Solvane sat on a mossy rock beneath the canopy of ancient oaks, his legs stretched out leisurely in front of him, the cool earth grounding his weary body. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and distant rain, a welcome contrast to the steamy chaos of the bathhouse he'd barely escaped. In his hand, he turned over the strange artifact—the Timepiece—inspecting it with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. It looked utterly unimpressive, just a dull, weathered stone the size of his palm, with faded runes etched haphazardly across its surface. If this was supposed to be some ancient royal relic passed down through generations of Asperion kings, it was doing a terrible job of looking majestic. No gleam of gold, no intricate jewels—just a plain, unassuming rock that could easily be mistaken for something plucked from a riverbed.
Filin stood nearby, his arms folded tightly across his chest, watching the young prince with the weary patience of someone who'd witnessed too many cryptic prophecies unfold and endured far too few nights of uninterrupted sleep. His eyes, sharp despite his age, flicked between Solvane and the artifact, as if expecting it to reveal some hidden truth at any moment. The old man's cloak was still dusted with bits of debris from the palace roof, a reminder of how close they'd come to disaster.
"So you're saying this thing doesn't do anything?" Solvane asked, squinting at the runes as he held the stone up to the moonlight, hoping perhaps the pale glow would illuminate some secret pattern.
Filin nodded thoughtfully, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Not exactly," he replied, his voice gravelly from the earlier chase. "Its main purpose is to confirm royal blood. That's it. No glowing lights, no dramatic music swelling in the background, no explosions of power to vanquish your enemies. Just... quiet confirmation. It's subtle, like the whisper of fate rather than a thunderclap."
Solvane blinked, lowering the stone and staring at Filin with a bemused expression. "That's it? It's basically a glorified ID card? Something to flash at the gates of the afterlife to prove I'm not some commoner sneaking in?"
Filin chuckled softly, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet woods. "A very ancient, very exclusive ID card," he corrected, unfolding his arms to gesture vaguely at the artifact. "The runes are written in a sacred language taught only to those of royal lineage. If you can read it—truly understand and invoke it—you're legit. No forgeries, no tricks. It's bound to the blood of Asperion."
Solvane tilted the stone this way and that, watching the shadows play across the etchings. He traced one rune with his fingertip, feeling a faint warmth that might have been his imagination. "So when I said that phrase earlier—'From the flame of Asperion, born of the eternal light, I summon the shield of divinity'—Roxanne bowed because she recognized it? Like it triggered some royal alarm in her head?"
Filin paused, his brow furrowing as he considered his words carefully. Then he nodded slowly, his gaze drifting to the ground where fallen leaves rustled in the breeze. "Yes. But not because she knows the language herself. Whoever entrusted her with the Timepiece—likely a high advisor or a guardian of the old ways—must've told her the exact phrase to listen for. She memorized it, drilled it into her mind like a soldier memorizes battle formations. It's like a password, a key to unlock trust in the most dire moments."
Solvane raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite the lingering ache in his ribs. His golden fur, a natural part of him since birth, caught the moonlight subtly, reminding him of his heritage even as he questioned it. "So she's basically been walking around with a magical rock and a cheat code? Handed down like some family recipe for disaster?"
"Pretty much," Filin admitted with a wry grin, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "In times of uncertainty, when the throne is threatened or imposters rise, relics like this keep the bloodline pure. Roxanne's role as a guard captain probably includes safeguarding such items, waiting for the true heir to prove themselves."
Solvane stared at the artifact again, turning it over in his hands as if willing it to reveal more. His body, always resilient due to his Asper lineage, was healing even faster than usual—the bruises from Roxanne's grip fading like morning mist. He flexed his fingers, noting the absence of pain. "And you're sure it doesn't do anything else? No secret powers lurking in the shadows? No hidden compartments that pop open with a twist? No dramatic transformation into a flaming sword that could actually help me fight off a horde of angry bathhouse warriors?"
Filin chuckled again, this time a deeper, more genuine laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Some say it has other purposes," he conceded, leaning against a nearby tree trunk for support. "Legends whisper of a secret lock that hasn't been figured out yet—perhaps a way to summon ancestral spirits or glimpse echoes of the past. Or maybe it's just a very fancy paperweight, gathering dust in royal vaults until moments like this. Either way, that's all I know from the old scrolls and tales I've pieced together over the years."
Solvane sighed deeply, the weight of the night settling on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. He tossed the stone up into the air, watching it spin lazily before catching it with a casual flick of his wrist. "Great. I'm the crown prince, confirmed by a rock that does nothing spectacular, chased by sword-wielding women who nearly turned me into a pincushion, and now I'm stuck with an old man who thinks a thirty-minute sprint through the gardens is character development. What a life."
Filin grinned wider, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "You're welcome, Your Majesty. Consider it my contribution to your royal education—endurance builds empires, or so they say."
Solvane stood up abruptly, brushing off his cloak with exaggerated flair, dislodging bits of moss and dirt. His golden fur rippled slightly with the movement, a subtle shimmer that spoke of his innate strength. "Well, if this thing ever decides to do something useful—like summon a royal army to my side, cook up a hearty breakfast, or at least point me toward a decent bed for the night—let me know. Otherwise, it's just dead weight."
Filin nodded sagely, his expression turning a touch more serious. "I'll keep my ears open for any whispers from the ancients. But don't get your hopes up too high. It's been quiet for the last few centuries, content to play its role in the shadows."
Just then, as if mocking their conversation, the Timepiece emitted a faint *click* sound, like the subtle snap of a lock engaging or a gear shifting in some hidden mechanism.
Solvane froze mid-step, his eyes widening in surprise. Filin leaned in closer, his breath catching as he peered at the artifact.
They both stared at it intently, the woods around them falling into an expectant hush. The runes seemed to catch the moonlight differently now, almost pulsing with a subtle energy—or was it a trick of the light?
Nothing happened. No burst of magic, no visions, no revelations. Just silence.
Solvane narrowed his eyes, holding the stone up to his ear as if listening for more. "Did it just... fart? Or is that the sound of ancient disappointment?"
Filin shrugged, straightening up with a bemused shake of his head. "Ancient magic is mysterious, lad. It reveals itself on its own terms, not ours. Could be a sign, could be nothing. Best not to poke it too hard."
Solvane tucked the Timepiece securely into his belt, groaning in exasperation. "I swear, if this thing turns out to be a glorified mood ring that changes colors based on my frustration levels, I'm throwing it into the nearest volcano. Let some lava god deal with it."
Filin patted his shoulder reassuringly, his touch firm and paternal. "That's the royal spirit, Your Majesty.