Kael Vaelor stood in the edge of the courtyard, his heart a steady drum beneath his plain cloak, its faded eagle crest a quiet reminder of his outcast status.
The room was a sanctuary of power, its alabaster walls draped with tapestries of Aeloria's miracles, their threads glowing faintly, and its ebony table inlaid with mother-of-pearl stars.
Crystal chandeliers cast prisms of light, and the air was thick with incense and divine energy. Pope Seraphius IV stood at the table's edge, his white beard flowing, his golden mitre gleamed, his hawk-like eyes sharp despite his age.
His robes shimmered like liquid light, and his staff, propped beside him, pulsed with runes. Duke Arvand Vael, resplendent in his blue velvet cloak, stood opposite, his gray eyes calculating, his smile polished.
Kael, stood behind the duke, his dark curls tangled from the journey, his emerald eyes lowered, his role as the illegitimate prince of Veltharia reduced to silent formality.
The meeting was a dance of courtesies, as Kael had anticipated. Veltharia's mission—to forge a connection with the Holy Empire of Aeloria—was a delicate gambit, and with a week to unfold, diving straight into the emperor's ambitions would be a blunder.
Seraphius set the tone, his voice warm but firm, his words measured. "Duke Arvand Vael, Prince Kael Vaelor," he said, his staff tapping the floor, a soft crack that commanded attention.
"Aeloria welcomes Veltharia's envoy. Your journey across Philan's lands speaks of purpose, but we'll savor the light of acquaintance before deeper matters."
His eyes met Arvandus's, a challenge veiled in kindness, Aeloria's neutrality a wall no empire had breached.
Arvandus inclined his head, his smile unwavering.
"Your Holiness," he said, his voice smooth, "Veltharia honors Aeloria's light. We seek only to share in your wisdom, to learn from Lumora's faith. Our emperor, Lysander, sends his regards, and we bring gifts—arcane wards, Veltharian silks—to mark our respect."
He gestured to an attendant, who presented a lacquered box, its lid etched with eagles, revealing shimmering fabrics and a crystal orb pulsing with soft light. Kael watched, his hands clasped, noting the Pope's nod, his expression unreadable, his neutrality a shield.
Seraphius leaned forward, his beard twitching, his tone grave.
"Gifts are a bridge, Duke, and we accept them with grace," he said, his eyes flickering to Kael, a brief but piercing glance.
"Yet Aeloria's heart is faith, not trade. We'll speak of Veltharia's hopes in time, but know our neutrality is no mere stance—it is our foundation, blessed by Aeloria herself."
His words were a warning, and Kael felt the weight of the impossible task, the Empress Dowager's cold smile lingering in his mind, her order to join this doomed mission a trap to cement his failure.
The meeting flowed smoothly, confined to formalities—Veltharia's seafaring prowess, Aeloria's cathedrals, the shared threat of distant demonic rifts.
Arvandus was a master of diplomacy, his words honeyed, his gestures grand, but Kael saw the tension in his jaw, the flicker of frustration at Seraphius's unyielding calm.
Kael stood mute, as ordered, his emerald eyes tracing the tapestries, their scenes of divine battles stirring his dreams of heroism, a life beyond his bastard's stain.
The meeting ended with mutual bows, Seraphius promising further talks, and High Priestess Mirene, her gray hair glinting, escorted them out, her blue eyes neutral but watchful.
That evening, a banquet was held in the palace's grand hall, a cavernous chamber of marble and gold, its vaulted ceiling painted with Aeloria's ascent, its chandeliers blazing like stars.
Long tables groaned with roast pheasant, honeyed fruits, and Lumora's famed rosewine, their scents mingling with incense.
Cardinals in crimson robes mingled with Exarchs in white, their laughter bright, while Holy Knights stood at the edges, their armor gleaming.
Arvandus sat at the high table, flanked by High Priest Tormund, whose ruddy face glowed with wine, and Mirene, her staff at her side.
Kael, seated lower, was a shadow, his cloak plain among Veltharian attendants in silver-trimmed blue. He ate sparingly, his thoughts on the Pope's words, the mission's slim odds, and the Empress Dowager's scheme to bury him in blame.
The hall's warmth grew stifling, the clink of goblets and drone of voices pressing against Kael's chest. He needed air, a moment to breathe beyond Arvandus's disdain and the court's expectations.
Slipping from his seat, he murmured an excuse to an attendant, his cloak brushing the floor as he wove through the crowd, avoiding the duke's sharp gaze.
The palace's corridors were cool, their marble glowing faintly, and Kael wandered, his sandals soft, seeking an exit. He found a door to the gardens, its frame carved with ivy, and stepped into the night, the air crisp, scented with roses and dew.
The gardens were vast, a maze of emerald lawns, star-shaped oaks, and fountains murmuring under the stars.
Marble paths wound through rosebushes, their petals luminous in the moonlight, and Kael walked, his cloak catching the breeze, his thoughts spilling aloud in a low murmur.
"Neutrality's a fortress," he said, his voice soft, his Veltharian accent curling the words.
"The Pope sees through Arvandus's charm—he's not swayed by gifts or flattery. What does the emperor want here? A foothold? A secret? This place… it's like nothing in Veltharia."
He paused, running a hand through his curls, his emerald eyes scanning the dark.
"And me, dragged along to take the fall. The empress planned this—'Kael, the bastard, fails again.' I can't let her win, but how? I'm nobody here, just a shadow."
He kicked a pebble, its clatter sharp, and sighed, his voice dropping.
"If I could just prove myself, show them I'm more than my blood… but who'd listen to a prince with no power?"
He wandered deeper, the paths twisting, the gardens swallowing him.
"Lost, of course," he muttered, a wry smile tugging his lips. "Perfect. Arvandus'll have my head for this, if the empress doesn't first. 'Kael, can't even navigate a garden.' Maybe I should stay here, become a gardener—less scheming, better view."
He chuckled, the sound bitter, his emerald eyes tracing a fountain's spray, its mist catching the moonlight.
"No, I can't run. Not from her, not from Veltharia. There's got to be a way, some crack in the wall. I just need to find it, stay sharp, keep my head down—"
His words faltered, his world blanking as a figure emerged from the shadows, standing by the fountain, its spray misting the air.
A young man, slightly smaller than Kael, with golden hair cascading like sunlight, his golden eyes shimmering through the night, their glow divine.
He wore a simple robe of pale gold, its hems embroidered with suns, and his presence was a radiant stillness, like a star fallen to earth.
Kael's breath caught, his heart stumbling, his dreams of heroism paling beside this vision.
He recognized him instantly—Elshua, the Spark of Aeloria, the saint of the Faith, whose beauty and divinity were whispered even in Veltharia's court. His ethereal grace, his golden features, left Kael rooted, his mind a storm of awe and disbelief.
Elshua, lost in thought, hadn't noticed Kael, his fingers trailing the fountain's edge, his golden eyes reflecting the stars. Inside, his mind raced, Jun's shock a silent tempest:
Kael? Here? The novel's protagonist, a year early? What's he doing in Lumora?
He'd skipped the banquet, his saintly duties not requiring attendance, seeking the gardens' peace to ponder the Veltharian envoy's mystery. Seeing Kael, his heart jolted, but he masked it, his face serene, his role as the Spark demanding composure.
Kael was the same, stood frozen, his cloak forgotten, his tongue tripping over itself, his face flushing.
'The saint,' he thought, his emerald eyes wide, 'Elshua himself, here, alone. He's… more than the stories. Like Aeloria's light in flesh.'
His beauty, his divine aura, overwhelmed Kael, who'd never seen such radiance, not in Veltharia's arcane towers or its glittering court. He tried to speak, but only a stammer emerged,
"I—uh—"
Elshua's gaze lifted, catching Kael's, his eyes widening slightly, then softening, a smile curving his lips, warm and respectful.
"Your Highness," he said, his voice clear, bowing slightly, his robe swaying.
"A fine night for the gardens, isn't it? I didn't expect to meet a prince under Aeloria's stars."
His tone was polite, addressing Kael as a prince should be, unaware of the weight it carried, his shock hidden:
'He's just a kid, like me. Why's he here?'
Kael's mind blanked further, his stammer worsening, his face burning.
"I—yes—gardens—night," he managed, wincing at his incoherence, his emerald eyes darting away, then back to Elshua's serene face.
The title "Your Highness," spoken with such sincerity, was a shock, a first in his life of scorn, and Elshua's divine beauty, his saintly presence, left him reeling.
"I… got lost," he added, his voice unsteady, his hands fidgeting with his cloak. "Didn't mean to—uh—intrude, Saint Elshua."
He cursed himself, the title slipping out, confirming he knew Elshua's identity.
Elshua's smile widened, his golden eyes glinting with amusement, though he feigned ignorance, his shock buried deep:
'He knows me. Okay, keep it normal, don't spook him.'
"No intrusion," he said, his voice gentle, stepping closer, his sandals soft on the path.
"And just Elshua's fine—titles get heavy out here. You're from Veltharia, right? The eagle crest's a giveaway."
He gestured to Kael's cloak, his manner easy, as if chatting with a friend, not the novel's future hero.
Kael nodded, his flush lingering, his emerald eyes meeting Elshua's, his voice steadier but still awkward.
"Yeah, Veltharia," he said, his Veltharian accent curling. "I'm… with the envoy. Needed air, away from the banquet. Too… loud."
He hesitated, then added, his tone cautious, "You're… not at the banquet? I thought—saints, I mean, you'd be there."
His eyes widened, fearing he'd overstepped, but Elshua's laugh, soft and bright, eased his tension.
"Not my scene," Elshua said, his voice teasing, sidestepping his duties. "Too many speeches, not enough stars. You don't seem like a banquet type either, Your Highness."
He tilted his head, his golden eyes curious, Jun analyzing:
'He's nervous, unsure. Not the hero yet. What's his role in the envoy?'
Kael's lips twitched, a faint smile breaking through, his awkwardness softening.
"Not really," he admitted, his voice low.
"Too many eyes, too much… pretending. I'd rather be out here, even if I'm lost."
He glanced at the fountain, then back at Elshua, his emerald eyes searching.
"You know the way back? Or… maybe you don't mind company for a bit?"
His tone was hesitant, a rare vulnerability, the title "Your Highness" and Elshua's divine presence still echoing in his chest.
Elshua's smile softened, his golden eyes warm, his heart steady despite Jun's racing thoughts:
'He wants to stay? Good, I can learn more.'
"Company's fine," he said, his voice light, gesturing to the path.
"Let's walk—I know a spot with a better view of the stars. What's Veltharia like? I've only read about it—seas, towers, mages, right?"
He started down the path, his robe swaying, his tone inviting, drawing Kael out.
Kael followed, his steps tentative, his cloak brushing the grass, his voice halting.
"It's… different," he said, his emerald eyes on the path. "The seas are rough, the towers tall, but it's… cold, sometimes. Not the weather, just… the way people are."
He stopped, wincing, but Elshua's nod, his expression kind, urged him on.
"Mages are everywhere, though. Arcane lights, wards—it's… alive, in its own way."
His voice warmed, a spark of pride, his awkwardness fading as they walked, though he muttered to himself,
"Shouldn't talk so much. He's a saint, not a friend."
Elshua listened, his golden eyes attentive, his mind racing:
'Cold people—court politics, definitely. He's isolated, even here.'
"Sounds incredible," he said, his voice sincere. "We don't have arcane lights—just divine ones. Ever seen a star-shaped oak glow? There's one ahead."
He pointed to a grove, his tone light, keeping it easy, though Jun cataloged every word.
They reached the grove, the oak's leaves shimmering, and Kael's eyes widened, his breath catching.
"That's… something," he said, his voice soft, his guard lowering. He muttered, "Veltharia's got nothing like this. Just stone and spells."
Elshua smiled, sitting on a stone bench, gesturing for Kael to join, their talk flowing—Veltharia's ships, Aeloria's fountains, small things, safe things. Inside, Elshua's shock lingered:
'The protagonist, right here. I need to know his purpose, but slow.'
Kael, awed by the saint, felt a rare ease, his heart lighter, the gardens a refuge from Veltharia's weight.
The night deepened, the stars bright, their conversation a fragile bridge between two boys, one a saint, one a prince, their paths crossed by chance, their futures bound by a novel Kael didn't know, and Elshua fought to rewrite.