Slave of Fate

Royal adoption you say

"So, after two years of silence, this is what you choose to say?" The king's tone was low, almost a whisper, but it thundered in the room. "A royal adoption… for him?"

He stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, his voice rising with each word. "Do you even know what these past two years have been for us? For your mother? For your siblings? Every day, they blamed themselves for your silence, for the cold stares you gave us as though we were strangers. Your mother…" His voice cracked, raw with emotion.

"Your mother broke, Ray. I would hear her crying every night, sobbing into the darkness, and I… I couldn't face her. I couldn't face you. I was the king, yet I had no strength to comfort my own family, no courage to confront the pain you inflicted with your silence. And now, after all this time, the first words you give me are not for your family, not to ask about your mother or your siblings, but for him? For a child none of us even know?"

The king's gaze darkened, his commanding presence filling the room with a chilling gravity. His voice, steady but laced with unease, resonated with a sharp edge.

"Ray," he began, his tone heavy with warning, "do you even realize what you're saying? That kid over there..." He gestured toward Rudra, his piercing eyes narrowing, "is not safe for you. Not for anyone."

Ray tilted his head, glancing at Rudra with a faint, curious smile. "I think he's just... cute," he said, his voice calm, almost teasing, as if oblivious to the storm brewing in his father's heart.

The king's composure cracked for a moment, his voice rising slightly but still carrying the weight of authority. "Cute? *Cute?* Do you have any idea what he *is*?"

He took a step forward, his voice now like steel, cutting through the silence. "That boy reeks of blood—no, not just blood, an ocean of it. It's not the faint scent of spilled drops, but a flood so vast, it drowns everything in its path. That's not the presence of a normal child. That's not even human!"

His words echoed through the room, leaving an oppressive silence in their wake. The guards exchanged uneasy glances, their hands instinctively gripping their weapons tighter, though no one dared to move.

Ray, however, didn't flinch. Instead, he looked at Rudra again, his eyes calm, as if analyzing the enigma before him. "An ocean of blood, huh?" he muttered softly, almost to himself. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Sounds interesting."

The king's expression hardened, his voice trembling now, not with fear but frustration. "Ray, listen to me. That boy... whatever he is, he's a danger to everyone around him. He doesn't belong here."

"Maybe he doesn't belong here... but he is now

"Ray!" The king's voice thundered now, reverberating through the room. "You think this is a game? That boy carries death like a shadow can't you see it He is not something to be coddled or pitied. He is not—"

Rudra, standing at the center of it all, remained emotionless. His blank stare made the room feel even colder, his very presence an enigma.

The king froze, his son's unexpected defiance cutting deeper than any blade. For the first time in years, Ray had spoken. And what he said was a challenge no king, no father, could have anticipated.

The room remained silent, the air thick with tension, as the king struggled to reconcile the boy before him with the man he was becoming.

The king's voice was firm, cutting through the air like steel. "A human only reeks of that much blood when they've been on the battlefield for years—fighting, killing, surviving. That's not normal, Ray. That's not something a child should carry."

Ray, unfazed, met his father's gaze with unflinching resolve. If you can't accept that, then feel free to leave the room right now.

The room fell into absolute silence. The quiet murmurs from the guards and attendees ceased instantly. Everyone held their breath, waiting for what would happen next.

The king was visibly taken aback, his composure faltering momentarily. But the most confused person in the room wasn't the king—it was Rudra.

What's going on? Rudra thought, his emotionless face giving nothing away. They were just crying and hugging. Now they're arguing? And why does it seem to be about me?*

The term "Royal Adoption" lingered in his mind. It was foreign to him—an unknown concept—but one that he instinctively felt was important.

Suddenly, the king's sharp gaze shifted, landing squarely on Rudra. His eyes bore into the boy, scrutinizing him, trying to read something beyond his expressionless face.

"What's your name, kid?" the king asked, his tone laced with authority.

Rudra tilted his head slightly, confused but responding without hesitation. "Rudra."

The king's brow furrowed. "Rudra, huh? How old are you?"

"A month away from nine," Rudra replied flatly, his tone devoid of emotion.

The king paused, then allowed a faint smile to break through his stern expression. For a moment, the ruler faded away, leaving only a father in his place

What did the king smiled after hearing rudra what was coming Next.....