THE FORGOTTEN HEIR

THE HEALERS SON

The forest that bordered the kingdom of Aramore was a place of mystery. Sunlight often filtered through its canopy in golden beams, casting shifting patterns upon the earth. Birds chattered endlessly, and streams cut silver lines across the mossy ground. Here, far removed from the grandeur of the palace, life moved at a quieter pace.

It was here that Elara built her modest home a thatched roof, walls of clay and stone, and a hearth that was always warm with the smell of herbs. For nineteen years, this humble place became the cradle of a destiny hidden from the world. And at the heart of it was Kayan.

From the moment she carried him home, Elara raised him not as a burden, but as the son her heart had longed for. She named him Kayan, meaning “enduring flame,” for his spirit seemed bright even in infancy. Though she never spoke of the strange mark upon his shoulder to others, she often traced it with her fingers when he slept, whispering, “The gods have touched you, my boy. Never forget, you were meant for something greater.”

As the years passed, Kayan grew tall and strong. His hair, dark as midnight, often fell across eyes the color of storm lit skies. His hands bore the roughness of labor, for Elara taught him no idleness. Together, they tilled the soil, gathered herbs, and healed the sick who came seeking Elara’s aid. From her, Kayan learned patience, humility, and compassion.

Yet the villagers who visited their cottage often noticed the boy’s uncommon bearing. Though dressed in simple tunics, his posture carried a quiet nobility. His speech was measured, his gaze steady, and when disputes arose among the village youth, it was always Kayan whose voice brought calm. “He is no ordinary child,” they would whisper, though none dared suggest the truth.

But Kayan himself knew nothing of his royal blood. To him, Elara was his only family. When he asked about the mark on his shoulder, she would smile faintly.

“It is a sign of blessing,” she told him. “Wear it with honor, but never pride.”

Kayan accepted this without question, for Elara’s word was law.

A Restless Heart

Despite his contentment, there were nights when Kayan sat outside beneath the stars, staring toward the distant glow of the palace spires. The city of Aramore lay beyond the hills, its silhouette faint against the horizon. Something in him stirred whenever he looked upon it, as though unseen threads tugged at his soul.

“Elara,” he said one evening as the fire crackled beside them, “have you ever wondered what it’s like within those walls? To walk their marble halls, to see the King and Queen themselves?”

Elara’s eyes darkened. She rarely spoke of the palace. “Palaces are not what they seem, my son. Behind their gold lies sorrow, and behind their laughter, betrayal. Better to live free in a cottage than caged in silk.”

Kayan frowned but nodded. Still, the hunger remained a pull toward a life he did not understand.

The Festival of Unity

When Kayan was nineteen, the kingdom celebrated the Festival of Unity, a grand occasion held every five years in honor of Aramore’s founding. Even villagers were welcome to attend the outer festivities near the palace gates. For the first time, Elara agreed to take Kayan.

The city overwhelmed him. Market stalls overflowed with spices, silks, and jewels. Musicians filled the air with drums and flutes, and banners of crimson and gold waved from every post. Yet it was the palace gates that caught Kayan’s breath. He stood frozen, staring at their towering height, the carved lions guarding their entrance, and the guards in polished armor. Something inside him stirred violently, like a memory clawing to the surface.

“Elara,” he whispered, “why do I feel… as though I belong here?”

She gripped his arm tightly, her expression unreadable. “Do not say such things aloud. The palace is no place for us.”

But fate had other plans.

As they turned to leave, a commotion broke out near the gates. A nobleman’s carriage overturned, startling the horses and trapping a child beneath one of its wheels. The crowd screamed, but none dared approach the frantic animals. Without thought, Kayan leapt forward. With strength born of desperation, he calmed the beasts, lifted the wheel just enough, and pulled the child to safety.

The crowd erupted in cheers. “The healer’s son!” they shouted. “The boy with the mark!”

At those words, Elara froze. Her heart pounded as she realized whispers were spreading. Eyes turned toward Kayan, lingering too long upon the strange emblem visible on his shoulder where his tunic had torn.

Quickly, she pulled him away. “We must go, now!”

“But the people” Kayan protested.

“No, my son. Not here. Not yet,” she hissed, dragging him back into the crowd.

The King’s Eyes

Unbeknownst to them, the King himself had been watching from a balcony above the gates. His weary eyes widened at the sight of the boy. For nineteen years, he had searched for his son his heart refusing to believe the child was truly lost. And now, before him, stood a young man bearing not only the courage of a prince but also the unmistakable mark of Aramore.

“Could it be…?” the King whispered. His hands trembled. He called for his guards, but by the time they reached the crowd, Kayan and Elara had vanished.

That night, the King’s sleep eluded him. For the first time in years, hope sparked anew.

The Weight of Secrets

Back in their cottage, Elara sat silently by the fire. Kayan, restless, paced the room.

“Mother, why do you hide the truth from me?” he demanded. “The people saw it the mark. Why do I have it? What does it mean?”

Elara’s lips trembled. She longed to tell him everything, but fear held her tongue. “It is a blessing, Kayan. That is all you must know. But blessings can also be curses when men hunger for power.”

Kayan frowned, unsatisfied. Yet he did not press further, out of respect for the woman who had given him everything. Still, that night he lay awake, the image of the palace gates burning in his mind. Something within whispered that his life was about to change forever.

And far away, in the heart of the palace, the King whispered to his advisors:

“Find that boy. Bring him to me.”

Thus, destiny began to move.