Reincarnated as the Prince [BL]

The house was quiet, a fragile bubble of calm in the encroaching night. The only sound was the cheerful, repetitive melody of a video game echoing from the living room, punctuated by bursts of laughter.

Hori, eighteen and still looking like a kid curled up on the giant sofa, was locked in a digital battle. Her fingers danced across the controller. “Yes! Take that, you pixelated loser!” she crowed as her character executed a perfect combo.

From the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and the scent of roasted chicken and herbs provided a comforting backdrop. Her mother’s voice, warm but firm, cut through the game music. “Hori, call your brother upstairs. It’s getting late, and dinner’s getting cold.”

“Okay, Mom!” Hori set the controller down with a reluctant sigh, her character left vulnerably idle. She stretched, her joints popping, and padded to the foot of the stairs. “Riven!” she shouted, her voice echoing up the stairwell. “Mom says get down here! Food’s ready!”

A moment of silence, then a door creaked open upstairs. Footsteps descended, and a tall, lean figure emerged from the shadows of the hallway. Riven, nineteen, stood in the entryway, still wearing the crisp black suit that made him look older, more severe. The yellow glow from the streetlamp outside caught the sharp line of his jaw and the tired shadows under his eyes.

“I’m home,” he said, his voice a low, calm baritone.

His mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, her brow furrowed. “Riven Hale, your timing is impeccable. The food is practically fossilized. How many times do I have to tell you? Your sister’s birthday dinner isn't a flexible suggestion.”

A lazy, half-smile touched Riven’s lips, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. He held out a small, elegantly wrapped shopping bag. “I was detained. Happy birthday, Hori.”

Her annoyance vanished in a heartbeat. “Oh my—you actually remembered!” She snatched the bag with the unbridled glee of a child on Christmas morning. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a game case. She tore the wrapping paper with ferocious speed.

Her gasp was one of genuine shock. “No way. The Royal One? The collector’s edition? Riven, this is… this is impossible to find!” She clutched the case to her chest as if it were a holy relic. “How did you even get this?”

He shrugged, a practiced, nonchalant motion. “I have my ways.”

Her mom’s expression softened into a smile. “Alright, alright, enough gawking. Riven, go freshen up. You smell like a boardroom. Dinner in five.”

“Got it, Mom,” he said, already heading for the stairs, his shoulders slumping with a weariness that had little to do with the hour.

Soon, the three of them were seated around the dining table. The food was steamING, the TV was muted, casting shifting colors across the room. The house felt warm, filled with a simple, domestic comfort that Riven rarely allowed himself to feel anymore. It was a feeling he usually walked past, like a painting he’d seen too many times to notice.

“Dad’s not coming home tonight?” Riven asked, slicing into a piece of the birthday cake that had been served prematurely.

His mother’s sigh was heavy, a familiar sound in their household. “No. He’s at the hospital. There was an emergency—again.” She didn’t need to elaborate. They all knew the script.

The sharp ring of the landline shattered the moment. His mother answered, her voice shifting from weary mother to efficient professional in a single breath. “Dr. Hale speaking… No, I told you I wasn’t on shift tonight… I see.” A long pause, her eyes closing briefly. “Fine. I’ll come. Just—make sure the OR supplies are ready. I don’t want a repeat of last time.” She hung up, the receiver clicking back into place with a note of finality.

She looked at her children, apology etched on her face. “I’m so sorry. There’s a multi-car pile-up. They’re short-staffed…”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Hori said, her voice soft but understanding. “We’re used to it.”

“Be safe,” Riven added, the words simple but heartfelt.

She kissed Hori’s forehead, then Riven’s, a fleeting touch of warmth. “I love you both. Don’t wait up.” In a swirl of coat and determined energy, she was gone.

The silence she left behind was profound. The house felt cavernous and empty.

Hori poked at her slice of cake with her fork, the frosting smearing. “It’s just… not the same without them, you know?” she whispered, her earlier joy deflated.

Riven looked at her, at the slump of her shoulders. Without a word, he stood, walked to the fridge, and pulled out the rest of the untouched birthday cake. He placed it squarely in the middle of the table.

“Then let’s celebrate for them, too,” he said, his voice softer than before. He found the half-melted candles and lit them again, the small flames dancing in the dim room. “Happy birthday, Hori.”

Their voices, slightly off-key, overlapped as they sang the familiar tune. Hori’s laugh, genuine and bright, bubbled up when Riven butchered the second verse. “You still don’t know the words!” she giggled.

They cut new, generous slices of cake, eating with their fingers, making a mess of it all. Once the sugar high hit, Hori grabbed her new game. “Let’s just look at the opening cinematic! Please?”

“Fine. But I’m not playing. I’ll just watch,” Riven conceded, settling back onto the sofa.

The TV screen bloomed to life with breathtaking graphics. A majestic, sun-drenched castle stood against a sky of impossible blue, banners fluttering in a magical breeze.

“Wow,” Hori breathed, her eyes wide with wonder. “It’s even prettier than the reviews said.”

Riven watched the glowing screen, the intricate details of the fantasy world. “You really get lost in these things, don’t you?”

“They’re an escape,” she said simply, a small, content smile on her face. “They make me happy. You picked a good one this time, big brother. A really good one.”

He gave a genuine smirk. “Don’t get used to it. And I don’t even know how to play that thing. You’ll have to teach me.”

“Easy!” she said, her excitement returning in a rush. She grabbed a second controller and thrust it into his hands. “You can be the stoic Prince Kaelen, and I’ll be the super-powerful sorcerer, Lyra. We’ll be an unstoppable team—"

The ground lurched.

It wasn’t a gentle roll. It was a violent, upward heave, as if a giant had slammed its fist into the earth beneath their house. The floorboards screamed. The lights flickered wildly, plunging the room into strobe-like chaos.

“What the—?” Riven dropped the controller, his instincts screaming. His hand shot out, clamping around Hori’s wrist. “Hori, did you feel that?”

“An earthquake?” she gasped, her eyes wide with shock, clinging to his arm.

Then came the sound—a deep, subterranean roar that grew into a deafening thunder. The windows exploded inward, a shower of glittering, deadly glass.

The world outside the shattered windows didn’t go dark. It flashed—a searing, blinding white, followed by an angry, blood-red glow.

BOOM.

The sound was a physical force. The shockwave hit the house and un-made it.

The walls bulged, then crumbled like sandcastles. The ceiling rained down plaster and splintered wood.

“HORI!”

It was the only thought, the only word left in Riven’s mind. He threw his body over hers, a desperate, human shield against the annihilation. He felt the impact of debris against his back, a searing pain, then nothing.

Silence.

A thick, dusty, choking silence.

Riven coughed, his lungs burning, each breath a ragged gasp filled with powdered drywall and the coppery tang of blood. His hands, pressed against Hori’s back, were slick and warm. Red.

“Hori…?” he whispered, his voice a broken thing. He shook her shoulder gently. “Hori, talk to me.”

She was limp. Unmoving.

“No…” Panic, cold and absolute, seized him. “No, no, no, wake up. Look at me. Please, just look at me.” His voice broke into a sob. He pressed his forehead against her temple, his tears cutting tracks through the grime on her cheek. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

The world began to fade at the edges. The pain receded, replaced by a creeping, icy numbness. The last thing he felt was a sensation of falling, tumbling down into an endless, soft, white nothingness.

Somewhere, from a great distance, he heard her voice. It wasn't scared or pained. It was soft, peaceful, and impossibly clear.

“Brother… don’t worry. We’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Blinding gold. That was his first sensation.

Riven’s eyes fluttered open. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, filtered by curtains of rich, golden silk. He was lying in a bed that was impossibly soft, enveloped in smooth sheets that smelled faintly of roses and cedar.

A ceiling he didn’t recognize. Vaulted, painted with intricate frescoes.

What…?

“My prince! You’re awake!” A young woman in a simple maid’s uniform rushed to his bedside, her face a mask of relief.

Behind her, a tall, regal man with a kind face and a silver-streaked beard stepped forward, his royal robes rustling. He placed a comforting hand on the maid’s shoulder. “Now, now, Elara, give him space.” His gaze settled on Riven, warm and paternal. “Oh, my dear son, you gave us quite a fright. We thought we’d lost you when you took that fall from your horse.”

Riven froze.

Prince? Son?

His eyes dropped to his own hands. They were clean, soft, and unscarred. No blood. No dirt. He pushed himself up, his body feeling strangely light and unharmed, and his gaze landed on a large, ornate mirror across the room.

A stranger stared back.

A young man with aristocratic features, silver-blond hair, and startlingly blue eyes looked back at him, a confused and fearful expression on his—on Riven’s—new face.

“Where… am I?” he whispered, the voice unfamiliar, higher and softer than his own.

Then, the memory hit him with the force of a physical blow.

The Royal One.

The game. The case with the golden castle. The prince and the sorcerer.

The game Hori had begged him to play just moments before the world ended.

Somehow, impossibly…

He was inside it.