Aurelia froze, her breath catching at Lady Levina's words.
They did not know who Vaelric's mother was.
For a moment, she could only stare at the young woman before her ....the king's sister, her sister-in-law .... and search her eyes for some hint that this was a jest. But Levina's face was solemn, untouched by mirth.
"What… what do you mean by that?" Aurelia asked finally, her voice soft but laced with disbelief. "How can Valerian not know who his son's mother is?"
Since her arrival in Valkoron three days ago, that very question had lingered at the edges of her thoughts. She had sent Gwen to make discreet inquiries among the servants, the guards, even the maids who had served the palace for years. Yet every time, Gwen had returned with the same words: No one knows, my lady.
It had felt absurd then. Impossible. The Storm Lord, a man so deliberate in every decision he made .... not knowing who birthed his only child?
Levina exhaled quietly, folding her hands on her lap as if gathering her thoughts. "The boy's birth is… a mystery," she said. "To protect him, my brother concealed all knowledge of his arrival. No one in the realm even knew what the child looked like until he turned five. Before then, people only whispered that the king had a son ... nothing more."
Aurelia's eyes widened. Her pulse thrummed faster. To protect him? From what?
She leaned forward slightly, her brow furrowed. "So… Valerian truly is his father?"
Levina nodded without hesitation. "Yes. There's no doubt of that."
"Then how could he be ignorant of who the mother is?" Aurelia pressed, her confusion deepening. "Did he..." she paused, uncertain how to phrase it delicately, "...did he… bed many women during that time?"
Levina chuckled softly, shaking her head. "No, not at all. My brother is many things, Aurelia, but he is not ruled by his flesh. Valerian has always been consumed by his duties. He barely has the time to dine properly, let alone chase after women."
Aurelia felt a flush creep up her neck. "Then I don't understand…"
"I know," Levina said gently. "Most people don't. And perhaps that is how he intends it to remain. But you are his bride now ... you should know how the boy came into our lives."
Her voice grew quieter, thoughtful, as her gaze drifted toward the window where the gray sky of Valkoron loomed. "It was seven years ago," she began, "on a day when the heavens raged as though Vireon Himself had awakened in anger."
*******
Seven Years Ago…
The wind howled through the peaks of Mount Kaelith, the sacred resting place of the Storm Kings of old. The air there always carried the taste of thunder .... sharp and electric, humming with divine energy.
Valerian strode up the narrow mountain path, his heavy cloak snapping behind him in the wind. Beside him, his manservant Taren struggled to keep pace, burdened with ceremonial offerings and the tools required for the Rite of Heritage.
The mountain loomed before them, jagged and magnificent, wreathed in clouds that flashed intermittently with lightning. The entrance to the tombs was guarded by two sentinels clad in silver armor. At the Storm Lord's approach, both men bowed deeply, striking their chests in salute.
"Your Majesty," they intoned as he passed.
Inside, the air grew colder. Only the steady echo of Valerian's boots disturbed the silence. Rows of statues lined the ancient corridor , each one carved in the likeness of a past Storm Lord, their marble eyes unblinking, their hands resting upon swords of stone.
Valerian's steps slowed as he reached the final alcove... that of his father, King Ardyn Stormborne, whose name was etched in bold Virelian runes across the granite base.
He paused, his chest tightening. The memory of his father's death still sat heavy within him .... the illness that took him swiftly, leaving behind a throne burdened with turmoil and a son unready to rule. With Daeron opposing him at every turn.
He remembered Ardyn's voice, deep and calm even in fury; remembered his hand on his shoulder, steady as the thunder outside their windows. Vireon..the Storm God....had claimed him too soon
Taren silently set down the ceremonial items and withdrew to a respectful distance as Valerian knelt before the altar. Lightning crackled faintly along his arms, the ancient blood of the Stormborne line answering the sacred call of their ancestors.
He bowed his head, whispering the words of the Rite .... old prayers in a language older still .... honoring those who came before him, seeking strength and guidance.
When the final words left his lips, he lingered, resting his hand against the cool stone of his father's statue. "You would not believe how quiet the realm feels without you," he murmured. "Or how heavy this crown grows each day."
A gust of wind swept through the chamber, extinguishing the torches for a moment before reigniting them in pale blue flame. Valerian took it as an answer ... or a reminder that even the dead still watched.
He turned to leave. But the instant he stepped beyond the mouth of the tomb, the sky above Mount Kaelith convulsed.
Thunder split the heavens. Lightning forked and crashed across the peaks, violent and unrelenting. The storm answered only to him .... yet this was no call of his own making.
Taren," he murmured, eyes glowing white, pupils swallowed by divine light. "Stay back."
Lightning coiled around him, wrapping his body in spirals of living storm. And then...he rose. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he lifted into the air, cloak snapping like a banner of night.
From below, Taren shielded his eyes as Valerian ascended into the tempest. The wind shrieked, tearing at his hair; lightning struck him and flowed harmlessly into his skin. His voice joined the thunder, commanding it.
He drew forth Astrael, the Spear of Storms. the Stormforged spear... its edge pulsing with radiant electricity. Its haft gleamed silver, its blade a living shard of lightning. Each strike he made split the heavens anew, until at last the fury of the skies began to calm.
When the last thunder faded, Valerian descended, his boots touching the ground with a hiss of static. Lightning still shimmered along his shoulders as he looked around the ravaged clearing.
"Taren!" he called.
The man stumbled from the shelter of a boulder, pale and wide-eyed. "My lord! The sky...it was as if Vireon himself was in battle!"
Valerian's gaze drifted upward, then back toward the tomb. "No," he said slowly, his voice tight with unease. "This was… something else."
All across Virelia, the storm descended. Citizens huddled in their homes as thunder rolled endlessly, their prayers to Vireon trembling on their lips.
He turned to Taren. "Are you unharmed?"
"I am, my lord," Taren breathed, still shaken. "But what in the name of the gods was that?"
Valerian's gaze swept the horizon. "I don't know," he said, his voice low.
Then ..... faintly, impossibly .... a sound echoed from within the tomb behind them.
A cry.
Not the wail of wind or spirit .... but the fragile, desperate cry of a newborn child.
Both men froze.
Taren looked at his lord, eyes wide. "Did you...."
"I heard it," Valerian said grimly. He moved swiftly back into the tomb, Astrael still glowing in his grasp, the air around him charged with the lingering breath of lightning.
At the heart of the tomb, before the statue of King Ardyn, lay a small bundle wrapped in a pale, rain-soaked cloth.. The child's cries filled the sacred space, his small fists clenched tight as sparks of faint lightning flickered around him.
Valerian's breath caught. He lowered Astrael slowly, kneeling.
"What is this?" whispered Taren behind him.
Valerian reached out, the child's cries quieting the moment his hand touched the blanket. The air around them calmed; even the torch-flames seemed to bow toward the infant. And then a mark appeared on his chest, the same mark on valerian himself.... The mark of vireon..
Valerian stopped, his breath caught in his throat. Even before he lifted the child into his arms, he felt it ... the pulse of the Stormborne blood in the boy's veins.
"I… don't know," the Storm Lord murmured, his voice thick with awe. "But he bears the mark of Vireon."
The child blinked, and in his gaze danced a spark of lightning.
Lightning answered him.
Taren crossed himself, whispering, "By the gods… a child of the storm."