Knights Academy, Arian Core
The echo of footsteps rang softly down the stone corridor as Grandpa Tywin made his way toward the east tower. Sunlight poured through the tall, arched windows, painting streaks of gold across the ancient walls. Beside him, Adam walked with wide eyes and a breathless smile, his small boots tapping quickly to keep pace.
"Wow… there are so many paintings here," Adam whispered, awestruck by the vibrant colors and shapes covering the walls.
"Those aren't paintings, Adam," Tywin said with a weary chuckle. "Just some mischief the students probably got up to last night."
"Mischief? But they look so good…" Adam tilted his head, staring up at the murals as they entered the main corridor of the east tower.
"You'll understand their meaning when you've lived a few more winters," Tywin replied, his tone softening. "Most of these show children holding swords and writing in books. What the students are trying to say is that being a knight and studying in a library don't go hand in hand."
"But there are knights who are mages too, aren't there?" Adam asked, clutching his grandfather's hand as the air around them grew cooler.
"Yes… but they're often mocked for it," Tywin murmured. He stopped before a small wooden door and smiled faintly. "We're here."
"This is? even the corridor is tiny…" Adam frowned, his voice echoing faintly.
"Well, most students don't visit anymore," Tywin said, chuckling under his breath. "No one wishes to be mocked for reading, so they moved it to this quieter section. Fewer visitors, fewer distractions." He placed his palm on the old brass handle. "But don't worry—it's far bigger inside."
The door creaked open, and a rush of cool, paper-scented air greeted them.
Inside, the library stretched wide and bright. Heavy tomes filled the dark oak shelves, arranged with near-military precision. The air carried the comforting scent of polished wood and ink. Rows of cushioned chairs lined the long tables, and far above, a vast crystal dome bathed the room in natural light, scattering rainbows across the floor.
"Isn't this place perfect?" Tywin breathed deeply, the glint in his eyes softening. "Quiet, full of light… and not a soul to disturb us. It used to belong to the Astronomers, but that class faded away long ago. A pity—it was quite the view from here."
"But won't the crystal roof trap heat and start a fire?" Adam asked, pointing up.
"That won't happen," Tywin smiled. "Arian Core's climate never grows that warm. And even if it did, the staff could douse a fire with ease."
He gestured toward a smaller door in the back. "That leads to the demonstration room—where I kept all the statues and relics from the history class I used to teach."
With a gentle push, the door swung open.
The air inside was still, carrying the faint musk of old marble and dust. The room was vast and echoing, filled with paintings and statues, each with a small plaque resting beneath them.
"They forgot to cover them again," Tywin muttered. "It's summer—these will gather dust in no time."
"Wow… what's this map?" Adam called, already running toward the far wall. A massive map stretched across it—an intricate masterpiece of parchment and color.
"That," Tywin said, walking up beside him, "is the map of our known world. Look here—this is our home, Arian. Nestled deep within the snow-capped mountains of the northeast."
"Are there really other nations?" Adam asked, frowning. "I've never met anyone from outside."
Tywin's expression softened. "It can't be helped. A powerful veil surrounds our land. We cannot leave—and none can enter. To the rest of the world, we do not exist."
He moved toward a nearby statue as Adam's gaze lingered on the map's golden edges.
"Windelfen, the nation of elves—they worship Ventis, god of the wind," Adam read from the plaque. "Maoyi, nation of merchants… their god is Tudi, the god of trade. And this one—Defiledemod, nation of law, ruled by the goddess Torina…"
Tywin laughed quietly. "Are you planning to read them all now? You should hear their stories first."
"Yes, Grandpa," Adam said quickly, eyes glimmering with curiosity. "But why do all the nations worship gods, while we follow the Frost Sovereign… a dragon?"
Tywin's eyes softened as he turned toward the far end of the room. A faint light caught on a greyish-white statue—a tall, serene figure dressed in flowing robes, long hair cascading gently over his shoulders.
"Wow… she's so pretty," Adam whispered.
Tywin chuckled. "You mean he. Despite being called the mother of Arian, Mother Seraphyx is male. He's the one we revere—the Frost Sovereign Dragon."
Adam blinked. "But… why a dragon?"
"Even I can't say what truly happened. Every scholar who's studied Seraphyx ends up silent — maybe faith fills the gaps that knowledge can't." Tywin said, lowering himself into a nearby chair.
"Mother Seraphyx descends once every century, and his presence alone fills our hearts with peace so great that no one remembers to ask questions."
He leaned back slightly, eyes distant. "What little we know is this—three thousand years ago, there was a war. Wounded and weary, Seraphyx fled to the mountains of Dragonsvil. There, he cast the Veil and gave life to the first Arians. This land became his sanctuary… and ours."
Adam frowned. "Does that mean the other gods hurt him? Is that why we're hiding?"
"Who knows," Tywin said softly. "Legends are fragments, not truths." He rose and dusted his hands. "Enough of the library, then. Shall we go to the armory? I know you've been waiting for that."
"Wait—really? I get to see the real swords?!" Adam's eyes lit up as he ran toward the door, his voice echoing joyfully through the hall.
Tywin followed, smiling as the boy's laughter faded into the corridor. "That's the spirit… Just like your father."
Tywin's laughter echoed softly through the empty hall — a sound that would never reach the royal spires above.
Aethercastle, Arian Core
Crown Prince's Chambers
A soft knock echoed through the quiet chamber.
"Your Royal Grace, Queen Minerva requests your presence," a gentle voice called from beyond the door.
"Come in," Prince Orion murmured.
The latch clicked, and the door creaked open. The maid stepped inside, bowing her head — only to freeze as she caught sight of the prince.
Orion was just rising from his bed, his silver hair falling loose over his eyes, his white shirt wrinkled, unbuttoned, and untucked. Morning light filtered through the tall glass windows behind him, catching on the curve of his jaw and the open silk at his chest.
"Mother wants to see me?" His voice was calm, low, and distant — like the surface of a frozen lake.
"Y–Yes, Your Grace," the maid stammered, her gaze darting to the floor. "Her Majesty has asked that I escort you to the dining room."
Orion brushed a hand through his hair, sighing. "Very well. Tell her I'll join her shortly — after I've changed."
"As you command."
She bowed again, nearly stumbling over her steps as she turned away. Her heart pounded as she pulled the door closed behind her.
In the empty corridor, she exhaled softly, pressing a hand to her chest.
"His Royal Grace is so careless…" she whispered to herself. "He should know how dangerous beauty like his can be."
Her voice faded down the marble hall as the prince's chamber fell silent once more — the distant wind humming through the towering spires of Aethercastle.
Dining Room
The heavy doors opened with a muted groan, and Prince Orion stepped inside.
The dining hall stretched long and regal, its air laced with the faint aroma of wine and polished wood. The great table, carved from frost-white oak, dominated the chamber — its legs shaped into coiling dragons, their wings unfurling along the sides. A dark silk cloth flowed across its surface like still water, broken only by a neat line of crystal candles flickering down the center.
Though the windows were sealed, sunlight pierced through the glass, scattering a pale glow that danced across silver cutlery and glass goblets. Orion's boots pressed softly into the fur mat beneath the table as he walked toward the far end.
Seated at the head was Queen Minerva.
Even in her forties, she carried herself with ageless grace — a beauty refined by power rather than time. Her hair, a cascade of amber silk, was pinned in intricate spirals that caught the light of the candles. Small crystal pendants shimmered amid her curls, while her gown — layered in fine lace and deep royal silk — rippled with every movement. Black satin gloves traced her arms, ending just below her elbows, and heels of polished glass clicked sharply against the marble as she turned to face him with a teacup in her hand.
Her emerald eyes met his — cool, assessing, unblinking.
"Sit down," she said, her voice calm but edged with authority. "We have matters to discuss regarding your coronation ceremony next week."
The candles flickered as Orion met her gaze, a faint tension rippling through the still air.