I had grown up within these halls for as long as memory allowed — which was practically forever. They were radiant, sacred, alive. The walls shimmered with golden light, etched with stories that danced when the sun touched them. The air used to hum with warmth, like a lullaby sung by angels. But today, everything felt wrong. The air was thick, sour, and still — like the breath of something buried. It clung to my skin, crawled into my lungs, and whispered warnings I couldn't decipher. The walls no longer told stories. They murmured in a tongue I didn't recognize… yet somehow knew. It wasn't just ancient. It was intimate. Familiar in a way that made my bones itch. The hallway that once echoed with laughter now pulsed with wails and agony. Lost souls drifted through the corridors, not hostile, but hollow — whispering fragments of knowledge into my ears. Words I did not understand. Truths I was not ready to hold. They made no sense, and yet they stirred something quiet inside me. Not hunger… Not yet. Just a pull — a question without form. The pillars, once proud and blooming with delicate flowers, now stood pale and bloodstained, their roots drinking from something far darker than soil. The murals had faded into shadows. The silence was no longer peaceful — it was watching me. Everything around me urged me to flee. But I didn't. I stayed. Because even in the confusion, even in the dread, I listened. I listened to what should not have been spoken.
I walked through a garden that had once been a sanctuary — a place of grace, carved by gentle hands and nurtured by love. My mother's love. Every vine, every petal, every blade of grass had once bloomed under her care, radiant with warmth and divine intention. The garden sang in colors — soft yellows, deep blues, the kind that made you believe the gods still watched. But now, that song had changed. The elegance remained, but it was hollow. The vines curled like mourning ribbons, the petals dulled to ash. As I moved further into the garden, the flowers that arched to the warmest of touch now coiled in fear as they turned away, completely, terrified of the warmth.
The grass, in the heart of the garden — a clearing which welcomed the moon's glow, was brittle and gray, untouched by sun or rain, untouched by hope. The spirits here didn't whisper like those in the palace. They sang. Not of power or prophecy, but of dreams denied, of lives unlived. Their melody was haunting, yet strangely beautiful — a song of longing that reached into the marrow. And as I sat among the withered blades, I felt something stir beneath the soil. A pulse. Faint, steady, ancient. I listened. I let the song of the dead wash over me, and without meaning to, I began to hum. The tune slipped from my lips like breath, and in that moment, I understood: their sorrow was not the same as the palace's agony. It was softer, more humane. A spark still lived in their song — a flicker of light fighting to survive inside broken vessels. The melodies of the palace and the garden were different, yet they did not clash. They coexisted, like dusk and night, like memory and dream. No envy. No tension. And that was what unsettled me most. If the air trembled, if the ground beneath me shivered, it wasn't because of them. It was because something else — something older, deeper, and far more dangerous — had begun to stir. And I had already begun to answer its call.
…
"My Lord," the servant intoned, bowing deeply. His immaculate white garments were fastened with a gleaming golden sash.
He turned, his eyes pale. "Stephan, is that you?"
"Yes, my lord…" Stephan looked up, wondering why he asked. He jerked back surprised upon what he saw. "My Prince… Your eyes…"
He sighed. "Stephan, do not act new to this." He sat back down.
"My lord, should you not seek the Royal Physician's help? I am afraid you might lose your sight." Stephan said, worried.
"I value your concern," he said, his tone grave, "but it's far too dangerous. The Royal Physician owes his loyalty to the queen alone. Seeking his help would be the same as confessing everything to her—and that, I cannot risk."
"You still do not want her majesty to know?" Stephan asked.
He inclined his head. "Her Majesty is already weighed down with matters of the kingdom. I would not trouble her with something so minor," he said, standing. "Has she summoned me?"
Stephan dipped his head. "Indeed, my lord. The queen has summoned you and your brothers to join her for breakfast."
"Breakfast? With the family? Must be something serious." He sighed.
"Will my lord be okay?"
"I'm not a weak kitten anymore, Stephan," he said, his smile tight and unconvincing. "And if it gets out of control… you'll step in, won't you?"
With swift steps, Stephan reached him, nodding fiercely. "I swear it, my lord—I'll defend you to my dying breath."
He finally chuckled. "You?" Then he shook his head. "Thank you, Stephan. Shall we…?"
Stephan nodded then bowed. "Yes, my lord."
As they walked, Stephan could tell that something was off with his master. "My lord, are you nervous?" Stephan asked from behind him.
"Nervous? About what?"
"Your brother's…"
"But you already asked."
"I did but…" He began to fidget with the hem of his cloth a nervous habit he developed whenever he confront the prince with worry.
"They can't harm me with her majesty around you and even if they try, I have you by my side to save the day as always." He smiled.
They arrived before a towering golden door—though, truth be told, every door in the palace bore the same regal hue. What set them apart were the intricate carvings etched into their surfaces, each one a silent storyteller. Like the murals on the walls and the embroidered curtains, these carvings whispered tales of old—tales cloaked in mystery, known only to the Flame of Dawn, Aureon, and the radiant, wise Queen Nyara.
The doors slowly opened, revealing a grand and spacious dining hall. At its heart lay a massive table, encircled by chairs carved from trees that once grew deep within an ancient forest. The wood still carried the scent of fresh air and serenity, as if the forest itself had followed them inside.
"Ah, Prince Lucen, welcome. Join us." Queen Nyara invited, her voice soft like an echo in a dense forest full of life.
He bowed and sat down across the dining table, directly facing Her Highness. The air between them was thick with tension, the quiet almost deafening.
"Solmir, the Flame of Law, son of Orion," Queen Nyara began.
"Caelir, the Silent Star, son of Lyra.
Aurelian, the Crown of Noon, son of Leo.
Veyr, the Keeper of Echoes, son of Cepheus.
Thalos, the Prism Healer, son of Aquarius.
Nerai, the Swan of Reflection, son of Cygnus.
Eiran, the Blade of Dawn, son of Perseus.
Serith, the Gilded Mask, son of Cassiopeia.
Malren, the Warden of Radiance, son of Draco.
Zareth, the Dreaming Flame, son of Andromeda.
Kairen, the Ember Reborn, son of Phoenix.
Tirien, the Shield of Glory, son of Hercules.
And Lucen, the Light that Blinds.
My sons, let me begin by welcoming you all back home from your exploits."
"We humbly accept, Queen Nyara." The brothers responded in unison.
"How are the affairs of the palace, my queen?" Solmir asked, bowing his head.
"Fine and well attended to, Son of Orion," Queen Nyara said, her gaze steady. "I assumed your question stemmed from curiosity—wondering why I summoned you and your brothers here."
"Yes, my queen." Solmir answered.
"Solara has received word from Noxmere…" Queen Nyara began, her introduction alerting the brothers as Lucen continued to play with his food.
"It was with regards to The Soulborne Academy. They sent a command to enroll Noxmere's treasure, Princess Nyrael, The Duskflower Unmarked, Daughter of the Null-light."
The brothers' heads turned in surprise, hoping that they misheard what the queen had just said.
"What? Why, my queen?" Solmir asked surprised.
"For that, I can not tell. Son of Cepheus, has anything come up?"
"No, my queen. My visions have been distorted since the last one…" He said with a tinge in his tone as the brothers turned to face Lucen who was now busy creating a fork castle, Stephan helping him set up the forks, carefully and steadily.
Solmir rolled his eyes before turning to Queen Nyara. "Why now? Noxmere has ruled over us for decades, what pushed them to make such a decision?"
"I do not know for certain but if I were to make a guess, Noxmere might not trust us entirely to run an academy. They may believe that we are raising an army which is not the case." Queen Nyara explained.
"What if the academy is raising students who would rebel against Noxmere, my queen?" Caelir speculated. "After all, Noxmere has ruled over Solara for eons yet they seek to enroll a student, none other than the Daughter of the Null-light, now? Noxmere might have heard something."
"Who would be stupid enough to go against the queen's orders to plan such a thing?" Nerai asked.
"People who are fed up of being oppressed by Noxmere. People who still believe that their queen has turned against them." Lucen answered focusing intensely on adding some final touches on his fork castle.
"Lucen, how dare you speak disrespectfully in the presence the queen." Aurelian roared.
Lucen rolled his eyes. "Oh, please… you did not expect to me to attend this family reunion and keep my mouth shut when something is this obvious."
"You Brat!" Aurelian was ready to lunge to give him a piece of mind, with fists, when Caelir stopped him, fixing his glasses like a nerdy villain straight from a manga series.
"Can you not see that your brothers remain quiet while the eldest talk or it's because you think you are special — important, formed by the delusions of your shallow mind trying desperately to hide your pitiful loneliness?" Caelir said in a voice so soft but toxic.
Lucen began to fume, trying so hard to keep his cool.
"You are nothing but the worthless unknown. Know your place." Caelir continued with a victorious chuckle.
"Enough!" Queen Nyara's voice rang sharp across the hall. "I did not summon you all to witness another one of your petty exchanges." Her gaze swept the table like a blade. "I've called you here because I have made a decision—Lucen will be enrolled in the Soulborne Academy."
The room erupted
Glasses shattered. Food flew. Gasps burst from the mouths of stunned maids. Shock rippled across the table, freezing every face in place.
"HUH?!" the brothers cried in unison, their heads snapping toward the boy at the far end of the table.
Lucen sat frozen, clutching the towering fork palace centerpiece as if shielding it from the chaos.
"Why are you staring?" he asked, his eyes flicking from face to face.
"Thirteen lights, born beneath the Crown of Dawn. Twelve will rise. One will burn. And only the veiled flame shall remain;
Crowned by the dead, desired by the living — the soul that walks between shall break the silence and burn the dawn."