prologue pt.1 | a caged beast |

"A Royal Dragon must always keep their chin up"

In the darkness of a cell, hidden in the depth of the Khagan mountains, dwelled a chained Prince. His once tan skin had grown pale throughout his imprisonment as his once muscled body had slowly shrunk. His black curls had grown long and stiff due to the dust and muck that had accumulated onto his locks. And his golden eyes that his mother had called stars in a dark sky had grown dim.

The Prince no longer held his head high for his body had given away days ago. His wrist and neck were marked red due to the cold metal clamped around them. His knees were bruises so deep he often wondered if they would ever go away. Most of all, the tattoos that had just started to form on his body, the tattoos that had been vibrant with color, were now an extinguished red.

The Prince's throat was as dry as desert sand and his cheeks were no longer stained with tears. Once again, it had been days since he'd stopped crying. Days, since he'd stopped crying for his father, crying for his dead mother to save him. His bare chest heaved weighted breaths as he inhaled the dust and blood crusted in his nostrils.

But it was the three large gashes that marked his back that broke him. It wasn't the pain leaking from them. No, his body had grown numb. It was the ghost of the blade and magic that had cut that broke him. It had been an ally's blade. A once-trusted friend. But like all people, they all turn on you eventually.

Just like his father had.

Wyld had lost all hope. But a King never lost hope, a lie he told himself over and over again. Along with another lie that plagued his mind day and night as he slowly withered away in the darkness. The King of Zylan will come back for him. The King will come back for his son.

Despair tugged at his gut and Wyld blinked three times, clearing the non-existent tears that threatened to fall. He believed he had been abandoned, that his father would never return. It had seemed that way when his father had instantly shifted at the slightest presence of Khagan magic. But unlike his father, Wyld wasn't of age to yield to his dragon form and shift into a beast that would transport him back to safety.

Unlike the King, he was powerless, weak, and left helpless before the Dark King who had been determined to destroy the alliance that the Zylans and the Khagans once had.

The fact still remained that in the heat of the moment, when the Khagan King had lashed out with his darkness, the Zylan King had made the decision to sacrifice his son and his only heir.

He'd resolved to leave Wyld behind, to leave him at the mercy of the Khagan Royal, at the hands of a man who thrived for torture. Wyld was in disbelief. It hurt him even to bear the thought of his father. His throat closed up and he let out a croaked cry for water.

He looked upward, crooning his neck to stare up at the ceilings. As a child, Wyld had rarely prayed to the Gods above. He'd heard countless stories about them, about the dragons they'd used as steeds and about the powerful magic they possessed.

His father had often argued with others that Wyld would grow up to be as powerful as a god but the Prince knew better than anyone. His father had been bluffing. Like always, Wyld had been a tool for his father to use when he needed someone to do the dirty work.

Wyld had started killing at a young age after facing years in a military camp filled with blood-thirsty men who would stop at nothing to kill a Royal like him. But as Wyld looked up at the ceiling he muttered a small prayer, asking that whoever was up there send his father back to him.

Then, it was as if his prayers had been answered. The door to his cell swung open and light poured into the dark room. Wyld hissed, shutting his eyes. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen sunlight and he now realized how much he'd missed feeling the heat on his back.

"I've returned my son." His father called out and Wyld let out a sigh of relief, his head sagging forward. He lurched against the chains holding him back, becoming for his father to come and free him. "I'm terribly sorry it took this long." The King said with a cheerful tone, a smile still on his face despite his son's meek look. "I had a few things to sort out with the jail keeper."

"What about the Khagan King?" Wyld croaked as his father slipped a rusted key into the locket that hung at the chain around his neck. The King's fingers twisted it several times before the sound of the lock clicking entered Wyld's ears. Relief washed over him as the metal noose around his neck fell to the floor. Next, his left wrist was freed and the Prince fell to his knees once his father finally unlocked the last cuff.

His eyes were heavy and Wyld struggled to hold his body up, nearly collapsing onto his father. Still, his father had a smile on his face, a small laugh leaving his crooked lips. "You look mighty tired." He let out a chuckle, tilting Wyld's chin upward.

"A Royal Dragon must always keep their chin up," his father laughed, but the sound of his words provided no comfort to the shivering teenager. "Come along now, Wyld. We have places to attend." Wyld internally cursed himself as he watched his father strut out of the cell as if freeing his son had been a burden.

As if Wyld was a useless obstacle that always stood in his way.

Looking down at his calloused hands, Wyld swore that he would become the man his father wanted him to become. He would be the weapon he was trained to be. He would kill whoever stood in his path and would slaughter anyone his father ordered him to. Wyld would become a beast bred for war. His magic would be honed to kill, to destroy, and to conquer. Once his father passed, he would continue the Red King's legacy.

Wyld wiped his nose, opening his eyes to meet the light pouring into the cell. And he would kill the Khagan King, with his bare hands if he had to.

Most of all, as Wyld slowly got up onto his feet with shaky legs, he promised himself one thing.

Wyld would kneel for no one.

Not even his father.