One Month Later
Western Aetherion
The morning sun rose from the misty valleys that veiled the east of Aetherion, casting its light upon the colossal trunk of the Adam Tree.
Near this mighty tree stood the Valhiran Sword Academy, built of stone walls, a towering spire, and gates reinforced with mana, as if it waited there solely to test the resolve of its students.
Dozens of children from distant lands advanced toward the academy, luggage in hand. On some faces gleamed excitement and pride, while on others lingered hesitation and worry. Carriages bearing the colorful crests of noble houses lined the roadside, while students of common birth trudged along the dusty paths on foot.
As the students drew closer, thirteen colossal statues began to rise before them, standing on either side of the grand square. Each was carved from dark stone, cloaked in long robes, with faces etched in stern, shadowed detail. All of them stood rigid, both hands gripping the hilts of swords driven deep into the earth.
These were no ordinary statues. They were none other than the Thirteen Swords of Valhiran—the pride of the royal army. Chosen from among the most distinguished graduates of the academy, these warriors had altered the kingdom's fate time and again, etching their names into history through triumphs and sacrifices alike.
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Amid the depths of the mighty tree, its trunk rising in vivid green, its branches adorned with leaves that shimmered in golden-orange hues, stood the resplendent palace…
Inside a carriage just outside, Elaris, the red-haired daughter of High Royal Council President Eldorin Faeloria, sat in silence. She wore a black uniform over a white shirt. Its collars were trimmed in gray and white, and three silver buttons were neatly fastened like loops. On her right ear glimmered a small silver earring, crafted with delicate workmanship to resemble an orchid. Her gaze rested patiently outside; yet within her heart stirred a faint unrest, and in her mind lingered but a single name: Lucenor.
The carriage was surrounded by six royal guards. Each bore shining steel armor, draped with dark blue cloaks, and upon their chests gleamed the royal emblem in silver. Their long spears stood upright in disciplined stillness, their eyes fixed firmly on the horizon. The sound of hooves mingled with the clinking of armor, echoing in the silence like a heavy resonance.
Among the guards and attendants approaching the carriage, Lucenor's eyes caught sight of a man striding in from the gate, walking with a carefree air and a sly smile. Beneath his black-and-white robe he wore a white leather tunic. The robe was clasped with a single button, its collar raised yet orderly. From the robe's sides hung long divided fabrics, fluttering with the wind. Their edges were black, their surface white, and within them silver embroidery traced curling lines like the branches of a tree.
Upon the left side of his chest was an emblem: two swords crossed, their hilts pointing left and right, encircled by upward-reaching golden branches. The blades were white, the rest black. His tousled hair fell to his neck, its shade a light brown. Drawing closer to the prince, he withdrew his hands from his pockets, slipped off his silver-white gloves, and extended his hand. Lucenor reached to meet it, and the man smiled.
"It has been a long time, Your Majesty."
Maintaining his steady gaze, Lucenor replied,
"Indeed… You have been absent from Aetherion for three years. I even heard you joined the armies of the western kingdoms."
The man smiled lightly.
"I must admit, the spring festivals in the West are something else. However… I could hardly attend them. I was often sent on cross-border operations. Hm… and I suppose I am fortunate not to be among the dead. Haha. Perhaps my survival has proven useful—at least diplomatically. Not that I claim to understand such matters."
Glancing at the carriage by the roadside, he said,
"You've come of age to begin your schooling. In three years, I might offer you some advice—truly… I am speaking of the feeling of being in the arms of that church's Goddess. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must speak with your father and deliver my report."
Lucenor frowned, his expression darkening.
"Cross-border…" he muttered.
And then he watched as Zarqen Ashtorne, one of Valhiran's Thirteen Swords, departed. With his aide at his side, Lucenor turned once more toward his carriage.