Synopsis
The scene opens with the cry of a child is heard,a child is born. The view of an entire city is shown a bright blue teleportation circle appears over the city suddenly a bang is heard and bright blue light engulfs everything within it's reach.
FIVE YEARS LATER...
Two young boys are seen in an arena cultivating massive amounts of energy, at the left side a six year old with silver grey hair surrounded with silver yellow energy and at the right is a five year old with grey black hair surrounded with dark purple energy. An instructor steps away in front of them watches them to ensure they are focused,in his mind he analyses the two 'the young masters core are good shape though surprisingly for someone who is not of royal blood he his core his keeping up to the prince possibly even far ahead if only he could manifest his Primal form just like the prince though it won't be long now' after a while of cultivating the two suddenly stop out of exhaustion "Grey, Itarim...who said you could stop?" The instructor said with an intimidating tone."We're sorry Mark but we're so tired and hunger " Itarim apologetically replied. "Speak for yourself Itarim...I only lost focus that's all" Grey said while keeping a strong front. "Itarim how many times will i have to tell you... during sessions refer me as sensei and also you two are fifteen minutes did you not, hmm I-T-A-R-I-M" Sensei Mark replied lecturing Itarim for his casual disregard of his status. "Hehe...oh come on Sensei you don't have to be too strict he was only joking" Grey said to sensei Mark to calm his temper to which Sensei Mark replied immediately" You're to lenient young master, at this rate he will never learn besides it's been a year now and his Primal form has yet to manifest...Sigh... alright then you can take a bre..." "YEAH, you rock sensei" Itarim celebrated with an outburst of joy cutting Sensei Mark off .Sensei Mark continues with an unfazed reaction indicating he's already used to Itarim's nonchalant behavior"..ak.. Sigh... Remember to make it back in time for dinner dismissed".
The scene shifts to a forest.
Towering trees loomed in every direction
As the sun began its gentle descent, casting golden beams through the thick canopy, the forest glowed with an ethereal light. As Itarim jumps from root to root of a tree that looked somewhat ancient,its bark lined with countless ridges like the wrinkles of a sage. Moss crept along its roots like veins of time itself, and sunlight filtered through the foliage above, giving the entire clearing a soft, dreamlike hue. The air here shimmered faintly with dormant energy, the type that made hairs rise and the heart slow to a reverent beat. Deer grazed peacefully among the stone-laden underbrush while blue butterflies danced in the filtered light. Itarim full energy, leapt from one massive root to the next. His silhouette cut sharply against the luminous backdrop, pausing only briefly in a frog-like pose on the final root before springing again. Grey, calm and contemplative, walked at the base, trailing a hand along the gnarled bark. His eyes, usually unreadable, flickered with unease. "We'll be turning twelve tomorrow…" he murmured, voice low and pensive.
From atop the root, Itarim grinned. "It's amazing, isn't it?"
Grey shot him a skeptical glance. "What's so amazing about that?"
"Think about it," Itarim said, arms stretched wide to the verdant wonder around them. "Eleven years ago we were barely more than babies. Now look at us—strong, alive, and almost ready for the ceremony. We made it this far."
Grey looked away, conflicted. He exhales, his tone more serious. "That's true... but aren't you even a little scared that you might fail?"
"Nah," Itarim shrugged,standing tall and facing the endless forest in front of them. "Why worry about the future when I can enjoy the present?"
The leaves rustle in a warm breeze as birds chirp softly overhead. The forest, ancient and wise, seems to listen in silence.
Grey watches his friend quietly, then smiles. "We should head back before we get into trouble with Sensei Mark."
"Yeah we should. I'll race yah! Loser has to let the winner pick any present from the other's gifts tomorrow!"
"You're on!" Grey takes off running.
"Hey, that's cheating!" Itarim yells, laughing as he gives chase.
Behind the massive tree, hidden in the dancing interplay of light and shade, a dark figure emerged. In his hand is a parchment delivered by a sleek black bird. He reads it once, then crumples it.
"It's time. Assassinate the false prince."
With a cruel grin, the assassin vanishes into the forest, moving like a shadow toward the unaware boys.
"It's time. Assassinate the false prince."
A sinister grin spread across their face, and in one fluid motion, they vanished into the forest's veil, following the two unsuspecting boys
MEANWHILE
Back at the castle in the dining hall, Sensei Mark paces slowly. His eyes are fixed on the door as he speaks aloud to himself.
"Too long... they should have been back by now. Grey is usually more punctual than this."
Without waiting for another thought, he heads towards the forest.
BACK AT THE FOREST
Grey and Itarim, both panting and smiling, arrive at the clearing where a small pond reflects the moonlight like a mirror. Itarim collapses beside it, laughing.
"Okay... okay... you win. Pick your present tomorrow."
Grey grins but suddenly stops laughing, sensing something. He turns his head slowly.
"Itarim… do you feel that?"
The forest has gone quiet. Too quiet.
A moment later, a dart whistles past Grey's face, embedding itself into a tree. The boys jump back, eyes wide.
From the shadows, the assassin steps forward, a curved blade glinting in his hand. His voice is a rasp, like leaves scraping against stone.
"Found you… false prince."
Grey's eyes narrow. "Who are you?"
The assassin doesn't answer. He lunges.
SLOW-MOTION SEQUENCE
The attack is fast—too fast for normal eyes—but the boys react on instinct. Grey dodges low while Itarim leaps high.
"Grey, stay behind me!" Itarim shouts.
" No way! We're in this together!"
They dodge and weave, but the assassin is relentless. A cut slices across Itarim's arm. He winces but doesn't fall.The assassin's intent becomes clear: Itarim is the target.
"We can't take him head-on," Grey mutters under his breath.
"Then what do we do?" Itarim whispers.
"We run. Back into the forest—deeper. We know it better than he does."
Itarim nods, and without another word, the two boys dart back into the trees.The assassin chases them, unnaturally fast, his movements sharp and fluid like a beast tracking prey.
Branches whip past their faces. The roots beneath their feet rise like coiled serpents, but the boys press forward, weaving through the forest.
"We're almost there—it's just past the ridge!" Itarim shouts.
They burst through a line of overgrown shrubs and arrive at the base of the ancient tree, the same massive one from earlier, whose roots stretch like the arms of a sleeping titan.
Suddenly—the assassin drops down in front of them, having circled ahead.
"End of the line, little prince…" he hisses, gaze fixed solely on Itarim.
He lunges. A flash of steel.
Itarim barely reacts before Grey shouts:
"NO!"
Grey shoves Itarim out of the way and takes the blow—a powerful strike to the side of the head—and is sent crashing against the tree roots, unconscious, blood trailing down his temple.
"GREY!!" Itarim screams.
Time seems to freeze. The wind stills. The forest watches.
Something inside Itarim snaps. His heart races. His eyes widen and glow with unnatural light. His veins shimmer beneath his skin, and a surge of primal energy bursts forth from his core. He drops to his knees,pain and rage twisting his expression.
The assassin steps back, sensing something unfamiliar.
"What… what is this?" he mutters, gripping his weapon tighter.
Itarim lifts his head—his pupils slit and glow bright amber, his hair now wild and long, falling to the middle of his bac.His hair once gray-black hair has turned dark blue. His nails are long, almost claw-like, and his canines have extended into short fangs. Purple aura roars around him like a storm made flesh.
"You… hurt him…"
The ground cracks beneath Itarim's feet as he vanishes—reappearing in front of the assassin in a blur. He swings, his claws raking through the air with feral precision. The assassin blocks, but the force sends him skidding back across the clearing.
"Impossible… you haven't even undergone the Rite…"
Itarim roars, with pure power. He charges again, faster, wild, unrelenting. The assassin grits his teeth, suddenly on the defensive.
Back by the tree roots, Grey stirs faintly, his vision hazy.
"Itarim…?"
He watches through bloodied eyes as his friend fights like something out of a force unchained.