Aslan was returning from the palace gardens, the breeze tugging at his crimson hair, when he caught the hushed voices of three maids gathered near the laundry courtyard.
Maid 1:
"Finally, the trash of the imperial family is leaving."
Maid 2:
"Thank God. Maybe now we'll get some peace. Though… he's leaving earlier than expected."
Maid 3:
"Who would've thought even that lazy prince would go to an academy?"
Before the last word had even left her lips, a head popped out from behind the nearby pillar.
"Boo."
The maids screamed.
One dropped an armful of folded clothes, another tripped backward with a startled gasp.
As they scrambled to their feet, panic flooded their faces.
"W-We're sorry, Your Highness!" they cried, bowing deeply.
Aslan stood there with a faint, unreadable smile. He waved a hand lazily.
The maids rushed away down the corridor, whispering in alarm.
"He didn't hear us… did he?"
"I hope not! Insulting royalty is a punishable offense…"
But Aslan remained there, one finger at his lips, crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Lazy prince... Trash…" he murmured.
A smirk played on his lips.
"Interesting."
He turned away, more entertained than offended.
---
Later, Aslan returned to his room, the echo of the maids' words still lingering.
But anger never surfaced.
> "They think I'm the lazy, useless prince... Good."
"Let them."
"It's better to be hated from the start than to be loved... and then betrayed."
He leaned against the door, staring at the ceiling with a tired smile.
"I want them to hate me."
"It's easier that way."
---
That evening, candlelight glowed warmly in the royal dining hall. It wasn't a grand affair—just close family. Quiet. Personal.
Aslan's birthday.
Prince Lucien handed him a sleek, custom sword—beautifully crafted, noble.
"Try not to trip over it," Lucien said with a smirk.
"Try not to cry when I beat you with it later," Aslan replied dryly.
For a moment, even the distance between them felt smaller.
Then the Emperor and Empress approached.
The hall quieted as the Emperor revealed a small, deep-blue velvet box.
Inside lay a blue locket—a jewel shaped like a teardrop flame.
Ancient. Radiant. Powerful.
The Empress's voice was soft and solemn.
"This locket belonged to the founder of our line. It has always been passed to the one who walks the most uncertain path."
The Emperor placed it gently into Aslan's hand.
"Wear it when you're ready to stop pretending."
Aslan looked down, his grin fading.
Something inside him shifted.
That night, sleep did not come easily.
When it finally did, it came with a strange dream.
Aslan stood beneath a sky streaked with fire. Mountains crumbled in the distance, and a single voice whispered his name—soft and ancient, like it echoed through time itself.
He couldn't see the speaker. But the feeling…
It clawed at his chest, like something locked away inside was desperate to break free.
He gasped awake, covered in a cold sweat.
The room was dark. Still.
Only the blue locket beside his bed glowed faintly… just for a second.
Then all was quiet again.
"Just a dream," he muttered. But his hand wouldn't stop trembling.---
A few days later…
He stood in front of the grand carriage, dressed in the uniform of Royal Academy—black coat with golden trim, black shirt beneath, the top button, as always, undone.
The Emperor, clad partially in armor, stood on the steps.
"I'll be gone for a while," he said with a rare, quiet smile.
"Keep your eyes open. Enjoy your time, even if it's short."
Aslan nodded.
He looked once more at the blue locket… then clasped it around his neck, hiding it beneath his shirt.
"I will."
Just as he stepped forward—
"WAIT!"
Eiren came running, eyes wet.
"Why can't I come with you?!"
Aslan turned.
"Servants aren't allowed in the academy," he said gently.
"And you've got your own mess to clean up. Remember?"
Eiren sniffed, then forced a grin.
"Fine. But once I'm done—I'm coming to annoy you again."
Aslan smirked.
"I'll be waiting."
The carriage rolled out.
Aslan leaned back, staring out the window, fingers curled tightly around the locket hidden beneath his shirt.
Behind him, war stirred.
Ahead… destiny waited.
------