Three days after Princess Stephanie vanished from the palace, the kingdom of Colorada'Sierra no longer spoke of anything else.
San Cordellion still rose in white stone and rune-lit elegance beneath the sky, its bridges arching gracefully over canals, its towers crowned with sigils that pulsed softly through the night, yet the city felt hollowed out, as though something vital had been taken from its chest. Conversations no longer wandered. They circled, tightened, and returned to the same point, like birds trapped in a tower with no exit.
At the Adventurers' Guild, speculation had become a second currency.
"You expect me to believe she just disappeared?" a scarred swordsman demanded, slamming his mug down hard enough to slosh ale over the rim. "From the most guarded building in the kingdom?"
A robed arcanist leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes narrowed with interest rather than outrage. "Palaces are guarded by people, not gods. People fail."
A third voice joined in, lower, cautious. "Or someone made them fail."
Several heads turned.
"That's treasonous talk," someone muttered.
"Is it?" the arcanist replied calmly. "Or is it simply honest?"
Across the hall, newer guild members whispered among themselves, glancing toward the notice boards where search contracts were already being posted.
"They're paying double," one said quietly.
"For a princess?" another scoffed, then hesitated. "Actually… maybe that's not enough."
Beyond the guild, San Cordellion's taverns and public houses buzzed from dawn until well past midnight. Tankards clinked, pipes smoldered, and every table carried a different version of the same story.
"I heard the guards were coughing like they'd smoked the devils lettuce," a baker said, wiping his hands on his apron.
"No," a dockhand countered, shaking his head. "I heard they were laughing. Laughing, while smoke filled the halls."
"That can't be right."
"Then explain how the princess vanished."
In quieter, more expensive establishments, mockery replaced shock. Laughter came softer, behind hands and half-smiles.
"House Highgarden," a noblewoman said lightly, sipping spiced wine. "Centuries of service, undone in one evening."
Her companion smirked. "Tradition doesn't stop chaos. It just makes the fall more entertaining."
Clubs and salons echoed with the same sentiment, polished words hiding sharpened teeth. Highgarden banners, once symbols of absolute reliability, were now shorthand for failure.
Throughout the city, Rune-Tech Lacrima displays glowed in public squares, their crystalline surfaces alive with moving images and flowing runes. These marvels of rune-etched crystal and mana circuitry carried news across the kingdom in real time. Nobles and wealthy households owned private Lacrima mirrors, but the public displays were where the pulse of the people gathered, shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the same projections.
On Rune-Tech TV, anchors wore grave expressions carefully honed for moments that would be remembered.
"This incident has exposed critical flaws in palace security," one reporter intoned, her voice smooth but edged with restrained condemnation. "Eyewitness accounts describe delayed responses, internal confusion, and a complete breakdown of coordinated defense."
The image shifted to an illusion of the palace, smoke rolling through gilded corridors.
"House Highgarden, long trusted as the shield of the crown, now faces intense scrutiny," another anchor added. "Questions are being raised not only about individual failures, but about whether the system itself is outdated."
In the crowd below the display, reactions rippled.
"My cousin serves under Highgarden command," a man said, jaw tight. "He swore by their discipline."
"Discipline doesn't matter if no one's watching the right door," a woman replied bitterly.
Newspapers carried the story into every home and alley. Headlines screamed of incompetence and mystery. Illustrations exaggerated the chaos, the smoke rendered thick as storm clouds, guards drawn stumbling and wide-eyed. Vendors shouted summaries until their voices cracked.
People read in workshops and kitchens, in temples and fields, their faces drawn tight with worry.
"She was always kind," an elderly woman said in a distant village square, clutching the paper to her chest. "She wouldn't run away."
"Then someone took her," another replied, making the sign of blessing. "May the gods watch over her."
Candles appeared in windows across Colorada'Sierra, tiny flames defying the dark. Shrines overflowed with offerings. Prayers rose for the king, the queen, the young prince, and above all for Princess Stephanie, believed by nearly everyone to be a victim of cruel hands.
When the king declared a state of emergency, the announcement fell like a hammer.
Search parties formed almost immediately. Knights rode out beneath snapping banners. Rangers vanished into forests and mountain passes. Adventurers accepted contracts weighted with gold and expectation. Roads were watched, gates scrutinized, strangers measured with wary eyes.
"My brother left this morning," a seamstress whispered to a neighbor. "He said he won't rest until she's found."
San Cordellion lowered its banners to half-mast, not for death, but for dread.
And while the kingdom searched outward, House Highgarden fractured inward.
The Highgarden estate remained immaculate, its gardens trimmed with obsessive care, its stone walls bearing no mark of the storm within. Inside, however, the air was thick with bitterness and accusation.
Lord Halvar Highgarden sat at the head of the chamber in his wheelchair, hands clenched on the armrests, eyes sharp despite the years and the injury that had stolen his ability to stand. Once a towering figure on the battlefield, he now ruled his house from a seated throne of iron and resentment, his voice still capable of cutting like steel.
"This disgrace," he said coldly, "will stain our name for generations."
Cedric stood rigid before him, shoulders squared, jaw set. "I followed protocol."
"Protocol failed," Halvar snapped. "And failure is not forgiven."
Arthur stood near the wall, arms crossed, guilt and relief tangled in his expression. He had not been at the gala. He had been spared the chaos, yet the shame still clung to him.
Rowen lingered beside him, eyes downcast, every whisper in the city feeling like a blade pressed to his spine.
"You were entrusted with command," Halvar continued, his gaze boring into Cedric. "And the crown's daughter vanished under your watch."
Cedric said nothing, his silence heavy.
Outside the estate walls, bells rang and search parties departed, the kingdom holding its breath as it looked for a princess it believed had been stolen.
None of them yet understood that the truth was far more dangerous than a kidnapping.
And the smoke from that night, though long since cleared from palace halls, still lingered in every word spoken across Colorada'Sierra.