CHAPTER 10
The moon hung low, casting silver shadows on the wind-chimed branches of the sacred Aethenroth garden. Krios stood alone. He had snuck out again.
The silence pressed on him like a weight.
Tears blurred his vision. "Whewe aw you?"
Then the air around him stirred.
The wind howled softly as if it was calling him. A sudden spark flickered near his hand, tiny and warm. He flinched.
His body trembled, but he did not run. The wind circled around him like a cocoon, and the spark grew, flaring at his fingertips. A soft flame danced then grew stronger, brighter, wilder.
Suddenly, the wind and fire collided in his chest, and exploded outward in a brilliant ring of mana.
The sky above shimmered.
A translucent blue-gold window blinked to life before his eyes, as if the stars themselves answered.
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Krios' heart pounded. He stepped back, unsure, afraid. Then... he remembered his sister's arms around him in the dark, how she shielded him, and smiled for him.
He reached out to touch the constellation's sigil.
Far above, the stars swirled, and in the heavens, something ancient stirred.
A figure cloaked in flaming feathers soared across a cloudlit sky.
And Krios' eyes, once soft, now gleamed with streaks of gold.
And the youngest awakener begins his journey.
..............
Aethenroth Manor - Infirmary Wing.
The soft glow of enchanted lamps lit the quiet hall. Healers moved carefully, their voices low as they spoke to the Grand Duke.
One Week Later.
The morning sun filtered through the large windows of Sorayael's room. Her eyelashes fluttered then opened slowly. Her body ached but not in the same way as before. She blinked up at the ceiling.. and then-
Before she could sit up, a blur of warmth crashed into her side, Krios, sobbing uncontrollably into her arm.
He sniffled, then looked up. "I have powew now. I'll pwotect you too."
Sorayael blinked. "You.. what?"
Moments later, outside in the garden, Krios showed her with fire spiraling around his fingers, wind responding like it had always known him.
Sorayael smiled in wonder. "Looks like my baby brother's growing up."
And from then, they trained together each day. Sorayael
regaining
her agility and precision, and Krios learning to control the flames that once burst in sorrow.
..........
The moon stood high, veiled by drifting clouds.
Sorayael wandered to the back courtyard, sensing movement.
There he was, Zarethian. Shirt damp with sweat, sword in hand, swinging through the air under the pale moonlight. His form was slower, more deliberate. But his stance remained sharp.
Zarethian stopped mid-swing. "And let my muscles rot? I'm fine."
She raised a brow. "You sure didn't look fine when you fainted beside me."
He scoffed. "Not my best moment."
They stood there in silence for a beat.
Then he spoke, quieter now. "I was scared... when I saw you fight. I thought you'd disappear again."
Zarethian chuckled. "Fair."
A pause. Then Sorayael stepped closer, pulling something wrapped in cloth from behind her. She held it out.
He blinked in surprise, slowly unwrapping the sword. Its hilt shimmered, as if whispering to his fire-metal affinity. Zarethian grinned.
Sorayael just shrugged.
He looked up at her with a genuinely touched expression.
She smirked. "Don't get all mushy now. Just promise you'll wield it better than you swing your insults."
Zarethian laughed and raised the sword. "Then let's begin-our real training. No more kidnappings. No more explosions. Just us... getting stronger."
Sorayael looked up at the stars.
Their journey had only just begun, but in that moment, under the moonlight, two swords and two hearts burned with a new resolve.
...........
Throne Hall of the Aethelgard Imperium
The golden banners of the Imperium hung tall against the obsidian stone walls. Soldiers, nobles, and foreign envoys gathered in silence. At the heart of the hall, the throne of Aethelgard loomed, and upon it sat Emperor Lysander Agriamante Tyr Aethelgard, stern and composed.
The heavy doors creaked open.
Clad in muted silver and bearing the crest of the falling sun, the emissaries of the Solarian Ascendancy stepped into the chamber.
Their faces bore the weary lines of defeat, their pride swallowed by necessity.
Behind them, the sacred scroll of truce floated mid-air, enchanted to bind oaths with magic.
They knelt.
The Queen, Ephyra Noelith Cirelia Solarian, spoke with a voice that trembled between sorrow and surrender.
T
he scroll glowed and sealed the vow. A soft tremor echoed throughout the hall, as if the land itself acknowledged the shift.
Emperor Lysander stood.
As the hall bowed in unified silence, the camera of fate shifted...
To a hill overlooking the Imperium, where two children stood: Sorayael and Zarethian.
They watched the sky burn with evening light; one born of fire, the other of constellations not yet named.
Everything has changed.
And the real story was only the beginning.
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