Chapter Thirteen: The Meeting
Leona's home—the palace—stood in the southern region of Jamaira, its towers reaching like black spires into the pale morning sky. Inside, she sat at her desk in the office, her gaze buried in yet another stack of documents.
Her appearance, to her, was simple: a dark dress, unadorned and practical. But to outsiders, even such "plainness" gleamed with luxury—the kind of fabric worth two years of an average worker's wages.
She turned a page, her left black eye scanning the text while her long black hair spilled across her face, shadowing the light grey of her right eye. She was so absorbed that she didn't notice the time slipping by until—
Knock. Knock.
"Come in," she said without looking up.
A man in a black suit entered, face expressionless. Marlon, her personal butler, had served her since childhood. He bowed slightly.
"The Crown Princess has woken. It is time for breakfast."
Leona glanced at her phone. 7 a.m. already. She closed the documents and rose from her chair, her hair shifting with the movement, briefly revealing both of her mismatched eyes.
Through the long corridor, sunlight spilled in from tall windows framed in dark metal. Lamps hung in elegant rows overhead, though their glow was unnecessary at this hour.
The dining room greeted her with the warmth of her family. At the long mahogany table sat her daughter, the Crown Princess, who looked up at her with a smile. Both of the girl's eyes were black—unlike her mother's.
"You're already working this early?"
The voice that followed belonged to her husband, Kelvin Daley, King Consort of Jamaira. His brown eyes lifted from his plate to meet hers.
Leona took her seat at the head of the table. Breakfast began in silence until Kelvin spoke again.
"Do you have a meeting later?"
Leona finished a sip of tea before replying, "Yes. Between Time, Light, and Darkness."
Kelvin blinked. "Why would you need to be there? Time can move without its vessel."
"Flora will be there too," Leona answered simply. "I want to see her."
That caught Kelvin off guard. A meeting between Guardians… then—
"Whose vessel is she?" he asked carefully.
"Darkness."
His eyes widened slightly. "Does Wil know?"
"He does. But you know his nature. If Flora does not speak first, he won't either."
Kelvin exhaled, conceding with a small nod. "Always so secretive."
Leona only smiled faintly, hiding her own thoughts.
---
Elsewhere in the palace stood a small, unlit meeting hall built for thirty.
In the silence, two presences manifested. One brought brilliance that banished shadows; the other brought weight that thickened them. Light became Seralyth. Darkness became Nocthara.
The Guardians had come.
Seralyth took a seat, radiance pouring from her form like a living star. Across from her, Nocthara leaned back, hair and eyes darkened to nearly black, the quiet power of her Guardian's form unmistakable.
"You never hold back," Nocthara said, her tone dryly teasing. "One of you could blind a room."
["I am Light,"] Seralyth replied serenely. ["Illumination is my nature. There is no need for any other source here."]
Nocthara smirked. "Predictable as always."
["Consistency sustains order,"] Seralyth said.
Their contrast filled the silence until the door opened again.
---
"I only have two hours," Leona murmured as she approached. Her voice was not addressed to the women inside, but to the one within her.
[That is enough,] Tirania's calm voice answered from her mind. [I will not take more.]
Leona trusted her. Time, after all, belonged to Tirania more than anyone.
When she entered, both Guardians turned toward her. Leona inclined her head politely.
"Good morning, Nocthara. Good morning, Seralyth."
["Good morning, Miss Leona!"] Seralyth's voice chimed warmly.
Nocthara only smiled faintly.
Leona sat at the table's end. As she did, her hair shifted from black to grey, her left eye following. Then Leona was no longer the one speaking.
Tirania, Guardian of Time, had taken her place.
---
Whenever Tirania summoned such a meeting, her words circled only two things: the past or the future.
Seralyth and Nocthara had wagered between themselves while waiting. Seralyth had guessed the past. Nocthara, the future.
"There is only one thing I wish to tell you," Tirania began, her voice calm, deliberate.
The Guardians waited.
"There will be something in the future."
Nocthara's lips curled. She had won.
"We will gain a new colleague."
Silence swept through the chamber. Seralyth and Nocthara exchanged a single glance. The thought mirrored in both their minds: A new Guardian?
It was unthinkable. The last Guardian created—the youngest until now—was Nocthara herself, at the dawn of the universe's early millennia.
"What will it be?" Nocthara asked sharply. "What role will it guard?"
Tirania's expression softened into a small smile. "I have already told you all I can. A new Guardian will emerge in the distant future. I only hope you are ready for it."
["But why only us?"] Seralyth asked, unease flickering in her light.
"Because you two will be the first to see it," Tirania answered.
Both Guardians fell silent. The implication was undeniable:
Then it must be close to us.
A new Guardian… but who?