The festive mood is shattered as the Empress disappears, stirring unrest and planting the seeds of a sinister plot. Emperor Edmund's anguished dialogue and the presence of dark forces signal the looming threat.
The lanterns of Solvaris still floated in the air, trailing silver-blue ribbons of light like sleepy fireflies reluctant to leave the celebration. Children ran barefoot along the marble pathways, laughing and chasing each other beneath the waning moon, their festival masks now hanging loosely around their necks. A pair of flute players from Velthara Kingdom were still puffing out a cheerful tune near the fountain, unaware of the quiet stir beginning to hum beneath the surface of the city.
"Where did she go?" muttered Sir Kairon, clutching the pommel of his sword with both hands. His voice was low, tense, yet edged with worry rather than rage.
"She was just here… not a heartbeat ago," murmured Lady Alentha, the Empress's handmaiden, her eyes wide and brimming with disbelief.
Emperor Edmund stood in the middle of the moonlit garden where Elira had last been seen. His dark cloak billowed faintly in the night breeze, matching the shadows creeping between the rose-arched hedges.
"She said she would only visit the glass pavilion for a breath of air," he said, voice carefully measured. "No guards, no fanfare. Just a moment."
A silence fell around them, the kind that made the stars themselves seem to hold their breath.
Then—
"She probably just wandered off," offered Prince Etheron with a hopeful smile far too wide for the moment. He was fifteen, officially, though some days he still acted like a wide-eyed child from the kitchens. "Mother always said the moonlight made her feel like flying. Maybe she tried?"
Lady Alentha glared. "This is not one of her little moon dances, Etheron."
"But she does twirl like that," he whispered to himself, eyes still glinting.
Sir Kairon sighed. "Regardless, we must alert the High Guard."
"No." Edmund's voice cut through the garden like a winter gust. "Not yet. Not until we're certain."
"Certain of what, Your Majesty?" asked Duke Sander, approaching with a calm but cautious stride. "That she's playing hide-and-seek?"
"She would not leave without telling me," Edmund said. "Not tonight. Not in the middle of the Festival."
Within the central sanctum of the Moonstone Hall, the atmosphere thickened. The tension had not yet burst into panic, but the air buzzed with quiet urgency. Couriers came and went like shadows, parchment scrolls tucked under their arms, eyes darting as they passed guards twice their size.
Sir Kairon stood tall and still, like a dark tower amidst a storm. He watched as a young mage-in-training stumbled into the war room, his boots too large and his scroll barely sealed.
Young Mage (nervously): "Sir Kairon, Duke Sander—message from the Sanctum Arcanum. The Seers have... begun their scrying. But the threads are tangled. There's... interference."
Duke Sander snatched the scroll, scanning the ink with practiced eyes.
Duke Sander (muttering): "They can't see beyond the veil... Something—no, someone—is actively masking her. This isn't the work of wild magic. This is crafted."
Sir Kairon frowned, his voice low and steady.
Sir Kairon: "A spell of this magnitude narrows the suspect pool. Only the High Orders of magic or the forbidden arts of Morvath's cult could bend shadows to their will at such a scale."
Duke Sander: "Then it's time we bring this before the Quinta Concordia. This is no longer an internal matter."
Sir Kairon raised a brow.
Sir Kairon: "You would summon the rulers of the Five Houses? Risk political fracture during our hour of mourning?"
Duke Sander: "Not mourning. Resolve. If the light of Lucerion's prophecy is dimmed by this act, the other Houses must know. And act."
Meanwhile, in the nursery gardens, Etheron sat cross-legged beneath the silverleaf tree—his mother's favorite. He traced shapes in the dirt with a stick, eyes puffy from crying. His small shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh.
The palace steward, an elderly woman named Matilda, approached with a warm cloak in her arms.
Matilda (gently): "Little Lord, the wind's picking up. Come inside before you catch a cold."
Etheron (quietly): "Mama says the stars can hear you better out here... if you speak from your heart."
Matilda knelt beside him, placing the cloak over his shoulders.
Matilda: "Then speak loudly, my prince. The stars will answer."
Etheron looked up at the fading dawn, his voice barely more than a breath.
Etheron: "Mama... come home soon. I'll be good. I promise. Just don't be gone forever."
In the Imperial Council Hall, final preparations for the emergency summit began. Royal banners of the five divine houses hung from the rafters—Lucerion's golden flame, Velthara's tide crest, Vaeria's twin peaks, Lirindelle's sky-wing, and Aetheris's ever-burning phoenix.
As the chairs were arranged in a crescent formation, Edmund entered slowly. His presence brought instant silence. Though exhausted, he bore his crown with quiet strength. His once-stormy expression had become steel.
He turned to Sir Kairon and Duke Sander, his voice solemn but clear.
Emperor Edmund: "Send the call. The Empress is not just my wife—she is the Light of Luneth. And this darkness... it threatens all."
Crows took flight. Crystals glowed in towers. Riders sped along enchanted roads. The summons of the Aetheris Imperium spread like a wildfire through stone and spirit.
And as the sun climbed higher, burning away the mists of early morning, one thing was certain—
The Festival of Solvaris had ended.
But the Age of Shadows was only beginning.
A distant bell chimed from one of Solvaris' eastern towers—a mourning toll, soft and somber. The sound echoed through the vast halls of the palace like a whisper of loss. In the Queen's Solar, dust motes danced lazily through the golden light, untouched linens resting on the carved cedarwood bed. A single comb lay abandoned on the vanity. Her perfume still lingered faintly in the air—lilac and frostberry.
Down the corridor, Etheron wandered quietly from room to room, his toy lion tucked under his arm. Every servant he passed lowered their gaze, unsure of how to speak, how to comfort a boy too young to understand grief yet old enough to feel it.
He paused in the nursery—the one with soft quilts and stars painted on the ceiling—and looked at the empty cradle meant for his baby sibling. He reached over the railing and gently rocked it, then whispered to the shadows:
Etheron (softly): "Mama sang here… just yesterday. She said the stars would protect us."
He looked up at the painted constellations.
Etheron: "Where did they go?"
Back in the high tower, the war council reconvened under flickering spelllamps.
Sir Kairon pointed to a crimson-marked ring drawn around the Sanctum of Sylvariel.
Sir Kairon: "We have a possible breach near the sacred grove. Only druidic magic could mask passage through that terrain undetected. We've requested assistance from the Lirindelle scouts—if they respond."
Duke Sander raised a brow.
Duke Sander: "Cael Lirindelle isn't quick to involve his people in Imperial affairs, especially those concerning prophecy. He's not one to stir unless the wind itself commands him."
The Emperor folded his arms, eyes narrowed with purpose.
Emperor Edmund: "Then let the wind speak. I will send a summons—formal, and urgent. The Lirindelle Kingdom owes their loyalty not to politics, but to balance. If the child of prophecy is endangered, Orindelle herself will demand action."
Just then, a small knock echoed on the war room door. A page entered with hesitation.
Page: "Pardon, Your Majesty... a guest has arrived. She claims she brings insight from the Astral Archives."
Sir Kairon's brow furrowed.
Sir Kairon: "The Astral Archives? That order hasn't left their towers in decades."
A moment later, the doors opened again, revealing a cloaked woman with silver-touched braids and eyes like sunlit crystal. Her steps were measured, her presence like calm thunder.
???: "I am Lysenna of Thalara, Seer of the Fifth Circle. I come bearing echoes of the Empress's path... and warnings yet to unfold."
The room fell into a tense hush. Duke Sander closed the spellbook in his hands and stood slowly.
Duke Sander: "Seers do not meddle without cause."
Lysenna gave a small nod.
Lysenna: "The Empress is alive—but not untouched. She walks among veils where time bends and truth hides. She carries not just a child, but a bond the enemy fears. A life that may shatter the grip of ancient darkness."
Emperor Edmund stepped forward.
Emperor Edmund: "Where is she?"
Lysenna's expression softened.
Lysenna: "Where shadow meets flame. Where forgotten bloodlines stir."
Meanwhile, in the hidden halls beneath the palace—once used only by court mages and royal archivists—a robed figure tiptoed through forgotten chambers. Flickering torchlight revealed a carved sigil on the wall: a serpent coiled around a cracked moon.
The figure raised a small stone talisman and pressed it against the sigil.
???: "The chain has been broken. The child is not safe. We must prepare the vessel."
A second voice answered from the shadows.
???: "The Cult of Morvath awakens, then. Let the houses quarrel. Their unity will crumble as it did once before."
Back in the throne hall, the Emperor stood beneath the stained-glass mural of Theris the Rebirth-Mother. Gold and crimson hues bathed his face as he finally addressed his court in full.
Emperor Edmund: "Summon the heads of the Five Divine Houses. The time for silent alliance is over. The Quinta Concordia shall reconvene in Sylvariel. What threatens one of us, threatens all."
The court murmured in alarm—such a gathering had not occurred in over a decade.
Sir Kairon stepped forward, placing a hand to his chest in salute.
Sir Kairon: "We'll ride by dusk. If there is shadow, we shall meet it in the light."
Duke Sander glanced out the tower window, where a single ray of sunlight broke through a wall of clouds.
Duke Sander: "Let's pray the other houses remember how to stand together."
In the quiet of the Empress's garden, a single blue flower bloomed—Stellaflame, her favorite. A breeze stirred the petals, and for a fleeting moment, it was as if someone whispered:
"I will return."
The bells of Solvaris tolled at midday, not for celebration, but as a summons. A discreet yet urgent council had been called in the Sanctum of Sylvariel, the ancient grove-bound chamber hidden within the royal gardens. Once a place of whispered prayers and moonlit vows, it now hosted tension thick as stormclouds.
Among the first to arrive was King Orvanis Rion Velthara of the Veltharan Dominion, clad in navy robes lined with silver sea-thread. His expression, usually serene as ocean tides, was taut with concern. At his side stood his aide, Lady Selene Veyra, a mystic who held a seashell pendant to her lips.
King Rion (gently): "I warned the council… the storms we ignore today become the floods of tomorrow."
Lady Selene: "And yet, the tides speak not of death, only of separation. She lives, Sire… somewhere distant, somewhere veiled."
Across the chamber, King Olarith "Cael" Lirindelle arrived next. His long silver-blond hair shimmered like moonlight on leaves, and his forest-green cloak whispered softly with each step. His knight, Sir Fenric Althar, watched every shadow on the wall, alert as a hawk.
King Cael: "This forest feels restless, as though it mourns with us. My people trust the wind's song—it warns of unraveling threads in the loom of fate."
Sir Fenric: "And what of war, Your Grace? Will the winds speak of blades drawn too soon?"
King Cael: "War is a last song… but even last songs must be rehearsed."
Then came the storm in flesh: Emperor Lucan Ignarion Vaeria, head of House Vaeria. Broad-shouldered and flame-eyed, his stride radiated heat and command. His aide, Master Pyrrin Vale, trailed behind, clutching a heavy scrollcase and mumbling calculations under his breath.
Emperor Lucan: "Enough riddles. Speak plainly, all of you. If someone dares strike the heart of Aetheris, they threaten us all. I will scorch their shadows to dust."
Master Pyrrin (quietly): "The alignment of the constellations was irregular last night, Your Majesty. And the blood lotus bloomed out of season. Portents… not to be dismissed."
As the rulers took their seats, Emperor Edmund entered last—his presence solemn, commanding, yet flickering with sorrow beneath the surface. The rulers fell silent.
Emperor Edmund (steadying his voice): "I thank you all for coming on such short notice. My wife, Empress Elira, bearer of my child and light of my reign, vanished on the night of the Solvaris Festival. This council—this union of our divine lines—must stand united now more than ever."
A hush fell. Then King Cael placed a hand over his heart.
King Cael: "The winds told me change was coming. But I did not expect it to steal away the Empress."
King Rion: "We will sail the rivers of this land and the echoes of the deep. We shall find her."
Emperor Lucan: "I want names. I want motives. I want action."
Before answers could be exchanged, a servant burst into the chamber, breathless and wide-eyed.
Servant: "Forgive me, Your Majesties. The Oracle of Solvaris… she has awakened."
Gasps rippled through the chamber. The Oracle—an ancient seer bound to the sanctity of the Aetheris line—had not spoken since the last moon eclipse. Her silence had been unnerving. Her voice returning now was both a miracle and omen.
🌑End of Chapter 3: Shadows at Solvaris 🌑