The Returned Prince

The warmth of blood coursing through my veins began to fade, replaced by a cold emptiness creeping over me. I lay sprawled on the floor of the grand banquet hall, my vision blurring as the golden chandeliers above shimmered like dying stars. The faint metallic taste of poison clung to my tongue, a cruel reminder of Max's final betrayal.

Max… my friend, my confidant, my shadow. He stood there, towering over me, his face a mask of indifference as he held the goblet from which I had drunk my death.

"Why?" My voice was weak, barely a whisper.

His piercing gaze finally met mine. "You were too strong, Aurelian. Too beloved. The throne belongs to those who seize it by any means necessary. Forgive me... if you can."

His words stung more than the poison itself. The brotherhood we'd forged over years of laughter, loyalty, and trust was nothing but ashes now. I reached out one last time, fingers trembling, as darkness claimed me.

But death wasn't the end.

It was a voice—soft, warm, like a mother's embrace—that pulled me back from the abyss.

"My poor child," it cooed, a melody that resonated not in my ears but in my soul. "You've suffered so much. Betrayed by the one you cherished most… But this is not your end. I will grant you a second chance. Perhaps this time, you can save the world from the destruction that looms ahead. Live again, my son. Live well… and someday, we shall meet."

Before I could respond, a surge of light swallowed me whole.

The first thing I noticed was the scent of lavender and fresh parchment. My body felt lighter, smaller, and my surroundings unfamiliar yet oddly nostalgic. I sat up quickly, my heart racing, and found myself in a room I had not seen in decades.

This was my childhood chamber in the Summer Palace. The room was just as I remembered it—a sprawling canopy bed with golden embroidery, shelves filled with tomes of history and strategy, and the window overlooking the vast gardens. I rushed to the mirror on the vanity and froze.

Staring back at me was not the Aurelian of 25, the would-be emperor betrayed by his closest friend. Instead, I saw a boy—ten years old, with flawless skin, golden hair that shimmered in the sunlight, and sapphire-blue eyes.

"This is real," I whispered, touching my face. The voice from the void wasn't a dream. I had returned.

A knock at the door startled me.

"Your Highness, the Emperor has summoned you to the council hall," a maid announced from outside.

The Emperor… My father.

Memories of the cold and calculating ruler flashed through my mind. He was the man who had set the stage for his children's bloody competition for the throne. Only one could survive, and the rest were expendable.

But this time, I had knowledge I hadn't possessed before. The machinations of my siblings, the secrets of the court, and most importantly, Max's betrayal—all were burned into my soul. This time, I would not falter.

I would claim the throne not through blind ambition or the slaughter of my kin, but with precision, cunning, and strength.

And I would build bonds I could trust, though my heart ached at the thought of opening it again.

As I stepped out of my chamber, a determination as fierce as fire burned within me.

This was my second chance. I would rewrite my fate. The prince had returned.