Chapter 2 Awakening as Prince Aelric Vaelthorn

Riven—no, Aelric—the name felt foreign and brittle on his tongue. He blinked against the soft, golden light, his head throbbing with a dull, persistent ache. The opulent room swam into focus: silk sheets, gilded furniture, the scent of roses. It was all so vividly, terrifyingly unreal. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt like lead.

“Easy now, my son.” A pair of warm, steadying hands gently pressed him back into the pillows. A woman with kind, tear-filled eyes and a silver diadem in her hair leaned over him, her composure crumbling. “Oh, Aelric! My precious boy!” She enveloped him in a tight, desperate hug, her tears dampening the shoulder of his nightshirt. Her embrace felt achingly familiar, a ghost of a comfort he thought he’d lost forever.

Aelric’s breath hitched. “Mom…?” he whispered, the word slipping out before he could stop it. His gaze shifted to the tall, broad-shouldered man standing behind her, his face a mask of relieved authority. “Dad…?”

The man—the King—gave a slow, solemn nod, his own eyes shimmering. He placed a heavy, reassuring hand on Aelric’s shoulder, completing the circle of their embrace. “You gave us a terrible scare, son.”

“What… what happened to me?” Aelric managed, his voice trembling. The memory of crumbling walls and his sister’s limp form was a fresh, searing brand on his mind.

Just then, a girl with familiar, spirited eyes—Hori’s eyes—rushed forward. Her hair was a different shade, her features slightly altered, but the essence of his sister was undeniably there. “It was my fault!” she blurted out, her own tears starting to fall. “You… you fell from the grand staircase trying to keep me from tripping! I’m fine, thanks to you, but you… you hit your head and wouldn’t wake up…” She threw her arms around him, and the warmth of her hug was a painful echo of the life he’d lost. His chest tightened, a vortex of confusion and grief.

Is this real? A dream? Or… did I die and this is some kind of cruel afterlife?

The woman—his mother in this world—gently lifted his chin, her worried eyes searching his. “Aelric, look at me. Are you truly alright? The physician said there might be confusion.”

The King placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Let us be certain.” He raised his hands, and a soft, green-gold glow emanated from his palms. Aelric’s mother joined him, her own magic, a lighter, shimmering gold, intertwining with his. The combined energy washed over Aelric, a sensation like warm honey flowing through his veins, knitting together the last remnants of his ache and bruising. The physical pain vanished, but the turmoil in his soul remained.

Aelric stared at his hands—clean, unblemished, and utterly foreign. “I… I’m fine. Really,” he insisted, his voice barely a whisper.

“You’re sure?” his mother pressed, the lines of worry still etched on her face.

“Yes… I am,” he said, more firmly this time, forcing a shaky sigh. And I understand them. I shouldn't, but their language is perfectly clear in my head. What is happening to me?

The girl who was his sister gave him a tentative smile. “Rest now, Aelric. We’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

As his new family stepped back, giving him space, the massive oak door to the chamber creaked open. A stern-faced butler in immaculate livery bowed deeply. “My young lord, my apologies for the intrusion. Prince Solian Radiant is here. He insists on seeing you.”

Aelric froze. “Who…?”

Before the butler could answer, a young man strode confidently into the room. He seemed to bring his own sunlight with him, his golden hair gleaming and an aura of calm authority radiating from him. He dismissed the butler with a subtle wave of his hand.

“Leave us for a moment,” Solian commanded, his voice pleasant but leaving no room for argument.

Once the door clicked shut, Solian approached the bed, a playful, almost teasing smile gracing his lips. He crouched down so his eyes were level with Aelric’s. “Well, well. Oh, my dear Prince Aelric… you look as though you’ve seen a ghost. Is that any way to greet your future sovereign?”

Aelric could only blink, completely disoriented. “Who… are you?”

The playful grin on Solian’s face vanished, replaced by a sharp, assessing seriousness. He straightened up, his posture regal. “I am Solian Radiant, Crown Prince of the Radiant Dominion and Heir of Light.” He paused, letting the weight of his titles settle in the silent room. “My magic is that of the sun itself. And…” his voice softened a fraction, “I am your friend from the Royal Academy.”

“Academy… friend?” Aelric echoed, the words feeling meaningless.

“Yes,” Solian said, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And it seems your little tumble has rattled more than just your bones. You’ve forgotten everything, haven’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Don’t worry. Consider me your guide in this new… chapter.”

Guide me? Aelric’s mind raced. Who am I supposed to be?

“You are Aelric Vaelthorn,” Solian stated, as if reading his thoughts. “Prince of the Vaelthorn Empire. Your father is the ruling Duke, your mother the Dukes. Both are renowned healers.” His gaze intensified, locking with Aelric’s. “You… were expected to follow in their footsteps. But your magic, Aelric… it did not manifest as light. Your affinity is for Shadow. You are a healer who wields dark magic.”

Aelric’s eyes widened in shock. “Dark magic…? But healing… that’s light, isn’t it?”

“Typically,” Solian said, his tone unnervingly gentle. “Your existence is… unique. But it is your reality now. You survived the fall, and for that, we are all thankful.”

Before Aelric could process this monumental revelation, another voice, calm and fluid as a deep ocean current, came from the doorway. “My apologies for the interruption, but it seems we are not the only ones concerned for your well-being.”

Aelric’s head snapped toward the door. “No… who are they now?”

Two more young men entered, their presence immediately altering the room’s atmosphere. The first had hair the color of sea-worn driftwood and deep, tranquil blue eyes that held a timeless calm. The second was his opposite; with silver hair that seemed to frost the very air around him and a gaze as sharp and cold as a shard of ice.

The calm one stepped forward first, offering a graceful, slight bow. “I am Lyren Mareth, Crown Prince of the Mareth Oceanic Empire. My magic is that of Water.” His voice was like the gentle lap of waves against a shore.

The silver-haired prince followed, his assessment of Aelric swift and calculating. “I am Eryndor Frostveil, Heir of the Frostveil Principality.” His voice was quiet, yet it carried the firmness of permafrost. “My domain is Ice.”

Aelric swallowed hard, his mind spinning. Princes… everywhere I look, another prince. Am I really one of them?

Solian stepped forward, placing a grounding hand on Aelric’s shoulder. “Breathe, Aelric. Take it slow. You’re still recovering.”

Eryndor’s sharp gaze flickered from Aelric’s pale face to Solian’s hand. “He’s right. We shouldn’t push him. The mind needs time to heal as much as the body.”

Lyren nodded in agreement, his expression sympathetic. “Agreed. You need time to find your footing, Aelric. The world will still be here when you are ready.”

Overwhelmed, Aelric leaned back against the mountain of pillows, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The four princes—Solian with his radiant light, Lyren with his deep waters, Eryndor with his piercing cold, and himself, a healer shrouded in shadow—stood around him. The room hummed with the silent, potent energy of their combined magic, a tangible, unfamiliar tension thick in the air.

This… is my life now, he thought, the reality of it finally crashing down. I’m a prince. A dark magic healer. And I’m surrounded by the most powerful heirs on the continent.

He closed his eyes, not in rest, but in a desperate attempt to quell the storm in his mind.

I need to understand. I need to know who I really am in this world… and why fate, or whatever this is, decided to bring me here.