[Vaelminia Kingdom, Royal Palace, Nocturna CXII AH.]
CRACK-BOOM!
The thunderclap tore through the skies like a god's fury, its echo rumbling across the stone corridors of the palace. Rain battered the stained-glass windows with relentless force, each drop a harsh tap-tap-tap against the silence inside. The towering spires of Vaelminia's royal palace seemed to shiver under the storm's wrath, cloaked in flickering shadows and candlelight.
Within the Great Banquet Hall, usually vibrant with celebration, tonight's gathering lay under a cloud of unease. Nobles draped in fine silks whispered behind goblets of untouched wine. Golden platters of roasted pheasant and honeyed fruits steamed gently in the chill air, neglected. The howling wind beyond the thick walls was a constant, ghostly chorus.
King Rowan de Eldarion sat at the high table, hands clasped tightly, knuckles pale. His emerald eyes were distant—staring not at the feast, nor the noble guests murmuring prayers and pleasantries, but at the tall doors leading deeper into the palace. Doors behind which his queen, Calyria, struggled through the throes of labor.
"Another flash of lightning, and we'll lose the western lights entirely," muttered a court attendant. Ffffsshhh-BANG! Another streak lit the hall like a heavenly sword. The torches on the walls sputtered in response.
Rowan rose, the rustle of his cloak audible even above the storm. "Why tonight, of all nights?" he whispered, more to the gods than to anyone in the hall. "Why now, when we invited half the realm to witness joy... must sorrow linger instead?"
A soft step echoed behind him.
"My King," came the calm, deep voice of Grand Magician Eadric Argentvale, his silver robes shimmering faintly in the candlelight, "the signs are strange, yes. But not all storms are omens. The Queen is strong. And so is the child within her."
Rowan turned, his face etched with tension. "And yet you feel it too, Grand Magician. Don't deny it. The mana is restless. The air feels… thick. Choked."
Eadric gave a slow nod, his expression grave. "Indeed. The weave of magic trembles tonight. As if holding its breath."
A lull fell between them. Then—
A distant, muffled scream.
Rowan's breath caught. Every head in the hall turned. The nobles froze. The flames dimmed.
"Calyria..." the King whispered.
Eadric placed a hand gently on Rowan's shoulder. "Let us have faith, Your Majesty. In her. In the child. And in whatever fate has chosen to descend tonight."
Outside, the storm raged on.
The thunder still rumbled beyond the palace walls, but inside the Great Banquet Hall, the tension was thick enough to choke on. The storm's fury was a steady drumbeat against the stone, but something softer was about to cut through the heavy air.
A slight figure stepped forward from the shadows—dressed in deep midnight blue, lute cradled like a cherished companion. The royal minstrel bowed low before King Rowan, his voice calm and gentle.
"My liege," he said quietly, "may I offer a song to ease your burden tonight?"
The king's emerald eyes lifted, heavy with worry, but a flicker of gratitude softened his gaze. "A light tune," Rowan replied, his voice rough with emotion. "Something to remind us of joy... if it still lives here tonight."
The minstrel smiled—a knowing, tender curl of his lips. Without another word, he settled in the center of the hall and plucked the first note.
Twang.
The sound was clear, ringing like the first drop of rain on warm earth. Then the melody unfolded—soft, lilting, and warm—a waltz woven from memories of sunlit gardens, firelit festivals, and laughter shared under open skies. It was a song of simpler days, of hope and gentle comfort.
The hall responded. Whispers softened to murmurs. A glass of wine was raised with a tentative clink. Faces once tight with worry softened, and distant smiles flickered like candlelight.
King Rowan's eyes closed, and a rare breath escaped him—a quiet exhale full of remembrance. "My mother used to sing this song… in the palace gardens," he said softly. "Before the weight of crowns and storms."
Standing nearby, Grand Magician Eadric nodded thoughtfully. "Music is a magic all its own, older and more powerful than any spell."
Rowan's lips twitched into something close to a smile. "Let it play on," he said. "If only to bring warmth to these cold halls."
The minstrel's fingers danced over the strings, weaving notes that carried through the room like a balm—lifting spirits, coaxing laughter and quiet conversation back into the night.
Outside, the storm raged still, but inside, hope had found a fragile foothold.
The storm outside had lost none of its fury, but within the Great Banquet Hall, the oppressive weight of worry began to ease. The melody of the minstrel still lingered in the air like a warm embrace, softening the edges of unease that clung to the guests—and most of all, to King Rowan.
The king sat back in his chair, rubbing tired eyes that refused to hide his deep concern. The shadow of anxiety darkened his face despite the music's gentle coaxing. Sensing the moment, Grand Magician Eadric stepped closer, his silver-white hair catching the flicker of candlelight.
"There's no need to worry so much, Your Majesty," Eadric said quietly but firmly, his voice a calm tide against the storm in Rowan's mind. "Let's enjoy the music and wine tonight. The Queen is strong."
King Rowan managed a tired nod. "Thank you, Grand Magician. That means more than you know." He exhaled slowly, the tension momentarily easing from his shoulders. But the King's gaze remained distant, struggling against invisible chains.
Eadric paused, searching for a way to reach the troubled monarch. Then, after a breath, he shared a story from his own heart—one that echoed the King's pain.
"I understand your fears well," the Grand Magician said softly. "Long ago, I too faced a rough night—my wife's labor with our second son, Aldric." His lips curved into a faint smile, though a shadow passed through his eyes. "The weather was no kinder than tonight—maybe harsher."
Rowan's eyes lit up with recognition. "Your son… I heard. How is he?"
"Still the same at heart," Eadric said. "He hunts, he fights, he trains—his spirit hasn't faded. I only see him when duty lets me." His eyes drifted toward the distant storm, as if it were the very thing keeping him from home.
A warmth bloomed in the king's chest. He chuckled quietly. "I remember him well. Back in the academy, when we were boys—he was always the first to charge headlong into danger."
Eadric's laughter was rich and genuine. "Impulsive, fearless. More than once I feared for his safety. But he always had a heart as big as his courage."
Rowan's gaze softened as memories rose unbidden—a boy with wild silvery hair, a quick grin, and a sword that seemed an extension of his own will.
Rowan nodded knowingly. "And you, Grand Magician… I heard congratulations are in order. A grandson, yes?"
Eadric's face brightened. "Yes, Alaric. Born just months ago. A blessing for all of us."
"A strong name," Rowan mused. "Fitting for a child born under such storms."
Eadric chuckled. "As long as he doesn't inherit all his father's stubbornness."
Rowan laughed heartily. "Haha, Alrdric was trouble enough—yet he shaped me more than any tutor ever did. A friend like no other."
Their shared laughter faded into silence, both men caught in the warm glow of old friendship and shared history.
Rowan's eyes gleamed with a spark of youthful mischief as he leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I remember our first day at the academy. The test day. While the others were nervous and restless, Aldric stood still—his sword hanging at his side, his expression focused and unreadable."
Eadric listened intently, his expression softening. Rowan continued, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"When the instructor summoned that monster—a towering frost troll, foul-breathed and fearsome—everyone froze. Except him. He didn't hesitate. Charged straight in, sword flashing."
Eadric nodded, a quiet pride shining through. "I was there that day. That troll was a beast. The others didn't stand a chance."
Rowan's hands moved as if wielding an invisible sword, mimicking the daring attack. "He leapt on the creature, plunged his blade into its eye. The beast roared and thrashed, trying to shake him off. But he pulled his sword free, leapt clear, and struck again—this time to the other eye."
Rowan rose slightly from his seat, one foot stepping forward as if taking a stance. He raised his arm high, brandishing the invisible sword with a boyish grin. "Just like this," he said, slicing the air with exaggerated flair.
"Then—bam!" He lunged sideways, twisting his torso to mimic the second strike. "A clean hit, right in the other eye. You should've seen the look on the instructors' faces." He laughed, lowering himself back into his chair with a satisfied sigh, a trace of youthful fire lingering in his eyes.
Eadric's eyes twinkled with laughter. "Impudent, reckless, and brave beyond reason."
"Exactly the kind of man who makes a kingdom stronger," Rowan said warmly. "I never doubted him afterwards."
The Grand Magician smiled, stroking his long white beard thoughtfully. "He's grown into a fine man, Your Majesty. Though I sometimes wonder if he inherited too much of his mother's boldness—and not enough of his father."
Rowan chuckled, the sound full of affection and shared understanding. "That boldness saved my life more than once."
The warm camaraderie between them filled the hall like the fading notes of the minstrel's song. The tension that had gripped the night now softened to something gentler—hope, friendship, and the quiet strength of shared memories.
Outside, the storm still roared. But inside, the hearth of old bonds and new life glowed steady and bright.
The music swelled gently in the background, its rhythm steady and uplifting. As if sensing the shift in mood, Count Linden Veilthorn rose from his seat, a slender box wrapped in embroidered silk cradled in his hands.
"Your Majesty," he said with a respectful bow, "Though the birth has yet to come, I believe a blessing given in hope bears no ill fortune. Please accept this—Moonshade Bloom, a rare tea that calms the heart and clears the mind. May it ease the Queen's recovery when the time comes."
The King blinked, caught off guard, then smiled warmly. "Count Linden, your thoughtfulness humbles me. The Queen will be pleased."
Encouraged by the gesture, the hall stirred to life. One by one, nobles approached the dais—bearing silk, carved trinkets, rare herbs, and gilded charms. Laughter returned, subtle and respectful, but genuine.
Rowan accepted each offering with quiet grace, the weight of his worry slowly easing beneath the warmth of shared loyalty.
"Thank you," he said more than once, his voice steadier now. "Your kindness will be remembered."
What had begun as a tense banquet now shimmered with something brighter—hope wrapped in ceremony, and the strength of a kingdom standing behind its king.
Then suddenly—BAM!
The heavy doors of the banquet hall flew open with a thunderous clap. The music halted mid-note. Conversations died. All eyes turned as a court lady, breathless and sweat-soaked, stood at the threshold, her chest heaving and her eyes alight with urgency.
"Your Majesty!" she called, her voice clear and ringing through the hall. "The Queen—Her Majesty—she has delivered! A child! A girl! Healthy and strong!"
For a moment, the hall was stunned into silence.
Then—
"A daughter?" King Rowan stood so abruptly that his chair scraped loudly against the stone floor. "Calyria… she's well?"
The court lady nodded, tears of joy brimming in her eyes. "Both mother and child are safe, Your Majesty."
A breath he hadn't realized he was holding escaped his chest. Then came the smile—broad, radiant, unrestrained.
"A daughter!" he cried.
Applause erupted like a storm of joy. Goblets were raised. Voices cheered and echoed off the marble walls. The nobles clapped and laughed, some even wiping their eyes.
The storm outside still raged, but within the great hall of Eldarion, light had broken through.
Tonight, joy reigned.
**
[Vaelminia Kingdom, Argentvale Dukedom, Sothastirith Region, Nocturna CXII AH.]
Morning light spilled gently into the long breakfast hall of the Argentvale Ducal Palace, warming the polished wooden floors and carrying the faint aroma of freshly baked honey bread. Duke Aldric Argentvale sat comfortably at the head of the table, his loose morning tunic rumpled from a restless night.
The grand butler of the Argentvale Ducal Palace approached quietly, carrying a small, ornately sealed envelope on a silver tray. With a respectful nod, he placed it gently before Duke Aldric. "A message arrived just moments ago, Your Grace. From the royal court."
The duke gave a brief smile of thanks as the butler bowed and withdrew, leaving Aldric alone with the letter.
Aldric took the sealed letter into his hands, breaking the wax with deliberate care. He unfolded the parchment slowly, his eyes moving over the words. As he read, a gentle warmth spread across his face, and a soft chuckle slipped out.
"Well then," Aldric said, raising his cup with a smile, "the Queen has given birth to a princess. Healthy and strong. Already causing quite the stir in the kingdom."
Elysienne, his first wife, gasped and nearly dropped her spoon, eyes sparkling. "A girl? That's wonderful news! We have to send something special—maybe a silver cradle charm, or enchanted silk blankets to keep her warm and safe."
Serana, his second wife, smirked as she reached for a slice of honeyed fruit. "Or a hunting dagger she can grow into," she teased around a mouthful. "Gotta keep things balanced, right?"
Aldric laughed, shaking his head at their easy banter. "You both sound like you're already planning her first birthday party."
Elysienne leaned in conspiratorially. "We should host a celebration here at the Ducal Palace. Even if you couldn't attend the royal banquet, it's only right we honor such an important birth properly."
"Don't remind me," Aldric sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Duty and timing don't always line up."
Serana grinned, eyes gleaming. "Still, we're House Argentvale. Let's show the capital how we celebrate a princess's arrival. A grand feast, fine decorations—maybe even new garden paths for a royal visit?"
Elysienne nodded eagerly. "Yes! The gardens could use some brightening anyway. New flowers, fresh stone benches. It would make a lovely place for a future princess to play."
Their voices grew lively as they mapped out plans for gifts, banquets, and renovations, their chatter filling the room with warmth and hope. Aldric listened with a mixture of amusement and pride, the morning light catching the lines around his eyes.
"So," Serana said, her tone casual but with a sparkle of interest, "do you think His Majesty still means it?"
Elysienne glanced up from her plate. "The marriage promise?"
"Mm-hmm." Serana nodded, biting into a slice of pear. "Back when we visited the capital, remember? The King said he'd like our child and the royal heir to be betrothed. It wasn't just small talk."
"I remember." Elysienne leaned back in her chair, swirling her tea. "He said it in front of half the court. And the Queen smiled. That's enough to call it serious."
Serana smiled to herself. "Imagine that. Our little Alaric, one day marrying a princess. The garden better be perfect if the royal family ever comes to visit."
Elysienne raised a brow. "You're already thinking about the garden?"
"Why not? The east side still looks like a mess." Serana turned to a passing maid. "Have the groundskeeper check the hedges near the fountain. And make sure they pull the weeds this time."
"Yes, my Lady," the maid said, bowing as she left the room.
Elysienne let out a sigh, half amused. "Next thing I know, you'll be commissioning new marble statues."
"That's actually not a bad idea," Serana said with a shrug. "Maybe something tasteful. A lion, perhaps. Or a phoenix."
At the head of the table, Duke Aldric Argentvale slowly set down his cup and looked between the two of them.
"You two do realize both of them are still in diapers, yes?"
"So?" Elysienne said, not missing a beat. "Better to plan ahead. We're nobles, aren't we?"
"And it's not like we're forcing anything," Serana added. "It's just… hopeful thinking."
Aldric exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slowly, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. "Gods help me, this is what I married into."
"Twice," Elysienne and Serana said in unison.
The three of them shared a small laugh, the kind only families can have—half teasing, half affectionate. Outside the windows, the morning breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the scent of earth and blossoms.
A soft knock echoed through the quiet breakfast hall, followed by the gentle creak of the door opening. One of the palace maids peeked in, bowing quickly and carefully so as not to disturb the peaceful morning.
"Pardon the interruption, Your Graces," she said softly. "Young Master Alaric is awake. And quite fussy, it seems. Probably hungry."
Elysienne was already on her feet in an instant, smoothing down her gown. "Ah, that's my cue," she said with a smile, her eyes bright with motherly concern.
Serana, sitting beside her, set down her cup with a clink and grinned. "Mine too. We'd better not keep the little lord waiting. We'll be back once Alaric's had his breakfast."
As they moved toward the door, Elysienne called back, "Don't forget to tell the staff to check the east garden later. We might need to clear that old bench—it's been bothering me."
Serana snorted softly, a teasing edge in her voice. "You and that bench. It's not that ugly… just a little weathered."
Their lighthearted bickering continued down the hallway, their voices fading but still carrying playful tones as they debated flowers and furniture arrangements.
Left alone at the table, Aldric stared at the empty chairs around him. He sighed deeply, resting his chin on his hand as a quiet smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"Sure, go ahead. Leave the Duke in peace," he muttered to himself. "Who needs company when you've got cold tea and silence?"
From somewhere down the corridor, Serana's voice floated back teasingly, "We heard that, you know."
Elysienne's soft chuckle followed. "Try not to miss us too much."
Both women scoffed in perfect sync before their laughter and chatter drifted away around the corner, leaving Aldric alone with his thoughts.
He blinked, then shrugged with a small grin. "...Figures."
**
The chamber inside Avalon hummed softly, the faint pulse of ancient magic weaving through the air. Viviane knelt before the floating crystal in the inner chamber, its facets catching the pale light and scattering it in shimmering patterns across the stone walls. She reached out, fingers trembling slightly, attempting to replicate the intricate gestures her master had shown her.
A faint glow sparked where her fingers brushed the crystal's surface. But the complex web of enchantments didn't respond as smoothly as she hoped. The runes around the chamber flickered, then dimmed, leaving her fingertips tingling with frustration.
"Come on, Viviane… focus. You know this." She muttered under her breath. "It's just the sequence… just the flow."
She adjusted her stance, trying again, focusing hard on the spell's rhythm. The crystal pulsed once, then flickered erratically like a struggling star.
"No, no, no… that's not right." Her voice cracked slightly. "Why can't I get this? I should be better than this by now."
Viviane exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Don't give up. Master said it takes time." The patterns of the spell were far more intricate than she'd imagined. Her master's years of experience made the magic look effortless—yet here she was, tangled in her own uncertainty.
The room's faint hum deepened, and the crystal's glow softened to a gentle pulse. Viviane's eyes narrowed. She refused to give up. Each failed attempt was a step closer to understanding, even if it felt like stumbling in the dark.
Outside, the distant stars twinkled cold and silent beyond Avalon's protective barrier. Inside, Viviane's breath steadied as she whispered, "Again."
Suddenly, a soft fluttering sound caught her attention. The white bird swooped gracefully through the open space, landing delicately on her outstretched finger.
The bird tilted its head, as if ready to share news. Viviane smiled, stroking its soft feathers. "Well then, what tidings do you bring from Contraria?"
In a series of rapid chirps and whistles—almost like a secret language—the bird relayed its message. Viviane's eyes sparkled with amusement as she listened.
"Alaric, huh?" she chuckled softly. "The kingdom's newest little troublemaker, is he? I swear, with a name like that, he's bound to stir up some mischief." Her tone held a teasing edge, as if sharing an inside joke with the bird.
The bird gave a sharp chirp in response, fluttering its wings excitedly as it delivered even more amusing news to Viviane.
Viviane laughed lightly, shaking her head. "You always have the best gossip. I swear you're more informed than half the court." She gave the bird a gentle scratch behind its head.
With a final playful chirp, the bird took off, leaving Viviane alone with a lighter heart and a knowing smile. Somehow, the distant worries of the kingdom felt a little less heavy.
Viviane chuckled softly as she said, "Alaric, huh?" then broke into a light laugh.