A soft, lilting tune drifted through the veil of Alvinnué’s dreams, a gentle thread pulling him toward waking.
“Oh, the fair maiden of Geldanos, with hair like the shining sun,
She danced in fields of golden grain, where cobbler’s work was done.
Fine boots of leather, brown as earth, for nimble feet so light,
Her eyes the skies of summer’s day, her laughter pure delight…”
The song wrapped around him, sweet and rustic, painting pictures in his half-sleep of endless fields, of a sun-haired girl twirling in the light, her brown boots kicking up the dust of the harvest.
Alvinnué’s obsidian eyes blinked open slowly.
The soft creaking of a moving carriage greeted him. Above it, the song continued. Anders, perched at the head of the wagon with the reins loosely in hand, was singing the old Geldanos ballad in a low, pleasant voice, smiling faintly to himself.
Aelric, seated across from Alvinnué inside the carriage, caught the young warrior stirring and gave a warm grin.
“Good morning, Alvinnué,” Aelric said, his blue eyes—clear as the summer skies sung about in the song—bright with amusement.
From the opposite corner, Hakun adjusted the worn seal of Sariyaz tucked carefully into his belt and gave a nod. “Morning, lad,” he rumbled, voice as rough and steady as the road beneath them.
Alvinnué stretched, wincing slightly as the soreness from the fierce battle with the Half-Giant settled deep into his muscles. His limbs were stiff, and the fatigue of the fight weighed heavily on him. He allowed a rare small smile to cross his lips despite the discomfort. “I was dreaming of golden fields and maidens,” he said dryly. “And boots. Lots of boots.”
Anders chuckled from the front seat without turning around. “A true dream of Geldanos, then. You’ll fit in just fine.”
“I’m not sure frolicking is in Alvinnué’s nature,” Aelric teased lightly, tapping the butt of his sword against the carriage floor.
“Nor mine,” Hakun said, grinning under his gray beard. “But a full stomach and a soft bed? That, I could get used to again.”
The wheels rumbled on. Beyond the dusty windows, the sun climbed higher, illuminating the endless rolling fields that framed their path—a golden sea leading straight toward the gleaming walls of the capital.
The city rose ahead, proud and beckoning.
Their journey to the heart of Geldanos was nearly at an end.
The city grew closer now. The banners on the high walls fluttered in the wind — crimson fields, golden wheat. The smell of horses, bread, and distant smoke filled the air, bustling voices carried faintly on the breeze.
Inside the carriage, Alvinnué rubbed the sleep from his eyes and turned to Hakun.
“What happened after the battle?” he asked quietly. “After… Gorimugh and the Half-Giant bandits?”
Hakun gave a low chuckle, shaking his head.
“You collapsed, lad,” he said. “After that stunt you pulled, you hit the ground like a stone. Scared us half to death.”
Alvinnué frowned, struggling to recall the hazy end of that fight.
“And… Gorimugh?”
Aelric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“I spoke with him,” he said. His blue eyes caught the morning light, earnest and calm. “He allowed us passage. Gorimugh honored your duel — their kind still believe in old codes of respect and debt. You won that challenge, Alvinnué. Clean.”
Alvinnué sat back slowly, absorbing the words. Part of him felt a flicker of pride. Part of him — the colder, wiser part — weighed what it had cost him.
Hakun jabbed a thick finger toward him with a gruff grunt.
“But promise me this,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Never pull a stunt like that again. Charging a Half-Giant, alone and wounded? You’re lucky you’re still breathing.”
Alvinnué managed a faint smile, the corner of his mouth lifting. He inclined his head solemnly.
“I promise.”
From the driver’s bench, Anders chimed in, still half-humming the Geldanos ballad under his breath.
“Good. I’d hate to sing at your funeral before we even reach the first tavern.”
The others chuckled softly, the carriage rattling along the worn road. Beyond the dust-smeared windows, the capital’s gates loomed large — a city alive with color, sound, and the heavy pull of destiny.
The laughter faded, and a thoughtful silence settled in the carriage as the city neared.
Hakun shifted in his seat and reached into the folds of his travel-worn cloak.
“There’s something else,” he said, his voice quieter now. He produced a small object wrapped in cloth and held it out to Alvinnué. “From Chief Gorimugh. For you.”
Alvinnué took it carefully, unwrapping the rough linen to reveal a hand-carved wooden totem — no longer than his palm. The figure was simple but strong in its detail: a towering giant, an axe slung across its back, a deer draped over one broad shoulder. The lines were sharp and primitive, but there was undeniable craftsmanship in the form.
“A Half-Giant hunter,” Alvinnué said, softly.
Hakun nodded. “It’s for the promise Gorimugh made. Said you earned it.”
He paused, then added, “You’re to take it back to the elders of Shanda-Wold. He said they’d know its meaning.”
Alvinnué studied the totem, his fingers brushing the carved grooves. It felt heavier than it looked — not in weight, but in significance. He didn’t understand it fully, but he didn’t need to. Not yet.
He gave a small nod and carefully placed the totem into his hip sack, tucking it securely among his belongings.
“I’ll carry it,” he said.
Outside, the road widened, and the noise of the capital grew louder. Bells rang in distant towers. The scent of roasting meat drifted through the open carriage window. Geldanos was no longer a far-off dream.
As the carriage rumbled on, Alvinnué’s gaze wandered out the window, though his mind was far from the bustling city ahead. He could hear the clatter of hooves, the occasional shout of a vendor in the distance, but his thoughts lingered in the past — in the shadows of his own journey.
Shanda-Wold, his homeland, was an island surrounded by endless sea. Grey skies, darkened waves, and towering cliffs that seemed to hold the weight of time itself. The land was harsh and stark — cold winds biting through the air, thick forests casting their long shadows.
Then, Alvinnué had trained alone, isolated in the Black Forest that had swallowed him whole, its silence heavy, its shadows endless. The only sounds he had known were the whispers of trees and the distant cries of creatures lurking in the horizon.
His training had been brutal. It had to be. In the Black Forest, with no one but the wilds to guide him, he’d learned how to fight, how to survive, how to embrace the darkness and move through it. He had become one with the shadows, a master of stealth and strike, but even then, he had felt the sting of loneliness, the longing for something more. There had to be more to life than this endless solitude.
The memory of finding Hakun on Mount Kan-alon still lingered, the old soldier’s blood-soaked body a stark image in his mind. The wound had been deep, but Hakun had been strong. He’d been the first face Alvinnué had seen that hadn’t been shadow or stone. And in that moment, a bond had formed — a bond that would lead him here, into the heart of Geldanos.
Then there was Aelric. Their paths had crossed by chance—or perhaps by fate—but Alvinnué could no longer deny the pull of camaraderie that had begun to take root. Aelric had spoken with the ease of someone seasoned by experience, and at first, Alvinnué had been wary. He hadn’t understood then what it meant to truly trust. But now, seeing Aelric—who he had only known for a very short time—risk his life by offering to fight in his stead, something shifted. A strange warmth stirred within him—a sense of brotherhood he had never known, now beginning to take shape.
And now, here he was — rolling into the capital of Geldanos. The world seemed to burst into color, as if the very air had shifted. Bright banners, the scent of baked bread and fresh hay, the sounds of laughter and conversation in the streets. It was the complete opposite of his homeland, where life was sparse, and every movement was tempered by the cold. It was… overwhelming. Yet, there was something freeing about it — something that made him feel, for the first time in years, as though he might belong.
The golds and reds of the city streets seemed to beckon him, pulling him from his reflections and into the present. Perhaps it was time, he thought, to embrace the warmth of this new world, to stop hiding in the shadows and learn what it meant to truly live.
The city of Geldanos unfolded before them like a tapestry of color and movement. The city gates, wide and welcoming, stood tall against the morning sky, framed by bustling merchants and travelers coming and going. Alvinnué’s eyes widened at the sight — this was a world unlike the one he had known. The streets were alive with the sounds of laughter, the calls of traders selling their wares, and the rich scent of fresh bread and roasting meats that filled the air. The walls, once distant in his mind, now felt so close, so full of life. The buildings stood in contrast to the greys of Shanda-Wold, their vibrant hues of gold, red, and blue catching the light. He could hardly comprehend the sheer volume of life here — people were everywhere, moving with purpose, crossing paths, speaking in voices that seemed to echo off the stone streets.
As the carriage approached the gates, two guards in polished armor stepped forward, their stance rigid and alert. They wore the blue and gold of Geldanos, tabards crisp over chainmail, each carrying a long spear capped with steel that caught the morning sun. One of the guards, a broad-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed beard and a scar over his right brow, raised a hand for the carriage to slow. “Names,” he said, his tone firm but not unfriendly. His eyes scanned each passenger with a soldier’s instinct — lingering a moment longer on Alvinnué’s black leather and Hakun’s weathered face. The other guard, younger and leaner, kept his spear upright but rested the butt against the stone, eyes flicking from wheel to boot, assessing with quiet scrutiny. Aelric offered a calm nod but said nothing, choosing instead to let Hakun handle the introductions.
The older guard narrowed his eyes. “What’s your business in the capital?” he asked, directing the question toward Hakun with the steady tone of someone used to trouble arriving in carriages.
Hakun shifted slightly, adjusting the folds of his cloak to reveal the seal of Sariyaz affixed to a leather pouch at his side. “I carry a message for the King of Geldanos,” he said. “It must be delivered by my hand.”
The younger guard stepped forward with a touch of eagerness. “I can take it for you. We’ll see it reaches the throne.”
Hakun’s voice hardened. “No. I must deliver it myself. It bears the mark of Sariyaz and the weight of a message with great importance.”
The older guard’s eyes darted to Alvinnué, who sat quietly, cloak drawn close. “And what about the kid?” he muttered, his expression tightening. “He looks strange.” There was no malice in the words — just caution, the kind born of years watching for trouble.
Before Alvinnué could speak, Aelric leaned forward slightly, his tone casual, almost amused. “Strange? Perhaps to you,” he said with a faint smile, “but only because you’ve never set foot beyond these walls. He’s Shanda-Woldn — and under my protection.” There was a quiet authority in his voice, not boastful, not forceful, but confident. The kind that made the younger guard’s posture stiffen ever so slightly and the older one glance again, more thoughtfully this time. “We’ve come a long way,” Aelric added, “and we don’t intend to bring trouble to your gates. Just words the king needs to hear.”
The older guard studied Aelric for a long moment, then gave a short grunt, half-amused, half-wary. “You can try,” he said, stepping aside with a nod toward the inner gate. “But good luck getting an audience. The king’s court doesn’t open doors for just anyone these days — not even messengers with seals and strangers in shadow-cloaks.” His gaze lingered once more on Alvinnué, curiosity still not quite settled. “Still… I’ve seen odder folk with less purpose. Move along.”
The younger guard stepped aside as well, tapping twice on the gate with the butt of his spear. With a creak and a clatter, the ironwood doors began to part, revealing the vibrant pulse of the capital beyond.
The carriage rolled forward through the gates, and the city of Geldanos unfurled before them — a vibrant rush of color, sound, and motion. Market stalls lined the main avenue, their striped canopies flapping in the breeze as merchants shouted offers in thick local dialects. Children darted between carts, chasing each other with sticks, while a street performer balanced on a barrel, juggling polished stones for a ring of laughing spectators.
Hakun leaned forward, eyes scanning the familiar sprawl. “Haven’t visited in a long time,” he murmured, his voice tinged with both nostalgia and caution. “Doesn’t look the same as I remember it.”
Aelric remained silent beside him, his gaze fixed on the towering inner walls in the distance — the high arches, the glint of gold on the spires, the banners of the royal house fluttering in the wind. Something in his expression tightened, just slightly. This city was his home once. Now it stood before him like a place remembered in dreams — familiar, but no longer his.
Alvinnué, meanwhile, pressed his face closer to the carriage window, eyes wide with wonder. His head turned left and right in rapid succession, trying to take in everything at once — the fabrics, the scents, the sounds, the sheer number of people. It was overwhelming and dazzling all at once, and for a boy who had grown up in shadows, it was like stepping into a dream. He looked almost giddy — like a teen set loose in an arcade of wonders he never knew existed.
The carriage wheels clattered over the cobblestones as they rolled deeper into the heart of the city. Through the narrow window, buildings loomed close—old, proud structures built of thick stone, bearing the weight of centuries.
Aelric leaned slightly, gazing out with a calm familiarity. He began naming the districts as they passed them.
“That’s Bradel Quarter… just past that, Lorn’s Crossing… and up ahead, the Merchant District.”
Hakun raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You know these streets well.”
Aelric gave a small, almost wistful smile. “I lived here once. A long time ago.”
As the carriage turned, the wide avenue of the Merchant District came into view. Grand buildings flanked the road, their walls fortified not just for structure but status. Bustling crowds moved between stalls and storefronts. And among them, a distinct group stood out.
Alvinnué leaned forward, his dark eyes narrowing. Through the glass, he spotted a formation cutting cleanly through the crowd—a troupe of goblins in richly colored garments, gold chains glinting under the sun. Towering beside them marched orcish guards, their heavy armor polished and ceremonial, yet clearly functional.
Alvinnué gestured toward them. “Look,” he said, voice calm but curious. “Is that the Grun’Dor merchants?”
Aelric nodded without hesitation. “It is. Goblins for trade, orcs for protection. You’ll find no better dealmakers—or worse to cross.”
Hakun gave a low whistle, watching the entourage pass. “Didn’t think they’d be allowed this deep into the capital,” he muttered. “Not without some treaty I didn’t hear about.”
“They’re permitted during High Trade season,” Aelric replied. “And only through the Merchant Gate. Grun’Dor sends their best when the coffers of Geldanos are open — and they always leave richer than they arrived.” His voice held a mix of respect and wariness. “Don’t let the size of their trinkets fool you. The goblins will haggle a man down to his last bootlace, and the orcs don’t flinch even once.”
Alvinnué studied them a moment longer before sitting back, a quiet tension in his jaw. He had trained his whole life imagining orcs as enemies, beasts of the wild. Now they walked in the heart of a human capital, calm, proud, and guarded by gold instead of chains.
“This land,” he murmured under his breath, “has many faces.”
The carriage turned once more, leaving behind the lively noise of the Merchant District. As the sounds of trade faded, a hush seemed to settle over the streets, as if the city itself held its breath near its heart. The cobbled road widened into a grand promenade lined with statues of old kings and queens, their faces weathered but proud, each mounted on pedestals of white stone.
At the far end, rising behind wrought-iron fencing and thick garden hedges, stood the castle of Geldanos — a vast stronghold of ivory-colored stone, crowned with towers and banners bearing the royal crest: a golden lion’s head of over a shield of blue.
The carriage slowed as they neared the castle gates. Here, the guards were different — clad not in simple chainmail but in polished breastplates inlaid with blue enamel. Their helms bore the sunburst sigil of the royal guard, and their spears were taller, tipped with gleaming steel that shimmered in the light. Their formation was precise, their eyes sharp, and they made no move to welcome the approaching carriage.
One of them, a captain by the look of his plumed helm, raised a hand.
“State your business at the castle,” he said, his voice formal and ringing, trained to be heard across a courtyard.
Hakun straightened in his seat, the weight of the seal at his side a constant reminder of the responsibility he carried. He nodded toward the captain, his expression steady. “I bear a message for King Edmon Geldanos,” he said, his voice firm but respectful. “It is of urgent importance and must be delivered in person.”
The captain’s eyes flickered briefly to the seal, then back to Hakun’s face, narrowing slightly. “And who exactly are you to carry such a message?” he asked, his tone taking on a harder edge. “I don’t see any royal insignia on you, old man, nor do I recognize your face.” His gaze moved to the others, lingering on Alvinnué and Aelric with a critical glance. “Your company is… unconventional. You’ll forgive me if I’m cautious.”
Hakun’s jaw tightened, but he stood his ground. “I am Hakun of Sariyaz. I was stationed at Fort Sundalo. I’ve traveled far, through battle and blood, to bring this message to the king. It is not a request, captain — it’s a necessity.”
The captain’s hand remained on the hilt of his sword as he looked down at the small group, sizing them up. “You seem to think you’re important enough to demand an audience,” he said coldly. “But this is the castle of Geldanos. We don’t allow just anyone to waltz in with demands.”
Hakun’s eyes flashed briefly, the weight of years of soldiering and the fires of battle flaring behind them. He knew the castle’s rules, but there was no time to waste on pride.
“You may deny me entry,” Hakun said, his voice low but unwavering. “But I will not leave until I speak to King Edmon.”
Hakun’s eyes narrowed, and he gripped the armrest of the carriage with the same resolve he had in battle. The captain’s skeptical gaze burned into him, but Hakun didn’t flinch. “I’ll not repeat myself,” he said, voice steady but edged with the weariness of someone who had seen far too much.
The captain, however, wasn’t swayed. His hand tightened around his sword hilt, and his voice grew colder, sharper. “You’re either very bold or very stupid, old man. You think you can just waltz up to the gates of the castle and demand an audience with the king?” He took a step closer, his posture stiff and ready. “I don’t care where you came from, or what message you’ve got — there’s a chain of command here. And you, with your ragtag group, aren’t anywhere near the top of it.”
Aelric’s gaze sharpened as the situation escalated, but he remained quiet for now, his posture casual yet alert. His fingers twitched slightly, as if he were ready to act at any moment. He looked at the captain with a quiet, assessing stare, though he held back his words.
Alvinnué, noticing the rising tension, glanced between the captain and Hakun, his body tense with readiness. The atmosphere thickened, and he could feel the stirrings of conflict in the air. He didn’t know much about palace protocol, but the hostility was impossible to ignore. It seemed the captain wasn’t going to back down without a fight.
Hakun stood his ground, his voice growing darker. “I’ve delivered messages through enemy lines, fought through battles where the odds were against me ten to one — and I’ll be damned if I’m stopped by a single guard who thinks his duty is to question me.” His tone was a thinly veiled threat, and for a brief moment, the air between them felt charged, like the stillness before a storm.
The captain’s lips curled into a sneer. “We’re not in your war camp now, soldier. I suggest you move along, before you make me enforce the king’s laws.” His hand hovered dangerously near the sword hilt. “You’ll get no closer without a better reason.”
Aelric’s gaze never wavered, though his posture relaxed just slightly as he spoke in a calm voice that carried an air of command. “Captain, while I understand your duty, I assure you that this matter is of utmost importance. The man you’re speaking to has traveled far and risked much to bring his message directly to King Edmon.” His voice remained smooth, without a hint of threat, yet the weight of his words lingered in the air.
The captain’s eyes flicked toward Aelric, the tone of his voice still skeptical. “And who exactly are you?”
Aelric’s lips curled into a small, almost indifferent smile. “Let’s just say I’m someone who knows the importance of loyalty and duty.” He paused for a beat before adding, “And you’ll want to be certain that nothing stands in the way of this message. Trust me on that.”
The captain’s lips twisted into a cold smile, the sneer barely concealing the growing hostility. “You had better leave now,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Or suffer the consequences.”
The sound of approaching footsteps signaled the arrival of reinforcements. Other royal guards, clad in polished armor, appeared from around the corner, their eyes locking on the group. Their presence made it clear that this was more than just a simple disagreement — it was quickly escalating into something dangerous.
Hakun’s gaze flicked toward the approaching guards, but he didn’t flinch. His voice was steady, unwavering. “No,” he said flatly. “I will not leave. Not until I’ve delivered this message.”
The captain’s hand moved toward his sword, unsheathing it just enough for the blade to catch the sunlight. His stance was aggressive, ready to draw it fully at the slightest provocation. “Then you’ll regret your decision,” he hissed, eyes locked on Hakun’s. The tension between them crackled, and for a moment, it seemed like the entire street held its breath.
But before things could escalate further, Aelric’s voice rang out, cutting through the air like a whip. “Captain Ranald, Enough!”
The captain froze mid-motion, his hand hovering just above the hilt of his sword. The guards behind him paused, looking toward their captain in confusion. Aelric’s tone, though calm, carried an undeniable authority that rang with familiarity.
Aelric stepped out of the carriage, his posture relaxed, but his gaze was as unyielding as stone. “This is not the way, Captain,” he continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You will stand down.” His voice was firm, but there was a hint of something deeper in it — a familiarity with the captain’s name that was impossible to ignore. It was as if Aelric had just invoked something far greater than just a simple order.
Captain Ranald’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of recognition flashing across his features. The grip on his sword tightened for a heartbeat, but then slowly, reluctantly, he lowered it. “What is this?” he demanded, his voice still low, though the threat had eased from his tone. “Who the hell are you?”
Aelric stepped closer, his eyes unwavering as he met Captain Ranald’s skeptical gaze. “I knew you when you were just a sergeant,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying the weight of recognition.
Captain Ranald’s expression remained fixed, confusion and suspicion clouding his features. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he examined Aelric’s face — the features that seemed so familiar, yet he couldn’t quite place them.
Then, Ranald’s gaze flicked downward to the sword at Aelric’s side. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes widened, a whisper of disbelief escaping his lips. “It can’t be…” He took another long, searching look at Aelric’s face, the realization dawning slowly. “Berunding? The Fire Speaker?”
Aelric’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. He didn’t respond verbally, but his hand moved to his waist, where the legendary blade was sheathed. He drew it out just enough to let the captain see the hilt, marked with intricate runes and ancient symbols. The moment Berunding glinted in the sunlight, the truth hit Captain Ranald with full force.
For a moment, the captain stood frozen, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. But Aelric didn’t stop there. With a fluid motion, he reached into his cloak and produced a badge — one that gleamed with the unmistakable seal of the royal house. It was gold, the lion’s head emblem sharp and proud, with a blue shield behind it and a green field beneath. The insignia of the house of Geldanos.
“This is a symbol of my birthright, Captain,” Aelric said, his voice quiet but unyielding. “I am Aelric of Geldanos, son of King Edmon.”
Captain Ranald’s eyes widened further as the weight of Aelric’s words settled in. His mouth opened, but for a moment, no sound came out. He glanced from Aelric’s face to the badge, then back to the sword, before bowing his head, his tone now humble and respectful. “Your Highness… I… I didn’t recognize you.” He took a step back, looking completely thrown. “I am at your service, my prince.”
Aelric held up a hand, a subtle but firm gesture that silenced Captain Ranald. His expression softened, but there was an undeniable finality in his voice as he spoke.
“Don’t call me that,” Aelric said, his gaze steady. “I gave up that title a long time ago. I’m no prince.” He glanced down at the badge for a moment, his fingers tightening around it before he tucked it back into his cloak. “I haven’t been ‘Aelric of Geldanos’ for years.”
Captain Ranald hesitated, the weight of Aelric’s words sinking in. His surprise still hung in the air, but he bowed his head again, this time in acknowledgment of Aelric’s wishes. “Understood, Your—uh… Aelric,” he corrected himself, clearly struggling with the shift.
Behind them, Hakun stood with his mouth hanging slightly open, clearly flabbergasted by the revelation. He had fought beside Aelric and trusted him without knowing the full truth. Now, hearing it aloud, the shock was written across his weathered face. “Well, I’ll be damned…” he muttered under his breath. “A prince… and he never told us? Not a word?” He shook his head, trying to process the magnitude of the revelation.
Alvinnué’s face went completely blank for a moment as Aelric spoke, processing the words like they were a riddle he couldn’t quite solve. He blinked a few times, mouth slightly agape, then sputtered, “Wait… What? A prince? You?” His voice was a mix of confusion, awe, and something bordering on disbelief, like the concept had just shattered his reality.
“Hold on—Aelric, a prince of Geldanos? You?!” His hands flailed a little, like he didn’t know whether to point, laugh, or just sit down. “You’re royalty?” He looked around at Hakun, his expression a mixture of ‘I can’t believe this’ and ‘What do I do with this info?’ “No way, you’re pulling my leg. Right?”
Aelric couldn’t help but chuckle at the reaction, though he gave a slightly sheepish shrug. “I suppose it’s a bit much to take in all at once.”
Alvinnué shook his head furiously, his voice rising a little, “I—How? Why? All this time, and you didn’t think to—?!” His words tumbled out faster than he could form them, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of the situation. He looked up at Aelric, half-grinning and half-shocked, trying to process that the guy he’d fought alongside was, in fact, the prince of the nation they were in. “You’ve been keeping that secret this whole time?”
Aelric’s smile faded, his eyes shifting to a more somber expression as he looked at Alvinnué. The lightness of the moment slipped away like a shadow, replaced by something deeper — an apology long overdue.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of years of regret. “I should have told you both, Hakun, Alvinnué… about who I really am. About why I left.”
He took a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over his friends. There was no humor in his eyes now, no playful deflection. Just the raw honesty of a man facing the people he cared about.
“I ran away from my responsibilities,” Aelric continued, his voice steady but laced with sincerity. “Not just the title, but the people I left behind. My father, my kingdom… I left them all without a word. And for that, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark.”
Hakun, still processing the whole royal revelation, said nothing at first. His eyes softened, though, the hard lines of his face showing a flicker of understanding. Alvinnué, too, had gone quiet, his earlier shock replaced by a kind of silence that was both uncertain and thoughtful.
Aelric met their gazes one by one, his posture relaxed but his tone more serious than they had ever heard it before. “I’ve never wanted to put this burden on you, but you both deserve the truth. You’ve fought by my side, trusted me without knowing who I really am, and I owe you that much.”
Alvinnué swallowed hard, the weight of Aelric’s words settling in. He’d never seen his friend, or prince, in this light before. “I—” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, his earlier amusement replaced by a strange mixture of awe and awkwardness. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, I get it… but this is a lot to take in.”
Aelric nodded, his eyes softening. “I know. And I don’t expect things to change overnight, but I wanted you to know. I can’t take back what I did, but I can promise that I’ll be there when it counts — as your friend.”
The tension in the air had shifted, but the situation still held the weight of the unknown. With Aelric’s revelation of his true identity, the royal guards had parted, their initial resistance melting into something closer to a reluctant respect. As Captain Ranald stepped aside, he gave one last look at Aelric, a lingering mixture of disbelief and resignation. He didn’t say anything more—his words had lost their power, replaced by a stiff understanding.
The palace gates opened before them, the large wooden doors creaking as they parted to reveal the grand hallway beyond.
Inside, the royal halls were magnificent, gleaming with intricate tapestries and polished marble floors that seemed to shine as if they had been cared for with the utmost devotion. Massive columns stretched up toward the high ceilings, adorned with gold leaf and fine sculptures. The air smelled faintly of incense and old wood, a combination of royal opulence and history.
Aelric moved with confidence through the halls, his presence commanding more attention than he had anticipated. He was no stranger to the royal court, but it felt different now, like stepping into a world that had long forgotten him.
Alvinnué followed close behind, still processing Aelric’s words, his mind racing, but also taking in the grandeur of the palace. It was a far cry from the rustic surroundings of Shanda-Wold. The gold, the silks, the luxury—it was overwhelming in its own way.
Hakun, on the other hand, was clearly feeling the weight of this place. His eyes kept darting around, more alert than usual, and his posture stiffened as they moved deeper into the palace. He was a soldier—used to rougher environments, but this place… this was not his world.
As they reached the grand doors to the throne room, they paused for a moment. Aelric’s hand lingered on the handle, but he hesitated for a breath. His friends were beside him—Hakun and Alvinnué, both of whom had come to trust him. And yet, despite the years that had passed, the role of prince still felt distant, like a weight he hadn’t quite shed.
He opened the doors.
King Edmon Geldanos sat upon the throne, a man of imposing stature, dressed in regal splendor. His crown glinted in the light, and his eyes were sharp, holding the wisdom of someone who had ruled for many years. His gaze fell upon Aelric, and a flash of recognition crossed his face, though it was quickly masked with the cold, unreadable expression of a monarch.
“Well,” King Edmon said, his voice carrying authority, “it seems that you have returned at last, Aelric.”