The kingdom united under a new ruler. An army marched — larger than any before.

  The city braced for war.

  Romulus trained the defenders. Remus strengthened the walls. Aegis patrolled the borders.

  The final dawn arrived.

  The battlefield shook.

  Romulus fought like a storm. Aegis tore through enemies. Remus stood in the center, glowing with living energy.

  The mark ignited.

  Grass grew beneath his feet. Wounds closed around him. The air warmed.

  People froze.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Whispers rose:

  “Among the forest tribes… they call him the Child of the Wild Spirit.”

  “The northern clans call him the Heir of the Green Flame.”

  “But in the ancient valley myths… there is only one title for him.”

  The world held its breath.

  “The Son of Life.”

  Romulus stared, heart breaking.

  Aegis howled.

  Remus whispered:

  “I think… I know who I actually am.”

  Remus stepped forward.

  “I wasn’t meant to rule,” he said softly. “I was meant to protect.”

  He unleashed everything inside him.

  A wave of living force swept across the battlefield, pushing the enemy back without killing a single soul.

  The city was saved.

  But Remus fell.

  Romulus caught him.

  “Stay with me,” Romulus begged.

  Remus smiled weakly.

  “Make this city worthy of us.”

  And then he was gone.

  They buried Remus on the highest hill.

  Aegis lay beside the grave for three days.

  Romulus stood before the people.

  “This city stands because of him,” he said. “And I will lead it in his name.”

  The people bowed.

  Aegis howled.

  And the legend of the Son of Life began.