The rain had ended before dawn.
It left behind no storm, no ruin, only a world freshly washed, as though the mountains themselves had exhaled during the night and released what they had been holding.
Mist clung low to the valleys, thin silver veils winding between pine-covered slopes and stone paths carved generations ago. The air was cool and clean, carrying the scent of wet earth, leaves, and distant smoke from early hearth fires.
When the sun finally rose, it did not blaze.
It eased its way into the sky, pale gold at first, slipping through the mist in soft bands that caught on rooftops and treetops alike.
Droplets left behind by the rain clung stubbornly to leaves, railings, and banners, each one catching the light and scattering it back in a thousand tiny flashes.
The world sparkled not in excess, not in vanity, but in quiet contentment.
This was the Falkerona State.
Nestled within a mountain region that shielded it from harsh winds and invading armies alike, the state did not sprawl endlessly nor choke itself with ambition.
It was moderate in size, deliberate in shape, and unmistakably human in its design.
Stone roads followed the curves of the land rather than cutting through it. Homes were built sturdy rather than tall, roofs sloped to bear snow and rain, walls thick enough to endure both weather and time.
People were already awake.
Farmers led animals out toward the terraced fields carved into the lower slopes, their boots leaving dark prints on the damp soil.
Merchants lifted shutters and swept doorways, exchanging quiet greetings with neighbors they had known their entire lives. Children ran ahead of their parents, laughter echoing briefly before being swallowed by the open air.
Guards walked their patrol routes with measured steps.
They were not hurried, nor lax. Their armor was well-maintained but not ornate, bearing the insignia of the state rather than personal glory. Each carried themselves with the calm assurance of men and women who expected order and usually received it.
At the heart of the state stood structures that revealed its true priorities.
Hospitals, open and staffed even in the early hours, welcomed the injured and the ill without question.
Stone halls lined with healing sigils glowed faintly within, tended by medics and mages who worked not for prestige but for necessity.
Nearby, supply depots stood stocked and organized, their contents regularly checked and accounted for.
The Falkerona State did not flourish because it was rich.
It flourished because it was maintained.
Above it all, rising where the mountains opened into a natural plateau, stood the Falkerona Estate.
It was not enormous.
It did not dominate the landscape by size alone.
But it commanded attention nonetheless.
The estate grounds were wide enough to house training yards, residential quarters, armories, and administrative halls, all laid out with a sense of order that spoke of careful planning rather than indulgence.
Stone buildings stood firm and unadorned, their strength obvious at a glance. Everything here had a purpose, and everything was kept in repair.
Beyond the estate rose the palace.
Calling it a palace did not do it justice, nor did it exaggerate it.
Its walls were tall and thick, forged from stone that had weathered centuries of rain, snow, and blood. High gates loomed at its entrance, iron-bound and engraved with symbols worn smooth by time and countless hands.
These gates had opened for kings, emissaries, refugees, and armies. And had closed just as often to those who would threaten what lay beyond.
History clung to those walls.
Not as decoration, but as weight.
Knights stood watch along the battlements and near the gates, their presence disciplined and precise. They did not speak unnecessarily. Their movements were economical, practiced. Armor gleamed faintly where sunlight reached it, not polished for display but maintained through habit.
Among them moved a man whose presence subtly shaped the rhythm of the guards around him.
Rodric Falkerona, Knight Commander of the estate.
He walked the battlements with hands clasped behind his back, boots striking stone in steady intervals. His armor bore the marks of use rather than ornament, and scars traced his hands and neck like old signatures. His gaze swept over the estate and the lands beyond, never lingering too long in one place.
To an outsider, he might have seemed calm.
To those who knew him, the slight tightening of his jaw told another story.
Rodric paused near the eastern parapet, eyes narrowing briefly as the morning mist shifted. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was out of place.
And yet.
He turned away after a moment and continued his patrol, issuing quiet instructions as he passed. Knights adjusted positions, patrol routes subtly altered not enough to alarm, but enough to prepare.
High above the courtyard, beyond the notice of most, a small figure sat on the sloped edge of the palace roof.
The boy's legs dangled freely over the stone, boots resting against nothing but open air. He leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees, chin propped in his hands as he looked out over the entire state with open fascination.
From here, everything looked smaller.
The roads looked like lines drawn by careful hands. People became moving dots, purposeful and alive.
Smoke from chimneys rose lazily, twisting and thinning as it climbed. The mountains beyond framed it all, ancient and unmoving, as if they had decided long ago to stand watch over this place.
The boy tilted his head, following a flock of birds as they swept low over the fields.
His hair caught the sunlight strangely . Threads of white and red tangled together, refusing to settle into any single shade.
The wind teased loose strands across his forehead, and he brushed them aside without looking, eyes fixed on the world below.
He did not see borders.
He did not see politics.
He saw people.
He saw movement, color, life.
A smile tugged at his lips, bright and unguarded, the smile of a child who believed the world was large, interesting, and fundamentally safe.
Below him, the palace continued to wake.
Servants moved through corridors. Knights changed shifts. Doors opened. Voices murmured.
None of them noticed the boy on the roof.
And none of them knew that this morning—this gentle, glittering morning—would one day be remembered not for its beauty, but for how completely it lied.
Except someone who did notice the boy.ofcourse she did - she always does.
Elis knew exactly where he was.
That was the worst part.
She stood in the palace courtyard with her hands on her hips, head tilted back, eyes narrowed against the sunlight as she searched the roofline for a very particular shape of trouble.
The rain from the night before still clung to the stone beneath her shoes, darkening the ground and cooling the air. Somewhere nearby, a servant laughed quietly. Somewhere else, armor shifted as guards changed positions.
Life was moving normally.
Which meant he was not.
"Elis?"
She turned sharply. "If you're here to tell me he isn't on the roof, don't."
The younger servant froze mid-step. "…He's on the roof."
Elis closed her eyes.
Of course he was.
She exhaled slowly, counted to three in her head, something Alfred had taught her years ago and then looked up again. There he was. A small figure silhouetted against the pale blue of the sky, legs dangling freely over the edge of the palace roof as if gravity were a suggestion rather than a rule.
"Christopher Falkerona!" she called.
No response.
"Elis!" someone called from behind her.
"Breakfast's nearly done!"
"Tell it to wait," she muttered, already moving.
She crossed the courtyard briskly, skirts gathered in one hand as she passed beneath banners that fluttered gently in the morning breeze.
The palace rose around her as it always had -solid, familiar, protective. She'd walked these paths for years, long enough that the stone felt like an extension of her own memory.
At the base of the eastern stairwell, she paused, looking up once more.
"Chris" she said again, louder now. "If you fall, I will haunt you myself."
That did it.
A head popped over the roof's edge, white-and-red hair catching the light in defiant disarray.
"I won't fall!" the boy called down. "I'm sitting!"
Elis responded. "That has never stopped you before!"He grinned at that.
Elis could see it even from here - wide and unapologetic, the grin of a child who had never learned to be afraid of heights because the world had never given him reason to be.
She climbed.
By the time she reached the roof access, her irritation had softened into something more complicated. She pushed the hatch open and emerged into sunlight and wind, blinking as the view spread out before her.
The state lay below them, alive and bright.
And there he was, sitting at the edge as if it were his rightful place.
"Chris" Elis said, quieter now. "Get down."
He didn't turn immediately.
"I like it up here," he replied. "You can see everything."
"That's exactly why you shouldn't be here."
He finally looked back at her, deep red eyes bright with curiosity rather than defiance.
"Why?"
She opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
Because you're ten.
Because you don't know how fragile this all is.
Because if something happened,
"Because," she said instead, walking toward him, "your mother will blame me."
That made him laugh.
"She always blames you anyway."
"That is not true," Elis said, sitting down beside him and grabbing the back of his tunic before he could lean forward again. "She blames Alfred first."
"That's because Alfred never denies it."
"That's because Alfred is terrifying."Elis added.
Christopher considered that seriously. "That's fair."
Elis sighed despite herself. She reached out and smoothed his hair, fingers catching on the strange mix of white and red strands. It never felt the same twice. Sometimes the white seemed brighter, sometimes the red deeper, as if his hair couldn't decide which parent it belonged to more.
"You're going to give me gray hair," she said.
He looked at her hairs, long, raven-black, neatly tied back ,and smiled. "You don't have any yet."
"Because I pray," she replied dryly. "Now come down. Breakfast's ready."
He hesitated, gaze drifting back to the world below.
"Elis?" he asked.
"Yes young master?"Elis replied flat and dry but still listened. She always does ,that's her duty and responsibility as his maid.
"Do you think people are happy?"
The question caught her off guard.
She followed his gaze to the farmers in the distance, to the guards on patrol, to the smoke curling lazily from chimneys.
"I think," she said carefully, "that they're safe. And most people confuse the two."
He nodded slowly, as if that answer meant something important.
Then, obediently rarely, he stood and allowed her to guide him back toward the hatch.
Christopher's pov :
Chris liked watching adults when they thought no one was paying attention.
They always told you more that way.
As Elis marched him down the corridor toward the dining hall, her grip firm on his wrist, he watched the way her shoulders stayed tense even though she was pretending to scold him.
"You're lucky your father didn't see you," she said.
"He always sees me," Chris replied.
Elis didn't answer.That was interesting.
They passed a tall figure near the windows, a man with white hair and straight posture, hands folded behind his back as he observed servants moving through the hall.
"Good morning, Alfred," Elis said.
"Good morning," Alfred Kaine replied, inclining his head slightly. His eyes flicked to Chris, sharp and assessing, then softened just a fraction.
"Young Master."
Chris smiled up at him. "I wasn't doing anything dangerous."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "You were on the roof."
"Yes," Chris agreed.
"But I was sitting."
A pause.
Then Alfred nodded. "Very well. Carry on."
Elis stopped walking. "You're supposed to help me, not encourage him."
"I did not encourage him," Alfred said calmly. "I acknowledged reality."
Chris grinned thinking he somehow won.
As they continued, Chris's attention drifted ahead to the dining hall door, already open, sunlight spilling across the polished floor.
Inside waited the people he watched most closely.
The man seated at the head of the table had tall, broad-shouldered, red hair neatly kept.
He looked up the moment Chris stepped inside.
"Chris" he said.
There was no raised voice. No command.
Just his name.
Chris straightened instinctively.
"Good morning, Father."
Edrian Falkerona studied him for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then nodded. "Good morning."
Beside him, a woman with long white hair turned and smiled.
"There you are," she said softly. "I was beginning to think Elis had lost you."
Elis spoke calmly , bowing her head little. "Young master climbed the palace."
Lyanna Falkerona reached out and touched Chris's cheek, fingers warm and gentle. "Again?"
He smiled sheepishly. "Just to look."
Lyanna's smile lingered but her eyes searched his face as if she were looking for something she feared she might find.
Christopher didn't know why, but suddenly he wished he'd stayed on the roof a little longer.
.
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.
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[A/N - hello everyone , I hope you guys are doing well. Anyways ! How did you like the chapter !?. Ah ! Right, before that I wanted to tell you that english is not my first language so I will be using the help of Ai only to correct mistakes so that I don't embarrass myself . but yes I know many of you do not like stories written by Ai as I myself don't so you guys don't have to worry about anything because I won't use Ai for anything like that ,the ideas are mine and the dialogues are mine too just improved for better output.
Also I would appreciate if you guys can comment on chapters ! Because if you don't, I won't know what I have to do to improve and what mistakes I am making !
Also your comments provide me motivation to write more so please make sure to comment .
Even if you want to show your dissatisfaction regarding anything - I assure you that the comments will not be removed even if those comments make me lose audience, because I genuinely want to improve myself .(exception:- extreme vulgar words )
Lastly regarding story and power level everything would be revealed slow when necessary, so there won't be sudden information dumps.
Every chapter would be long - upto 2000-2500 words ! And maybe been longer !
And yes !
I will upload First 5 chapters in a bulk and then 3 chapters per week .
Additionally: -
200 power stones /week = 1 bones chapter.
500 power stones/week= 2 bones chapters.
And If by chance we crossed upto 700 power stones/week = 5 Bonus chapters !!
That's all .....
Enjoy the read ! ]