1. Lost Children

The news spread like wildfire across the kingdom.

Children of noble blood had vanished—stolen from their beds in the dead of night.

The youngest sons of the king and duke, the heir to the throne, and the duke’s eldest.

Gone.

Along with them, several other noble-born children, heirs to powerful families.

The culprit?

A mad mage, known only by whispers and fear. No ransom was sent.

No demands were made.

Just silence.

The kingdom trembled.

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The air was thick with the stench of damp earth and rotting wood.

The walls were stone, slick with moisture, and the only light came from a single, flickering lantern hanging by the iron door.

The children sat huddled together.

Some wept.

Others whispered to themselves, repeating prayers to gods that would not answer.

In the centre of the room, Elliot moved among them like a guiding star.

At six years old, he was the youngest of the four noble boys, but his presence alone seemed to ease the others.

He had white hair, resembling the moon hat night, and he had pale skin. There were two pale blue but beautifully shimmering jewel-like orbs decorating his face.

The said boy knelt beside a sobbing girl, wrapping his small arms around her trembling form.

“Shh,” he murmured softly with his angelic voice.

“It’s okay. I promise we’ll get out of here.”

His voice was gentle, warm, but filled with an innocence that had not yet broken.

From across the room, Cassian, his older brother, watched with careful eyes.

At ten years old, the black haired brother had already taken it upon himself to protect Elliot.

His dark eyes, sharp with worry, scanned the basement for threats—even though there were none but shadows.

His overprotectiveness had always been there, but now, trapped in this hellhole, it was unshakable.

If anything happened to Elliot—if he suffered even a scratch—Cassian would never forgive himself.

Beside him sat Vascor, the crown prince, his posture stiff, his fingers curling into his tunic as he watched Elliot.

His usual composed expression faltered as he saw the way Elliot soothed the others.

The way his voice alone could pull them back from the edge of despair.

Vascor swallowed.

Elliot wasn’t just kind.

He was good in a way few people in the royal courts were.

A pure light in a world full of cruelty.

Vascor, the heir to a throne, should have been the one leading these children, reassuring them.

Instead, his heart pounded in his chest as he watched Elliot do it effortlessly.

He admired him.

And, if he was honest with himself, he adored him.

But now wasn’t the time for those thoughts.

They were prisoners.

If they didn’t escape, admiration wouldn’t matter. They would die in this place.

The fourth boy, Liam, the king’s youngest son, sat nearby, his arms crossed, his nose scrunched in discomfort.

“This place is disgusting,” he muttered, his voice petulant.

“Why are we even here?”

Cassian shot him a glare. “Maybe because we were kidnapped, Liam.”

Liam flinched but didn’t retort.

He was arrogant, spoiled, but not stupid.

He hated their situation as much as the rest of them—he just didn’t know how to handle it.

And so, like always, he hid behind Elliot.

Whenever one of the mages entered the dungeon, whenever the whispers of dark magic filled the air, Liam would cling to Elliot, his fingers gripping the boy’s sleeve, his usual bravado gone.

“I hate this,” he muttered under his breath, glancing warily at the locked iron door.

“I just wanna go home.”

Elliot placed a small hand on his shoulder, his touch light but reassuring.

“We will,” he said. “I promise.”

Liam bit his lip.

He believed Elliot more than anyone.

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It started on the fourth day.

By then, the panic had faded into something sharper: determination.

Cassian and Vascor took the lead, analyzing everything—guard rotations, food delivery schedules, and weaknesses in the cell.

They were the strongest of the group, both physically and mentally, and they took charge.

Elliot, meanwhile, played a different role.

He kept morale high.

When younger children were too afraid to follow orders, he reassured them.

When Liam whined about the plan being “too dangerous,” he convinced him otherwise.

Vascor watched in awe as Elliot bridged gaps that he and Cassian couldn’t.

“The plan won’t work unless everyone believes in it,” Elliot had whispered to him once, after calming a particularly terrified girl.

And somehow, impossibly, he made them believe.

It was detailed. Flawless. Every child would survive.

[Elliot & Liam: Would act as distractions. The younger guards often underestimated them, and Elliot, with his charming innocence, had already learned to manipulate their kindness.

Cassian & Vascor: Would strike first. When the guards were lured close, they would take them down, using whatever weapons they could grab.

The other children: The older ones had been trained in swordplay and tactics. They would escort the younger ones safely out of the dungeon.

The Fire: Once they had control, they would set a controlled fire in the hallway, blocking pursuit.

The Run: They knew from whispered rumors that they were being held in a fortress near the border. If they could make it to the woods, they could disappear.]

Everything was set.

The only question was: Could they pull it off?

And the answer was obvious:

Yes, they could!

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