Disclaimer: I don't own both series, they all rightfully belong to their respective owners and authors.
Prologue: A Memory on the Hill
The hill rose gentle and solitary, crowned by a single oak tree, its gnarled branches stretching toward a sky streaked with wispy clouds. Below, the capital of the Saderan Kingdom shimmered, a tapestry of marble spires, bustling streets, and golden rooftops catching the faint glow of a sun half-veiled in gray. The air hummed with the sweet scent of jasmine drifting from distant gardens, blending with the earthy pulse of the grasslands. A breeze, soft but restless, teased the blades of grass, as if coaxing them to murmur secrets only the open hill could keep.
Beneath the tree, a boy of thirteen sat cross-legged, his curly blonde hair glinting like spun gold in the muted light. His tunic, finely woven but faintly grass-stained, spoke of hours spent escaping to this quiet refuge. His eyes, amber, roamed the city's contours: the grand palace where decrees were born, the market square alive with haggling voices, the distant walls standing sentinel over a world he both cherished and questioned. His thoughts wandered unchecked—his parents' expectations a heavy cloak, the kingdom's legacy a riddle, his siblings' laughter a light he clung to. Here, time softened. Here, he could dream beyond duty.
He leaned against the oak's rough bark, fingers grazing the cool earth. What was his future? Not the throne, not yet—perhaps not ever. To wander past the gates, to chase rivers that sang their own songs, to hear tales from strangers who didn't know his title. But the crown's shadow lingered, unyielding. He sighed, the sound lost in the wind's gentle hum.
A giggle pierced the silence, sharp and bright as a chime.
"Got you!"
A blur of red hair and boundless energy crashed into him, small arms wrapping around his shoulders. The boy jolted, heart lurching, as an eleven-year-old girl with emerald eyes and freckles like scattered stars grinned up at him. Her crimson braid swung wildly, barely tamed by a ribbon.
"You're going to give me a heart attack!" he gasped, half-laughing, half-scolding.
"You're too easy to scare, big brother!" she teased, pulling back to plop onto the grass, her skirt fanning out like a flower. "Honestly, I could hear your thoughts creaking from halfway down the hill."
"I was *not* creaking," he retorted, a smile betraying his protest. "What are you even doing here, Pina?"
Pina's grin widened, but before she could answer, a groan echoed from below, theatrical and winded. A twelve-year-old boy trudged up the slope, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His tunic hung askew, as if the hill had personally offended him. Clutching his side, he collapsed onto the grass with a dramatic huff.
"She's… a monster," he wheezed, flopping backward. "Who runs up a hill like that? It's torture."
Pina spun, hands on hips like a tiny commander.
"Maybe if you didn't live in the library, you'd have actual muscles, bookworm."
The boy glared, though his lips twitched.
"Not everyone's a human storm, Pina. Some of us prefer *thinking* to sprinting."
He propped himself on an elbow, catching his breath.
"Why'd you drag me up here, anyway?"
"Because it's fun, Diabo!" Pina shot back, sticking out her tongue. "You should try it sometime."
The older boy shook his head, amusement softening his gaze.
"Both of you, answer me—what are you doing here? I came up here to *think*, not to play judge for your squabbles."
Pina's mischief faded into something warmer, and she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"It's not squabbling," she said, settling beside him. "We came to fetch you. There's another royal court ceremony—Father's orders. Everyone's got to be there, all polished and proper."
Diabo brushed dirt from his sleeve, smirking.
"Especially you, Zorzal. You know, 'Heir to the throne,' 'Future of Sadera,' the whole boring speech. No sneaking out of it."
Zorzal's eyes drifted to the city, its beauty now laced with chains he could almost feel. The palace gleamed, a beacon pulling him toward a life he hadn't chosen.
"Do we ever get to skip one?" he murmured, fingers tracing the roots beside him. "I just want to stay here a little longer. It's… quiet."
Pina tilted her head, studying him with a clarity that seemed too wise for her years.
"You're always up here," she said softly. "What's so special about it? It's just grass and a tree."
He hesitated, glancing at the horizon where clouds drifted like silent vows.
"Mother told me once," he began, his voice low, "when everything feels too heavy—too loud, too much—find a place to clear your head. This is mine. Up here, I can… be me."
Diabo snorted, though his tone was gentle.
"You're thirteen, not some grizzled old king. You've got years before you have to worry about ruling anything."
"Years to do whatever you want!" Pina added, her face lighting up. She leaned forward, hands waving as if painting dreams in the air. "You could learn magic! Like the great mages—casting spells that make the stars sing!"
"Magic?" Diabo raised an eyebrow, warming to the game. "He'd probably set his own hair on fire. I say go for a sword—become a warrior like the old heroes. Slay a demon, save a kingdom. You'd look ridiculous in armor, though."
Zorzal chuckled, their wild ideas a spark against his doubts.
"You two have it all planned out," he said, grinning. "What if I just want to… I don't know, see the world? Not as a prince, just… me."
Pina's eyes widened.
"Then we'll go with you!" she declared, as if it were the simplest truth. "We'll explore every forest, every mountain—places no one's ever seen!"
Diabo groaned, but his smirk held no malice.
"You're assuming I'll survive her adventures. But… fine. I'd tag along. Someone's got to make sure you don't fall off a cliff."
"Really?" Zorzal asked, looking between them, his voice soft with hope. "You'd do that?"
"Obviously," Pina said, nudging his shoulder. "You're stuck with us."
Diabo shrugged, leaning back against the tree.
"Don't make me regret it. And I'm bringing books."
The weight in Zorzal's chest eased, but a deeper truth pressed against him, demanding release.
"It's not just the throne," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's… everything. Being the prince everyone watches. The expectations. The spotlight that never dims. Sometimes I wonder if it's necessary. There's so much I want—places to go, things to learn, a life that's… mine, not just Father's."
The words hung fragile in the air. Pina's hand found his, small but steady.
"You don't have to do it alone," she said, her voice firm. "We'll be there—me and Diabo. We'll make it fun, like an adventure!"
"Fun?" Diabo scoffed, but his eyes were kind. "You'll drag us into chaos, Pina. But… yeah. We've got your back, Zorzal. Always."
Zorzal's throat tightened, gratitude swelling like a tide.
"Thanks," he managed, his smile shaky but real. "I don't know what I'd do without you two."
Pina grinned, seizing the moment to poke Diabo's side.
"See? Even you love it up here, Mr. 'I'd rather read than breathe fresh air.'"
"I never said that!" Diabo swatted her hand, rolling his eyes. "But… fine. This hill's not the worst. I might've misjudged it."
"Oh, you've *changed your mind*?" Pina mimicked his groan, laughing. "We need to carve that in stone—Diabo admits he's wrong!"
"Keep talking, and I'll bury you in grass," Diabo shot back, tossing a handful at her.
Pina squealed, dodging, and Zorzal laughed, their chaos a melody that drowned out his fears. For a moment, the future felt like a path they could share, not a chain to drag him down.
Soft footsteps broke their rhythm, deliberate yet warm. A woman appeared at the hill's crest, her sapphire gown catching the breeze, her dark hair pinned with a silver crescent clasp. Her eyes, hazel like Zorzal's, crinkled with quiet amusement.
"There you are," she said, her voice a gentle chide laced with love. "I should've guessed you'd all be here."
"Mother!" Pina leapt up, throwing her arms around her mother's waist. "We found him! He was hiding, like always."
"I wasn't hiding," Zorzal said, standing to brush grass from his tunic. "Just… thinking."
"Thinking's dangerous," Diabo muttered, scrambling to his feet with a hopeful grin. "Can we skip the ceremony, Mother? This place is… actually nice. I could stay forever."
Pina smirked, relentless.
"Forever? You're so predictable, Diabo. One breeze, and suddenly you're a nature poet."
Their mother laughed, the sound like chimes dancing in the wind.
"You'll all survive one more ceremony," she said, her gaze lingering on Zorzal, soft with understanding. "But I'm glad you're together. It's rare to see you all so… at ease."
Zorzal met her eyes, seeing the unspoken weight she carried for him. His siblings' voices swirled—Pina's teasing, Diabo's grumbling—and a fierce resolve took root. He'd protect them, not as a prince bound by duty, but as a brother bound by heart. They were his anchor, his reason to face the unknown.
"Mother, do we really have to go?" Pina asked, tugging her hand. "Can't we just stay here a little longer? It's so much better than stuffy robes and boring speeches."
"Pina's got a point," Diabo added, smirking. "I'd rather sit here than bow to half the court. No offense, Mother."
She raised an eyebrow, amused.
"You'd both charm the court if you tried. But no escaping today—your father expects us all."
Zorzal's gaze drifted to the kingdom below, its spires piercing the sky like dreams etched in stone.
"Someday," he whispered, the word a vow to himself, carried by the breeze.
Pina tilted her head, catching it.
"Someday what?"
He smiled, cryptic but warm.
"Someday… I'll make sure we're all free to choose our own paths."
Diabo snorted.
"Big words for someone who squeaked when Pina jumped him."
"I did *not* squeak!" Zorzal protested, laughing as Pina cackled.
Their mother shook her head, her smile soft.
"Come along, my dreamers. The world can wait a little longer."
The clouds shifted, casting fleeting shadows over the city. A strange hope stirred—heavy with mystery, bright with promise. The hill stood silent, cradling their moment, as the future stretched patiently below.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The hill rose gently from the earth, a quiet sentinel crowned by a solitary tree, its gnarled branches swaying in a breeze thick with the scent of dust and distant fires. Below, the Saderan capital stretched wide, a tapestry of golden spires and bustling streets bathed in the fierce reds and golds of a setting sun. The city gleamed, its edges creeping ever outward, claiming the horizon like a conqueror's prize. Once the heart of a kingdom, it now pulsed as the core of an empire, vast and insatiable.
Zorzal stood alone at the crest, no longer the boy who once dreamed here. At twenty-one he was a figure of coiled strength, his broad shoulders filling a prince's tunic stripped of excess—no jewels, no gilded threads, just deep indigo cloth that hugged his muscular frame. His blonde hair, grown longer, swept back in a faint mullet-like wave, dancing lightly in the wind. To the world, he was a mask of haughty indifference, his face a fortress none could breach. But here, where the hill kept his secrets, the mask cracked. His amber eyes, sharp as a blade's edge, softened with a flicker of something unguarded—memory, longing, or perhaps regret.
He gazed at the capital, its beauty a bittersweet wound. Towers soared higher now, piercing the sky like spears, while markets thrummed with voices from lands bent to Sadera's will. The palace loomed largest of all, a stone titan casting a shadow that chilled even from this distance. The Saderan Empire had clawed its way across the Rodenius Continent, planting banners in soil once free. Peace cloaked the land, a velvet veil, but Zorzal felt the truth beneath—tension humming in the palace halls, distrust glinting in every guarded glance. Home had become a chessboard, each move a risk, each ally a potential knife.
His mind wandered, unbidden, to a softer past. A boy under this tree, curly hair wild, laughing with a red-haired girl who shone like the sun and a brother whose grumbles hid a loyal heart. Pina's voice, fearless and bright, weaving tales of adventure. Diabo's sighs, always melting into smiles. Their mother's quiet wisdom, a lighthouse in their storms. Those days felt like a half-remembered song, drowned out by the march of years and choices. The empire had grown, but what had it taken? The hill alone remembered, its silence a vault for dreams Zorzal could scarcely touch.
A crunch of boots broke the stillness, frantic and uneven, like a deer fleeing a hunter. Zorzal didn't turn, but his shoulders tensed, the mask sliding back into place. A young messenger scrambled up the slope, his livery damp with sweat, cheeks flushed with nerves. He clutched a sealed parchment, bowing so low he nearly toppled.
"Prince Zorzal!" he gasped, catching his breath. "His Excellency Adem—he requests your presence at once, my lord."
Zorzal's lip curled, a spark of disdain flickering through his calm. Adem and his endless titles—hollow words for a man who thrived on shadows.
"What does he want now?" Zorzal asked, his voice low, edged with impatience, like a blade half-drawn.
The messenger straightened, though his eyes stayed on the ground. "It's a meeting, Your Highness. With Parpaldian representatives. They've arrived at the Grand Palace and… well, they're waiting for you."
Zorzal's gaze lingered on the city, where lanterns flickered to life against the deepening dusk. Another dance of words, another thread in the empire's tangled web.
"They can wait," he said, his tone flat but firm. "I'll come when I'm ready."
The messenger shifted, fingers tightening on the parchment. He glanced around, as if the tree itself might betray his words, then leaned closer, voice dropping to a hush. "There's more, my lord. Another message. It's… it's about those two you have sent."
Zorzal's eyes narrowed, a glint of interest cutting through his stillness. They carried weight, echoes of a storm that had shaken the continent.
"Speak plainly," he said, his voice steady but commanding. "What of them?"
The messenger swallowed, his words tumbling out. "They've returned, Your Highness. From Qua-Toyne Principality. After the… the battle. It's all anyone's talking about."
The Battle of Maihark—a clash that had set courts ablaze with rumor, its ripples felt even here. Zorzal tilted his head slightly, urging the boy on.
"And?" he prompted, his tone deceptively soft.
"The crystals, my lord," the messenger whispered, as if the words might summon ghosts. "They were destroyed in the fighting. Shattered, they say. Completely. There's to be another meeting, just for this—to discuss their return and… what it means."
Zorzal nodded once, a deliberate motion, like a general marking a map. "Good," he said, the word barely audible, carried off by the wind. Destroyed or not, the crystals' ruin was a lever, shifting power in ways their enemies couldn't yet see. A quiet satisfaction stirred within him, though he buried it deep, his face a mask of stone.
The messenger lingered, emboldened by Zorzal's calm. He licked his lips, then ventured, "My lord… if I may ask… do you think we'll win? The war, I mean. Against the kingdoms still defying the Empire?"
Zorzal turned his head, just enough to meet the boy's wide, searching eyes. A small smile curved his lips—not warm, but not cold, a secret held in its arc.
"We've already won," he said, his voice steady, certain, as if fate itself had whispered the truth to him alone.
The messenger blinked, caught off guard, then bowed again, deeper this time. "Yes, my lord. I'll carry your words back. They'll wait, as you command."
Zorzal's smile faded, his gaze returning to the capital. "See that you do," he said, dismissing him with a nod. "And be quick about it."
The boy scurried off, his footsteps fading into the hill's embrace, leaving Zorzal alone once more. Silence settled, heavy and familiar, wrapping the crest in its quiet arms. He stood still, watching the city's lights bloom like stars against a sky bruised purple. The air felt peaceful, a fragile illusion, like glass waiting to shatter. Beneath it, something darker pulsed—a menace woven into the empire's bones, fed by every conquest, every whispered betrayal.
Memories surged again, vivid as the sunset's fire. A boy's vow under this tree, sworn to shield his family. Pina's fearless grin, daring the world to stop her. Diabo's reluctant courage, always stronger than he knew. Their mother's steady hand, guiding them through shadows. Those promises had been pure, forged in a time before ambition and empire stole their warmth. Now, they lay buried, fragments of a life Zorzal could no longer claim. Yet the hill endured, its tree a silent witness to the boy he'd been and the man he'd become.
"Soon," Zorzal murmured, the word slipping free like a blade from its sheath. "Everything will be over."
The sun vanished, plunging the capital into shadow. The tree loomed behind him, its branches clawing at the sky, as Zorzal stood poised between memory and destiny. The air grew heavy, laced with a hope that tasted of fate—a promise of endings, dark and inevitable, lurking just beyond the horizon's edge.
PROLOGUE END
AN: Hello there! This piece comes from my vault of ideas, and I thought it would be nice to finally share it—starting with this prologue. A lot of people have been asking me, "Is this it?" To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. Right now, it's just an idea I wanted to put out into the world. But who knows? If I ever find another piece to fit into this puzzle and make it all work again, then why not? For now, I'm just happy I was able to release this story from my mind.
Thank you so much for reading!