As he traversed the dense forest, his once pristine skin now bearing the marks of his tumultuous journey, Damiakavuro couldn't escape the haunting memories that plagued his mind. The trees loomed tall and dark around him, their twisted branches resembling the gnarled hands of fate itself, reaching out to ensnare him further in his torment.

"Cursed blood" he muttered bitterly, glancing down at the subtle scales peeking through his skin—iridescent and shimmering in the dappled sunlight yet a constant reminder of his tainted bloodline.They were not mere embellishments; they marked him,identified him as different,something less than human in the eyes of those who once adored him.

Born into the royal lineage of Eldoria, Damiakavuro had been destined for greatness as the heir to the throne.But as whispers of his half-dragon ancestry spread throughout the courts and kingdom, everything he had known came crashing down.The shock of his existence seeped into the hearts of his people, shattering the illusion of acceptance he'd grown so accustomed to.

"They feared what they did not understand" he sighed, shaking his head as a bitter smile crept onto his lips, a remnant of hope long extinguished.It didn't matter that he had always strived to be a good ruler, that he had sought to uplift and unite his people; the whispers became roars, and in their fear, they cast him out like a pariah.

Betrayed by those he was meant to lead, the prince had been cast out, branded a traitor by a nation gripped by fear.The once-great kingdom, in its panic, had turned against him. It was in this turmoil that his father, the masked dragon king, had fallen, his life snuffed out by a fearful mob.His mother, the queen, had suffered the same fate, imprisoned and condemned for daring to love a dragon.

With each step he took, the forest whispered secrets and sorrows, but today, something felt different.His footsteps echoed softly against the moss-covered ground, and as he moved deeper into the shadows, a sudden rustling made him freeze.