The Dreadful Journey of Prince Gustafa
Written by Khamnam Bhani Devi

Once, there lived a king, weak and frail, lying on his deathbed, knowing full well that his brothers were plotting to dethrone him. Desperation clawed at him. But this was a moment the king had long anticipated. In his youth, he had secretly studied the dark arts, wizardry meant for a time like this. The spell he intended to cast came with a haunting price—it would swap his soul with that of his beloved son, Prince Gustafa, without his knowledge. The king would roam in the vitality of his son's young body while trapping the prince's soul in his dying frame.

The plan had to be perfect. The moon hung low, casting a dim glow over the kingdom, while the stars shimmered like silent witnesses to his dark intentions. The king had ordered a grand celebration the day before, inviting noblemen and noblewomen from far and wide to his palace. He ensured that each of them stayed in separate rooms, including his own queen and brother, Heilgur. After dismissing his maids, the king donned a peasant’s cloak and, with trembling hands, sneaked out of his chamber into the cold, silent night.

But fate had other plans. A nobleman named Dhakarux had been enjoying a quiet smoke in the hallway when he noticed a shadowy figure slipping out of the king’s room. Alarmed, Dhakarux, known for his strength and loyalty, decided to follow the mysterious figure. His heart raced, his mind sharp, as he kept a careful distance. He had always been close to the king, a trusted confidant, and his gut told him something was amiss.

The king, unaware of being followed, descended into the sacred dungeon, untouched for decades. It was the perfect place to perform the ritual. The air inside was cold and damp, and the darkness seemed to swallow all sound. Years ago, the king had cast a preservation spell upon the dungeon, allowing any body to survive seven days without food or water. But the spell was bound to him—if he died, so would its magic.

He carefully wrapped himself in the peasant’s cloak, laid down in a coffin-like structure, and began the complex ritual. His hands moved with ancient precision, forming gestures that no one alive could imitate. As he completed the spell, his body stiffened like wood. The lid of the box closed on its own, trapping him inside as his soul left his body and entered the prince’s young, vibrant form.

From his hiding spot, Dhakarux was speechless. What had he just witnessed? The king, his friend, performing such a dangerous, desperate act? His mind raced with questions, but one thing was clear—he had to protect the king’s body. Dhakarux gently approached the box and, after a moment of hesitation, carefully hid it beneath other crates, ensuring it would remain undisturbed. His heart was heavy with worry, but his loyalty to the king never wavered.

In the prince’s chamber, the king gasped for air. His soul had successfully transferred into his son's body, but disorientation overwhelmed him. He looked at his hands—young, strong—and marveled at the vitality he had missed for so long. Yet, before he could fully grasp the change, a faint noise broke the silence. Footsteps. Someone was approaching, and the sound of a sword being unsheathed echoed in the darkness.

Fear clutched at the king’s heart. Whoever was coming, they were there to kill his son. He had no time to think, only to act. Swiftly and silently, he climbed out the window, hiding behind the heavy curtains. His breath hitched in his chest as the door creaked open. Then, he saw her—the Queen, his beloved wife, followed by Heilgur. The betrayal hit him like a blade to the heart.

His knees buckled, and tears burned in his eyes. The woman he had loved, the mother of his son, was standing there, plotting his destruction. All these years, every moment of tenderness, every whispered promise of love—it was all a lie. His breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to hold back the sobs threatening to escape. But this was not the time for weakness. His son's life was at stake. He had to be strong. He had to survive.

Dhakarux, rushing through the palace, finally reached the prince’s chambers just in time to see the young prince—his king—hanging from the window. His heart pounded as he sprinted toward him, his feet barely touching the ground. The prince’s grip faltered, and in that split second, Dhakarux leapt forward, catching him just as he began to fall. They both tumbled to the ground, but Dhakarux held the prince close, shielding him from the impact.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, Dhakarux understood. The king’s soul was in the prince’s body. He didn’t need words. Loyalty surged within him, and he knew what had to be done. Together, they fled toward the dungeon, hoping to hide for the remaining seven days.

But as they made their way through the palace grounds, the guards spotted them. Suspicious of why the prince was out so late with a nobleman, they approached. Thinking quickly, the king, now in the prince's body, charmed the guards with promises of gold and rewards. He slipped gold rings into their hands and sent them away on a month-long leave, ensuring they wouldn’t raise an alarm. The guards, lured by greed, left without question.

Back in the palace, rumors of the prince’s disappearance began to spread. The Queen and Heilgur, growing more frantic, ordered the guards to search every corner of the palace. The king, knowing they needed a distraction, concocted a plan. The next day, a grand announcement was made—a kingdom-wide competition to find the greatest fighter. It would last for five days, followed by a royal hunt and a final game of hide-and-seek, meant to keep the palace preoccupied and distracted.

As the competition commenced, the palace was alive with excitement. Warriors from across the land gathered to prove their might, while the Queen and Heilgur feigned interest, their minds still preoccupied with the missing prince. But on the sixth day, as the final match was about to begin, something unexpected happened.

A mysterious figure arrived at the palace gates—a wizard who had once served the king. His arrival sent whispers through the crowd, but he ignored the curious stares and made his way straight to the "prince." Without hesitation, he addressed him, his voice low and filled with urgency.

"I know who you are, my king," the wizard said, his eyes piercing through the prince’s youthful gaze. "The spell you cast has dire consequences. If your soul does not return to its original body by the seventh day, both you and the prince will perish."

Panic seized the king’s heart. Time was running out. Dhakarux and the king rushed back to the dungeon, where the king’s old body lay waiting. The wizard began the counter-ritual, chanting ancient words that reverberated through the chamber. As the clock ticked closer to the deadline, the king’s soul was pulled back into his frail body, just in time.

The king awoke, weak but alive, and the prince’s soul returned to his rightful place.

With newfound resolve, the king confronted the Queen and Heilgur, exposing their treachery before the court. The betrayal stung deeper than any wound, but justice was swift. The Queen and Heilgur were banished, never to set foot in the kingdom again.

The king, scarred but wiser, ruled with compassion and strength, his son always by his side. And Dhakarux, the ever-loyal friend, was honored not only as the kingdom’s greatest hero but as the king’s most trusted ally. The journey had been dreadful, but it had forged a bond between them that would never be broken.