Above the courtyard, the air shook with anticipation.
Thousands stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed on the balcony.
The King stepped forward.
His presence alone silenced the noise.
"My people," his voice boomed, heavy and controlled. "Today is a day of joy. A day that will be remembered for generations."
A servant stepped forward, holding a golden bundle.
"The kingdom has been blessed… with an heir."
The crowd erupted.
"A PRINCE!!"
"LONG LIVE THE KING!!"
Maxwell and Lisa jumped with the others, cheering, their voices swallowed by the storm of excitement.
But Maxwell's eyes drifted.
Something felt… off.
Below.
Far below.
Where light did not exist.
Where warmth had long been forgotten.
Denzel lay still.
The cold stone pressed against his tiny body. The air was thick, unmoving. Every breath felt like it didn't belong to him.
At first—there was panic.
Then fear.
Then confusion.
Now?
…silence.
I… can't move.
His thoughts came slower now. Not frantic. Not loud.
Just… there.
This isn't my body.
His fingers twitched—but it felt distant. Like controlling something underwater.
I died… didn't I?
A memory flashed.
The road.
The truck.
Melvin—
…Melvin.
Nothing came after that.
No voice.
No laughter.
Just emptiness.
A sound echoed in the darkness.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Coming closer.
Denzel's mind sharpened.
Someone's here.
His body didn't react—but his awareness did.
The door creaked open.
Light spilled in—but only for a second.
A figure entered.
Boots scraped against stone.
"Still alive, huh…"
The voice was rough. Uninterested.
Denzel tried to scream.
Nothing came out.
Say something… say something!
His throat moved—but only a weak, broken sound escaped.
"...aa…"
The man crouched.
"…Disgusting."
A pause.
Then—
A cold, almost freezing hand grabbed him.
Firm.
Denzel's entire body tensed.
Don't touch me.
But he couldn't stop it.
Couldn't fight it.
Couldn't even move.
"You're the 'curse'… huh."
Silence.
Then a faint chuckle.
"I don't see anything special."
Denzel's thoughts… shifted.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Something else.
…curse?
The word echoed.
Again!
Again!
Again!
They called me that…
His mind replayed it.
The King's voice.
Cold.
Without hesitation.
"Take this curse out of my presence."
Something inside him tightened.
So that's what I am now.
His breathing slowed.
Even.
Controlled.
Unnatural for a newborn.
Not a son.
Not a human.
Just… a curse.
The man stood up, placing him back into the wooden cradle.
"Doesn't matter," he muttered. "Orders are orders."
He turned.
Walked away.
The door shut.
Darkness returned.
Silence.
Then—
Denzel's thoughts surfaced again.
Clearer.
Sharper.
If I'm a curse…
A pause.
Long.
Heavy.
…then why am I still alive?
The darkness didn't answer.
There was no one to answer. Just an empty, quiet cellar.
Above, the crowd roared again.
"LONG LIVE THE PRINCE!!"
"LONG LIVE THE KING!!"
Below—
In the darkness—
Denzel's eyes, still unable to see…
…slowly widened.
And saw a blurry, slowly drifting and falling snowflake, which fell like a feather on his forehead.
Then, a magic sigil opened under him.
Then the cellar became quiet and empty.