The chamber was sealed from the world, thick stone walls swallowing every sound beyond them. Six figures gathered around a circular table, each cloaked, each face half-hidden beneath shadows and candlelight. The air was heavy with smoke and intent.
They were known only by the names they gave themselves.
Virex leaned forward first, fingers resting on the edge of the table.
"The King grows weaker," he said calmly. "Yet the crown remains out of reach."
Across from him, Noctis scoffed. "Because the law still stands. The heir must reach twenty-four. Until then, the throne is protected by tradition."
Caelum, tall and rigid, traced a line across the map laid before them. "Traditions can be broken. Men cannot rule if they are dead."
A low chuckle came from Ashen, whose voice carried amusement rather than humor. "Careful. Kill the King too early, and the kingdom fractures. Chaos invites enemies we are not ready for."
Seraph, quiet until now, finally spoke. "Then we wait. Not idle waiting, but preparation."
The sixth figure, Morrow, tapped twice against the table. "And the power."
Silence followed. All eyes turned toward him.
"The prophecy speaks of it," Morrow continued. "A force buried, dormant, unseen. Without it, even a fallen crown will not hold."
Virex nodded slowly. "We search. We listen. We gather signs. Whoever bears it does not yet know what they are."
No names were spoken. No guesses made. Only certainty remained.
Outside the chamber, night pressed on, unaware that the first thread of fate had already been pulled.
---
Far from stone walls and whispered conspiracies, the lower quarter of Aeloria buzzed with life.
Lanterns flickered above narrow streets, their warm glow bouncing off worn cobblestones and crooked rooftops. Merchants shouted their last sales of the evening. Laughter spilled from taverns, and the scent of bread and spice lingered in the air.
Nyx moved through it all like a streak of shadow and light.
She sprinted past stalls, dodged baskets, slid between two arguing merchants, and vaulted a low fence without breaking pace.
"Slow down!" someone yelled.
"Watch it!" another called.
She only laughed, breath steady, eyes sharp. These streets knew her. Every turn. Every shortcut. Every place to disappear if needed.
Sometimes, in moments like this, a fleeting image would flicker in her mind—a scene she hadn't witnessed yet, a face she didn't recognize, a shadow that didn't belong. She dismissed them as dreams, odd thoughts brought on by exhaustion or imagination. Yet deep down, they stirred a sense she could not explain.
When she finally reached the small wooden door at the end of a slanted alley, she skidded to a stop and pushed it open.
Warmth greeted her instantly.
"You made it," her mother said, smiling from beside the hearth. "Just in time."
Nyx grinned. "I told you I would."
Her mother's eyes were kind, tired but full of love. This was the woman who had raised her, who she had always known as Mother, and who knew her better than anyone else.
"Bring the soup to your father," Mother said gently. "Before it cools."
Nyx nodded and carried the bowl into the adjoining room.
Her father lay resting on the bed, pale but awake. When he saw her, his lips curved into a faint smile.
"You're back," he murmured.
"Of course," Nyx said, setting the bowl beside him. "You think I'd forget?"
He chuckled weakly. "You never forget."
She lingered only a moment before returning to the main room, where the table waited to be set.
Her siblings—the twins—were already there. One boy, one girl, arguing softly over nothing important.
"Sit properly," Nyx said, nudging them into place as she laid out the plates. "Food won't run away."
Mother lowered herself into a chair, exhaling slowly. "I feel tired tonight," she admitted. "Maybe I should rest."
Nyx paused, then moved to her side. "Mother, don't worry. Soon, I will make you proud. I will work to help this family."
Her mother looked at her for a long moment, eyes glistening. "I believe you," she said softly.
A knock echoed through the room. Not loud. Not urgent. Just enough.
Mother's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Ah. Just in time. Nyx, go open the door."
Nyx frowned slightly. "At this hour?"
She crossed the room and pulled the door open.
There he stood.
"Cairo," she breathed, and she was already moving. She flung her arms around him. "I missed you."
Cairo laughed, hugging her back. "I missed you too. You still run like the wind, I see."
It had been years since they had last been apart, but Cairo was more than just a friend. He was her childhood companion, the one who had raced beside her through the streets of Aeloria, shared secrets, laughter, and even mischief. Someone who knew her as well as she knew herself.
"Someone has to," she replied, grinning.
As they turned to go inside, something caught her eye.
Across the street, just for a moment, a glint of metal flashed beneath the lantern light. Armor.
Nyx stopped. She stared for a few seconds longer than necessary, heart slowing, senses sharpening.
Nothing moved. No sound.
"It's night," she muttered to herself. "I'm imagining things."
She stepped inside, closing the door behind them.
Laughter filled the room again.
Mother welcomed Cairo warmly, asking Nyx to bring him a plate. The twins leaned closer, eager for stories. Life continued, unaware.
Outside, the figure remained, hidden, watching. A voice whispered beneath the night sky, low and certain.
"I can feel it now… the power stirs."
She is closer than she knows.