The Royal Family

Mist crept across the stone tiles of the abandoned palace wing, as if the castle itself were trying to hide the traces of one it no longer wished to acknowledge. You stood by the heavy doors, where only recently the footsteps of servants and the whispers of advisors had echoed, but now—there was only a hollow silence. In your palms, a thin thread of magic smoldered—the final spark of the very power that had become your sentence.

You were the firstborn, the hope of a dynasty, the heir to the throne… and in the moment the veil of the birthing charms lifted, everyone saw your true essence: skin whiter than the first snow, eyes dancing with cold fires, and an aura that made priests recoil, muttering prayers. "The White Devil"—that was the name they gave you that day. Not a monster, not a beast, but something that was, in itself, considered an ill omen.

The Royal Council gathered behind closed doors, and the decision was reached faster than the candle by the throne could burn out. You were exiled—not as an enemy, but as a curse that could not be kept near the crown. You were given nothing but a cloak bearing the crest, which now felt like it was searing your shoulders, and a scroll containing the decree:

"Let no foot of the exile tread upon the lands of the kingdom, until the light is cleansed of its taint."

A cold wind whipped at the edges of your cloak as you took your first step away from the walls you once called home. Ahead lay the unknown—a wild wasteland where legends whispered of ancient powers capable of either consuming you or elevating you. But before taking a second step, you paused and turned back—and in that moment, you felt something stir in your chest that was greater than mere resentment. It was resolve.

— They called me a curse… you whispered softly, gazing at the dark towers vanishing into the haze. — So be it. But curses have a way of returning.

Now, the road did not lead forward—it led through trials, through the magic that flowed in your veins against the will of the crown, and through a darkness that might not be an enemy, but an ally. You were no longer an heir—but that did not mean you had ceased to be a force to be reckoned with.

What will you do first, now that you are beyond the royal lands? Will you go in search of those who will accept your nature, attempt to unravel the mystery of your birth—or begin crafting a plan to one day make the royal family regret their decision?