His father bent down and patted Solvane gently on the head, a loving smile crossing his face. But Solvane noticed something strange—his mother's posture had stiffened. Her golden fur rippled faintly as though a chill had passed over her, and for the briefest moment, fear flickered in her eyes.
His father straightened, his expression hardening as his gaze fell on her.
"Ayana, we need to talk."
"I know," she replied softly. She kissed Solvane's forehead, her touch lingering, trembling as if reluctant to let go. Then, without another word, she followed her husband out of the chamber.
That was the last time Solvane ever saw his mother.
---
The night wore on. Solvane remained on the balcony, staring down at the Yellow Aspers celebrating below. Laughter rose like smoke into the starry night, and the glow of lanterns bathed the city in gold. Yet, the sounds of joy only deepened his loneliness. His mother's final words replayed in his head like an echo he could not silence.
Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy. Curled against the balcony's stone rail, he slipped into restless sleep beneath the fading glow of the twin suns.
"What are you doing sleeping when you should be training?!"
The roar jolted him awake. Solvane blinked, heart pounding, to find his trainer looming over him—arms crossed, shadow cast long by the morning light.
"Disciple greets Master," Solvane muttered quickly, bowing with respect.
"Enough of that," the man snapped. "Be at the training grounds in fifteen minutes."
"Yes, sir."
General Fog—the name alone commanded respect. He was no ordinary instructor but a veteran commander of the Yellow Asper armies. His body bore the map of war: scars slashed across his arms, his jaw set in iron discipline, and his amber eyes sharp as blades. Even in stillness, he radiated the weight of a man who had seen battlefields drenched in blood and survived them all.
When he left, Solvane let out a long sigh.
"No rest for me, huh…?" he muttered, stretching sore limbs. But his thoughts drifted back to the night before. What did Mom need to talk to Dad about? The thought clung to him like a shadow. Still, a small smile crept onto his face. Maybe I'm going to have a baby brother.
Chuckling, he dressed quickly, strapping on sleek white armor trimmed with gold, his training sword at his side.
The training grounds were wide and ringed with stone pillars, the floor scarred from years of duels. General Fog waited there, standing tall with a soldier's arrogance.
They exchanged no words. Words weren't needed—only steel.
The clash began.
General Fog moved first, charging with merciless precision. His blade sang through the air, each strike sharp and deliberate. Solvane met him head-on, his body light, his movements quick for his age. The clash of steel rang out, sparks flashing as their blades collided. But he was no match for a veteran. A sudden blow struck his chest, knocking him sprawling into the dust.
Solvane coughed, the taste of iron on his tongue, but forced himself back to his feet. His determination burned hotter than pain.
Again, they clashed. Again, Solvane fell. His footwork faltered, and this time General Fog's strike smashed across his face. A sharp crack split the air—his nose broke. Blood streamed down, blinding him, his breath ragged with pain.
The general froze, eyes wide. He knew too well the punishment that awaited him should the prince be harmed. But before he could speak, Solvane staggered upright once more. His body trembled, vision blurred, but his hand clutched his sword with unyielding resolve.
"Lesson is done for today," Fog said quickly, his voice gruff. "We'll continue tomorrow—"
"No!" Solvane shouted, his voice raw, his nose dripping blood. "I still want to fight. I still need to fight! If I can't even defeat you… how can I protect her when she needs me? Tell me how!"
Although Solvane had joked earlier about his mother, deep down he knew the truth. That wasn't the face of a woman who was going to be all right. It wasn't the face of someone who would return to his arms, kiss his forehead, and braid his hair as she once did.
He didn't understand what was happening, but he felt it in his chest—a heaviness, a silent cry he couldn't put into words. All he knew was that she was slipping away, and he was powerless to stop it.
And so, in that moment, training wasn't just training. Every strike, every wound, every failure carried her shadow. He wanted to be stronger—not for glory, not for pride, but because he wanted to be there for her. Because he wanted to protect her.
That was all he could feel. That was all he could hold on to.
For the first time in two years of training, General Fog saw it. Not childish pride, not arrogance, but fire—an unbreakable will.
Slowly, a smile tugged at his lips. "You'd better mean that, boy."
Their blades clashed again, louder, harsher, sparks scattering under the lamps that lined the grounds. Steel rang like thunder, echoing into the night.
---
Hours later, Solvane lay in his bed, nose bandaged. Already, thanks to his Golden bloodline, most of his injuries had healed, leaving only faint marks. But the fire in his chest had not faded.
He stared at the ceiling in silence, the night air heavy with stillness… until a sound cut through it.
A scream.
It tore across the castle like a blade, sharp, desperate, and full of terror. Solvane bolted upright, his blood running cold.