like something unseen was nudging him in a certain direction. Sometimes it led him to places he already knew, sometimes it guided him to conversations or events he wasn't meant to witness.

But today, it felt… different.

Darker.

William hesitated, his fingers tightening around the fabric of his cloak. The feeling slithered in his chest, not quite fear, not quite excitement—something else.

Then he shrugged.

"Might as well follow it," he thought, stepping toward the door.

The corridors of the palace were as busy as ever, bustling with servants, guards, and noble advisors moving about their duties. Yet as William walked past, no one stopped him.

Not to bow. Not to greet him. Not even to acknowledge his presence.

It wasn't deliberate. No one actively ignored him—they just… forgot he was there.

He had always been like that.

Jacob was the future king. Jackson was the ambitious warrior. Mary was the bright, reckless swordfighter.

William?

He was just there.

And yet, as he passed through the halls, following the strange pull guiding him forward, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him.

Or worse…

Waiting.

As William makes his way toward the library, The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts.

Not just any footsteps. Heavy. Confident. Purposeful.

Jackson.

William knew before he even looked up.

His twin strode toward him, golden hair gleaming in the candlelight, royal blue tunic pristine and embroidered with silver threads. Behind him, two noble sons trailed, laughing at some crude joke—sycophants, eager to bask in his presence.

Jackson's sharp blue eyes flicked to William, narrowing in amusement.

"Well, well. If it isn't my dear brother—the elusive little shadow."

William didn't stop walking. Didn't answer.

Jackson stepped into his path, forcing him to halt.

"Not even a 'good morning' for your own brother?"

William exhaled slowly.

"Good morning, Jackson."

Jackson smirked.

"Ah, so he speaks. I was beginning to wonder if you'd become a ghost entirely."

The nobles chuckled, but William remained silent.

Jackson leaned in, voice lowering.

"You drift through these halls like a shadow, but shadows don't rule. They creep. They follow. They wait to be erased."

His voice was calm, but edged with something more. A warning. A test.

William met his gaze, unfazed.

"Then it's a good thing I have no interest in ruling."

Jackson's smirk flickered—just for a moment.

And in that brief instant, William saw it.

Not anger. Not amusement.

Wariness.

Jackson didn't understand him—and Jackson hated what he didn't understand.

He recovered quickly, exhaling a soft chuckle.

"That's the difference between us, little brother. I'll carve my own path. You'll just drift until you disappear."

William stepped around him.

For a moment, he felt his brother's gaze burning into his back.

And then—

Jackson let him go.

The nobles murmur among themselves as they continue down the hall, their laughter fading into the distance.

But William knows this isn't the last time Jackson will try to remind him of his place.

Jackson always wins.

At least, he thinks he does.

As I head towards the library, the recent conversation with my brother already empty from my mind. The tugging in my stomach gets stronger. It's not a pain, it's more of a feeling, getting stronger as I get closer.

I reach the library, the large wooden doors in my face, closed shut as if never been opened, quiet as if never been entered, standing there for a moment I enter knowing this is where I'm meant to be.

The air shifts as soon as I step inside.

The library should be familiar, a place of silence and knowledge, yet today it feels… different. Heavier. The towering bookshelves stretch endlessly in every direction, the scent of old parchment thick in the stillness. The floating lanterns overhead flicker softly, their golden light barely cutting through the shadows.

And it is empty.

I take a few cautious steps forward, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath my boots. My fingers trail along the spines of books I've seen countless times, yet they feel wrong, as if they don't belong here anymore—or worse, as if I don't belong here anymore.

The tug in my stomach tightens.

I don't need to think. My feet move on their own, guiding me deeper into the library, toward the older shelves where few ever go. The further I walk, the more stifling the air becomes. As if I'm stepping into a space that was never meant to be disturbed.

And then, I see it.

A book, sitting alone on a pedestal in the center of a dust-covered alcove.

No title. No author. No markings.

The leather binding is cracked with age, yet something about it feels… untouched. Preserved. Waiting. A symbol is pressed into the cover—one I don't recognize, yet something in my blood stirs at the sight of it.

My fingers hover over the surface, my breath slow and uneven.

A whisper curls at the edges of my thoughts.

"You are meant to find this."

The moment my fingers brush the cover—the world vanishes.

A blast of cold air floods my lungs.

I am no longer in the library.

The silence is replaced by distant screams.

Before me stretches a land lost to time, swallowed in darkness and ruin. Cracked stone towers loom in the distance, their forms barely visible beneath the thick, swirling fog. The sky above is deep, bleeding red, stars absent, the sun eclipsed by an unknown force.

I try to move—I can't.

A presence looms before me.

A black stone throne looms before me, fractured veins of violet light pulsing like a dying heartbeat. It feels ancient, powerful—wrong.. And standing before it—a figure, tall, robed, its face lost to shadow.

I can't breathe. I can't move.

Then, it speaks.

"You are not meant to be here, not yet"

A pressure crushes down on my chest. The shadows at the figure's feet coil toward me, cold tendrils reaching out like hands—

And then—

I jerk back into reality, gasping.

My breath comes fast, uneven, my body trembling from the vision.

I'm back in the library, the book still clutched in my hands. The golden lanterns flicker overhead as if nothing happened. The silence stretches once more.

But something has changed.

I feel it.

The air isn't empty anymore.

A shadow shifts at the far end of the library. My breath stills. Then—soft, deliberate footsteps. One. Two. Slow, measured, purposeful. Not the hesitant step of a wandering scholar. Not the quick shuffle of a servant. Someone is here. Watching.