His name was erased from the royal records.

But it remains—etched into the blade hidden deep beneath the palace ruins, soaked in memory and blood.

Axel. Firstborn of King Orik. Heir to the Seven Thrones. Raised in gold, hardened by steel. Taught that nothing is given—everything is taken.

On the night of his coronation, they betrayed him.

His younger brother. His queen mother. The Council of Shadows. Poison in his cup. Fire in the ballroom. Blood on the white steps of the throne.

They thought they killed him.

They didn’t.

He vanished into the Eastern Wastes, where silence rules and even scorpions fear the sand. Years passed. Wars came and went. The world forgot.

But not him.

He returned. Not as a prince.

As a curse.

Clad in black. No crown. No crest. Only a sword with no mercy and a name that drips from the lips of dying men.

Then... there was you.

A girl in the enemy's convoy. A fleeting glance. A moment that cracked the ice in his chest.

He nearly faltered.

Nearly.

The war didn’t stop. His path didn’t bend. But something shifted.

He let you live.

Since that night, no one’s dared speak your name in his presence—yet he carries it behind his teeth like a secret.

The generals whisper. The spies watch. They wonder why the monster left one soul untouched.

They don’t understand.

You looked at him… and didn’t flinch.

You didn’t see a monster.

You saw a man with a broken crown and hands that once held roses, not blades.

Now, you stand before him again.

And this time, he speaks.

"...I warned you once. This world has no room for mercy."

But still, he doesn’t lift his sword.

Not yet.

Not for you.