Somewhere in the timeline of chaos — a fracture in the omniverse.
A figure sat beneath the skeletal branches of a death tree, snow clinging to its lifeless crown. His black cloak dragged across the ground, every movement strained and slow. Chains bound his wrists in ways that made even the smallest motion an effort. His ankles were shackled too, a heavy weight anchoring him to the frozen earth.
Above him, the moon hung broken — half-destroyed, yet refusing to fall. A crooked crescent, jagged as a wound, lingered in the sky like a bitten croissant that stubbornly would not crumble.
A sigh slipped past his lips.
"The end."
He closed his eyes.
"This time… the price was too big." A low, hollow chuckle followed.
"In this clash — ego, ambition, jealousy…" His breath misted in the cold air. "…no one wins. No one, except one. But even that victory came at a cost. A cost beyond bearing."
One chained hand dragged free, reaching up to press against his temple — as though to quiet the storm inside his skull.
"The war no one asked for," he whispered, voice thin as ash, "ended with a boom."
[here earth means ground not actual earth]
✦✦✦
Velza lingered outside the library, wrapped in the cowardly silence that hung between her and the attendant.
A sudden flutter of wings shattered the stillness. A pigeon landed on the window ledge, tapping insistently against the glass. Velza hurried over and unlatched it. The bird hopped inside, feathers dusting the sill with snow. A small scroll was tied to its leg.
She untied it quickly, fingers trembling. The wax seal was unmistakable.
"The king has summoned Vaelen," she whispered, her stomach tightening.
But she couldn't bring herself to cross the threshold. Not into his library. Her eyes shifted to the attendant.
The girl sat behind her desk, posture straight, her violet curls falling just so as she read. She hadn't moved for minutes — calm, collected, untouchable. Velza's jaw tightened.
Why did she always look as if she belonged here, while Velza felt like a trespasser?
She forced herself forward anyway.
"Excuse me," she said softly.
"Yes?" The attendant didn't even look up, her voice smooth but distant.
Velza hesitated, then blurted, "Could you call your—" Her tongue betrayed her. "...my Master?"
That earned her a glance at last — brief, cool, then gone.
"Sorry," the attendant said, her eyes already falling back to the page. "I'm busy. You'll have to wait until he comes out."
Velza's heart sank. The weight of the scroll in her hand suddenly felt unbearable.
"Alright. Thank you for your time," she murmured.
She turned back, her steps slower than before, and sat down again. The summons stared up at her like a blade wrapped in parchment.
Why would the king summon him now? And why did she feel like the attendant already knew more than she ever would?
Time dragged on. The library doors stayed closed. Shadows shifted with the sinking sun until the chamber dulled into a hush.
Velza's head drooped. She fought it at first, blinking against the drowse, but the silence and the weight of waiting pressed too heavily. Her arms folded across her chest, her cheek came to rest on her shoulder, and soon her breath evened into sleep.
Across the room, the attendant lifted her gaze at last. Her violet eyes lingered on Velza — the way she slumped in the chair, the faint furrow of her brow even in rest. With a quiet sigh, she reached beneath her desk, drawing out a neatly folded blanket and a small travel pillow.
Her steps made no sound as she crossed over. Carefully, she draped the blanket across Velza's shoulders. The girl stirred faintly, murmuring in her sleep.
"…what is your name…"
The attendant froze for a heartbeat, eyes narrowing just slightly. Then her voice came, soft, almost kind — and yet edged with the same secrecy that always clung to her.
"No body knows."
She set the pillow gently beneath Velza's head, adjusted the blanket with surprising care, and returned to her seat without another word.
✦✦✦
The light slanted low, spilling through the high glass panes in a burnished orange, dust drifting like flecks of fire. The long day softened into quiet, that strange stillness between work and nightfall.
A carriage rolled to a halt outside, its wheels crunching against the cobblestones, the crest of the royal house glinting faintly on its lacquered side. The driver sat rigid, reins clutched too tight, as though even he wanted no part of this errand.
The door opened. A tall figure stepped down, boots hitting the stone with a hollow weight. His cloak was plain but heavy, the hood shadowing his face. He moved with the kind of confidence that belonged not to courtiers, but to soldiers who had seen too much blood.
Inside, his gaze fell to Velza, sleeping under the blanket, lips parted as if whispering in her dreams. His hand twitched — not to wake her, but to test if she was really asleep.
The attendant cut him off before he even reached her. She stood, posture perfectly calm but her violet eyes colder than glass.
"What do you want? If you're looking for the prince, he is inside."
The figure paused. His voice was low, almost amused. "Thanks for that. I'll go in, then."
"Not without your name in the diary," she said, her hand pressing firmly on its red leather cover.
For a long breath, he didn't move. The air seemed to grow heavier. Then, without a word, he brushed past her and entered the library anyway.
The attendant's gaze followed him into the shadows, her smile faint but sharp.
"Well… I can't do anything," she murmured, settling back into her chair — though her fingers lingered on the diary as if she wished she could burn his name into it.
✦✦✦
Vaelen sat in the library, the gold light of the dying sun spilling across the pages of the tome he was reading. The warmth of it turned the drifting dust into flecks of fire, yet his expression stayed carved in calm restraint.
A faint creak of the great doors reached him. Heavy, deliberate footsteps followed.
He did not look up.
"Your Highness," the guard at the door announced stiffly, bowing low. "You've been summoned to the great hall. His Majesty awaits."
For a heartbeat, Vaelen's golden eyes flickered — a shard of something sharp flashing beneath the calm mask. Then, with perfect poise, he lifted his gaze and offered the faintest smile. Polite. Cold enough to sting.
"Of course," he said smoothly, closing the tome with a soft thud. "Wouldn't want to keep His Majesty waiting."
He rose, cloak brushing against marble, and strode from the library.
Outside, he caught sight of Velza, asleep in her chair by the tall window. The blanket had slipped from one shoulder, leaving her curled slightly against the chill. Her head rested awkwardly on her arms, but her face — usually held firm with defiance — had softened in sleep. A strand of hair clung to her cheek, rising and falling with each quiet breath, making her look younger, almost fragile.
Vaelen paused. Just long enough for silence to stretch.
The attendant's violet gaze met his. She tilted her head slightly, a silent gesture: She's fine.
His lips curved — not in mockery, but in something gentler, softer, harder to name. Stepping close to the attendant, he spoke low enough that only she could hear.
"Look after her until I return."
The attendant inclined her head once in acknowledgment.
As Vaelen turned away, a thought brushed through him like a shadow. Even the tough ones… are still human.
The evening air met him outside. The carriage waited by the steps, its dark wood and polished crest catching the last of the fading sun. The horses snorted clouds of white breath into the cooling sky.
The guard moved ahead quickly, pulling the door open with rigid formality. For an instant, the silence of the courtyard pressed in — broken only by the faint clatter of hooves on stone and the whisper of banners shifting in the breeze.
Vaelen stepped inside with measured grace. The leather seat creaked faintly under his weight. The guard followed, shutting the door behind them with a hollow thud that echoed in the stillness.
Then the wheels turned. Slow at first, then steady. The carriage rolled forward, crunching over the cobblestone, carrying them both into the deepening dusk — and toward the great hall, where the king awaited.