The dining hall was vast, its vaulted ceiling held aloft by pillars of dark stone veined with gold. Torches burned low along the walls, casting a soft amber glow over the feast: steaming bread, roasted meats, vibrant fruits, and goblets of something dark and sweet-smelling.
For the first time since she'd been dragged into that cell… Nia didn't feel entirely alone.
Her small finger rose, pointing toward the tall window.
Lyssa followed her gaze, and a knowing smile touched her lips. "Ah… the great tree. You wonder why it grows so large?"
Nia tilted her head, curious.
"They say it was planted by Veyrath, the first founder of our kingdom," Lyssa began, her tone carrying the smooth cadence of old story. "He placed the seed in the earth after the death of his beloved wife. His grief watered its roots, and the tree drank it all, growing vast and unyielding. Its branches stretch toward the sky, as though reaching for her even now."
Nia blinked slowly, her eyes fixed on the silhouette swaying outside the glass. Something about its stillness made her chest ache in a way she didn't understand.
"You may look outside if you wish," Lyssa said softly, her voice shifting into warmth. "The servants won't scold you here. You're safe."
Nia tilted her head again, almost questioning.
Lyssa chuckled, light and fond. "Yes, little one. Go on."
Nia slipped from her chair and padded toward the window. She pressed her palms to the cool glass, staring at the enormous tree. Its shadow spread across the courtyard like an ancient guardian, patient and unmoved by time.
Behind her, Lyssa's eyes lingered on the Nia, her expression unreadable. When she spoke again, her words carried both comfort and weight.
"The kingdom may forget its founders… but the tree remembers. And perhaps, in its roots and branches, it remembers us too."
Nia turned back to the window. Her wide eyes tried to drink in every detail — the sky, the courtyard, the towering tree. It had been so long since she'd seen daylight that she'd almost forgotten how freedom looked. A single tear gathered in her lashes, but it never fell.
She told herself she would live her life to the fullest with the time she had left — that she would accept the warmth, even if part of her feared it was only a trick. One last time, she would embrace it.
And then — movement. From the corner of her vision, two figures stood in the courtyard below. When she turned her head fully, one of them bowed low toward her window. Then, without a word, both slipped away into the shadows.
Before she could process it, Lyssa's voice drifted from behind, calm but firm.
"Tomorrow, you will meet with the king here. For that, you must learn proper etiquette."
Nia turned back slowly, head tilted, eyes wide.
"He wishes to speak with you about something," Lyssa continued. Her tone softened, though there was a strange weight behind her words. Seeing the fear flicker across Nia's face, she added, almost gently:
"Don't worry. He won't do anything… at least, not here. Not on my watch"
✦✦✦
After Velza finished choosing her sword, she stepped out of the blacksmith's shop and headed toward 106th Street, just as Vaelen had told her.
On the way, something caught her eye. Someone was scaling the massive trunk of the Great Tree, their movements unnaturally fluid, lifted by traces of magic.
Her steps faltered.
"Impossible… no one can use magic near Aegisroot."
She broke into a run — but when the figure came into full view, her pace slowed. It was Vaelen.
Velza frowned as she approached, watching him slip into the shadows along the tree's roots.
"He's eavesdropping. Of course he is. But… not my business."
When she drew close enough, she called out, voice cool and level:
"Your Highness. Finished eavesdropping yet?"
Her tongue betrayed her.
"Oh no… I actually said that out loud."
Vaelen gave a soft, amused laugh, then dropped lightly to the ground. The humor vanished from his face as quickly as it came.
"Anyway… what excuse for a father is he hiding behind now?" His tone twisted into a hiss. "If only he'd choke on his own lies and make room for someone with a spine."
Velza stiffened, her thoughts racing.
"Family matters. Not my place to step in."
Out loud, she kept her tone steady — but clipped.
"I… wouldn't know, Highness. It isn't my place."
That earned a laugh from him — sharp, humorless.
"Oh, right. I forgot. You're just the poor little 'guardian' they shackled to my paws." His lips curled faintly, muttering almost to himself:
"That fool."
Her head dipped, just slightly. A flicker of shame passed in the small movement.
Vaelen's gaze shifted upward — toward the high window. There, a girl's face lingered in the light.
With one hand across his chest and the other sweeping outward, he bowed low, a performer's grace in the gesture. Silent, but deliberate.
Velza's brows drew together.
"Who… is she?"
When Vaelen straightened, the softness was gone. His features were once again carved from steel.
"Enough of this," he said sharply, turning on his heel. "Let's move."
"Yes, Your Highness."
They walked side by side through the high-noble estates, the cobbled streets lined with iron-wrought fences and manicured gardens that stretched endlessly.
Vaelen's voice cut through the silence.
"Did you find a sword — for the time being?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
She hesitated before adding, "Why are we going to the library on 106th Street?"
His head turned just enough for her to feel the weight of his gaze.
"Do you remember me saying: no questions… unless they're important?"
Velza lowered her eyes. "Sorry."
By the time the word left her lips, they had arrived.
The library towered before them — less a building and more a fortress. Massive walls of polished white marble gleamed faintly under the torchlight, their surfaces veined with silver-gray like frozen lightning. The structure rose with impossible symmetry, its high arches and battlements giving it the air of both cathedral and stronghold.
It was said to be carved block by block from the peaks of the Shattered Crown — a mountain range torn apart in some forgotten war of gods. Even now, the marble seemed to hum faintly with a presence, as if the stones themselves still remembered the clash.
At its gates, towering bronze doors stood engraved with spirals of script in a language older than kingdoms. The weight of history pressed down with every step closer.
Velza slowed without meaning to, her boots whispering against the stone. Her chest tightened. She had faced duels, blood, and steel without flinching — yet here, before this mountain of knowledge and memory, she felt small. As if the library itself were judging her, asking if she was worthy to cross its threshold.
Vaelen didn't hesitate. His stride was measured, steady, like a man born into marble halls and gilded crowns. Where Velza slowed, daunted by the library's enormity, he walked as though it were his rightful domain. The bronze doors loomed, their spirals of forgotten script catching the torchlight. He laid his hand upon them, not in defiance but in quiet mastery — a prince acknowledging what was already his. With a deep groan, the doors opened inward.
Inside, the vast antechamber lay empty, save for a single figure seated behind a counter of polished stone. The attendant lifted their head, voice steady but practiced.
"Names must be recorded before entry. One page, one mark, no exceptions."
Vaelen took the offered quill without hesitation, scrawling his name onto the open page of a thick, leather-bound diary. The ink gleamed darkly under the lamplight.
Velza reached for the quill, but before her fingers brushed it, Vaelen's hand caught her wrist. The grip was light, but the command in it was iron.
"Wait here," he said, voice low and cutting. "You won't be coming inside."
Her brows knit. "Why—"
"Just don't." His words lashed sharp, and though his tone stayed even, there was something buried in it — a warning, maybe even fear.
Velza's throat tightened. She wanted to argue, to demand why he could stride freely through the marble gates while she was made to linger outside like a servant. But the way his eyes flickered — just once, to the carvings in the bronze doors — stilled her tongue.
It wasn't disdain keeping her out. It was something else.
So she swallowed her pride and stepped back, bowing her head. "Understood."
For a heartbeat, Vaelen didn't move. His hand lingered a fraction too long on the page, as if the act of writing his name into that leather-bound tome cost more than ink. Then, with a subtle breath, he pushed the quill aside and strode forward.
The bronze doors opened with a groan that seemed older than stone, and the silence of the library rushed out like a held breath. His footsteps vanished inside, leaving Velza before the sealed gate — not dismissed, but excluded.
For the first time in years, she felt like a child again: standing at the edge of something vast, shut out from the truth of it.