The colossal doors of the Ivory Bone Hall groaned heavily as they were pushed open, shattering the gloomy silence that usually shrouded the throne room.

  However, the one who stepped inside was not a warlord bearing bad tidings, nor an old politician with a sour, wrinkled face.

  It was Aira.

  Her presence instantly altered the atmosphere of the cold, rigid room. The young girl stepped inside with a tempo far faster than sluggish palace protocol. Her footsteps were light, almost like a little dance upon the hard marble floor.

  Her energy overflowed, warm and alive. As if a ray of spring sun had recklessly burst into a dark ice cave.

  Her soft, straight hair was tied high behind her head. With every step, the ponytail bounced along, fluttering cheerfully in the air, sweeping her back with a hypnotic rhythm. Fine strands escaping their bonds framed her radiant face, utterly undisturbed by the intimidating aura of Ironseat—the cold iron throne where King George resided.

  Her priestess robes, which on others might look stiff and restrictive, looked charming on her body. The clean white fabric embroidered with gold thread rustled softly, expanding and contracting with her dynamic movements. Instead of looking like a somber nun, she looked like a lively white dove.

  The stone-faced guards seemed to soften slightly watching her pass. It was hard not to feel a little more alive when Aira passed by with a smile that seemed to have endless stock.

  She walked straight toward the center of the hall, her clear eyes instantly locking onto King George. No hesitation, no trembling fear. Only sincere respect mixed with pure enthusiasm.

  Right in front of the stairs leading to the throne, Aira stopped her steps smoothly. Her heels clicked together.

  She bowed her body—a gesture of respect that was deep and technically perfect, yet performed fluidly without burden. Her right hand touched her left breast, while her robes spread beautifully on the floor around her feet.

  When she raised her face again, the warm smile was still etched there, challenging the frozen visage of the King.

  "Warm greetings to the Sun of the Kingdom," her voice was clear and loud, echoing off the ivory bone walls. "This servant presents herself, Your Majesty King George."

  Aira watched the King’s stiff face slowly soften, replaced by a small nod and a rare sincere smile. That was enough for her as unwritten permission.

  Without waiting for a formal command, Aira swung her legs forward again. She casually crossed the black marble line—a forbidden zone that, according to palace rules, no one could cross without special permission.

  "Watch your step, Lady!"

  The shout of a guard echoed loud and firm. A steel spear was slammed onto the floor, creating a deafening warning clang that bounced sharply off the ivory bone walls.

  However, Aira didn't even glance. Her step didn't falter a bit.

  "Let her..."

  King George’s voice sounded low, but possessed absolute authority that cut the air tension instantly. The King’s hand raised slightly, casually signaling his guard to stand down and lower the weapon.

  Getting the green light, Aira’s smile widened. She quickened her movement. The girl didn't just walk; she strolled. Her body felt light as cotton, as if the gravity pressing heavily inside this gloomy hall didn't apply to her at all. With movements almost like a small dance—lithe and full of joy—she ascended the steps toward the Ironseat throne.

  King George, the ruler feared by many, slowly rose from his cold iron seat to welcome the girl.

  Without a shred of hesitation, Aira threw herself directly into the King’s embrace.

  Instantly, she was enveloped in safety. Aira’s cheek pressed against the King’s royal robe. Her sense of touch was instantly spoiled by the texture of the royal velvet fabric—its surface so soft, the pile thick, radiating warmth that contrasted sharply with the cold palace air. It felt like hugging a cozy fireplace in the middle of a snowstorm.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  However, as Aira tightened her hug around the King’s waist, behind the thick layers of luxurious velvet, she could feel something else.

  The body beneath the robe felt frail. His ribs felt hard protruding when Aira hugged him.

  Aira looked up slightly, still clinging to her uncle’s chest, staring at the gaunt face with eyebrows furrowed in protest.

  "Uncle must eat more," she scolded, her voice slightly muffled by the robe fabric but sounding spoiled yet worried. "Uncle is so thin... feels like just bones."

  Silence for a moment in the hall, before finally the King’s shoulders shook.

  "Hahahaha!"

  King George’s laughter exploded freely, not the polite laugh of a king, but the crisp laugh of an uncle amused by his niece's behavior. His large, thin, pale hand reached out, landing on the top of Aira’s head, then stroking and slightly ruffling the girl’s hair with deep affection.

  Aira released her hug, then took a step back. She looked at her uncle with lips deliberately pursed, pretending to sulk spoiledly.

  "Uncle has no gift for me?" she protested, hands on hips playfully. "I came from far away, you know..."

  King George smiled crookedly, waving his hand casually toward a side door behind the throne. "Choose as you wish. Enter the treasure room, take any gem, gold, or artifact you like."

  Aira tapped her index finger on her chin, eyes twinkling mischievously as if weighing a lucrative business offer.

  "Yeah yeah... some treasures are interesting, Uncle," she murmured, then she grinned wide, bringing her face closer with a naughty whispering tone. "But... what if I ask for William? Hehehe..."

  Silence for a split second before King George’s laughter exploded louder than before.

  "Hahahaha!"

  The King’s laughter echoed to the hall ceiling, making the stiffly standing guards jump slightly in shock.

  "That..." King George wiped the corner of his eye watering from laughter, breath gasping in amusement. "That is something even a King finds very hard to fulfill, Aira. I cannot wrap him in a gift box for you."

  The King looked at Aira with amusement, then pointed at the girl. "You must take and seize William yourself with your own hands. Hahahaha..."

  King George shook his head, remembering something. "Rahessa is talented with such things," he added while chuckling, as if imagining his other daughter. "She knows how to get what she wants."

  Aira chuckled along hearing the comment, amused imagining the little rivalry. However, slowly her laughter subsided. Her cheerful face turned a bit more serious, though the gleam in her eyes remained alive.

  "Uncle," she called, her tone now lowering slightly. "The situation is heating up. I heard tomorrow morning Lady Reine will lead a meeting with journalists. I want to join and be present there..."

  King George stared at his niece intently. No furrow of refusal on his forehead. Instead, a proud smile carved itself onto the gaunt face.

  "Who forbids a beautiful girl like you from coming to such an event, Aira?" King George replied with a liberating tone.

  He spread his arms wide, as if surrendering his entire palace to the young girl. "Go wherever you like in this Ironseat. In this entire Crownbelt, not a single door or guard can hold you back."

  The atmosphere of crisp laughter slowly subsided, replaced by calmer family warmth. King George looked at his niece with a gentle gaze.

  "And that Eccentric Priestess..." The King started his sentence with a soft questioning tone. "How is your mother?"

  Aira chuckled, eyes crinkling mischievously. She pumped her right fist into the air with spirit.

  "Mother is combat ready, hehe," she answered swiftly without a shred of doubt. "Of course, her condition is excellent. Her energy might be even more overflowing than mine."

  King George smiled thinly, looking relieved to hear the news. However, the smile didn't last long before his expression changed into something far deeper and contemplative. He sighed long, as if releasing the burden of history from his chest.

  "If you have spare time before the chaos begins..." the King’s voice lowered, "Visit the Sagara Temple."

  Aira fell silent, listening intently. She saw a change in her uncle’s gaze.

  King George’s eyes no longer looked at Aira’s face, nor at the cold hall walls. His gaze drifted far, piercing the physical space of Ironseat. He seemed to be looking at something hovering far above stacks of thick history books—seeing a past unwritten in ink.

  "There are forgotten traces there," the King murmured, almost whispering to himself. "About Lavin... Rahessa... and Sagara..."

  The mention of those names sounded heavy and sacred on the King’s tongue. There was longing, there was bitterness, but also deep respect. As if those three names were keys to a secret door locked tight all this time.

  Aira felt the weight of that sentence. Her cheerful side receded for a moment, replaced by silent understanding. She didn't ask 'why' or 'what for'.

  The girl just stared at her uncle intently, then nodded slowly and firmly. A silent promise that she would go there.

  King George leaned his body slightly closer, his voice now turning into a raspy whisper full of pleading, as if he were no longer a king giving orders to his subject, but an old man begging his courier.

  "If you go there..." his sunken eyes stared straight into Aira’s eyes. "Deliver this message to the old priest guarding that place."

  The King swallowed with difficulty, his protruding Adam's apple moving up and down.

  "Tell him... the King misses him," George whispered, voice cracking with emotion held back for decades. "Say, before this King dies, I want to see my brother's face one more time."

  The grip of the King’s hand on Aira’s shoulder tightened slightly, desperate.

  "Or my spirit will never rest."

  Aira’s chest felt tight hearing that sentence. A sentence so fatalistic, as if her uncle was already counting days. Her cheerful smile vanished completely, replaced by lines of sincere sadness. She held her uncle’s cold hand.

  "Uncle..." she hissed softly, a gentle protest so the King wouldn't speak of death.