AWAKENING OF THE HIDDEN HEIR (REBORN INTO THE THRONE)

007: Strength beneath the Frail

It was morning already, Kael sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched, letting the quiet of the empty room wash over him. He flexed his fingers, rotated his ankles, and stretched his back slowly, feeling every muscle respond. His body now pulsed with energy beneath his skin—

He rose fully, his bare feet hitting the polished floor, and moved through a series of deliberate stretches: shoulder rolls, lunges, torso twists. The air smelled faintly of herbs from the palace kitchens, but Kael barely noticed. Every movement, every flex and shift, reminded him that the poison that had sapped his body was gone. Every tendon and muscle was awakening,

He had banned the healers from bringing herbs to him and now his body was responding to the will of his mind honed over decades.

By the time he finished, sweat dotted his brow. He pulled on his light training tunic, the fabric clinging to the lean definition of his arms and chest. Today, he decided, he would test himself—not alone in the practice hall, but against the palace’s warriors.

He wanted to test if he was better and to spread the word that he was fully recovered.

Kael moved through the corridors with sil, noticing the quiet servants, the distant clatter of breakfast preparation, the few early guards patrolling the courtyard. They glanced at him curiously, some whispering, some scoffing—but Kael ignored them. By the time he reached the warriors’ training room, the air was alive with activity: clashing blades, shouted commands, the rhythmic thud of feet on polished stone.

The room quieted slightly as he entered.

Eyes followed him immediately, scanning the fragile-looking frame of the prince who had been sickly for as long as anyone could remember. Murmurs spread like wildfire.

“Kael… he’s here?” a young recruit muttered.

“Do you think he can even lift a sword?” another scoffed.

Kael ignored them, stepping to the center of the room. He bent forward, stretching his arms to and fro, letting the light sweat from his morning routine coat his skin. A few warriors exchanged glances;

“I'll like to train” kael said

Some warriors chuckled and Kael gritted his teeth in anger, his old warriors would never laugh at anyone who wanted to train weak or not

A burly warrior, broad-shouldered with thick arms and a cocky grin, stepped forward, brandishing his blade with arrogance.

“With all due respect, Prince Kael, perhaps a wooden sparring sword would suit you better,” he said, tone dripping with mockery.

Kael’s lips curved into a faint, controlled smile.

“If my body is weak, I will let it show in the fight. Otherwise…” He drew his own practice sword, its hilt familiar beneath his grip. “…let skill speak for itself.”

The man raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “Very well,” he said, drawing in a steady breath.

The clash began. The first few swings were testing moves, careful strikes meant to gauge timing and strength. Kael moved deceptively, his limbs light but precise. His strikes were measured, his blocks effective but subtle. The man pressed aggressively, expecting the frail prince to falter, to retreat.

Kael allowed a few strikes to land—or so it seemed—his body absorbing and redirecting with minimal movement. Then, with the smallest shift of weight, a twist of the wrist, and a sidestep perfectly timed, he used the momentum of his opponent against him. The warrior stumbled, eyes wide with surprise, as Kael’s movements flowed with the fluidity of someone who had wielded swords in battle more than once in his lifetime.

The man recovered, charging again, swinging in wild, heavy arcs meant to overpower. Kael danced around the attacks, deflecting with minimal motion, each parry and thrust conserving his energy while testing the man’s endurance. And when the time came, Kael struck: precise, calculated, and utterly unmissable. With a series of deliberate maneuvers, he hit the warrior and sent him sprawling to the floor.

A stunned silence filled the hall. The warrior lay on the stone, chest heaving, blinking rapidly, trying to comprehend the outcome. Kael stood over him, calm, his chest rising and falling evenly.

The murmurs began again, this time tinged with awe. “He… he’s actually strong…”

“Did you see that? He—he’s… precise. Efficient. Incredible.”

Even the older, grizzled warriors who had scoffed at him moments before exchanged tense glances. Kael’s display was quiet but absolute—

He extended a hand to the warrior on the ground who hesitated, pride battling shock. Kael’s grip was firm but steady as he helped the man to his feet. “Strength is not always visible,” Kael said quietly, voice carrying just enough to reach the edges of the room. “Do not judge by appearance. Understand first, act wisely.”

The warrior straightened, chest still heaving, a flicker of respect replacing his previous arrogance.

“Yes my prince” the warrior said

Around the room, whispers and rumors spread even faster than the echo of swords. By midday, the story of Kael’s sparring had reached the palace servants, who carried it to the kitchens, the stables, and the council chambers. By evening, even the villagers and townsfolk along the nearby trade road were whispering of the

“sickly prince who fought the captain of the guard and won.”

Kael, however, was happy, his plan had worked. Once the hall cleared, he returned through the corridors, muscles humming with satisfaction, mind already cataloging adjustments for the next session. As he approached his sister’s garden, the sound of running water and faint laughter pulled him in.

Elyra was seated beneath the cherry blossoms, humming quietly, a small sketchbook on her lap. Her eyes lifted as he approached, and her face lit with that familiar warmth he had come to anchor himself to.

“You were training again,” she said softly, closing her sketchbook. “I heard from the servants… that you—” She hesitated, a mix of awe and disbelief in her voice. “You beat them. The warriors.”

Kael knelt beside her, letting his sweat-dampened tunic brush the ground. “They assumed I was still weak and sick,” he said, brushing a hand through his damp hair. “I had to correct that assumption.”

Elyra’s hand brushed against his arm, tentative but steady. “You… you’re strong, Kael. Stronger than I thought. But… you didn’t hurt them too badly?”

Kael shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “No. They learned their lesson without lasting harm. Strength is wasted when it destroys unnecessarily.”

She studied him for a long moment, then leaned her head against his shoulder. Kael instinctively wrapped an arm around her,

She showed him her book and they read it together before kael went back to his room.

**