Twilight sovereign

Chapter 1: The Castaway

The golden glow of dawn filtered through the stained-glass windows of the royal palace, casting a warm light upon the halls. It was a day of celebration—a day of recognition for the king's son, the chosen one. As banners fluttered in the wind and nobles gathered in the grand ballroom, a small figure stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching the festivities from afar. Hidden in the shadows, Lucian's pale eyes lingered on his brother, Caelan, the twin who embodied everything he wasn't.

Caelan stood radiant at the center of attention, his golden hair catching the light as their father, King Aldric, placed a hand on his shoulder. The gathered nobles marveled at the boy, appraised at birth to possess extraordinary talent in magic, swordsmanship, and leadership. He was everything the kingdom could hope for in an heir, but Lucian's heart ached with the knowledge of their mother's absence—the queen had died giving birth to the twins, leaving a void that could never be filled.

In the weeks following their birth, the palace had been draped in mourning. King Aldric, once a man of warmth and love, became a shadow of himself. He poured all his hope into Caelan, as if his son's brilliance could somehow resurrect the queen's light. Lucian was left to fester in the darkness, a child born of shadow, overshadowed by his twin's radiance.

As Lucian clenched his fists, he remembered the day of their appraisal—the day that had sealed his fate. His father's hands on the glowing orb, watching Caelan's light burn brilliantly within. The pride in his father's eyes had dimmed when it was Lucian's turn. When his touch barely made the orb flicker, revealing only the faintest hue of darkness.

That was the day he stopped being a son and became a tool.

"Boy!" A harsh voice barked behind him, breaking the flow of his thoughts.

Lucian turned, instinctively lowering his gaze as his father's chief enforcer, Lord Ryker, approached. The man's scarred face twisted in a sneer as he grabbed Lucian's arm roughly.

"You're needed," Ryker growled. "Your father has a new task for you."

Of course he did. That's all Lucian was good for—missions, dangerous assignments that no one else would survive. No matter how much he bled or how many times he came close to death, he was always sent back into the fire. After all, why waste valuable soldiers when you had a disposable son?

Lucian followed without a word, his mind buzzing with the weight of his endless training, the countless battles fought in the shadows. Twelve years of brutal conditioning had turned him into a weapon, but it had also left him hollow, starved for something more than orders and cruelty. All he ever wanted was what Caelan had—his father's love, his family's approval. Yet no matter how hard he fought, how obedient he was, it was never enough.

They entered the war room where King Aldric stood, towering in his regal armor, his eyes sharp and cold as they landed on Lucian. There was no warmth in those eyes, only calculation.

"I have a task for you," Aldric said, his voice devoid of affection. "There's a Duke in the western region who dares to defy my rule. I've invited him to negotiate peace. When he arrives at the castle tomorrow, you will kill him. Swiftly and without a trace."

Lucian blinked, his heart skipping a beat. This wasn't just a routine mission. Assassinating a Duke? He had killed before, but this was different. This wasn't some nameless enemy on the battlefield—this was a noble, a political figure. But there was no room for hesitation. If he disobeyed, there would be consequences.

"Yes, father," Lucian murmured, bowing his head, though the word "father" felt foreign on his tongue.

Without further instruction, Lucian turned and left the war room, the weight of the mission settling in his gut like a stone. He knew what failure would mean. He had learned early on that failure was met with punishment, and Aldric's punishments were not merciful.

The next day, Lucian waited in the shadows of the grand hall, his heart pounding as the Duke arrived. It should have been simple. Kill the Duke. Slip away unseen. Another task complete. But nothing was ever simple for Lucian.

As soon as the Duke entered the hall, Lucian sensed it—a trap.

Suddenly, the room exploded into chaos. Armed men stormed in from every side. Lucian drew his sword, but it was too late. Steel clashed against steel as the ambush overwhelmed him. He fought valiantly, every strike precise, every movement fueled by years of grueling training, but the odds were against him. Blood poured from a wound on his side as he was driven back, cornered by the relentless tide of enemies.

In desperation, Lucian fled into the night, his vision blurring with pain. His legs carried him far from the castle, deeper into the unknown, until he found himself at the mouth of a labyrinth—the cursed labyrinth. He had heard the stories. No one who entered had ever returned. But he had no choice.

Breathing heavily, Lucian stumbled inside, the labyrinth's dark, twisted corridors swallowing him whole. The walls seemed to shift and pulse with an otherworldly force, as if the labyrinth itself was alive, watching him, waiting for him to fail. But failure wasn't an option.

Inside the labyrinth, time lost meaning. Days turned into weeks as Lucian wandered through its treacherous paths. Hunger gnawed at his insides, but his survival instinct kicked in. He had no knowledge of cooking or preparing food, but he learned to hunt the monsters that roamed the labyrinth. Raw flesh became his sustenance, though it was far from palatable. Every day, he'd skin a creature, gnawing on its meat in a desperate bid to stave off starvation, the taste gritty and bitter, but it kept him alive.

When his wounds from battle festered, Lucian had to resort to the healing potions stored in his space ring—an item bestowed upon him by his father for missions. He remembered the moment he had fished it out during a moment of weakness, the vial shimmering with promise. With trembling hands, he poured the potion over his wounds, feeling the cool liquid seep into his skin, accelerating the healing process. It stung at first, but soon, he could feel the warmth of vitality returning to him. He healed as much as he could before pushing himself to the brink once more.

Still, there were times when despair threatened to engulf him. In the darkness of the labyrinth, Lucian often thought of Caelan—the radiant brother who had inherited their father's love and approval. What did it feel like to be cherished? To be more than just a tool? But those thoughts were fleeting. He pushed them aside, focusing on survival, on finding a way out.

Finally, after five long years of navigating the labyrinth's horrors, Lucian found it—a tree, its branches laden with strange, glowing fruits. The sight filled him with an unexplainable hope, as if it were a beacon in the darkness. His stomach growled in hunger, his body too weak to question what the fruits were. He approached the tree, its bark shimmering with an ethereal glow. Without hesitation, he reached out and took a fruit, the skin glistening with dew. He bit into it, and a surge of power exploded within him, unlike anything he had ever experienced.

The first fruit sent a wave of warmth through his body, like lightning coursing through his veins. Each subsequent fruit transformed him further, granting him unimaginable abilities—control over all elements, infinite mana, a body that felt godlike in its strength, and mastery over time and space. He ate and ate, letting the powers seep into his very essence.

And then came the final fruit—the fruit that granted him the system.

A panel appeared before his eyes, glowing with strange symbols and words he didn't recognize.

"Welcome, Lucian. You have consumed the fruits of destiny. What would you like to know?"

Lucian blinked, his heart racing as he stared at the panel. For the first time in his life, something felt different. He wasn't just a tool anymore. He wasn't a discarded son, a shadow in his brother's light.

He was something more.

He was the Twilight Sovereign.