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EPILOGUE
Alvaro lowered his wooden sword, breathing heavily, beads of sweat tracing down his sun-warmed skin. His chest rose and fell in sharp, deliberate breaths. He glanced at Julien, who gave him a smug, fleeting grin, and Alvaro felt that familiar twinge of competitive frustration. Just one more hit, and I would've had him… next time, I'll make it count, he thought, clenching his fist around the hilt.
But as the tattooed man's presence settled over the training ground, a quiet reminder of the day's responsibilities, Alvaro felt the sharp edge of ambition soften. There was more to being a prince than triumphing in mock combat. Strength alone isn't enough. Father always says that, but what does it truly mean? He reflected on the recent lessons from their tutors: strategies, diplomacy, trade, taxation… the invisible forces that guided the kingdom just as surely as the sword guided the hand.
The mention of Economics Class stirred a mixture of anticipation and dread. Alvaro had always excelled at physical endeavors, but numbers and policies demanded a different sort of discipline. He ran a hand through his dark hair, feeling the lingering sting of exertion. If I can master the blade, surely I can master the ledger… he reasoned, though he knew that Economics required patience, foresight, and subtlety. Skills far more dangerous than any sword.
He straightened his back, taking in a slow, deliberate breath. The pen is mightier than the sword, he repeated in his mind, recalling the wisdom of the blue-and-white-tunic prince and the approving smile of the tattooed man. There was truth in that, a truth that stretched beyond mere words. Leadership demanded balance—courage in battle, yes, but insight in council; decisiveness in conflict, yes, but vision in planning. Today's sparring had reminded him of his strength. Tomorrow's lesson would shape his mind. Together, they would forge the ruler he aspired to be.
As he picked up his water flask and wiped the sweat from his brow, Alvaro allowed himself a small smile. Let the swords clack and clash for now. Soon enough, the real challenge awaits, and this time, I'll meet it with the full measure of both strength and wit.
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The sun beat down on the royal gardens, gilding the marble paths and the tips of the roses with a warm, golden glow. Amidst this brilliance, two young princes clashed fiercely with their wooden swords. Prince Alvaro, dark-skinned and lithe, moved with precise speed, his eyes sharp with focus. Opposite him, Prince Julien's white hair seemed almost to glow, flying like a banner with each swing of his sword.
"Get ready to lose again, Alvaro," Julien taunted, his voice tinged with playful arrogance. But Alvaro's determination was unwavering. His jaw tightened, and his grip on the sword felt almost part of his very being as their blades met with a sharp, resonant CLACK.
It was more than just a duel; it was a spectacle, a living chess match of reflexes and rivalry, performed for the eyes of their entourage. One attendant leaned forward, shouting encouragement: "Don't let him provoke you, Prince Alvaro! Today's the day you finally beat him!" Nearby, another attendant, likely Prince Remy's trainer, threw his own enthusiasm into the fray: "Just wait a bit longer! I think Prince Alvaro is finally going to beat Prince Julien today!" Earlier, the same attendant had insisted, "A healthy body leads to a sharp mind, Prince Remy!"—a truth that seemed evident in Alvaro's relentless focus.
Suddenly, the careful rhythm of swords and cheers was interrupted by the measured STEP of someone new on the grass. A man with flowing dark hair and striking tribal tattoos appeared, his yellow-and-gold sash draped over his chest, muscles relaxed yet commanding. "So this is where you all were," he said, his voice calm but carrying a weight that immediately shifted the energy of the garden.
The princes did not falter in their duel, but the presence of authority—of the King himself—changed the nature of the clash. "Keep sparring, young princes. I don't want to interrupt the match," he said, a slight smile tugging at his lips, yet the words carried the silent reminder of time and duty.
The true battle, however, was not physical. An attendant hurried forward, concern etched across his face: "When is your lesson going to end? It's almost time for their Economics Class." The King's laughter, a warm "HAHA", cut through the tension. "Does it really matter who wins?" he said, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "It's not like they're using real swords anyway."
The young Prince Remy, dressed in his crisp blue-and-white tunic and clutching a book, voiced a truth that pierced the spectacle: "I believe the pen is mightier than the sword." Another prince nodded in agreement: "I agree, sir." The King's gaze softened, pride evident. "You are truly wise, Your Highness," he said, acknowledging not just the boy's intellect, but his grasp of what it truly meant to wield power.
Surveying the garden, the King's eyes flicked between his sons. "Alvaro is fast and Julien is strong. I'm glad to see they've inherited my strengths," he mused, a subtle mixture of pride and amusement threading through his voice. The duel, intense as it was, seemed almost playful in comparison to the weight of the wisdom he sought to instill. Observing Remy, who had patiently set aside the clash of swords for the quiet of a book, the King called to him, inviting a moment of shared connection: "Remy, since Julien and Alvaro are busy sparring, why don't you spend some time with me?"
Meanwhile, in a quieter, sunlit chamber, a very different scene unfolded. A dark-haired woman in a flowing blue dress sat alongside a white-haired queen, her serene presence a contrast to the martial energy of the gardens. Between them sat little Lierre, a vivacious girl of four, whose eyes sparkled with delight at the sight of pastries spread before her.
"WOW!" she exclaimed, her voice pure joy, as the dark-haired woman offered her a small piece of cake and a ruby-red berry. "Try this too, Lierre," she said, and the little girl's eyes lit up as she bit into the sweet fruit. "It's so yummy!" she thought, unaware of the political and martial lessons unfolding elsewhere in the palace.
The white-haired Queen looked on with gentle affection. "I know she's my sister, but she's so adorable," she murmured, a soft smile curving her lips. The dark-haired woman teased lightly, her voice warm and familiar: "You were the same. You'll always be my precious baby."
In that simple, sun-drenched moment, the burdens of royalty—sword, strategy, and statecraft—faded. Lierre's laughter and wide-eyed wonder reminded everyone that the heart of a kingdom was not only forged in battle or education, but in the small, unguarded joys of family and the simple pleasures of peace.
The Kingdom of Tayar had blossomed into a land of enlightenment, yet life within its gilded walls remained a mix of duty, rivalry, and familial warmth. On one side, the rigorous education of the royal children unfolded under the sun; on the other, the tender dramas of youth and the playful stirrings of old friendships colored the palace with joy.
In the sun-drenched gardens, the King arrived, his long dark hair brushing his shoulders and his tattoos tracing patterns of strength and heritage across his chest. Prince Alvaro, dark-skinned and quick of foot, clashed with Prince Julien, whose white hair seemed to flash with each swing. Their wooden swords met with sharp, ringing CLACKs, and the atmosphere crackled with energy.
"Get ready to lose again, Alvaro," Julien taunted, eyes gleaming with competitive fire. Alvaro's jaw clenched, and a determined spark lit his gaze. An attendant cheered from the sidelines: "Don't let him provoke you, Prince Alvaro! Today's the day you finally beat him!" Another voice rang out in fervor: "Just wait a bit longer! I think Prince Alvaro is finally going to beat Prince Julien today!" These words fueled Alvaro's focus as he pushed his speed and agility to the limit.
The King, standing tall in his casual yellow-and-gold sash, surveyed the scene with amused detachment. "Keep sparring, young princes. I don't want to interrupt the match," he said, letting the clash of blades continue while his mind quietly weighed their strengths. Soon, an attendant reminded him of the practical concern: "It's almost time for their Economics Class."
The tutor for Prince Remy, still loyal to old adages, called out: "A healthy body leads to a sharp mind, Prince Remy!" Yet, the pale-haired boy held a book firmly, a quiet counterpoint to the energetic duel. "I believe the pen is mightier than the sword," Remy declared. The King smiled, pride and recognition in his eyes. "You are truly wise, Your Highness," he said.
Surveying his sons, he mused aloud, "Alvaro is fast and Julien is strong. I'm glad to see they've inherited my strengths." When he called to Remy, inviting him to spend a moment together, the young prince, ever pragmatic, chose the quiet path of intellect: "It seems like they won't be done any time soon. I'm going to read in the meantime."
Within the palace, a gentler scene unfolded. The white-haired Queen doted on her dark-haired sister, affection threading every word: "I know she's my sister, but she's so adorable." The sister, in turn, teased with warmth: "You were the same. You'll always be my precious baby."
Little Lierre, the youngest princess at four, giggled with delight as she tasted a strawberry offered by the dark-haired woman. "WOW… It's so yummy!" she exclaimed, eyes sparkling with innocent joy. In this sunlit chamber, the cares of state and the echoes of combat felt distant, replaced by laughter and the simple pleasures of life.
The Queen's playful demeanor returned as she reminded her sister of the upcoming social obligations: "Which reminds me, you'll be reunited with some old friends tomorrow." The sister feigned disinterest, prompting the Queen to reveal the identities with a teasing smile: "The Prince of Brion and Howl, of course." She laughed lightly, her voice carrying mischief: "What are you going to do if they still like you?"
🗡️ The Arrival and the Bicker
A few days later, the grand hall of Tayar shimmered with gilded sunlight and the rustle of opulent garments. Courtiers and dignitaries moved gracefully, bowing to declare, "It's an honor to meet the King and Queen of Tayar." A servant presented a wooden box with reverence: "The Cardinal has requested I deliver this divine sword to you, Your Majesty."
Then came the suitors. The Queen asked about Martha's whereabouts, and the servant replied that she would arrive shortly. When Martha entered, her dark hair gleaming and presence commanding, the gray-haired prince's face flushed: "YOUR HIGHNESS…" He suggested a gentle tea in the garden, hoping to court her with civility.
The fox-eared prince, competitive and bold, countered immediately: "Would you like to go hunting in the forest?" He seized Martha's hand in a challenging grip, declaring, "MARTHA LOVES TO HUNT! DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HER?!" The gray-haired prince, flustered but determined, produced a gift: "I brought some precious tea from Brion Kingdom! I'm sure she'll like it!"
Martha, who had earlier appeared uninterested, offered a shy smile despite the commotion. The Queen observed the playful bickering and sighed softly: "They haven't changed a bit…" Yet within that rivalry, the undercurrent of choice and agency shimmered—Martha's ability to select her own path, even amidst the flurry of old affection and youthful competition.
🖋️ The Author's Internal Note
In the palace, the contests of might, the jousts of attention, and the playful conflicts of suitors contrasted sharply with the quiet discipline of the pen and the mind. True power lay not in the ability to wield a sword, or win a hunt, but to govern wisely, to lead justly, and to make deliberate choices. While swords clashed and suitors bickered, the real drama unfolded in the quiet approach of Remy toward the Divine Sword, and in Martha's sovereign right to decide her own heart.
The magnificent hall of Tayar, still resonating with the King's philosophical laugh from the earlier duel, now held a quiet tension. Courtiers, attendants, and the royal family gathered, their breaths held as the focus shifted from familial amusement to divine destiny.
A servant approached with a reverent STEP, carrying a simple wooden box. "The Cardinal has requested I deliver this divine sword to you, Your Majesty," he announced, his voice steady yet full of solemnity.
Queen Lucina, radiant even in the weight of ceremony, accepted the scabbard with careful hands. Her voice carried the authority and clarity of her office as she addressed the gathered family: "Whoever manages to draw this blade may become the next Cardinal." The words rang through the hall, signaling a test of destiny, not mere physical strength.
Lucina turned to her eldest sister, Martha. "You're the oldest, Martha. Would you like to go first?" Outside, the faint bickering of her two suitors drifted in through the open doors, a light reminder of the world beyond courtly duty. Martha grasped the hilt, her fingers tightening in resolve, but despite every ounce of effort, only a frustrated GROAN escaped her lips: "I can't do it. I CAN'T DO IT."
Next, the royal princes stepped forward. Alvaro, dark-skinned and determined, and Julien, white-haired and unyielding, had already spent the morning in spirited sparring. Now, their energy transformed into this sacred test. "REALLY?" Alvaro exclaimed, eyes alight with stubborn determination. "I CAN DO IT!" They pulled, muscles taut, breath ragged with effort—but the blade remained immovable. Princess Lierre, perched at the edge of the hall with wide, curious eyes, tilted her head in confusion: "WHY WON'T IT COME OUT?"
Finally, all eyes turned to Prince Remy, the quiet, studious boy who had always championed the power of intellect over brute strength. Lucina's voice was gentle yet firm: "You try too, Remy."
Remy approached, fingers brushing the hilt. He strained with all his calm, methodical energy, but the blade resisted, unmoved by the efforts of sword, strength, and experience alike. His shoulders drooped in quiet disappointment, and he released the hilt, the hall echoing with a soft, collective sigh.
Queen Lucina, ever perceptive, stepped forward and offered comfort. "Don't be so disappointed. You can always try again tomorrow. You never know what might happen." Her gaze lingered on him, full of encouragement and trust, acknowledging that his worth was not measured by immediate success.
It was then, in a moment that would be etched forever in the annals of Tayar, that the unexpected occurred.
Little Princess Lierre, only four years old, had been watching the proceedings with innocent fascination, her focus more on the sword than on the expectations surrounding it. With a simple, unburdened intention, she reached out. Her tiny hands grasped the hilt of the divine sword.
A luminous glow erupted with a resounding DU DUN, filling the hall with ethereal light. The great blade slid free as if recognizing her purity of heart. Princess Lierre, her pale eyes wide with astonishment, held the sword high. The weight of destiny, once unattainable by warriors, scholars, and elders alike, now rested in her small, unexpected hands.
The hall was silent. The scholar's discipline, the warrior's might, and the elder sister's experience had all failed—but the power of the next Cardinal had chosen the smallest and most innocent among them.
The Kingdom of Tayar, once dismissed by neighboring lands as a "land of barbarians," had become a beacon of civilization and enlightenment. Its streets no longer echoed with fear or unrest; instead, the murmur of scholars, the laughter of children, and the rhythmic CLACK of training swords resonated throughout the golden palace courtyards. This transformation was the direct result of the unwavering vision, courage, and love of King Hakan and Queen Lucina—a reign forged in peril and solidified through compassion and intellect.
The story of their union began in moments of extreme danger. King Hakan, a monarch burdened by constant threats to his life, once stood on the brink of death, facing a monstrous red, dragon-like beast whose rage and fire could have ended his life in an instant. It was in this hour of desperation that Lucina appeared—calm, resolute, and imbued with a quiet, unstoppable strength. She saved him, not with brute force alone, but with the clarity of heart and mind that would define her as a Queen.
Their reunion was a union of kindred spirits, separated by circumstance but reunited through fate. Over time, their connection deepened, culminating in a marriage founded on trust, mutual respect, and love. But their story was never just personal. Together, they faced the greatest threat the realm had ever known: the Shifters, creatures of chaos and destruction that had plunged the world into turmoil. With Hakan's resolve and Lucina's wisdom, they overcame these enemies, laying the cornerstone for the peace that would follow.
Lucina's contributions were not confined to the battlefield or the throne. She turned her intellect toward a quieter, yet no less critical, struggle: the curse of Draconian children. Continuing the research of the late Queen Adar, she dedicated herself to understanding the complex biology and alchemy required to save mothers and their unborn children. Through tireless experimentation and innovation, she succeeded in creating a medicine that preserved life and protected the vulnerable.
One could picture the Queen in her study, cradling a healthy infant in one arm while the other scribbled notes beside glowing vials and intricate diagrams—a visual testament to her dual mastery of compassion and science. This was the true essence of her reign: the courage to face danger, the intelligence to solve seemingly impossible problems, and the empathy to safeguard life itself.
Under the stewardship of Hakan and Lucina, Tayar had entered an age of enlightenment. The kingdom boldly abandoned outdated customs and prejudices, embracing knowledge, innovation, and equality. Schools flourished, offering education to all, while courts, streets, and marketplaces thrummed with the confidence of a people whose voices were finally valued.
Even the palace courtyards, where once only warriors drilled under the strict gaze of commanders, now rang with the CLACK of training swords—symbols not of oppression, but of discipline, security, and a future shaped by both strength and wisdom. The scorned land of old had been reborn. Through courage, intellect, and unwavering devotion, Tayar had emerged as a great nation, a shining example of what vision and love could achieve.
The Golden Age had arrived, and with it, the promise of peace, prosperity, and a bright future—not only for the kingdom but for the children who would inherit the fruits of this extraordinary legacy.