In a state called Alfried, there was a cozy royal hut situated near a dirt road, surrounded by many troops. The air was filled with the sounds of swords clashing and people fighting. Some of the soldiers were entering the hut while others were being thrown out. Inside, an ogre prince lay surrounded by the troops. He was worn out and injured, his stance unsteady and his vision blurry.
Suddenly, the ogre prince spoke: "You must be wondering what this handsome, drunk ogre is doing here and why he's being attacked. Let me correct you: I am not drunk; I am poisoned. And yes, I'll admit, I am a rather handsome ogre. If you want to know why this attack is happening, you'll have to go back, because the story does not begin here—not from this point."
(17 years ago in the ogre kingdom) In a room in the royal palace, a woman was crying out in pain from childbirth. A pregnant ogress was surrounded by several female ogre servants, all assisting her in bringing a new ogre into the world. She was exhausted, yet the baby still would not come. It was a day of solar eclipse; the moon slowly crept closer to the sun, swallowing it whole. At that moment, the baby ogre was finally born. He was a boy. The servants quickly passed the baby to his mother. The ogre mother cradled him in her arms, offering her tired smile.
One of the servants rushed out of the room and found the ogre king standing at the door. Bursting with joy, she forgot her manners and spoke excitedly to him. "Your Majesty, it's a boy! Our queen has given birth to a prince!"
Realizing to whom she was speaking, she suddenly became more composed. But the ogre king just smiled and entered the room. The ogre queen beamed at the sight of her king. Despite her exhaustion, her face radiated joy, like a newly bloomed flower. The ogre king stepped closer, gazing at the baby with a smile. The queen handed the baby to the king, who took him in his arms and whispered softly into the baby's ear, "Mork."
A few months passed. Mork was now able to walk, but that became a problem too—
because he was nothing less than a little demon.
He ran wildly through the palace, two female servant ogresses chasing after him, shouting,
"Master, please stop! Queen Agony strictly said no running in the palace!"
But Mork, as ignorant and playful as ever, was lost in his fun.
He dashed toward the grand staircase and began climbing it, giggling to himself.
A few guards were chatting on the stairs when the servant ogresses called out,
"Guards! Stop Master Mork!"
The soldiers quickly moved to block his way, arms ready to catch him.
But Mork, with a wicked grin, ran straight toward them—and just as he reached them, he blinked…
and slipped right between their legs.
The surprised soldiers lost their balance and tumbled down the stairs.
Mork looked back, chuckled mischievously, and kept running toward the roof.
Once on the roof, he sprinted toward the edge.
The two ogress servants finally caught up and gasped when they saw him standing so close to the drop.
"Master Mork, please stop! It's very dangerous—you might fall!" one cried.
Mork turned and looked at them with his innocent eyes.
"Very good, Master Mork. Now come back slowly," the other said, taking small, cautious steps toward him.
"If you fall, you'll get hurt."
But Mork's expression suddenly shifted—his naughty grin returned.
And he jumped.
For a moment, he was suspended in the air—still, weightless.
The wind brushed past his cheeks as his wide eyes scanned the palace grounds far below.
There, he saw it:
A massive ogre army gathered before the palace, sharpening blades, adjusting armor, and preparing their beasts for war.
Time seemed to pause.
But then—gravity claimed him.
His tiny body began to fall.
Just as the ground rushed toward him, a dark figure streaked through the air.
In a blur of motion, Queen Agony appeared, catching him in her arms before he could drop even another foot.
She landed gracefully, her black cloak fluttering in the wind as she held Mork close.
The servants gasped and immediately dropped to their knees.
"We beg your forgiveness, my lady," one of them stammered. "We failed to protect him…"
"We're truly sorry…" said the other, bowing even lower in shame.
But Queen Agony simply smiled at them.
"It's not your fault," she said calmly.
Then she looked down at the little ogre prince in her arms—his eyes wide with excitement, a proud grin on his face.
She smiled faintly and said,
"Looks like my boy is growing up… and also getting naughtier."
"Now, let's go back," said the Queen.
As they made their way through the palace halls, Queen Agony carrying Mork in her arms, they passed a tall archway where the Ogre King, Draganov, stood with his arms folded, observing them with a soft smile.
"Well, what's my little prince up to today?" he asked.
"A little prince?" the Queen huffed. "Call him a little demon instead. He worries me all day long."
Meanwhile, Mork chuckled to himself, as if he understood they were talking about him—and agreed.
"Guess we can't blame him," Draganov said with a smirk. "Because as the father, so the son."
He reached out and gently patted Mork's head. The little ogre grinned even wider.
The Queen's smile faded slightly as her tone shifted. "How are the preparations going?"
At once, the air grew heavier, the mood turning more serious.
Draganov's expression hardened. "We're almost done. If everything stays on track… we may march toward the enemy in a few weeks."