In Aurelith’s royal palace, Edmund prepared himself for an unusual summons. That morning, his father had requested that both he and Aristide attend the council session, as part of their preparation for their future roles. From the gravity in the king’s voice, Edmund knew the matter was of great importance. Even before they entered the hall, a minister’s voice thundered from within.

  “We cannot stand by this, Majesty!”

  As Edmund and Aristide stepped inside, the chamber fell into silence. The assembled ministers waited as the princes took their seats beside the king. “Prince Edmund, Prince Aristide, welcome,” King Renault said, acknowledging their partaking in the council. “Please proceed, Minister Pierre.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Minister Pierre continued once they had settled. “Trinovantes must be confronted at once!”

  “On what grounds do they press their claim now?” the king asked calmly.

  Minister Pierre stepped forward, producing a scroll and unrolling it with sharp precision.

  “The Constitution of Ruscholt states,” he read,

  ‘The Duchy of Ruscholt is a neutral land, an independent state separate from Durandal, Aldana, and Trinovantes. The three powers hereby agree to cede land in its creation, as an act of friendship, cooperation, and mutual understanding.’

  He lifted his gaze, jaw tight. “This constitution held through the age of Beldomagne,” he snapped, “and it still held after Rucaldia was driven from our lands. But now, Grand Duke Einon argues that with both Durandal and Aldana gone, the agreement is void! He insists that the lands Trinovantes ceded in Ruscholt’s creation must be returned to the Grand Ducal State!”

  “And what do you propose, Minister?” King Renault asked.

  “We must answer their use of arms in kind,” Pierre declared. “Deploy troops to our eastern border. Let Trinovantes see our willingness to defend Ruscholt!”

  “That would all but declare war!” another minister protested.

  The chamber erupted into overlapping voices. Accusations, fears, demands. King Renault raised his hand, and silence slowly returned. “Prince Edmund,” he said, turning to his eldest son. “As the future monarch of our kingdom, what is your counsel?”

  Edmund hesitated. His gaze passed from the ministers to Aristide, then back to his father.

  “I think…” he began carefully, the room leaning in despite itself.

  “…we should agree to Trinovantes’s terms.”

  For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

  “For the sake of avoiding conflict,” Edmund said carefully, “I believe we should grant Grand Duke Einon what he demands.”

  Minister Pierre stepped forward at once. “Highness,” he said steadily, “are you suggesting that we bend the knee?”

  “I—I only wish to avoid war,” Edmund replied, tightening his grip on the armrest. “I don’t want to see bloodshed.”

  The elder minister shook his head slowly. “Prince Edmund, I understand you have just recovered from a terrible incident. However, for the purpose of this gathering, and as heir to Aurelith’s crown, there are truths you must not forget.”

  He turned slightly, addressing both the prince and the council.

  “Trinovantes does not recognize Aurelith as a legitimate state. In their eyes, our kingdom was born from the unlawful seizure of Aldana, land they claim still rightfully belongs to House Rohan. To them, any opinion we offer is meaningless.”

  Pierre’s gaze hardened. He faced Edmund fully now.

  “Are you suggesting we accept that claim?” Pierre asked sharply. “That Aurelith is nothing more than a band of usurpers? That we have no voice in Ambria’s affairs, an entire region in which our kingdom is not only present, but foundational?”

  Edmund’s gaze fell to the polished floor. Pierre continued, his voice measured but unyielding. “Ruscholt and Aurelith are sovereign states. And whether we embrace it or not, regardless of how our kingdom was born, we are Aldana’s successor. With that inheritance comes duty, our obligation to uphold our predecessor’s vow, even when our history is inconvenient.”

  He let that settle before continuing, gesturing toward the council.

  “And what of our allies? What will they think if we remain silent? That our promises are hollow? That we will not come to their aid when a hostile, martial power marches to their doorstep?”

  He turned back to Edmund, eyes sharp but not unkind. His voice lowered.

  “This is not a toy lent and now reclaimed, Your Highness. These are lands generations have known as home, lands whose cultures have grown distinct, whose people have built lives upon them. We are speaking of their rights. Of their lives. Before you accept Trinovantes’s claims, I ask only this, that you weigh the consequences of such a decision.”

  The room fell silent for a moment after Pierre finished his litany, his words slowly sinking in.

  “Thank you, Minister Pierre, for your detailed explanation of our situation,” King Renault finally said. “We will look into this matter further in the coming days.”

  The king decided to dismiss the council after that to let everyone’s heads cool down. He waited until only he, the two princes, and Chief Minister Horace remained. Once the doors were shut and the chamber stood empty, Renault spoke again.

  “Forgive the minister’s… harshness, Edmund. Our kingdom has been through much of late, and the weight of it bears heavily on the council.”

  Edmund was quiet at first. Then he shook his head. “I understand, Father. I… still have much to learn.”

  “Is there anything else we can assist you with, Father?” Aristide asked.

  The king hesitated, thoughtful, but Horace spoke before he could answer.

  “There is one matter you may be able to assist with, if I may.”

  Renault inclined his head, granting permission.

  “Your Highnesses,” Horace began, “before you arrived, we were discussing the recent monster incident and its aftermath. Several villages suffered severe losses, granaries destroyed, stores burned. Furthermore, the influx of displaced villagers we have taken in here at the capital has significantly reduced our grain reserves.”

  Edmund lifted his gaze, concern sharpening his features. “Are we on the verge of famine?”

  Horace shook his head. “Not yet. Accounting for both the city’s population and the refugees, we still have approximately a year’s worth of grain.”

  “What is it you need from us, Minister?” Aristide asked.

  “The incident has made one truth painfully clear,” Horace replied. “We are vulnerable. Should another unforeseen calamity occur, our reserves would not withstand it. We must find a way to ensure sustained surplus production.”

  He folded his hands behind his back. “Unfortunately, grain grows more costly to produce with each passing year.”

  The princes remained silent, allowing him to continue.

  “Which brings us,” Horace said carefully, “to Count Nicolas’s proposal.”

  The name sent a shiver down Edmund’s spine.

  He remembered the Count’s glare, his words, his thinly veiled remarks.

  “I remember him mentioning something about lowering grain prices during Edmund’s coming-of-age celebration,” Aristide muttered.

  Horace nodded. “We have considered his proposal and were hoping to examine it more closely.”

  “Do you… want us to meet with him?” Edmund asked.

  “No, Your Highness,” Horace replied. “Not yet.”

  He paused, then continued, “Instead, we would have you travel to Danuville, our southern neighbor, to assess the state and its current situation.”

  Both princes turned toward their father. Edmund rose first, surprise and excitement slipping through his usual composure. “You would allow us to travel beyond the kingdom?”

  King Renault’s lips curved into a faint smile at his son’s reaction.

  “I believe it is time you begin to see and understand our neighbors for yourselves.”

  Aristide lifted a hand to his chin, brows knitting.

  “Wouldn’t they… throw stones at us, Father?” he said cautiously. “The Calyssians aren’t exactly fond of Aurelith, least of all its princes.”

  “We have accounted for that,” Horace interjected smoothly. “It has been decided that you will travel under guise, much as King Renault once did in his youth, during his pilgrimage across Ambria.”

  Edmund’s excitement dimmed slightly, replaced by thought. “In disguise,” he repeated.

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  “Precisely,” Horace continued. “No banners. Your escorts will act as relatives. You will go as observers, not symbols.”

  King Renault nodded. “You will learn far more as men than you ever would as princes. Evaluate the state firsthand, its people, their society, its governance under Governor Pascal. What you see there will inform how we move forward.”

  A brief silence followed.

  Edmund exhaled slowly, resolve settling in his chest.

  “…Then we will go.”

  Horace clapped his hands together in quiet satisfaction. “Excellent. We shall make the necessary preparations at once.” The two princes were dismissed soon after, leaving the king and his chief minister alone at last. King Renault let out a long exhale, the tension he had been holding finally surfacing.

  “Is it the right choice,” he asked quietly, “to let them travel beyond our borders?”

  “They will be guarded by our best men,” Horace replied. “This is for their learning, Your Majesty. I can only imagine the ruler you would have become had you not witnessed Ambria’s plight firsthand during your travels.”

  Silence settled between them once more, heavier than before. The room seemed to tighten around the thought left unspoken. Horace was the first to break it.

  “If I may speak further, something troubles my mind,” he said carefully, “though I tried not to dwell on it, do you not find the timing of these events a little too… convenient, Your Majesty?”

  Renault’s gaze sharpened. “What do you mean?”

  “Trinovantes occupying parts of Ruscholt,” Horace began. “Then Count Nicolas’s proposal, initially dismissed as a mere agreement. Both arrived precisely when we were weakened, or on the brink of crisis.”

  The king folded his hands before his mouth, eyes lowering in thought.

  “Are you suggesting,” he said slowly, “that they are conspiring against us?”

  “I do not wish to point fingers,” Horace replied carefully. “Trinovantes has been isolationist for decades, paying no heed to matters beyond their borders. House Archambault was much the same, long content with their life in Cervolna.”

  He paused, choosing his words. “For both of them to move now,” Horace continued, voice lowering, “at this precise moment…”

  The king’s fingers tightened where they rested before his mouth.

  “—feels as though someone is pulling the strings.”

  After the meeting adjourned, Edmund and Aristide made their way toward the training hall, a separate stone structure standing beyond the palace grounds. The four knights guarding them walking silently behind. Edmund agreed to observe Serena’s combat training that day and walk with her around town. He had already seen her wield magic in battle twice, both times without instruction. The thought of what she might become under proper guidance filled him with quiet anticipation.

  Aristide walked beside him, hands clasped behind his head. “Don’t dwell too much on what the minister said,” he offered. “That’s just how old men are.”

  “He had a point,” Edmund replied. “there’s so much I still don’t know.”

  “Well,” Aristide said with a small shrug, “so do we all. If that helps.”

  Edmund smiled faintly and thanked him for the attempt.

  Before they even reached the hall, the sound of clashing steel echoed through the open doors. Inside, Serena stood at the center of the room, a blade of pure energy formed in her grasp, meeting steel again and again as she sparred with one of her mentors, Sir Felix. Today, she wore light armor, her hair drawn back into a single braid that swayed with each movement. To the side, Master Turenne observed in silence, staff resting lightly against the floor. Leif stood nearby as well. Both bowed at once upon seeing the princes enter. Edmund approached Leif first. As always, and for reasons Edmund had yet to understand, Leif’s trousers were draped in leaves despite the approaching winter.

  “Why are you—” Edmund began.

  “Yes?” Leif asked, turning his gaze toward him.

  “…Never mind,” Edmund said, already turning back to the sparring match. “How is she doing?”

  Leif followed his gaze. Something in his expression softened. His eyes calmer now, a faint smile touching his lips.

  “She looks… amazing,” he murmured.

  Edmund found himself mirroring the same expression as he watched Serena move, each strike precise, each step fluid. “She certainly does.”

  They stood like that for a moment longer than either realized.

  Aristide noticed first.

  His gaze flicked between the two of them before he cleared his throat.

  “And her progress, Leif?” he asked pointedly. “Have you noticed any improvement?”

  Leif blinked, snapping back to himself.

  “Oh… progress. Yes. She’s made… a great deal.”

  Aristide turned toward Edmund, who was still following Serena’s every movement.

  “Did you hear that, Edmund?”

  No response.

  “Brother?” Aristide called louder.

  Edmund finally turned to him. “What’s that?”

  Aristide let out a short exhale. “Leif said she’s made a lot of improvement.”

  “Ah… right. Yes, I noticed,” Edmund replied after a moment.

  His brother merely looked away, trying not to smile.

  It didn’t take long after their arrival for Felix to overpower Serena and disperse her etheric sword. She remained where she stood, panting, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Felix tapped her shoulder, offering a few words of praise, when both of them noticed Edmund and Aristide. They bowed to the princes at once, and Serena soon stepped forward. Edmund found himself watching her more closely than he intended. Since the battle with Varhathor, she seemed… different. More grounded. Her speech no longer faltered, her posture stood straighter, and she carried herself with a confidence he hadn’t seen before. She was more engaged, more present—and there was something in her eyes now, a quiet glow that held his gaze longer than it should have.

  Serena stepped closer, close enough to address him properly.

  “Greetings, Your Highness.”

  Edmund remained silent a moment too long.

  Serena tilted her head, confusion flickering across her features as she glanced briefly to the side. “Prince… is something wrong?”

  Edmund blinked, startled, tearing his gaze away before hastily looking back at her. He shook his head. “N—no, nothing’s wrong,” he said quickly. “You look— I mean—everything looks great. Training, I mean.”

  “The prince is right!” Leif exclaimed. “You were amazing!”

  Aristide remained silent, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he struggled to suppress a laugh.

  Serena’s gaze flicked between them, clearly puzzled by the sudden shift in mood. “Thank you… I think. Should we head outside, then? My training’s over for the day.”

  Edmund nodded a little too quickly. “Yes—yes, that sounds good.”

  Serena bowed to Felix and Turenne, thanking them for the day’s lesson, and the small group soon made their way outside. At first, their conversation was warm, easy. They caught up, shared stories. Serena spoke of how Turenne’s scolding had lessened once she learned to properly shape her weapon. Edmund, in turn, mentioned the tension of the council meeting and the ministers divided counsel.

  But when one name surfaced, the warmth faded.

  “I hope Tristan stayed,” Serena murmured. “We didn’t spend much time together, but… he didn’t need to stop coming here, even after what happened.”

  “The Blood Alchemist who examined the Draemhyr’s remains identified the creature as the Duskbound Terror,” Aristide said grimly. “Its venom, and even its blood, are toxic. They induce vivid hallucinations and nightmares, severe enough to drive some victims to insanity.”

  Leif inclined his head slightly. “Does that mean Tristan killed those men because he was losing his mind?”

  Aristide shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I refuse to believe that.”

  “Me too,” Edmund said at once, the memory of their confrontation still sharp in his thoughts. “I know what I saw. That wasn’t Tristan, it was a demon.”

  “The prince is right,” Serena said quietly. “I felt it. The oppressive presence radiating from him that day. It wasn’t human.”

  Silence settled over them.

  Both Edmund and Serena had faced Varhathor that day, and before that, each had endured nightmares of their own. Edmund with the Sin-Eater. Serena within the Abyss. Neither had spoken of it. Not to anyone. Not even to each other. They did not know whether those visions were merely the lingering effects of the Draemhyr’s toxin… or something far more troubling. The silence shattered suddenly.

  “—Aah!”

  Aristide squealed without warning, fists clenched before him. Startled, the others turned toward whatever had seized his attention.

  The Royal Gallery.

  Men were hauling in carefully sealed crates of varying sizes, their movements deliberate, guarded. “Those—those are the new artifacts!” Aristide exclaimed. “They’re being added to the gallery!”

  He grinned, already stepping forward.

  “We have to see them. Now!”

  There was no time for argument. Aristide was already rushing ahead, leaving the others little choice but to follow. Reluctantly, they trailed after him, toward the royal collection of dust-laden relics and forgotten history. By the time the trio entered, Aristide was already prying open crates with barely contained excitement. As expected, the gallery held little more than relics of ages long past. Paintings lined the walls. Suits of armor from different eras stood in silent rows beneath them. Long tables stretched across the floor, cluttered with tomes, folded garments, weapons, and countless trinkets whose purpose time had forgotten.

  Edmund glanced around, hands resting at his sides. “Well,” he said lightly, “we’re already here. Might as well look around. You might find something interesting.”

  And so, against their better judgment, they did.

  At the far end of the room, near the door leading to the storage vault, Aristide had already gathered a handful of… stones, for reasons known only to him. Edmund lingered near the paintings, studying them with quiet interest, while Leif stood before a display of bows, his expression oddly transfixed. Serena moved more slowly than the others. She passed between tables, offering each display a brief glance, uncertain what she was meant to look for, until something stirred.

  At the far end of the wall, resting alone upon a table, stood a sword. No other artifacts surrounded it. No clutter. No companions. It claimed the space around it entirely. She approached with care, keeping her distance at first, afraid she might damage it simply by standing too close. Yet a strange tug pressed at her chest, urging her forward. And so, she stepped closer. Now beside the table, she could see it clearly. The blade was plain steel. The grip wrapped in worn leather. Nothing ornate. Nothing imposing.

  A plaque rested before it.

  Aldana

  Sword of the Cervolnan Knight, Sir Hugh Rohan

  Serena leaned in, her breath held, and noticed an engraving etched faintly along the blade itself. She traced it gently with her finger, reading the words beneath her breath.

  To my beloved Aldana,

  I vow to never take a life with this sword that bears your name.

  Her hand stilled. Suddenly, Serena was no longer in the gallery. She stood in a place she did not recognize. It was dark, though she could sense the sun lingering just beyond the horizon, on the verge of rising. She found herself on the bank of a narrow river, its shallow current rushing softly, the only sound in the world. Trees lined both sides, shorter and sparser than those she was accustomed to. She turned slowly, unease creeping into her chest.

  What… is this place?

  How did I—

  A sound cut through her thoughts.

  Cries.

  Faint, distant, but unmistakably human. She followed it, stepping quietly through the undergrowth until she saw them. Two figures hidden among the trees. A man knelt on the ground, cradling a woman in his arms. It was he who cried openly, shoulders trembling. The woman’s face was pale, her clothes soaked dark with blood. Serena edged closer, barely daring to breathe.

  “You have… to leave me here,” the woman whispered.

  The man sobbed, words breaking apart between gasps.

  “No… no… I can’t—”

  The woman lifted a trembling hand and brushed his cheek.

  “You can still—” she said softly. “You can still make it. Promise me… you will…”

  Before he could answer, other sounds reached Serena’s ears, voices carried on the wind.

  “Find them!”

  “They couldn’t have gone far!”

  Her heart lurched. She turned back, and they were gone.

  The forest vanished with them. Light flooded her vision. Serena now stood in an open field beneath the full light of day. Before her stretched a vast expanse of bluish-purple flowers, their petals swaying gently in the breeze. A narrow path cut through the field, winding toward the horizon. Someone stood to her right. A man, clad in simple light armor, much like the kind displayed in the gallery. His dark hair was unkempt, stopping just short of his shoulders. He faced away from her, gazing out across the flowers. When he spoke, his voice was gentle and steady.

  “I made it, Aldana,” he said. “I’ve reached Ambria.”

  He stepped forward, following the path through the field, a sword resting quietly in its scabbard upon his back. Serena tried to follow, but a sudden tug at her shoulder pulled her back.

  “Serena!”

  The voice grew louder, more urgent. The field dissolved, the colors bleeding away, until she was standing once more in the royal gallery. Edmund stood before her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

  “Serena,” he called again. “Are you all right?”

  Her head dipped. Her hand slipped away from the sword.

  She turned to face him and slowly lifted her gaze. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks. Her lips parted, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Who is… Aldana?”