Son of King Arthur is a Demon

They say blood never lies.That it proves a man's worth.That it alone is enough to command respect.

But minethey saw it as a mistake.A shameful secret made flesh.

In this castle, my name meant nothing.It stained more than it ever honored.I was no heir.Just living proof of a royal misstep.

Every smile was a mask.Every silence, a judgment.Every glance slid away from mine, as if shame were contagious.

They would have erased me,kept me out of the family portrait,like a smear of mud on a golden banner.

I bore the name Pendragon.But in their mouths, it sounded like a curse.

That morning, in my room, the dawn slipped cautiously through the stained glass,as if it regretted shedding light on such a place.

Once up, I headed to the kitchen and returned carrying two buckets of ice-cold water.The day's chore: drawing water from the well like some nameless maid,under the mocking eyes of the stable boys.

Nothing new.

I knew how to bow my back without ever lowering my head.

But that day, in the main hall, he was waiting.

Gareth.

True to himself. Back straight, jaw clenched,flanked by his usual shadows: Lucian and Elior.Always them, always smirking.

I didn't slow.

"You don't belong here," Gareth growled. "This wing is for family."

I calmly set down the buckets.The wood thudded against the stone.

"I thought we shared the same blood."

Silence.For a heartbeat, the laughter froze.Lucian stopped grinning.

Gareth stepped forward.

"Don't ever say that again, you bastard."

His voice was sharp,but his eyes… wavered.

I took one step. Just one.

He stepped back. Slightly.But enough. Too much to go unnoticed.

"Are you trembling, brother?" I asked quietly.

His fists clenched.

"You are not my brother!"

I didn't answer.

He grabbed my collar and slammed me against the wall.His eyes, blazing with fury, locked onto mine,confused by whatever it was they saw there.

"Do you know what you are? A walking reminder of the king's mistake.A shame this castle longs to forget."

I stared back, unflinching.

"And you? You're proof that even a king can father mediocrity."

He raised his fist.

I saw it coming.But I didn't move.

The punch exploded against my cheek, drawing blood.But I stayed upright. Steady. Feet anchored.

Every strike he threw was just another grain of sand in the balance.

I wasn't there to fight back.I just needed time.

An old servant passed by.He saw.He looked away.And kept walking, silent.

That's what I was here: invisible.Meant to endure until I had strength enough not to.

That night, when the castle slept, I slipped out of bed.Bare feet on cold stone, breath held.

I crept through the shadows to the library, a stolen candle in hand.

The door creaked, softlylike a sigh long forgotten.

The air reeked of dry leather, dust, and buried secrets.

I wandered between the shelves, fingers brushing spines,searching for something.A reason.

Why had this body been spared?Why had Arthur given it a name but never a place?

Footsteps in the corridor.

I froze. Blew out the candle.

Silence.

A guard? A sleepless servant?

No. Just the wood settling.

I resumed.

And then I found itan old register, cracked binding, faded gold leaf.

I opened it. The pages creaked like brittle bones.

A volume on royal bloodlines.

I flipped through it, page by pageand there it was, faint, nearly erased:a handwritten note:

"A rumor speaks of a child born out of wedlock.Kept in the shadows to avoid scandal.No formal recognition."

No name.No date.Just a trace.

A whisper inked onto paper.

But it was enough.

I was that secret.The rumor given flesh.The stain even history refused to acknowledge.

Arthur had kept me.But never named me.

I was a pawn.A piece in reserve.

Good for sacrifice.Or use.

I closed the book. Slowly.

In the glass pane beside me, my reflection stared back.Tired. But alive.

"You didn't want him as an heir…But now, you'll see what becomes of a manstripped of his nameand left with nothing but the will to stand tall."