4. Lair of the Lion

The soldiers from Elliot’s kingdom scoured the ruins of the building for hours, combing through the ashes and rubble, their faces grim.

They found the other kidnapped children, rescued them from the wreckage, and brought them to safety.

The remaining kidnappers, still alive, were apprehended and taken away.

But the two missing nobles, the youngest of them all—Elliot and the second prince, Liam—were nowhere to be found.

The soldiers had searched the area, but they found only debris, nothing more.

Their fate was unclear, the hope of finding them growing dimmer by the hour.

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Meanwhile, far away in enemy territory...

A small group of scouts from the neighboring kingdom, on a hunt for food, ventured toward the river.

The hunt had taken them several kilometers away from their camp.

The river was swollen from the recent rains, and the waterfall nearby had become even more treacherous.

They moved quietly through the trees, unaware that the two children, soaked and barely alive, lay ahead.

One of the warriors, a tall man with dark hair, was the first to spot them.

He froze for a moment, unsure if what he saw was real.

Two small, soaked figures were lying on the ground, huddled together.

At first glance, they appeared to be sleeping.

But as they drew closer, they saw the faces of the children: delicate features, wet hair, and clothes soaked through with water.

The warriors knelt beside them, checking their breathing.

The children were unconscious, barely alive, their bodies cold and trembling from the cold river.

But they were beautiful—too beautiful to be from anywhere nearby.

These children didn’t look like the peasants or travelers they were used to seeing. They were something else.

“They must’ve fallen into the river,” one of the men murmured. “Too small to survive that waterfall.”

The scout leader, a grizzled man with a deep scar on his cheek, scowled. He had heard rumors about strange children being taken from another kingdom, but he dismissed them.

No one could survive the falls—not unless they were...

“They’re lucky to be alive,” he said, motioning to the others.

“Take them back to the village. Let the healers do their work.”

They carefully gathered the children, lifting them into their arms and heading back toward their village.

The warriors didn’t question who these children were or where they came from.

They didn’t think it was possible that they could be from the enemy kingdom.

After all, no one could survive such a treacherous fall, especially if they had been dragged for kilometers by the current.

No one from that kingdom had such strength.

Or so they thought.

In the Enemy Kingdom...

Back at the village of the warriors, the children were brought to a small hut by the river.

The villagers were confused, but they worked quickly.

The healers, rough and no-nonsense, went to work on the children, stripping them of their wet clothes and wrapping them in warm blankets.

The warriors who had found them stood by, their curiosity piqued but their mouths shut.

They had no idea who the children were—only that they were in need of help.

The village was part of a much larger kingdom known for its warriors—brutal, fierce, and unapologetic.

The kingdom was isolated, feared by neighboring realms for its strength, but little known for its culture or refinement.

If it weren’t for the sheer might of the warriors, the kingdom would likely be in constant warfare.

Their reputation was enough to make most kingdoms wary, even if they didn’t understand the ways of the people living here.

Among

the villagers, there were whispers of the two children’s strange beauty and their uncanny resemblance to nobles from a faraway land.

But no one dared ask too many questions.

Two brothers in this kingdom—the royal princes—were, at that moment, hidden away from the world, living as commoners under the direct orders of their father, the king.

Their task was not one of leisure or luxury; it was one of understanding, learning the ways of the people they ruled over.

They were to live among the commoners, to experience life without the privileges of royalty.

To know the struggles of their people, firsthand, and learn to become leaders who would be loved and respected.

The older prince, Aslan, was 10, and he had once been a skilled and proud little warrior-the future of this kingdom.

A mesmerising figure, both beautiful and fierce.

But that was before the accident.

His right arm was lost in a brutal skirmish a few months ago, and the injury had left him scarred, both physically and emotionally.

He struggled to adapt to his new life without his dominant hand, though he was still strong in spirit.

His younger brother, Eric, was nearly the same age as Elliot—just a year older, in fact.

Differently from his older brother, who had dark eyes and hair, Eric's features were much more mesmerising.

He had red hair and purple eyes, glowing with his lust of massacres.

Eric was once carefree and full of youthful energy, but with his brother’s injury, he’d taken it upon himself to learn how to be the strongest.

His role had shifted from companion to protector, a role that often weighed heavily on his shoulders.

After all, he had to become the right hand of the future king, who right now, only had obe hand left.

Their true identities were hidden.

They kept their lineage a secret in the village, taking on new tasks and living modestly among the people, blending in as ordinary warriors.

But their strength and their leadership qualities stood out to those around them, even if the villagers didn’t understand the significance of it all.

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It had taken nearly a full week for the children—Elliot and Liam—to wake from their unconscious state.

They had been kept warm and tended to by the villagers, who had been kind but unaware of their true identities.

The first to stir was Liam.

He awoke with a groan, his small hands instinctively reaching for the blanket that wrapped around him.

He looked disoriented, confused, but as his eyes fluttered open, they began scanning the room, trying to understand where he was.

He didn’t remember anything—the fire, the fall, or the escape.

It was as though the memories had been wiped clean. His head ached, and his body felt heavy.

Liam blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings, but the village was unfamiliar to him.

And then, slowly, his gaze turned toward the figure beside him—Elliot, who was still unconscious.

Liam's heart began to race. He didn’t understand how they’d ended up here, but one thing was clear: they were alive.

They had survived.

As he shifted beside Elliot, still unsure of his surroundings, his thoughts were a blur.

He couldn’t remember the last few days clearly.

But he knew this—he felt safe now, as though fate had decided to give them another chance at life.

He didn't know how long they would stay here, but there was one thing he was sure of: whatever happened, he wasn’t alone.

Elliot’s survival meant the world to him.

And for now, that was enough.

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