The Forgotten Prince’s Truth

Status Window:

Name: Alistair Drakos
Age: 11 and will turn 12 in five days
Title: Forsaken Prince
Blessings: God of Creation, God of Dragons
Mana Sensitivity: Incomplete
Attributes: Weak
Condition: Critically Poisoned

Alistair's golden eyes burned with fury as he read the status window. His lips tightened, his jaw clenched, and his fingers dug into his palm. Poisoned? So it wasn’t just his frail body—he had been deliberately weakened. The realization sent waves of anger through him, but he forced his expression to calm. He was being watched. He could feel the gazes of the spies lurking in the shadows, likely men working under the king’s other wives. He exhaled slowly, masking his emotions beneath a cold, unreadable face.

With an even tone, he turned to Sofia. "Arrange a private meeting for me. Immediately."

Sofia's deep green eyes flickered with concern, but she did not question him. With a simple nod, she turned and left the room, heading towards the king’s chambers.

As the door shut behind her, Alistair leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He had to think—had to remember. The memories of this body weren’t completely his, but now, they surged forward, unrelenting.

Memories of the Forgotten Prince

The warmth of candlelight flickered against the stone walls as King Aldric Drakos gently cupped Queen Eleanor’s face, his stern features softening. She was a princess from the neighboring kingdom of Solmaria, a nation devoted to the God of Creation. Their love was genuine, a rare union in a world ruled by power and alliances. Despite the kingdom’s expectations, they remained childless for fifteen years.

Under pressure, King Aldric was forced to take seven wives and three concubines to secure his bloodline. He fulfilled his duty, but his heart never strayed. The court whispered, the noble families schemed, and for years, the royal palace remained tense. Then, like a miracle, Queen Eleanor bore a son—Alistair.

The other wives saw him as a threat. The firstborn child of the queen, a prince with the most legitimate claim to the throne. From birth, Alistair was strong—his cries were powerful, his mana abundant. He was meant to be great.

But envy is a silent killer.

The Betrayal

A young Alistair sat at a long banquet table, laughing openly. His bright golden eyes reflected the chandelier’s glow as he happily chatted with his half-siblings. "When I become strong, I’ll protect all of you!" he declared, his voice full of innocence.

His elder brother, Cedric, scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "You think strength is all it takes to rule?" His smirk was sharp, his emerald eyes glinting with arrogance. "Father won’t favor a naive child."

Alistair pouted. "I’ll prove myself! Just wait and see."

His stepmother, Lady Seraphina—the second wife—watched from the corner of the room, sipping her wine. Her expression was unreadable, but the tightness in her jaw betrayed her irritation. That night, a servant delivered warm milk to Alistair’s chambers.

"Lady Seraphina sent this, Your Highness," the maid murmured, bowing her head.

Alistair, unaware of the malice lurking beneath the kind gesture, drank without hesitation.

Days passed. Then weeks. His strength faded. His once powerful mana dwindled. Training became unbearable. He would wake up gasping for air, his limbs weak and trembling. The palace healers found nothing. His mother pleaded with the king, but whispers of ‘a cursed child’ spread. The boy who was once celebrated became a forgotten shadow of the kingdom.

Back to the Present

Alistair clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palm. His golden eyes darkened, cold and sharp.

So this is how I—no, how he was broken.

Poisoned. Silenced. Betrayed. His stepmothers and siblings had feared his existence, and they had made sure he would never rise. The realization sent a shiver through him. His past life—his betrayal, his death—wasn’t so different from Alistair’s. The gods must have found it fitting to give him another chance in this forsaken body.

A bitter smile played on his lips. "Fate is a cruel thing, isn’t it?" he muttered under his breath. But he wouldn’t let it control him. Not again.

Just then, the door creaked open. Sofia stepped in, her face composed but her eyes searching his. "The king has approved your request."

Alistair rose from his bed. His expression was unreadable, but his golden eyes burned with an intense determination. "We leave immediately."

To be continued...