Aster Solace, eldest son of the Solace Kingdom, had never truly been one man.
From the cradle he learned that the world belonged to those who could smile while planning murder, bow while sharpening knives, and weep while laughing inside. While other boys bled in the training yard dreaming of knighthood, Aster watched.
He noticed the precise twitch at the corner of his father's mouth whenever he lied about loving his children. He caught the subtle dilation of the queen's pupils when a foreign envoy brought up war.
He observed the guards scratching their noses at the third bell, the maids sneaking glances at the fourth, and the nobles drinking themselves bold by the fifth.
By seven, he could stroll into any room and walk out carrying the mannerisms of anyone there.
He learned early that power wasn't the loudest sword or the brightest flame.
It was the quiet that followed when someone realized they'd already lost without even knowing it.
His awakening at sixteen marked the first break in the Solace bloodline's long decline.
For centuries, the royal line had dwindled to B-rank talents or worse, but on that day, he became the first to awaken an A-rank bloodline—one unseen in all their history.
Solace Bloodline of Noctis Solis.
Through is body ran the first mutation of their bloodline, stitched into his bones.
A soft silver-white light radiated from his skin like holy brilliance, yet a creeping black shadow trailed him, sometimes a heartbeat behind. The fire he summoned seemed angelic—pure and blinding—until it touched flesh, freezing the soul within.
The light he conjured was darker than any void, yet it burned retinas and boiled eyes in their sockets.
Wherever he stood, within fifty meters, the very idea of truth began to decay—oaths unraveled, memories blurred, and lies felt more tempting than honesty. Those weaker than him remained unaware, and only those stronger by a single rank or with sharper minds could resist.
Then came the Aspect, the first in Solace history.
Something the lowly Kingdom hadn't even begun to track at the time.
He had what was called, Eclipsed Mind.
His mind no longer dwelled in his skull; it roamed an endless palace of black mirrors circling a burning, lightless sun.
Anyone of equal or lesser rank who tried to glimpse his thoughts found only infinite reflections of themselves, screaming.
In the palace's deepest halls, he kept twelve glass coffins, each cradling a flawless imitation of someone: the laugh of a certain duke, the precise tilt of a spymaster's head when lying, the quiver in a queen's voice when she pleaded.
Aster could wear any of them like a custom-fitted skin, moving through the world as their brother, their lover, their king.
The kingdom celebrated its golden prince.
Aster celebrated the birth of his true self.
For years, he played the part of the loyal warrior—armor gleaming, sword always ready, scars placed just right to seem heroic.
All the while, he was counting heartbeats.
By twenty-three, he knew the palace more intimately than its architect, the court better than its king, and his family more completely than they knew themselves.
Shia would trade her soul for a louder cheer.
Draven would rather break his hand than admit he was wrong.
His father would burn ten kingdoms just to feel taller.
His mother… she was the hardest to read. Sometimes she seemed like an entirely different person, but even then, he started to notice the signs.
However, Aster wanted none of it.
He wanted a throne crafted to match the scale of his ambition, not some decaying relic tainted by his father's greed.
So, he slipped away from Solace at night, pretending it was for training. With everyone wrapped up in their own agendas, moving unnoticed was easy.
And that brings us to the present moment.
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The throne room of Ebonreach was hewn from a single block of obsidian so black it seemed to swallow every sound.
Twelve figures had already departed, leaving behind only the hulking "king" on his throne and the slim, silver-eyed advisor standing just behind him.
"Aster," the king growled, thick fingers gripping the armrests until the wood groaned. "I've warned you enough times. Tardiness will not be tolerated!"
Aster dipped his head, the image of calm respect.
"Your Majesty, matters have been far from easy on my side. I've been occupied keeping watch beyond our walls. One wrong move could undo everything before we even start."
The king stared for a long moment, jaw working, before letting out a laugh that rumbled like a dying bear. "Yes, you always know best. If you didn't, you wouldn't be my advisor, would you?"
In the mirrored palace of his mind, Aster saw the reaper's blade hovering just above his neck.
'This clown… your time's almost up, old friend. Just a few more sunrises.'
Outwardly, Aster allowed only the faintest, most courteous smile to grace his lips as he bowed once more and stepped out of the room.
Behind him, his shadow lingered a moment longer than it should have, stretching across the throne like a noose waiting to be knotted.
Soon, the mask would slip away.
Soon, Ebonreach would have the king it was always meant to serve.
Soon, the world would realize it had never truly known Aster Solace.
He had only ever been the silence before the blade.