The morning after the Moon-Feast did not arrive with the usual cold, industrial clarity of Orestes. Instead, the capital was draped in a strange, shimmering mist—a lingering remnant of the Silver Dragon's presence that refused to dissipate even under the heat of the rising sun. The previous night had ended in a blur of controlled chaos; the seventeen thousand spectators had been dismissed, shuffling back to their homes in a state of religious shock. Their voices were hushed, and the usual clanging of the morning refinery bells was replaced by an eerie, reverent silence.
Aster woke before the first light hit the obsidian spires. He sat by the window of his guest chambers, watching the mist roll over the city like a living shroud. He didn't need much sleep; his mind was a high-speed engine, already weaving through the political, genealogical, and magical implications of the "Heir of Silver Moon." He had set out to win a wager, but he had ended up shattering the foundation of a kingdom.
He shared a quiet breakfast with Astra and Arliene in the private dining wing of the palace. The atmosphere was thick with gravity, the simple act of eating performed in tense, heavy silence. Arliene watched her son, her rose-quartz eyes reflecting a mixture of maternal pride and a queen's caution.
"You didn't just win a wager, Aster," she said, her voice steady but low. She reached across the table, placing her hand over his. "You unburied a god and a prince in the same night. The King you are going to face today is not the same man who laughed at your 'foreign art' a week ago. Be careful with him. A proud man who has had his nose shattered is often more dangerous. In this case, he is also a king."
Astra nodded, her fingers tracing a pattern on the polished stone table. "The golden blessing within our blood is quiet today, but the silver in Elian... it's humming, Aster. I can feel it through the walls. It's like a bell that won't stop ringing."
Aster didn't reply immediately. He simply finished his tea and stood up, his silver hair catching the morning light. "The wager was for the King to accept our music and songs, but we showed him something even more than that. "
Aster went to Elian's room and found the boy sitting on the edge of his bed. Elian hadn't changed out of his performance clothes; the soot from the stage was still smudged on his jawline, and he was staring at the Silver Dragon's mark on the back of his hand. It glowed with a faint, rhythmic pulse, perfectly synchronized with his heartbeat.
"Elian," Aster said softly.
The boy looked up, and for a moment, Aster saw a flicker of the street urchin he had first met—terrified and small. But beneath that, there was a new, terrifying light. "Prince Aster," Elian whispered. "The dragon... it said my name. It said I was an Orestes royal. But I'm just a boy from the slums. I don't know how to be... this."
"You don't have to be anything yet," Aster said, walking over and placing a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. "But you do have to stand. The King is waiting."
They made their way to the Royal Hall, the walk feeling longer than usual. The grand chamber was cold, the obsidian pillars casting long, jagged shadows across the floor. King Boron sat on his throne, but he wasn't slumped in his usual posture of bored authority. He was leaning forward, his massive hands gripping the armrests so hard the iron groaned.
Aster stepped forward, his boots clicking rhythmically against the stone. He stopped ten paces from the throne, with Elian standing half a step behind him, and looked the King in the eye.
"The sun has risen, Your Majesty," Aster began, his voice echoing in the vast, hollow space. "The wager was interrupted by the Dragon, but the results are undeniable. The people have heard the music. The whole nation has shown its mind. So, I must ask—what do we do now?"
Boron let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to deflate his massive frame. He looked at Astra, then at Aster, and finally, his gaze lingered on Elian with an intensity that was almost painful to witness. It was a look of profound, soul-deep confusion.
"What do you want from me, Prince Aster? Do you want me to kneel and accept defeat?" Boron's voice was uncharacteristically soft, devoid of its usual gravelly thunder. "I am a man of iron, but even iron melts when the sun and the moon align against it. Not only did the people love your music, but they found a hope in it that I haven't been able to give them in twenty years. The city didn't sleep last night; they spent the hours singing your melodic songs in the streets."
The King stood up, his heavy boots thudding as he walked down the steps of the dais until he was standing level with them. He looked down at Elian, his shadow swallowing the boy.
"The Silver Guardian does not wake for trivialities. It has slept since the time of my great-grandfather. It woke because of you," Boron said, looking at Aster. "But it spoke... it spoke to him."
He reached out, his thick fingers hovering near Elian's hand, where the dragon's mark shimmered. "The Dragon called this boy 'Elian Orestes.' In our laws, the Dragon is the ultimate witness. It cannot lie, and it cannot be deceived by foreign magic. If it says he has royal blood, then he is a prince of this realm. And that means my entire reign... my entire understanding of my lineage... is a question mark."
Boron's eyes were bloodshot. "I want to know—I need to know—what this all really means. Who is this boy you found in the slums? Whose blood does he carry? Because if he is who the Dragon says he is, then I am sitting on a throne that might not be mine."
The air in the room was thick with the weight of the King's admission. Elian looked like he wanted to bolt, his eyes darting toward the exit. But just as Aster opened his mouth to offer his own theories, the heavy iron doors of the hall swung open with a violent, echoing clang.
The Leader of the Orestian Investigation Troops, a man named General Kaelen—scarred by years of mountain patrol and intelligence gathering—marched into the room. He was followed by two soldiers carrying a heavy, ancient chest made of silver-lined oak.
"Your Majesty! Forgive the intrusion!" Kaelen barked, dropping to a knee, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. He looked like a man who had seen a ghost.
Boron's eyes narrowed, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. "General, I am in the middle of a matter of state. This had better be worth the interruption."
"It is regarding the only matter that exists today, Sire!" Kaelen replied, looking up. His eyes darted to Elian, and for a split second, the hardened soldier's gaze softened into something resembling pity. "We have spent the last twelve hours scouring the 'Sunken Archives' and the records of the Forbidden Shafts—the ones sealed after the Great Collapse twelve years ago. We have found the truth. We know who the boy is."
The silence that followed was absolute. Aster felt a prickle of anticipation at the base of his neck. He had suspected a royal scandal, but the look on Kaelen's face suggested something much darker—a tragedy that had been buried under tons of rock and silence.
"Tell us," Boron commanded, his voice a low growl. "Every truth. Leave out no detail, General. I want the history of Elian Orestes laid bare."
General Kaelen stood up and signaled for his men to open the chest. Inside were stacks of dusty ledgers and a single, tattered blanket—the kind used by the royal nursery, embroidered with the silver thread of the Orestes crest.
"It began twelve years ago," Kaelen started, his voice dropping into a haunting tone. "The year of the Great Collapse. When the previous King was preparing to choose the First Prince—your elder brother—to succeed him. But the woman your brother loved was a commoner. The Council refused to let a woman of the slums become Queen."
Boron's breath caught. "Valerius... he told the King he was going on a diplomatic mission and never returned. We thought he was assassinated by rivals abroad."
"No, Sire," Kaelen corrected, his voice heavy with the weight of the secret. "He gave up the throne for her. He chose love over the crown. He disappeared into the very city he was meant to rule, changing his name and living in the slums. He worked in the mines for years as a common laborer, hidden in plain sight, without the people—or you—ever knowing he was the First Prince."
The shock in the room was palpable. Arliene gasped, and Astra gripped Aster's arm. The King staggered back, his hand touching the cold obsidian of his throne for support.
"And when the Silver Crane Mines collapsed twelve years ago," Kaelen continued, "he was inside. He was one of the hundreds who died in the Great Collapse. That is why your search teams never found him; they were looking for a prince in foreign lands, not a miner in the rubble of our own backyard. At that time, his commoner wife was pregnant. She survived the news of his death just long enough to bring his son into the world."
Kaelen looked directly at Elian, who was now trembling so violently Aster had to hold him up.
"His mother died while giving birth months after the collapse. With no family records and no one to claim him, the child was placed in an orphanage with nothing but a first name. That child... is Elian."
The truth hung in the air like a heavy fog. Elian wasn't just a royal; he was the son of the man who should have been King before Boron.
***