The gazebo perched atop the shimmering lake, its wooden beams casting delicate shadows on the water as the garden across the shore bloomed softly in the cold light. Inside, Viviane sat gracefully, cradling a delicate porcelain cup filled with warm, fragrant tea. The gentle steam curled upward, mingling with the crisp night air, carrying hints of jasmine and mint. She breathed in deeply, the calmness washing over her after a relentless year spent weaving intricate threads of time magic within the Tower of Avalon.
The air around her seemed to pulse softly, an unseen current flowing with the subtle acceleration of time. Here, in Avalon, the days moved faster, a stark contrast to Contraria below, where hours now passed like mere moments. Viviane's eyes sparkled with satisfaction—her work was done.
From the garden across the lake, a small white bird took flight, her feathers shimmering like freshly fallen snow. She soared gracefully toward the gazebo, wings beating softly against the still night air. With a smooth motion, Viviane extended her hand, welcoming her trusted companion as she landed gently.
The bird blinked, feathers gleaming, alert and poised. Viviane's fingers brushed its head with a gentle affection as she whispered the task ahead.
"You must go to Contraria. Bring back a few strands of… Satria's hair—" she paused, a sly smile curling her lips, "…or rather, Alaric. No mistakes."
The bird gave an excited chirp. Without hesitation, she spread its wings, the faint fluttering a soft whoosh against the stillness of the night. Viviane extended her hand, and with a shimmer of pale blue light, a swirling portal opened just wide enough for the bird to slip through. The bird dove gracefully, vanishing into the magical gateway, its wings slicing through the air with purpose.
Viviane leaned back, a sly smile curling on her lips. Her chuckle echoed softly, light but edged with amusement. "It's time for you, Satria, to pay for your mischief," she murmured, eyes gleaming with a mix of fondness and playful vengeance.
The gazebo seemed to hold its breath in the quiet aftermath, the ripples on the lake mirroring the ripples of change already set into motion far below on Contraria.
Arriving on Contraria, the white bird glided effortlessly through the cool morning air, her wings slicing the crisp breeze as she approaches the sprawling Sothastirith Region—the heart of the Argentvale Capital Territory.
Below her, the city buzzed with life: merchants hawking their wares, guards patrolling the cobbled streets, and nobles moving through grand stone archways. But her eyes were set on a single building—the towering Ducal Palace, a massive structure of gray stone and gleaming banners fluttering in the wind.
As she neared the palace gates, a sudden clatter of armored footsteps echoed sharply. A squad of knights, their shining helms catching the light, rushed forward. Leading them was the captain—a broad-shouldered man with a stern glare.
"What's that weird bird? Some kind of mystical beast?" He narrowed his eyes, sensing the odd shift in mana around the bird. "Don't just stand there—get it!"
Soldiers rushed as he shouted the command.
The white bird darted left and right, her feathers shimmering as she twisted away from the sharp edges of steel. A whole knight squad is chasing her. Clang! A blade sliced through the air mere inches from her wingtip. The captain's voice boomed again, "Get down here!"
Despite her swift maneuvers, it was clear the palace was a fortress not just of stone, but of vigilant soldiers and watchful eyes. Every approach was met with force. The white bird hovered briefly, assessing the impossibility of slipping inside the palace.
A low sigh escaped her beak, a quiet admission that brute force wouldn't grant her smooth passage. The palace was impregnable—too many knights and soldiers stationed like an unbreakable wall.
Her feathers ruffled slightly, and a sharp tsk slipped from her beak as irritation flared. How could they be so thick-skinned? She was just a bird, yet they treated her like some dangerous beast.
With a flick of her tail feathers, she muttered to herself, This is going to be more complicated than I thought.
She needed a distraction.
With a quick flick of her wings, the white bird veered away from the palace and angled toward the distant snowy mountains that bordered the region. The chill in the air grew sharper, the landscape more rugged, as she soared higher, searching for the magical beasts that roamed those frozen heights.
Her sharp eyes scanned the white-capped peaks and shadowed valleys, hunting for a way to turn the tide in her favor.
After several lazy circles, she spotted the faint glow of flickering campfires nestled in a hidden valley below—Frost Trolls, known for their brute strength and savage tempers. Their thick, icy-blue skin shimmered even in the cold, and the ground trembled faintly under their heavy footsteps.
A sly gleam sparked in the white bird's eyes as she realized the potential—these lumbering beasts would make perfect bait, drawing the palace's defenders away with their fury and strength. It was just the distraction she needed to slip past the heavy guard.
With a quiet chirp of determination, the bird descended closer, her feathers brushing cold air as she prepared to unleash her plan. Closing her eyes briefly, she summoned a subtle ripple of magic from deep within her—illusion magic, delicate and cunning. A whisper of shimmering light danced around the trolls, distorting reality just enough to confuse and enrage them.
Suddenly, the camp erupted into chaos. The trolls bellowed in furious rage, eyes turning red blazing with wildfire. Their massive fists smashed tents and shattered trees as they stormed toward Sothastirith, the ground trembling with each thunderous step. The largest among them—their grizzled, scarred leader—roared a guttural war cry, rallying the others into a relentless charge.
As the trolls marched down the mountain and into the outskirts of the city, the white bird circled high above, her sharp gaze following the chaos she had sown. Between the jagged slopes and the glittering spires of Sothastirith lay several key outposts—wooden forts and stone watchtowers perched on ridges overlooking the valley. It was there the trolls were first spotted.
The soldiers stationed in those outposts were not prepared for the sight of hundreds of enraged Frost Trolls storming through the snowdrifts, their roars echoing through the canyons like thunder. Panic broke across the ranks like a wave. Horns sounded—DOOOOM—a deep, mournful warning that carried across the frozen land.
"By the heavens... Frost Trolls! That many?!"
"They're heading straight for the capital—sound the alarm! Get a rider to the Duke!"
"There's no time—call the gryphon! Hurry!"
Within moments, a gryphon—a sleek, silver-feathered beast with piercing amber eyes—was summoned from the stables. A rider strapped in with trembling hands, and with a sharp cry and beat of wings, the creature leapt into the sky, soaring toward the Ducal Palace with unnatural speed, a blur against the whitening clouds.
The white bird, still aloft and untouched by the panic below, let out a satisfied chirp. Everything was falling into place.
With a quick beat of her wings, she turned away from the rising chaos and glided down toward the treetops. Darting through the forest's edge, she found a thick grove of frost-covered pines overlooking the city's northern gate. Nestling into the crook of a high branch, she wrapped her feathers tighter around her body and stilled her breathing. From this vantage, she had a perfect view of the unfolding battle.
The white bird now perched quietly among the shadowed branches of a forest outside the bustling Capital City of Sothastirith.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and distant echoes of clashing steel and furious roars drifted through the trees. The battle had raged on for several hours now, its echoes a constant drumbeat in the background, shaking even the stillness of the woods.
From her vantage point, she could see the commotion at the nearest outpost—a stone fort braced against the mountain's edge, now lit with the frantic motion of battle. Soldiers scrambled across the ramparts, crossbows loaded, arrows nocked. Shouts rang out between squadrons as the first wave of trolls crashed through the outer barricades with terrifying force. Frost-covered clubs smashed against wooden spikes, sending splinters flying through the air. A knight was thrown into the snow, his shield bent, his breath ripped from his lungs in a burst of steam.
"Hold the line!" the outpost commander roared, his sword gleaming as he struck down a troll's swinging arm. "Don't let them through!"
The trolls—massive, white-furred beasts with ice-crusted tusks—moved with brutal efficiency, their eyes glowing red beneath heavy brows. Some were lured by illusionary figures conjured by the bird's magic, chasing phantom soldiers into traps or lunging into flame pits prepared by desperate defenders. Still, the sheer weight of their numbers pressed hard on the outpost's defenses.
Cries of pain and the harsh clash of steel filled the air. Every heartbeat of the battle drew more forces away from the palace.
Soon, the sharp beating of wings and the thunderous impact of talons against earth filled the air—the knights and soldiers, mounted atop fierce gryphons, swooped in to intercept the invaders.
Reinforcements surged in from deeper within the city, their arrival announced by the piercing screeches of the beasts and the urgent cries of commanders barking orders.
Banners bearing the Argentvale crest flared in the wind as squadrons broke formation in the sky before diving low, their gryphons kicking up plumes of snow and dirt as they landed and reformed into battle lines with precision.
At their head rode the knight captain—the same sharp-eyed man who had earlier mistaken the white bird for a threat. His silver-plated armor bore fresh scuffs from a hasty ride, and frost still clung to the hem of his cloak.
He surveyed the battlefield with a grim frown, his gloved hand tightening around the hilt of his longsword.
"Shields front! Archers behind the second line!" he barked, his voice cutting through the din like a blade. "We hold them at the ridge. Not one step further!"
The clash was fierce, the sounds of battle—clang, thud, roar—reverberated through the woods, confirming both forces had engaged.
Satisfied, the white bird spread her wings and launched into the air with a swift whoosh. The path to the Ducal Palace lay clear. The once impregnable fortress was now vulnerable; the soldiers and knights who had guarded its gates were scattered across the battlefield, drawn away by the trolls' assault.
The magical barrier that shielded the palace had always been a subtle shimmer, an enchantment that was no match for the bird's magical abilities. She slipped through the invisible defense as easily as a breeze.
Flying gracefully through the marbled halls and ornate chambers, the bird's keen eyes searched until she found him—baby Alaric.
*
Snowflakes drifted lazily through the gray sky, settling softly on the evergreen branches of the palace garden. The cold air bit gently at exposed skin, carrying the crisp scent of pine and frost. Duchess Elysienne, Serana, the maid, and baby Alaric stood beneath a wooden pergola dusted with snow, the stone path slick with ice.
Alaric wobbled uncertainly on his chubby legs, bundled tightly in a thick woolen cloak. His breath formed tiny clouds as he concentrated fiercely, tiny fists clenched for balance. One careful step, then another—then, suddenly, he tipped sideways.
Thud!
The snow cushioned his fall, but a startled whimper escaped him.
"Easy now, little one," Elysienne said softly, concern warming her voice as she brushed snowflakes from his flushed cheeks. "There's no rush."
Serana smiled, pulling her fur-lined cloak tighter. "Every step counts, no matter how small."
The maid knelt, brushing stray snow from Alaric's sleeves. Elysienne glanced at her and said gently, "Take a break, dear. We'll keep watch."
With tenderness, Elysienne gathered Alaric into her arms, feeling the steady warmth of his tiny body against the cold.
The garden's icy stillness settled gently as baby Alaric's eyelids drooped, heavy with sleep. Nestled in Duchess Elysienne's arms, his tiny body relaxed, save for the occasional twitch of restless fingers. Snowflakes drifted silently, dusting the soft curls around his face.
Then, a flash of white caught his eye—a delicate white bird perched on a frost-laden branch nearby, its feathers shimmering like moonlight on snow. Alaric's sleepy gaze brightened with curiosity. He stretched out a chubby hand, reaching toward the shimmering creature.
The bird flitted closer, tilting its head as if considering the small outstretched fingers. With surprising gentleness, it hopped down, coming nearer until it brushed against Alaric's soft hair.
Alaric let out a small, muffled mumble, reaching out again as if trying to talk to the delicate creature. His eyes sparkled with innocent wonder.
Elysienne and Serana exchanged soft smiles, their voices low and cheerful as they chattered about the little moment. "He's fascinated by the bird," Elysienne said, brushing a loose strand of hair from Alaric's forehead. "Such a curious boy."
Serana laughed quietly. "It's as if he already knows it's a friend." Neither of them had any inkling that this seemingly ordinary white bird was far more than just a fragile creature of feather and bone.
Pluck.
A sudden tug startled everyone—the bird had swiftly snatched a few strands of Alaric's hair.
"Hey! Come back here!" the maid cried, springing to her feet and chasing after the white bird as it lifted off with a sharp flutter of wings. Her breath formed quick clouds in the cold air as she dashed through the garden, but the bird was already vanishing through the palace gates.
Back in Elysienne's arms, Alaric blinked up at her, rubbing his sleepy eyes, unaware of the mischief just done. Serana watched the scene with a fond smile, gently shaking her head. "That little rascal," she whispered softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
The quiet moment was broken by the approach of the grand butler, his footsteps crunching softly on the snowy path. "Your Grace, My Lady, it is time," he announced politely. "The town square awaits."
Elysienne nodded, adjusting her cloak around Alaric. As she rose, the baby yawned, his small hands clutching at her fur-lined sleeves.
*
The chill of the snowy morning had not dulled the bustle in Sothastirith's town square. Bright banners, embroidered with the Argentvale crest, fluttered proudly against the pale sky, their blue and gold hues a stark contrast to the soft white blanket covering the cobblestones. Lanterns hung from iron posts, their warm glow promising a festive warmth against the cold, while the scent of burning pine drifted faintly through the crisp air.
Duke Aldric Argentvale stood near the edge of the grand dais, his breath fogging in the cold morning air. The town square was already packed—families wrapped in thick cloaks, nobles lining the edges, and guards posted at every entrance. Above them, the house banners swayed in the wind, bright against the gray sky.
Even with all the ceremony unfolding around him, Aldric's thoughts were stuck on the news from earlier. The trolls—hundreds of them—had come down from the mountains and were attacking the outposts. It wasn't just a report anymore; it was a real threat, one that could grow worse if left unchecked.
He had been ready to leave. His armor was on, his sword at his side. The instinct to fight, to protect, had kicked in the moment he heard the scouts' report. But before he could mount his gryphon, the knight captain had stopped him. There had been no long speech, just a firm hand on Aldric's shoulder and a few quiet words.
The captain reminded him of what today was. That the people needed to see their Duke. That his son's first public appearance couldn't wait—not without casting doubt or fear across the city. The captain insisted that the ceremony, the people, and Alaric mattered more.
The duke resigned, he trusted the knight captain's loyalty.
It wasn't easy, standing back while others went off to handle the danger. Aldric didn't like it. He never had. But he stayed. He had to.
As he looked out at the crowd gathering below the platform, he knew he'd made the right call—even if it still didn't sit well with him. Today was for Alaric. No matter what threats stirred beyond the city walls, the people needed to see that their future was here—real, alive, and safe.
The steady beat of drums echoed through the square, followed by the long call of brass horns signaling the start of the ceremony. Aldric's jaw tightened slightly. The moment was here. He had made his choice—out of duty, out of tradition, and most of all, out of love for his son.
Aldric shifted the weight of the thick fur cloak around his shoulders. He took a slow, deep breath to calm the unease still lingering in his chest.
"This is for Alaric," he muttered quietly, more to himself than anyone else. Then he stepped forward.
The wind carried the distant sound of bells as Duke Aldric Argentvale stepped onto the raised platform, baby Alaric cradled in his arms. The town square fell silent—not out of fear, but reverence. All eyes turned toward their duke, breath misting in the frosty air.
Aldric stood tall, voice firm as it echoed across the crowd. "People of Sothastirith. Behold my son—Alaric Argentvale. Born of frost and flame, he shall one day inherit the duty of this house, and protect these lands as I have before him and the fathers before me."
With both pride and care, Aldric raised Alaric high into the air, presenting him to the people like an offering of hope. The baby blinked up at the sky, squirmed once, then stilled. Cheers erupted—loud and genuine, flooding the square with warmth that defied the snow.
Lowering his son, Aldric stepped down from the dais and walked into the crowd. People bowed, cheered, reached out just to glimpse the future duke. Alaric blinked blearily at the world, wide eyes slowly growing heavy.
Wrapped in velvet and fur, he gave a quiet yawn. The noise, the cold, the attention—he had endured it all with quiet wonder. Moments later, resting against his father's chest, Alaric finally drifted into sleep.
His first duty as the son of a duke, complete.
The night fell and the moon had long since risen over Sothastirith, casting pale light across the snow-covered roofs. Inside the ducal chambers, the air was warm and quiet—except for the sharp, heart-wrenching wails echoing from the nursery.
Alaric had been inconsolable since the ceremony. What began as a few soft whimpers had grown into full, unrelenting sobs. He thrashed in his crib, cheeks flushed, tiny fists clenched as though trying to fend off something no one else could see.
The maids, exhausted and anxious, took turns rocking him gently, offering warm milk, humming lullabies. But nothing worked. Every time his eyes fluttered closed, he jolted awake moments later—crying louder, more frantically than before.
"Shh, shh… it's all right, little one," Serana whispered, pacing the floor with Alaric wrapped in a soft woolen blanket. Her arms ached, but she refused to give him up.
Beside her, Duchess Elysienne looked on with worried eyes. "It's not like him," she murmured. "He never cried this way before. He seems... afraid."
"Of what?" Serana asked quietly, though she already knew no answer would come.
The nursery felt heavy, the air thick with something they couldn't name. Elysienne stepped over and took Alaric into her arms, her touch gentle but firm. The baby's cries didn't stop, only softened for a moment before rising again.
Outside, the snow fell in a steady hush, muffling the world.
Inside, the shadows stretched long across the nursery walls, and in Alaric's tiny face, fear lingered—deep, strange, and unexplainable.
Something was wrong.
The grand doors of the nursery swung open with a quiet urgency. Duke Aldric entered, his expression grim, flanked by the Grand Physician—a stooped, silver-haired man known for his vast knowledge of both medicine and the arcane. The tension in the room was palpable.
Elysienne stood near the crib, her face pale but resolute. Serana hovered beside her, wringing her hands, the exhaustion in her eyes deepening. Neither had slept properly since Alaric's cries had started. The frustration was mounting—not just at the endless nights, but at the helplessness gnawing at their hearts.
Elysienne hesitated, gently rocking Alaric one last time before leaning over the crib. Her arms reluctantly let go as she placed him down onto the soft linens, brushing a kiss to his damp forehead.
His cries had quieted to soft whimpers, but the unease in her heart only grew. She stepped back, her fingers lingering on the edge of the crib, allowing the Grand Physician to step in and examine him.
The Grand Physician approaching carefully, his sharp eyes scanning the baby's flushed cheeks, restless movements, and tear-streaked face. He gently lifted Alaric in his arms, feeling for fever, palpating the tiny chest, and listening to his rapid breathing.
After a long moment, the physician's brow furrowed.
"There is no fever. No signs of infection or injury. His vitals are stable." His voice was calm, but the room felt heavy with unspoken concern.
Elysienne's voice broke the silence. "Then why won't he sleep? This isn't just normal waking fussiness. I fear… it might be the mana."
Serana shot her a sharp look. "Mana? You think magic is causing this?"
The Grand Physician nodded slowly. "Nightmares often accompany disturbances in mana—especially in children born into noble bloodlines with latent magic. But physical symptoms are absent, which complicates treatment."
Elysienne clenched her hands tightly. "He's suffering. We can't simply wait for it to pass—I'm afraid it will only get worse."
Serana's frustration surfaced, voice trembling with fatigue. "We've tried everything. Rocking, feeding, even charms—but nothing soothes him. How can we protect him if we don't understand what's hurting him?"
A heavy silence settled. The courtiers gathered outside whispered anxiously, their concern growing in the wake of the young Alaric mysterious torment. Duke Aldric's jaw tightened as he exchanged a glance with Elysienne—both knowing that this was no ordinary ailment.
The Grand Physician sighed, placing a steady hand on the baby's tiny back. "We don't yet know what's causing these nightmares. I will do everything in my power to uncover the source. In the meantime, I will prepare medicine to help soothe Alaric and ease his distress."
Elysienne's eyes filled with worry but also determination. "Do whatever you must. He cannot suffer like this."
Serana nodded, her frustration giving way to a quiet resolve. They didn't have all the answers yet, but they would do everything possible to make sure Alaric is fine.