Author: Loki<3
The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon, but the palace of Alvareth blazed brighter than ever.
Golden light spilled from every window. Musicians strummed harps enchanted to echo like starlight. Nobles, draped in silks and gemstones, sipped from crystal goblets and whispered in hushed tones. The air smelled of roses, spiced wine, and the heavy perfume of a thousand ambitions.
But none of them— none of them—were ready.
The doors to the Sun Hall opened with a soft hum of holy magic.
And then, she entered.
A hush swept across the entire ballroom. Even the chandeliers seemed to dim, only to let her light shine brighter.
Seraphina Everen Althas.
Saintess of the Holy Empire.
The Blessed Child of Solas.
The only daughter of House Althas, the most revered bloodline outside of royalty. A noble line said to descend from the first divine messenger, gifted with magic by the gods themselves.
Her presence wasn't just beautiful—it was commanding.
Golden hair, not too bright but kissed by the divine sun, curled gently down her back. Her eyes, a striking pale blue, glowed with a quiet power that made even seasoned mages falter. She wore a gown of ivory silk, embroidered with threads of pure gold, its pattern mimicking the rays of dawn. A white cloak edged with feathers rested on her shoulders, fastened by a brooch shaped like a sunburst.
She did not walk—she *glided*, as if the earth dared not weigh her down.
And when she paused at the entrance of the banquet, every noble instinctively lowered their heads—not from fear, but reverence.
"It's her…" someone whispered.
"The Saintess."
"She came herself."
"By the heavens, she's even more radiant than the stories said…"
The royal family stood from their thrones, visibly taken aback. Even Crown Prince Caius, despite all his poise, stared with the wide-eyed wonder of a child seeing a miracle for the first time.
But then—then—the room noticed something else.
Just one step behind her, clutching the edge of her cloak like a younger sibling afraid to be lost in the crowd, was a boy.
A young child, no more than seven.
Dressed in fine velvet tailored to perfection.
His golden hair, slightly tousled, shimmered under the light.
His pale blue eyes were wide and alert—gentle, but curious. Divine.
Too divine.
A collective ripple moved through the crowd like wind through leaves.
"Wait… who is that child?"
"Is he… is he hers?"
"He looks just like her!"
"A younger brother? But House Althas never had another heir."
"A secret child, perhaps? A son?"
"The resemblance is too perfect… they could be mirrored stars…"
The prince watched them both with quiet intensity. His jaw clenched, just barely.
The king leaned toward the queen, whispering something no one could hear.
And all the while, Seraphina smiled softly—graceful, untouchable.
Saying nothing.
Explaining nothing.
She allowed the whispers to grow. Allowed their curiosity to bloom.
And just before stepping further into the light, she turned slightly to the boy behind her and offered her hand.
He took it without hesitation.
And in that moment, it was no longer clear to the world who stood behind the Saintess of Light— a son? a brother? Or a storm the kingdom had yet to understand.
Time passed, yet the saintess remained composed, her silence carrying the weight of authority as though it were only natural that she had brought the boy, Auren, into the presence of royalty. She neither offered explanation nor apology, and in that stillness, the nobles' curiosity only deepened. Their gazes shifted restlessly between the Crown Prince upon the dais and the child who stood quietly at Seraphina's side.
Whispers stirred like restless winds through the great hall, hidden behind jeweled fans and lowered voices. At first, they remarked only upon the boy's unusual appearance — the striking golden hair and eyes of sky like blue tone. But as they studied him more closely, astonishment rippled through the gathering. The resemblance between Auren and Seraphina Everen Althas was undeniable. The delicate curve of his face, the arch of his brow, even the way the light seemed to cling to his form — it was as though the child were carved from the same mold as the saintess herself.
The nobles' imaginations, ever quick to weave rumor into scandal, began to wander. What if this boy was not of unknown origin at all? What if he was the saintess's own blood? Subtle looks were exchanged, and though none dared speak too loudly, the murmur of speculation swelled until it could no longer be ignored. Could the saintess, venerated as the chosen of the gods, truly have borne a son in secret? The thought was scandalous, yet intoxicating, and the nobility clung to it hungrily.
She was but twenty-five — still youthful, yet old enough that such whispers did not seem impossible. That the saintess would bring this boy openly, without fear of judgment, only fueled the fire of rumor further. And so, while Seraphina stood serene, the court of Alvareth drowned itself in speculation, their reverence for her mingling with doubt, awe, and envy.
They seemed to have forgotten the true purpose of the saintess's visit.