Sometimes, the greatest weight a king bears… is silence.
---
Solaris Royal Palace – Throne Hall
Crack!
The golden goblet struck the marble floor, wine splattering like blood.
Queen Amariel Solmere, draped in robes of white and gold, stood trembling near the balcony of the great hall. Her violet eyes, usually calm and regal, burned with anguish.
"He's gone, Tharion!" she cried, voice echoing against the tall arches. "For three weeks! No letters. No trail. Not a single guard knows where our son is!"
King Tharion Solmere, ruler of Solaris, sat silent upon the gilded throne. His eyes—deep, unreadable pools of ember—remained focused on the open parchment in his hand.
It was the official proclamation:
Four Years Until the Trials of the Two Suns.
"I ask you again," Amariel's voice cracked. "Will you not send search parties? Scouts? Anything?!"
"I cannot," Tharion answered coldly.
"You cannot? Or you will not?" she spat, her noble mask shattered.
Tharion stood slowly. The flame-shaped crown upon his brow gleamed under the morning light. "Every scout I pull from the borders weakens our kingdom's shield. Every whisper of 'missing prince' emboldens the enemies waiting outside our gates."
His voice was steel.
"This is bigger than Kaelith. This is the fate of a kingdom."
---
Elsewhere in the Palace – Princess Lyriel's Chambers
Sniff…
"Brother… where are you?"
Eight-year-old Lyriel Solmere curled under the sheets of her rose-gold bed, a stuffed sun-dragon plush clutched tightly in her arms. Her eyes were puffy, her usual mischief nowhere to be found.
She looked up at her caretaker and barked through tears, "Don't touch me! Only Kaelith braids my hair! You don't know how he does the twist at the end!"
"But, princess—"
"I said no!"
She kicked the air, then curled into herself again.
Through the cracked door, Queen Amariel stood silently watching. Her hand trembled as she clutched a tiny red crystal earring—the twin to the one Kaelith always wore.
"Kaelith…" she whispered, "Come back to us."
---
Throne Room – Later That Evening
Counselors and nobles filled the lower chambers, debating succession, politics, and power with wild, snapping tongues.
One voice cut through them.
"Your Majesty. If Prince Kaelith is... compromised, perhaps it's time to formally anoint Prince Vaeron as the sole heir for the Trials?"
All fell silent.
Tharion's jaw tightened.
Behind his crimson cloak, his hand curled into a trembling fist.
"No decision will be made until the Trials begin. And Kaelith is not compromised."
"But, sire—"
"Silence."
Even the fire in the braziers seemed to pause.
---
King's Private Chambers – Midnight
Tharion stood alone by a candlelit desk. Maps, prophecies, and old scrolls lay scattered. One parchment stood out.
A prophecy from an age past, sealed with the crest of the twin suns:
"When the throne is split, and the fire of heaven walks in two forms,
One shall blaze the world…
The other shall burn himself trying to save it."
He closed his eyes.
He saw two boys—Kaelith and Vaeron—standing beneath the eclipse, their blades clashing, the kingdom in flames behind them.
The throne can only hold one sun.
And it would either crown the savior...
...or birth the destroyer.