Malrik sat in the middle of the forest, where the earth was cold and the wind hot. Yet, he wasn't truly present anymore. He was in contact with his ancestors, and their weight pressed heavily on his shoulders, dragging his consciousness down through the soil and through the years. The sounds of the forest faded into a nursery rhyme he hadn't heard in decades.
Suddenly, the hands feeling the dirt were not large and scarred, but small and soft. He was ten years old again, hiding in the shadows of his father's privy chamber, listening to words he shouldn't have. His father, King Lucien, and his mother, Queen Elowen, were speaking. King Lucien, with his hand firmly placed on the table, said, "We have to make sure Malrik never finds out about his true self. We have to hide it from him."
Queen Elowen, her face etched with worry and her eyes filled with fear, replied, "Yes, my king." King Lucien turned to her and said, "You will need to destroy that scroll. Burn it."
