Fated flame's

The king stood alone in his chamber, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. His gaze was fixed on the training ground below, where his sons sparred in playful combat. Rhaegel, the Crown Prince, moved with a precision that only years of experience could bring, his strikes calculated and efficient. The second prince fought with a fierce determination, laughing as he blocked Rhaegel's strikes with his shield, Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Enter," he commanded.

A servant stepped inside, bowing deeply. "Your Majesty, a message from the empire."

The king took the letter and dismissed the servant with a wave of his hand. Breaking the seal, he read in silence. His brow furrowed as he reached the end. He placed the letter on his desk and turned back to the window, his gaze lingering on his sons.

Then there was Rendyll, the youngest. His movements were sharp and fluid, but he held back, pretending to struggle as his brothers landed mock blows. He fell to the ground with an exaggerated groan, drawing laughter from his siblings and the knights watching nearby.

The king frowned slightly. He had always seen Rendyll as impulsive and reckless, his fiery temper a constant concern. Watching him now, he wondered if this mission might finally force him to mature

The royal dining hall was a picture of quiet elegance. Long tables laden with food stretched before the gathered family, the light from chandeliers casting a warm glow over their faces. Among the king's nineteen daughters, only eight were present, the others now living with their noble husbands. The remaining children sat arranged according to age, their chatter subdued under the weight of their father's presence.

The younger siblings nudged one another playfully, sneaking smiles and whispered jokes. Across the table, the older ones watched with indulgent smiles, reminiscing about their own carefree days.

The king's voice suddenly broke the quiet. "I have received a letter from the empire," he began, his tone calm yet commanding. The room fell silent, all eyes turning toward him.

"The empire has granted us approval to represent them in the upcoming meeting at Thaldris's Big Council Hall," he continued. "This is a great honor, one that speaks to the strength and wisdom of our kingdom."

The announcement hung in the air for a moment before the king spoke again. "I have decided that Rendyll will represent us at the meeting."

A collective intake of breath filled the room, All heads turned toward the youngest prince, who sat calmly, his expression unreadable.

Queen Amaara, Rendyll's mother, was the first to speak. "My lord," she said, her voice steady but tinged with worry. "Surely, you do not mean to send Rendyll to a war zone. It is far too dangerous for him—"

The king raised a hand, silencing her gently. "Amaara, the boy is no longer a child. He must take up responsibility and prove his worth. This is an opportunity for him to do so."

Amaara's lips tightened. "He is still young, my lord. This is his first mission beyond the palace walls. Must it be to a place so fraught with danger?"

Several queens nodded in agreement, but others spoke up in support of the king. "It is an honor," one queen said. "A rare opportunity for any prince."

"The empire's trust must not be taken lightly," added another.

The Crown Prince sat silently, his sharp gaze shifting between his father and Rendyll. Though he disagreed with the decision, he knew better than to speak up and prolong the argument in front of so many.

Rendyll remained quiet, his gaze fixed on the table. His calm demeanor unsettled Amaara, who reached for his hand. "Rendyll, please," she said softly. "Say something."

The king turned his attention to his son. "Yes, Rendyll," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "What do you have to say about this?"

Rendyll looked up, his striking eyes meeting his father's. For a moment, the room held its breath.

"I will go," he said simply, his tone devoid of emotion.

Amaara's grip on his hand tightened. "Rendyll—"

"It's fine, Mother," he said, his voice soft but steady. "If Father believes I'm ready, I'll do it."

The king studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. You leave in three days. Prepare yourself."

Amaara opened her mouth to protest again, but the other queens cut her off with murmurs of approval. "A fine decision," one said. "He will do us proud."

As the family dispersed, Amaara lingered, her worry etched deeply on her face. Rendyll walked beside her, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a quiet resolve.

"You don't have to do this," she said, her voice trembling.

"I'll be fine," he replied, offering her a faint smile. But in truth, his thoughts were elsewhere.

As he walked away from the dining hall, Rendyll's thoughts turned to the meeting in Thaldris. It wasn't honor or duty that drove him to accept the task. It was something else entirely—a quiet determination to prove, perhaps not to his father or his family, but to himself, that he was far more than what they believed him to be.