Elijah
Peruin city,
Kettlia Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
North American continent
December 5th 6414
My concentration held as I forced the swirling torrent of spirit essence to obey my will. The raw, volatile power coursed through me, dense and unrelenting, and I shaped it—molded it—refining it into pure mana. Each breath, each heartbeat, became part of the cycle as I fed my growing mana core and simultaneously tempered my soul core. The strain was immense, but I welcomed it. Every ounce of pressure honed me, made me stronger. I would need that strength for what was coming.
When I finally emerged from cultivation, my body felt lighter, my senses sharper. I washed, letting the cold water ground me, and dressed with practiced precision. The simple act of donning my attire felt like armoring myself for war.
I stepped into the hallway, where the hum of activity greeted me. Ascendants and non-Ascendants alike moved through the corridors—messengers, tacticians, fighters. Many paused, offering respectful bows as I passed. Their eyes held expectation… or was it calculation? I nodded in return, keeping my expression neutral, while my mind churned. What is my next move?
I had come to Kettlia to resolve a crisis. A mission I had thought would be simple enough. But the deeper I waded into this city's undercurrent, the clearer it became that nothing here was as it seemed. Threads of conspiracy, loyalty, and rebellion tangled together, and I was caught at the center.
By the time I entered the strategy room, I had steeled myself. The space was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the large Uni-monitor dominating the far wall. Steph, Leonel, and Count Orlock stood before it, their faces bathed in the cold glow of the broadcast.
Onscreen, the replay of a press conference filled the air with its polished rhetoric.
"I am thankful for Prince Elijah's presence here in Kettlia," Count Orlock's voice echoed from the speakers, rich and composed, his image crisp on the screen. I watched as the projection of myself stood at his side, silent, as if complicit. "Together, we were able to bring an amicable end to the unrest that plagued our streets. The resolution of these protests and the passage of the Identification Bill mark a new chapter for the Kingdom's stability."
The camera had lingered on me longer than I liked—my face calm, unreadable. The image was meant to convey unity. Authority. Approval.
But inside, I felt cold.
I broke the silence. "Do you think it's right?" I asked quietly, eyes still on the screen. "Forcing that bill through? You know what it means. Every human tagged, identified. Branded."
The Identification Bill. My father's ambition cloaked in the language of order and protection. A law that would make it mandatory for all humans to wear identification bands at all times—mana-etched cuffs that could be tracked, scanned, and used to control.
Orlock didn't look away from the monitor. His hands were folded behind his back, his posture as unshaken as his voice. "Bills like that take years to pass, Elijah," he said. "This is politics. Symbolism. The gesture of compliance calms the people and delays the true enforcement. In the meantime…" His gaze shifted, finally meeting mine. "The Princess's reclamation movement gathers strength. Time is what we need. And this bill buys us that time."
I studied him, weighing his words. The room felt heavier, as if the air itself had thickened with unspoken truths. The Uni-monitor continued to play footage of the conference—crowds cheering, some grim-faced dissenters watching from the shadows, peacekeepers marching in formation as if to remind the world who held the reins.
"And when that time runs out?" I asked softly. "When the bands go from symbol to shackle?"
Orlock's lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smile—one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then, Prince Elijah… we'll be ready to break them."
Leonel said nothing, but his aura filled the room like the quiet before a storm. Steph glanced between us, the weight of the plan settling on all of us now.
The future of the kingdom hung by a thread.
And we were sharpening the blade that would sever it.
After a few more days in Kettlia, Steph and I began our journey back to the Capital. My father had summoned me for a rebriefing—no doubt eager to hear my version of the events in Kettlia, and to gauge whether I had served his agenda.
Thankfully, his spies and informants stationed in the region had failed to detect the truth of my stay—the long hours spent in Leonel Lionheart's camp, the quiet discussions in hidden chambers. For that, I owed Count Orlock more than I cared to admit. I had underestimated the man, blind to how deeply entwined he truly was with the Lionheart cause. His loyalty didn't lie with the throne. It lay with the future—and with the rightful heir.
The royal hoverjet sliced through the clouds, silent and swift. I reclined in my seat, cradling a glass of red wine that swayed gently with the subtle movements of the craft. Each sip tasted of iron and dusk, its warmth dulling the edge of my unease, but not enough to quiet the storm in my mind.
Steph sat beside me, datapad in hand, her eyes flicking over the latest broadcasts and intelligence reports. The glow of the screen painted her face in pale blue light, but her voice cut through the hum of the engines.
"Are you really going to go behind your father's back?" she asked, quiet but pointed.
I glanced at her, seeing in her gaze both concern and the trace of someone trying to understand something new—something she hadn't expected of me. Perhaps it was the seriousness that unsettled her. The way I had taken to cultivation with an intensity that left no room for hesitation.
"I have no choice," I said simply. My voice didn't waver. "It's for Ella."
And for myself, I thought. But I didn't say it.
_
Eduardo
Thornhill
Vanker Island, Northern Isles
Kingdom of Ashtarium
North American Continent
December 5th 6414
It didn't take long for the meeting to come together—not after word of my arrival had reached the right ears. I was grateful, if surprised, that the Princess had agreed to speak with me at all. Days had passed since Greta and I reached the quiet town of Thornhill, journeying to the mansion where Ariella and her loyalists had taken refuge.
Sanders had been the one to greet us at the gates—measured, cautious, but not unkind. Greta stayed through the afternoon, her presence a steadying force, but when night fell she departed, leaving me in the care of those who served the Princess. Sanders and Hector listened patiently to my story, their eyes shadowed by the weight of responsibility and secrets. And together we waited.
At last, she returned.
I stepped onto the wide porch as dusk painted the mansion's eaves in soft gold and violet. There she stood—Ariella Ashtarmel. Princess in exile. The girl who had once smiled freely in sunlit courtyards, now watching the world from behind layers of loss and duty.
Her gaze was turned upward, studying the vast, artificial sky above the dome that protected Thornhill. Or so I thought at first. I followed her gaze, seeing the clear blue of it, the glow of the simulated sun beyond the filigree of warded glass.
For the first time in a long while, I found myself grateful for Ashtarium's domes—their attempt to preserve some fragment of the world that had been. I was tired of endless night. Tired of the weight of shadows.
"Sanders told me about your journey," Ariella said at last, her voice gentle, but carrying strength beneath its softness.
"He did," I answered, meeting her gaze.
She turned to me fully then, and there it was—that same kindness, untouched by bitterness. The same light that had shone in her two years ago, when I first met her. Despite everything—the betrayal, the exile, the war for her birthright—Ariella remained herself. The girl who saw people, not pawns. Who gave respect freely, even to the broken.
She smiled at me, a smile that held both respect and pity—for all I had endured. And in that moment, I knew: her heart had not changed. Not at all.
Ariella's smile faded, but not into sadness—into resolve.
She turned from the sky and leaned lightly against the railing of the porch, the fading artificial sunlight catching the silver thread embroidered on her simple tunic. There was no crown on her head. No jewels. And yet, she carried herself with the quiet gravity of a ruler.
"I appreciate you coming, Eduardo," she said softly. "And for what you have been through. I don't take it lightly."
I stepped closer, hands clasped behind my back. "I came because I believe in what you represent, Your Highness. And because my kingdom's future may depend on it."
She tilted her head, studying me, as if weighing whether I spoke from duty or from truth. "Tell me."
I drew in a breath. The words tasted heavy, but they needed to be spoken. "The Kingdom of Xibalba is not strong enough to face Ashtarium in open war. Not as we are now. My father knows this. Your uncle, the usurper know this. And yet they would go to war for the mere resources that lie between our kingdoms. If your uncle remains on the throne, his hunger will eventually reach our shores. And when it does…" I let the sentence trail off, the implication clear.
Ariella's gaze didn't waver. "So you believe I am your best hope for peace."
"I believe you are the hope," I said. "Your claim is legitimate. Your heart is just. And more importantly, your existence gives those in Ashtarium who yearn for true rule something to rally behind. If you rise… if you take back what is yours… the war can be averted. The bloodshed can be stopped before it begins."
Ariella exhaled, turning her eyes once more to the horizon beyond the dome. For a moment, I wondered if she would answer at all.
"I want peace, Eduardo," she said at last, voice low but certain. "I want a kingdom where no child has to fear being marked, or hunted, or used as a pawn. But I can't achieve that yet. Not now. For now, Ashtarium belongs to my uncle. If I want to take it, I have to become stronger. I can't show myself too soon—if I move before I'm ready—it will only give him an excuse to tighten his grip. To paint me as the villain. To drag the world into the war we both wish to avoid."
Her hands tightened on the railing. I saw then the steel beneath the softness. The will that had kept her alive, hidden, when so many had wanted her gone.
"I need time," she said. "Time to grow stronger. Time to build allies beyond these walls. Time to become the ruler Ashtarium deserves—not just the heir who survived."
"And I'll help you win that time," I said, bowing my head slightly. "Whatever resources I can provide, whatever connections I can leverage, they're yours. The kings desires war—but I know now that we are of the same mind and your return is the path to peace."
She smiled again, but this time it was different. It was the smile of someone who saw the road ahead, long and treacherous, but who chose to walk it anyway.
"Then we walk it together," she said. "For both our kingdoms."
The artificial sun dipped lower behind the dome's filigree, casting the world in soft gold. And beneath that false sky, a true alliance was forged.