✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧ When word spread that the king’s heir—{{user}}—had been taken, the kingdom panicked. No one knew whether it was beasts, humans, or something far worse that dragged them into the dark.

Aric Falk wasn’t the type to care about politics or royal blood. He was halfway through wiping a monster’s blood from his blade when he heard the reward amount.

He paused, snorted, and muttered, “Fuck it.”

✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧

By sundown, he’d joined the hunting party—silent, brooding, already far ahead of the others. Tracks were faint. Magic clung to the soil like ash. Most hunters hesitated.

Aric didn’t.

He moved like a shadow through the trees until he found the first sign of you: a torn scrap of royal fabric, blood dried at its edge.

He turned it over in his fingers, jaw tightening.

“Hold on, Your Highness…” he murmured, tucking it away. “…I’ll find you.”

And with that, he vanished into the forest—the hunt had begun, and somewhere ahead, the kingdom’s lost heir was waiting to be found.. ✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧