The sun, a fiery orb the color of polished gold, clawed its way above the eastern peaks, bleeding warmth across Solaris. Its light—Helios's divine gift—kissed the spires of the Royal Palace, painting the white marble in hues of apricot and rose.
Solaris, the "Kingdom of Light," stood as a beacon of faith and prosperity. Its very foundations were steeped in the Helisic Church's unwavering devotion to the sun god Helios, the First Flame, the Bringer of Order. Here, every stone seemed to hum with belief, and every citizen, from noble to commoner, lived in service to divine grace.
Inside Prince Johan's private chambers, the air—still cool with the lingering breath of night—carried the scent of beeswax polish and something sharper: a faint, metallic tang from his recent training."His silver hair, neatly cut to a modest length, rested just above the collar."The robe was predominantly white, symbolizing purity and light, yet subtle threads of deep black and blue were woven into the intricate embroidery around the collar and cuffs—a quiet but deliberate symbol of the rare azure flames that burned within him. His morning wash basin, crafted from polished stone, held water kept perfectly warm by a faint, internal glow—a simple magic tool for princely comfort.
His golden eyes, radiant with the bloodline blessed by Helios, stared back at him from the polished bronze mirror. He traced the faint scar above his left brow—a souvenir from a particularly aggressive sparring session a year ago, a mark that had faded with time. He took a deep breath. A long day to go.
"Young Master Johan," came Sir Kael's voice through the heavy oak door—gruff, but respectful. "The procession for Helios's Dawn is forming. His Majesty awaits."
Johan adjusted the leather bracer on his wrist. "Tell him I am ready."
He smoothed his tunic, making sure not a single crease marred its pristine surface.
The royal family traveled together in a grand carriage, moving through Soria, the kingdom's capital. Unlike its usual bustling flow of merchants hawking their wares and guards patrolling with their blades and the sound of blacksmith's hammer, the streets were now transformed for the procession. Banners bearing Helios's golden fire and stylized flames fluttered from every window. The scent of burning incense and hymns to Helios drifted through the city. People lined the streets, their faces upturned, eyes shining with devotion. As the carriage passed, Johan's gaze briefly snagged on a small, shadowed alcove where a crude wooden cage held a few figures, their eyes hollow, their bodies marked by the faint shimmer of binding runes. Shaman slaves—minorities from the eastern plains—rare and mistrusted, yet tolerated under close watch. The carriage rolled on, the cheers of the crowd drowning out any silent pleas.
Chants, low and reverent, began to ripple through the crowd, rising into a unified "Om-ma-Helios, Om-ma-Helios!" The Grand Basilica of Helios loomed in the distance, its immense spires piercing the sky and shimmering with captured sunlight.
The Basilica was a marvel of faith and craftsmanship. Its colossal white marble façade gleamed, adorned with intricate reliefs that told the sacred mythos—each wall a chapter carved in stone. They began with the Age of Shadows, a time when the world was a cold, formless void, and monstrous hordes, birthed from the deepest abysses, roamed unchecked, devouring every nascent spark of life. Then came the First Spark of Creation, the glorious birth of the sun, and Helios's cataclysmic war. His eyes filled with fury was etched in the very stone: the fire he gifted us, guiding us to slay the demons, and the light he bestowed to banish the ever-engulfing night.
The final panels depicted the triumphant, yet ever-vigilant, banishment of that vast, primordial darkness that had once threatened to consume the very sun. Even in glory, the Scourge of Shadows lingered, a festering wound upon the world, a constant reminder of the price of their god's harrowing victory and humanity's inherent arrogance.
At the grand altar stood Pope Innocent IV, his kind smile now a thin, taut line, his eyes blazing with an almost terrifying fervor. His voice, no longer merely resonant, boomed through the vast space.
"Today, on Helios's Dawn, we celebrate the First Light—the moment our glorious creator, the First Flame, violently ripped existence from the grip of the suffocating Void! He granted us fire and light—not as gentle gifts, but as scorching instruments of holy cleansing!
For the shadows still crawl! They breed foul, blasphemous things that slither from forgotten pits, a festering blight upon creation! They are the creeping abominations, the parasitic horrors that seek to extinguish the very soul of our sun, to plunge Solaris back into that primordial and those monster-haunted night's!
We, the devout of Solaris, are Helios's righteous fury, his burning sword forged in divine flame! We shall not rest! We shall not falter! Every cursed pest, every twisted creature, every speck of that ancient, heretical darkness will be PURGED!
We will burn them from our blessed lands until only the pure, unblemished light of Helios remains!
Death to the shadows! Death to the darkness! LONG LIVE SOLARIS!"
The rituals unfolded: the lighting of sacred flames, the chanting of ancient hymns, now a desperate, thundering roar, and the synchronized whoosh as thousands of worshippers knelt in unison, their faces contorted with a mixture of fear and frenzied devotion.
"I knelt with the crowd, but their chants felt like chains. Was this Helios's will—or theirs?"
After the ceremony, the royal family moved to a grand reception hall to mingle with nobles and esteemed guests. Johan, ever the charming young diplomat, found himself surrounded.
"Young Prince Johan, you have grown so much since our last encounter !" boomed Lord Valerius, a portly baron whose face was already flushed from celebratory wine.
"You flatter me, baron ," Johan replied with a polite smile. "And you, I'm pleased to see, are still cultivating such a... commanding presence."
Why the hell is he always drunk? he thought, accepting a goblet of sparkling wine as his golden gaze swept the room—always watching, always calculating.
Then she arrived.
Empress Estelle, clad in a gown the color of twilight, drifted through the crowd like a shadow. Her face was partially hidden behind an ornate fan. She moved with the grace of a predator.
"Prince Johan," her voice came smooth as polished ice. "You look remarkably well today. The ceremonial dress suits you."
Johan bowed with practiced grace. "Empress. And you, as always, are the embodiment of Solaris's beauty."
And its greed.
"Such sweet words," she purred, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "One might almost believe them. You've been quite busy lately, haven't you? Training, studying… always striving to please your father."
"Is that not what every child of the King should do? To serve the Crown—and in turn, Helios."
This bloody vixen, hiding her face to mask her fading looks.
"Indeed," Estelle said, her smile tightening. "Though some children have… more unique gifts. And more unique burdens."
Her gaze lingered on the dark threads in his tunic, then returned to his golden eyes.
A firm hand landed on Johan's shoulder.
"Empress," King Sirius III's voice was genial, but his gaze sharp. "Is everything to your satisfaction empress?"
Estelle's mask slipped for a fraction of a second. She curtsied. "Everything is splendid, Your Majesty. Prince Johan was just speaking of his duties to the crown."
With one last glance, she turned and glided away.
Johan bowed slightly. "Thank you, my king, for sparing my grace—though I remain an unfilial son."
Sirius chuckled. "Nonsense. If you truly were, you wouldn't be standing here now."
He gave Johan a small, genuine smile. "Ser Kael has nothing but praise for you, you know."
Johan let out a soft chuckle. "Don't jest, Your Majesty."
"If Kael isn't screaming, I consider it high praise." Sirius gave a dry laugh. Then his grip tightened—just enough to make Johan wince.
"Your brother has been helpful lately," the King said in a low voice. "Handling noble disputes has taken some burdens off my shoulders."
He leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I can't always protect you, my son."
And with that, he turned to greet the Pope, leaving Johan alone.
Johan took a deep breath and put his mask back on.
The show must go on.