Morning dawned not with sorrow, but with solemn strength. For though Caelgard had fallen and the Keeper's sword lay shattered beneath crumbled stone, Artherion did not mourn.
Artherion could not mourn.
Not because they did not love, but because they were eternal.
And eternity does not weep.
It burns brighter.
From the towering halls of the capital citadel, the banners of Elyrion unfurled wider, catching light that did not come from the sun. The knights who walked those polished marble floors did so with a silence heavy not with grief, but with preparation.
There were whispers.
Not of defeat.
But of the Rift.
And the one who now stood poised to bear it.
---
I stood alone beneath one of the flowering arches of the east wing veranda. I felt the morning wind tousled my long black hair, and the blue rose Prince Lucien had given me still rested above my ear, a vibrant contrast against my gray maid's attire. I fixed my hazel eyes were fixed on the distant hills that bordered the fallen Caelgard. The skies above them remained cloaked in unnatural ash.
Behind me, two servant girls passed in hushed gossip. I could hear fragments of their words.
"...heard she danced with him..."
"...they say he chose her, not even Vaeloria..."
"...I would have fainted if he looked at me like that..."
They were silenced by the approach of a figure. Sir Galemund, a knight of Elyrion's court, clad in ceremonial silver, stopped just beside me. I shivered.
"You walk the halls like one of noble blood," he said, though without reproach.
"I clean them just the same," I replied calmly, not facing him.
"Why are you still here?" he asked. "Surely Princess Vaeloria would summon you back to Dravenguard by now. The court believes the dance was a spectacle, but nothing more."
I finally turned to meet his gaze. My voice felt softer now. It was like a breath.
"She sent me here."
Galemund arched a brow.
"She requested I remain in Artherion to 'serve the royal family in her stead.' It was said with sweet words and scented scrolls, but I know what it meant. She hoped the grandeur of this place would crush me. That I would falter in the face of its nobility, or better still, be shamed and sent back in disgrace.
She also means this act to be a gesture of her concern in order to win Prince Lucien's favour."
Galemund looked thoughtful. "And yet you haven't."
"She underestimates how often humility teaches resilience."
"You speak well for a maid."
"I listened much before I ever dared to speak."
Galemund gave a faint smile.
"The truth?" Mirelleth said, glancing again toward the horizon. "She wants me here, in the heart of Artherion. To be seen, and forgotten. To be paraded before princes and nobles until they tire of me. She believes I am a blemish easily outshone. But the more I serve, the more the court stares. And stares. And stares."
"And does that not bother you?"
"Only when they stop."
---
Far to the south, the Rift pulsed.
Buried deep in the earth where magic bent and time grew thin, the ancient scar of creation, sealed by King Elyrion's word, shivered in the dark.
The fall of Caelgard had not broken Artherion's walls, niether had it trembled the balance.
For the Rift, balance was everything.
It awakened slowly. Like a breath drawn beneath centuries of silence. And in that breath… it called.
To Lucien.
To the one forged not only of royal blood, but divine fire.
He stood at the Rift's threshold, alone.
Before him, the gate. wrought from ancient roots and stone, glowed faintly with inscriptions no longer spoken.
The Knight stood in silence some distance behind, watching with a quiet reverence.
Lucien raised a hand.
The gate pulsed.
He did not step forward.
Not yet.
This was not his moment to breach it. Only to feel it.
"It calls," Lucien murmured.
"It stirs," the Knight agreed. "But it is not ready."
"Or I am not."
The Knight said nothing.
A wind passed between them. Faint, but unmistakably ancient.
Lucien turned back toward the city. "Then let us prepare them."
---
And above the city, high in the royal observatory, King Elyrion sat upon his throne of stone and flame, his eyes closed.
The moonlight danced across his crown like ripples on the sea.
From the chamber's shadows, Seer Eldrath approached and bowed.
"It is beginning," the old man whispered.
"I know."
"They will try to unmake what you forged."
Elyrion's eyes opened. They gleamed with ancient gold.
"Let them try."
And far below, Mirelleth looked up toward the same moonlight, brushing a hand unconsciously over her chest.
Where, under her servant's robes, a warmth had begun to pulse.
As if something inside her was stirring.
Something that should never have been.