In the depths of the emerald forest, where sunlight barely pierced through the ancient canopy, stood an abandoned castle cloaked in shadow. This was the home of Prince Azrael, the forsaken heir whose name had been erased from the annals of history. His father, King Astraleth, banished him before his existence could be known to the kingdom, fearing the prophecy that foretold Azrael's rise would eclipse his own rule.

The castle was forgotten by time, crumbling beneath the weight of nature's embrace, its stone walls entwined with vines and moss that clung like ancient secrets. Yet, within its grand halls and shattered corridors lay a single, untouched chamber. Here, on a throne of gold now dulled with age, Azrael slumbered, his beauty unmarred by the ravages of time. His shimmering silver hair flowed like moonlight over his ivory skin, and the delicate gold embroidery of his robes glistened faintly in the darkness. A star-shaped pendant rested against his bare chest, softly pulsing with an otherworldly light that cast shifting patterns across the stone floor.

It was on a fateful night, beneath a moon veiled in mist that obscured even the brightest stars, that the pirate captain stumbled upon the castle. He had been chasing whispers of hidden treasures and cursed ruins, tales that led him through treacherous waters to this forgotten shore. His ship, the Starlight Marauder, lay anchored in a nearby cove, its crew restless with anticipation for riches beyond imagination.

The prince was found in the highest tower, reclined as if sculpted from marble by divine hands. The pirate captain, a man hardened by years of plundering and peril on the high seas, paused in awe at the sight of the slumbering figure. Azrael seemed more a relic of the gods than a man - too perfect, too still, too ethereal. The faint glow from his pendant captivated the pirate's crew, who believed they had unearthed a treasure unlike any other in their years of pillaging.

"Take him," the captain commanded, his voice betraying a mix of reverence and greed that he couldn't quite hide. "He is more precious than gold or jewels."

Carefully, as though handling something fragile beyond measure, they carried Azrael from the castle, the prince's serene face remaining unchanged by the intrusion. Upon the Starlight Marauder, Azrael was treated as a prize, displayed like a rare jewel for the crew's marveling eyes. Yet, the captain felt a peculiar pull toward the prince - an unfamiliar sense of guardianship that warred with his nature as a marauder who took what he wanted without hesitation.

It was on the third night at sea that Azrael finally awoke. His golden eyes, sharp as a blade's edge despite just opening from what seemed like an eternal sleep, opened to meet the captain's gaze directly. There was no fear in those eyes, only cold curiosity and an undercurrent of profound sorrow that spoke of centuries spent alone in darkness.

"Where am I?" Azrael's voice was melodic yet distant, carrying the weight of forgotten royalty and ancient wisdom.