Chapter 10
Amelodic chorus of birds coaxed Rain from sleep.
Sunrise spilled through the open window, soft gold creeping across the room as day began to break.
He dragged himself upright, rubbing at his eyes as they adjusted to the light.
It was far too early for his liking, but once awake, there was no chance of drifting back off.
He glanced to the other side of his king-sized bed, where Snow was still curled up, cocooned in blankets.
After last night’s disaster of a dinner, she had refused to leave him, insisting she stay close.
Part of it was protective, she feared their father’s retaliation, but Rain knew the other part was strategic.
She didn’t trust him not to slip out into the night, straight toward the Black Hole and the comfort of several strong drinks.
Admittedly, that is exactly how he had intended to spend the night.
Rain expected retaliation too. His father would never tolerate being made a fool of.
The King was cunning; he would bide his time, wait for the perfect moment, and strike when Rain least expected it.
But Rain found he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Something inside him had shifted. He felt…
done. Done being compliant. Done absorbing blow after blow.
Done shrinking himself to survive. His years of endurance had reached their limit; there was no more room left to take another hit.
His whole life, he had let his father say and do horrific things to him because he believed he deserved it; karma for the lives he had touched, harmed, or taken.
But now, despite the weight of it all, it all felt strangely secondary to something larger.
The guilt and remorse still lived inside him, but they had hardened into something else; fuel. Fuel he needed for whatever was coming.
He padded quietly to the window, closing it and drawing the blackout curtain so Snow could sleep undisturbed a little longer.
They had stayed up late, catching up on the past week.
Rain had told her everything about the team and his time with Jay—very juicy detail.
It felt good to finally share it all; they never kept secrets from each other.
The light-hearted moments had been a welcome reprieve from the heaviness that followed.
Talking it through had helped him process the knot of worry in his chest; what his friends must be thinking, whether Jay would still feel the same after what he had done, especially now that their kingdoms were at war again.
It had probably been easy for them to separate the destructive side of him––the one they’d only heard about in horror stories––from the person they’d begun to know.
Easy, when it wasn’t directly affecting them.
But now he had caused deaths, to their people in their home. He couldn’t imagine a reality where they would accept that, let alone forgive him as freely as before.
So, he had to accept it for what it was and focus on what he could control.
Damage control.
After a quick shower, he tugged on his training gear and slipped out of the palace.
He made sure a few patrolling guards saw him leave; he needed to avoid his father, but he also wanted it known that he was heading off the grounds.
Better to appear normal—nothing suspicious, just the prince going for an early morning run to work off his frustrations.
He took his time stretching in the courtyard before jogging through the palace gates. He even greeted the guards on duty, forcing a pleasant tone. It was out of character, but instead of suspicion, he felt their gratitude ripple back at him. He made a mental note to try that more often.
He started off in one direction, keeping a steady pace until he was certain no one was following him.
Only then did he veer toward the local barracks; a ten-kilometre distance.
If he kept his rhythm, he’d be there in forty-five minutes.
His plan was simple: find out what orders his father had already issued, then counteract them as best he could.
Over the past seven years, he had built a strong relationship with the army.
Being conscripted at sixteen—one of his father’s crueller punishments—had forced him into an elite squad whose sole purpose was to weaponize him.
It had been a horrific time, but he had earned the respect of high-ranking officials and forged bonds he still relied on.
The situation had begun when the King decided his son would never master his abilities.
Instead of helping him, he resolved to harness Rain’s power for himself, using him as a living weapon regardless of the risks.
He even manipulated his wife into believing it would benefit Rain, insisting that structure, routine, and “real-world exposure” would instil discipline.
As though sending an unshielded empath onto a battlefield was a brilliant idea.
Which, of course, is exactly what he did. And it wasn’t.
The King and his officials devised a strategy: airdrop Rain into the heart of battle, let him absorb the chaos, and watch him annihilate the enemy single-handedly.
Every. Single. Time. He had been only a boy, and everyone who should have protected him failed spectacularly.
It wasn’t just enemies who suffered, friendlies caught in the blast radius were written off as “acceptable casualties.” And Rain had felt every last breath of every life he took.
The emotional torment hollowed him out. The more his spirit weakened, the more violent his episodes became.
An instinctual, animalistic rage would take over, driving him to hunt and kill.
They learned how to use him to his full potential and found creative ways to keep their own forces out of his path.
No one treated him like a person. He was simply a weapon.
For a long time, he believed he was evil incarnate, believed that he deserved nothing but this torturous existence.
In a twisted way, he began to live for their praise. Being undefeated felt like the only proof he wasn’t worthless. He forgot that “undefeated” simply meant he wasn’t dead yet. He detached from himself entirely, becoming a shell—a monster crafted for their convenience.
Eventually, the inevitable happened.
A catastrophic burnout.
It occurred during a territorial battle in the southern region of the Red Kingdom, where the days were cold and the nights colder still. Weeks had blurred into months. Morale was low. Troops were dying faster than autumn leaves in a gale. Hope had turned to dust.
Rain had just been detonated at another location, giving the Blue Kingdom a temporary advantage.
Without allowing him a moment to recover, the King ordered him dispatched south to secure another victory.
It was impulsive, reckless, and no precautions were taken for the soldiers below.
They had grown careless with their weapon of mass destruction.
The frail teenage boy was dropped onto the battlefield in a wooden crate, curled in a foetal position like a caged animal.
The moment he was within range, he absorbed everything—the agony of the wounded, the terror of the dying, the exhaustion of the front line, the adrenaline of those still fighting.
He was already stretched thin, weakened by the kill count and the disregard for his well-being. It was too much.
Without warning, his body amplified and expelled everything he felt—all the closeted, pent-up emotions detonating outward in a five-kilometre radius, his record to date.
An emotional grenade with no off switch.
Mundane minds were not built to withstand such force.
Many soldiers suffered irreparable damage.
They eventually managed to get Snow onto the battlefield.
In her rage and desperation to reach him, she discovered she could shield others and was able to nullify him long enough to stop the devastation.
Until that moment, she had been kept in the dark about her brother’s true condition.
She had heard rumours but trusted he was safe and respected.
She never imagined her father capable of such cruelty.
Her rose-coloured view of him shattered that day.
A small mercy emerged from the wreckage: no one ever again questioned what Rain’s power felt like. They finally understood the toll it took. They finally saw the boy, their prince, instead of a machine.
It was the turning point that forced the King to seek help for him.
The General himself advocated for Rain, refusing to use him until he was stable enough to be around the troops.
Once Rain recovered, they discovered he had a sharp mind for strategy and exceptional pattern recognition; assets equal to, if not greater than, his power.
Rain despised unnecessary violence. If he was going to be used as a weapon, it would be on his own terms and for the benefit of his people.
He began quietly overriding many of his father’s orders, redirecting them toward less destructive outcomes.
He knew he didn’t yet have the authority to end the wars outright, and he was smart enough to know that simply pulling troops back wouldn’t solve anything. Peace would take time.
For now, he needed to maintain the trust of his troops.
One day, that trust might be the very thing that saves them all.
Slowing his pace to a walk as the access point came into view, Rain watched the dense rows of forest trees thin into orderly lines.
The morning air was crisp, carrying the rhythmic thud of boots against earth.
Soldiers on their dawn run, passed him in formation, each offering a salute as they recognised him.
Their respect rolled toward him in steady waves that felt grounding and familiar.