Aeon woke up drenched in blood, heavy iron shackles binding his neck, hands, and legs. The metallic scent choked the air, and pain throbbed in every limb. He freed himself slowly, his fingers stiff and bruised.
The first thing he saw was her.
Silvia.
The Dark Phoenix.
Destined to become the greatest mage of the century—alongside four others.
Now, she was tied down like livestock, surrounded by other frightened girls. The heretics were preparing for a ritual. Flames danced in the corners, and stacks of wood surrounded them.
Aeon's breath caught.
He looked down at his shackles again. If he was bound like this, he had to be one of two side characters—James or Kayle.
He began searching nearby buildings, following a weak trail of blood. Behind a well, he found a boy slumped over, bloodied and barely breathing. Aeon dragged him to the shade of a nearby house, treated him with basic healing magic, and waited.
The boy stirred.
"...K-Kayle... save... Silvia..." he whispered, eyes fluttering.
Aeon's eyes widened. So this was James. That meant—he was Kayle.
James collapsed again. Aeon moved him to a safer place near the alley and turned toward the burning village.
He took a deep breath, crouched, and leapt onto the roof of a nearby shop. From the height, he surveyed the area. Silvia and the other girls were surrounded by heretics, bound and ready to be burned alive.
But Aeon knew the original story. Silvia was meant to be rescued by Imperial Knights returning from the battlefield.
Using night vision, he scanned the forest—and saw them. The knights, unaware of the village's condition, moved silently through the trees.
Aeon knew what to do.
He cast Fire Blaze, igniting several houses to create a towering inferno. The flames rose high into the night sky. The heretics turned, alarmed. The knights, now alerted, broke into a fast march toward the village.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Aeon used Shadow Steps to slip into the inn, just ahead of the heretics' line.
Inside, he searched swiftly. Beneath the reception desk, he found it: a black magic circle pulsing with dark energy. He poured mana into it—but the circle retaliated.
He raised a shield barrier, bracing against the backlash. His mana clashed with the dark sigils until finally—the circle shattered.
Beneath it, a trapdoor creaked open.
He descended into the underground chamber, casting Light Magic to illuminate the path. At the end of the corridor, he found a gate. Aeon shattered it with a burst of energy and stepped inside.
A masked man lunged from the shadows.
Aeon dodged effortlessly, reappearing behind him. The man froze, stunned by his speed. In one motion, Aeon snapped his neck, and the body collapsed.
He searched the man's robes, finding a black token engraved with two serpents wrapped around each other.
Doroka Clan. The Clan of Black Poison.
On a nearby table, a drawer lay ajar. Inside, a silver necklace with a red diamond glinted faintly.
Aeon took it.
Behind him, the masked man stirred again—barely conscious, trembling.
"Who... who are you?" he rasped. "Do you know who I am? I'm from the Doroka Clan."
Aeon remained silent.
"Give me the necklace," the man growled. "I won't report you. Just hand it over."
Still, Aeon said nothing.
"I said—do you even know what the Doroka Clan is?!"
"Why aren't you answering?!"
Aeon finally looked at him, calm and cold.
"Because dead men don't need to know."
A flash of crackling light surged from his palm.
Heavenly Thunder.
Aeon's own magic—unstoppable.
The bolt struck. The man was gone before he could scream.
Aeon erased every trace of his presence—and vanished into the smoke.
The heretics lay slain, and the Imperial Knights were aiding the terrified villagers. Fires crackled in the background, and survivors wept in relief.
Aeon glanced at his leg—it was broken. Gritting his teeth, he began to crawl through the debris. Every movement sent sharp pain through his body, but he pressed on until he reached one of the knights.
He collapsed.
The knight caught him mid-fall. "We've got another injured! Bring him in!"
They carried Aeon to the rescue shelter, where the freed girls were being treated. One of the knights placed him gently on a bed while a healer began inspecting his injuries.
Suddenly, a familiar voice called out.
"Kayle!"
Silvia.
She rushed to his bedside, her face streaked with tears.
"Kayle, what happened to you?" she cried, holding his hand tightly.
"Don't worry, your friend will be fine," the healer said gently.
"Really? Will he really be okay?" she asked, eyes trembling.
"Yes. His injuries aren't life-threatening," the healer replied.
"You stupid idiot," Silvia sobbed. "I told you to leave me… to run away! Why didn't you listen?"
She leaned her head against Aeon's arm, her tears soaking into the cloth. Aeon, still pretending to be unconscious, remained silent.
After tending to the wounded, the healer was called away by a knight.
"Is everyone stable?" the knight asked.
"Yes. They just need rest now."
"Good. The commander is asking for you."
The healer nodded and left.
Now alone, Aeon slowly opened his eyes.
He turned to his side. Silvia was asleep, resting against his shoulder, still clutching his hand. Gently, he laid her head down on the pillow and stood up, careful not to wake her.
Across the room, James was still unconscious on another bed.
Aeon reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace—the silver chain with the red diamond he had taken from the Doroka agent.
He stared at it, then whispered to himself:
"This is one of the seven pieces…"
His gaze shifted back to Silvia, asleep and peaceful for now.
He brushed her hair back and touched her cheek softly.
"I won't let you suffer this time."
Right now, I'm inside the novel The Ash Prince.
My role? A side character named Kayle.
This story isn't about me—it's about Ash van Atheliya, the first prince of the Atheliya Empire.
An empire of legends—one of the two great empires that shaped this continent. The other: Cronos. Together, they shared borders with four of the six kingdoms—Larko, Hanths, Pula, Patra, Sinth, and Ovoris.
Ash was a child of destiny. A direct descendant of the family that founded Atheliya a thousand years ago.
The Atheliya bloodline—unmatched in swordsmanship, feared across all realms.
Ash mastered their ancient blade style by the time he was just 25, and he was an expert in all forms of weaponry.
A leader. A genius. A man beloved by his people.
He was to ascend the throne.
But then it all fell apart.
He was framed—for treason, and for crimes against women. Lies spread like wildfire. He denied everything, but no one believed him.
To survive, he fled the palace—through a secret passage known only to him and his mother, Lorath.
But betrayal cut deeper than any blade.
Waiting at the exit were thousands of royal knights and mages—an ambush.
Ash fought valiantly. But no man, no matter how gifted, could stand against such overwhelming odds.
It was Silvia and four other mages who saved him that night.
Bloodied and barely breathing, Ash escaped into the forest. There, his old friends from the academy waited for him—soon joined by Silvia and the other four mages.
That's when the truth came out.
It wasn't his sister who betrayed him.
It was his mother.
Queen Lorath.
Ash's father had died from illness years earlier. Lorath ruled in his place, and she had no intention of giving up her power.
She had used her daughter, the nobles, and even the knights to bring Ash down. She had fed lies to the court, fabricated the charges, and revealed the secret escape route to the royal guard.
Ash broke.
He couldn't believe it—his own mother had orchestrated his fall.
He wept.
But his friends did not let him fall into despair. They stood by him. They gathered allies. And they returned—marching toward the capital to take the throne back.
And when they finally reached the imperial palace…
His mother was waiting.
But she wasn't done.
Ash's blade clashed with the power of the ancient artifact—a relic so old it predated empires.
It had once sealed gods.
Now, wielded by his mother, it aimed to kill him.
The clash between mother and son shook the palace. Ash fought with everything he had—and barely, just barely, managed to stop her.
At last, it was over.
Or so he thought.
That's when the seal of Artrasan shattered.
A roar echoed from the sky—deep, thunderous, ancient.
Shakan, the dragon bound in myth, had broken free.
His rage burned across the continent.
The Atheliya Empire was the first to fall—reduced to ash in a single night.
One by one, the Six Kingdoms fell.
The Cronos Empire, desperate, joined forces with the rest. Together, they fought Shakan. And they won.
But it was too late.
Shakan's fury had already consumed it all—six kingdoms, the Atheliya Empire, and ninety percent of Cronos.
Only Ash remained.
Alone. Broken.
He had nothing left to protect.
So he ended it himself.
"That's why The Ash Prince had the worst ending I'd ever read," Aeon whispered. "Even worse than Chronicles of Lady Sarah."
But then he clenched his fist.
"I won't let it happen this time."
Just then, Silvia stirred. She opened her eyes—and hugged Kayle tightly.
Aeon froze.
He had faced death, dragons, black magic—yet this simple gesture shook him.
Because it wasn't just gratitude.
It was love.
And he knew now—he wasn't just a bystander.
In Ash Prince…
Kayle and Silvia were lovers.