A light wind swept across the fields under Valoria Castle's towering walls, a gentle gust hinting at new beginnings. The morning light broke through the clouds, resembling a hopeful sign, a distinct indication of an auspicious day. The kingdom was electrified with anticipation that morning, as it heralded the arrival of the much-anticipated successor, a child fated to reshape Valoria's destiny.

  A son was born to Queen Elira. This child was so flawless and untainted that he appeared to be of celestial origin. The word traveled swiftly across the kingdom, and the thoroughfares of Cairnath, the capital city, teemed with joyful inhabitants celebrating the coming of the one already known as the chosen one. This was a child predicted by an age-old prophecy, whose fate would be recorded in Valoria's historical records.

  Within the castle's throne chamber, King Raldan Ironsoul, dressed in regal attire of gold and precious stones, observed the event with obvious emotion. His heart raced as he looked at his infant son, the room illuminated by a golden glow that made the child seem like a divine entity, a being of pure light. This occasion, this birth, signified more than just the arrival of an inheritor. It represented the dawn of a new age, one where Valoria would prosper and be shielded from the encroaching darkness.

  The king then faced his eldest son, Draekon Ironsoul, a sixteen-year-old standing beside him, his composed yet detached gaze fixed on the scene. Draekon, the elder sibling of the newborn, watched silently. While his expression showed no feeling, his icy, inscrutable stare hinted at an underlying unease. The arrival of this younger brother, this "ideal" child, upset the established order. Draekon, who had always been the designated successor to the throne, experienced a deepening sense of foreboding.

  "Let the festivities commence!" King Raldan declared, his voice echoing throughout the hall. The doors to the grand banquet swung open, and a throng of courtiers and attendants hurried in to commemorate the birth of the successor. Musicians started playing, dancers spun beneath the chandelier lights, and servants distributed food and beverages with remarkable swiftness.

  Despite the prevailing joy in the chamber, Draekon found himself unable to look away from the infant, his emotions a blend of curiosity and bitterness. He was aware, as were all those present, that this tiny being possessed immense power. A power whose true scope would only become apparent in the future. And throughout the kingdom, this power would be hailed as a marvel. Yet, Draekon couldn't shake the feeling of insignificance beside this child, a sense of being diminished. The future he had imagined, where he would reign as the rightful prince, had just fractured, and the reverberations of that fracture were already echoing within his soul.

  Fast forward eight years...

  The sun blazed in the sky, bathing the castle's expansive gardens in light. Within the spacious courtyard, Solan Ardrith, the throne's successor, was engrossed in training. At the tender age of eight, he had already achieved mastery over intermediate-level magical incantations, a remarkable accomplishment that distinguished him from his peers. Surrounding him, attendants and knights observed with wonder, astounded by the reach of his abilities. Each of his actions seemed to transcend the natural order. He lifted his hand, and fragments of light materialized in the air, swirling around him before solidifying into levitating orbs of light, which he then dispersed with the merest flick of his wrist.

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  The attendants, all his seniors, watched with admiration. They approached him hesitantly, offering congratulations on his advancements while providing water or cloths to dab the perspiration from his forehead. He greeted them with a composed smile, his expression tranquil yet imbued with an uncommon sagacity for someone so young. Nothing appeared to disrupt his concentration. He required no tutors or mentors to refine his talents. He possessed an inherent mastery over them, as though he were destined for this role from birth.

  From a distance, atop the castle's tower, King Raldan and his son Draekon surveyed the scene with differing expressions. The king, with a slight inclination of his head, watched his successor with a blend of pride and apprehension. He recognized that Solan significantly outshone his older son in magical prowess, and that his fate was now sealed. His eyes briefly met Draekon's, and he offered a warm smile.

  "Observe, Draekon, your brother," he stated in a tone that, while gentle, conveyed the authority of a monarch. "Solan has already achieved proficiency in intermediate-level spells at his age. The disparity between the two of you is considerable, wouldn't you agree?"

  Draekon, who had remained silent until this point, felt a chilling, unspoken fury awaken within him. His heart tightened in his chest, and a tremor of revulsion coursed through his body. The king failed to comprehend. He couldn't perceive that his admiration for Solan was further widening the chasm between the two siblings. His father's words, intended as encouragement, felt like a dagger twisting in Draekon's injury.

  "Indeed, father. The difference is immense," he replied, his voice soft, almost inaudible, yet devoid of any warmth. "Far too immense."

  Raldan smiled, believing his elder son was merely expressing humility, oblivious to the hatred brewing beneath the surface. "You have nothing to be afraid of, Draekon," the king continued, placing a hand on his older son's shoulder. "You possess many talents too. However, it is evident that Solan is... exceptional."

  Draekon swiftly averted his gaze, his fists clenching, as a surge of anger washed over him. His brother, this seemingly innocent young child, was robbing him of everything. He was no longer the sole individual regarded as a prodigy. He was no longer the one destined to safeguard the kingdom.

  In a secluded part of the garden, Solan concluded an intricate spell, conjuring a sphere of fire that revolved around him before vanishing in a noiseless burst. The attendants applauded, and Solan turned to them with a smile that, despite its gentleness, already conveyed the wisdom of someone more mature.

  Yet, far removed from this peaceful scene, a darkness began to take root within Draekon's heart, a darkness that would eventually engulf him completely.