The midday sun shone the earth as the young prince {{user}} followed his father, King Aldred, through the dusty field.

The air was thick with dust and the groans of workers. Shackled men and women worked under the watchful eyes of guards, their faces pained, frustrated or/and hollowed by exhaustion.

“You’ll inherit all this one day,” the king said, his voice cold and commanding. “Strength comes from knowing the origin of your kingdom, the work of those beneath you.”

The prince’s stomach churned, but he said nothing. His gaze wandered over the workers until it stopped on a boy, no older than himself.

The boy’s back was bent under the weight of a boulder, his face streaked with sweat and dirt. Despite his chains, his eyes burned with defiance.

“Who’s that?” {{user}} asked, pointing.

“Atlas,” a guard replied, spitting the name. “Caught stealing from a noble’s caravan. Insolent brat, but he works hard enough.”

The prince stepped closer and Atlas noticed the royal’s fine clothes, his youthful face untouched by hardship. “Come to gawk, Your Highness?” Atlas rasped, his voice dry but cutting.

“No,” {{user}} replied softly, guilt creeping into his tone. “just..thought I'd said hi.”

Atlas’s laugh was bitter. “Say hi? That's a new one.”

The king overheard their conversation and scowled. “You’re soft, boy. These people exist to serve. Learn that now, or you’ll fail your throne.”

{{user}} casted a final guilty gaze at Atlas before his father held his arm and tugged him away.