"Suryasthirh, land of purity…" Valdemar murmured, his gaze distant, as if recalling a half-forgotten dream. "A floating paradise that has existed since the start of time. Hmm, they say the sun never sets on that land. Your home, my dear," he added, his eyes softening as he looked at Vivienne. He blinked, returning to the present, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the council members. With a deep sigh, he posed the question, "Dear members of the council, you have heard Lady Vivienne's proposal. What are your thoughts on this course of action?"
Lord Lysander, his blindfolded gaze seemingly fixed on some unseen point, spoke, his voice laced with caution. "But my lord, don't you think involving the High Elves and the entire kingdom of Suryasthirh is… a delicate matter, considering our history?"
Vivienne's posture stiffened slightly, her elven grace radiating a quiet strength as she defended her proposition. "Lord Lysander, I understand the historical context you are referencing. However, I would also ask you to consider this: the ancient conflicts you speak of predate the very founding of our Kingdom. The High Elves of Suryasthirh harbor no ill will towards Sangrael or Lord Valdemar. Theirs is a realm of wisdom and neutrality."
Lysander's head tilted slightly, his respectful tone unwavering. "I do not wish to come across as insensitive, my lady, but how can you offer such a guarantee regarding the sentiments of an entire kingdom?"
A subtle tension filled the chamber, every eye turning to Lysander after his questioning of the Queen.
Vivienne met his gaze directly, her own calm and reassuring. "It's alright, everyone. Within this council, hierarchy should not stifle honest discourse; each voice holds value. And to answer your question directly, Lord Lysander, I am a High Elf myself. While I am not of royal lineage in Suryasthirh, I hail from a respected household. I can assure you, with the full weight of my heritage, that Aerion will be welcomed there with open hearts."
"But…" Before Lysander could voice further reservations, a slow, deliberate voice cut through the air. It belonged to Old Man Darius, the council's most senior member, his aged eyes, though clouded with time, still sharp with wisdom. "I concur with Lady Vivienne's offer. Lord Aerion is indeed the heir to Sangrael's throne, a vital consideration. However, first and foremost, he is Valdemar's and Vivienne's child. Suryasthirh represents half of young Aerion's identity, a vital part of his being. We should not deny him that connection, nor should we presume to confine his growth solely within our borders." A murmur of agreement rippled through the council, no one daring to openly contradict the venerable Darius.
Caius, however, his frustration evident in his tightly clenched fists, couldn't contain himself. "But Grandpa…" Valdemar's sharp, silencing stare cut him off mid-sentence. "You are not yet of an age where your opinion holds such weight in these matters, Caius," the King stated firmly.
Lucian, ever the composed elder brother, placed a steadying hand on Caius's arm, a silent plea for restraint. Caius closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair, his resentment simmering beneath the surface.
A few tense minutes passed, the weight of the decision hanging in the air, when suddenly, the obsidian table began to tremble, a low rumble echoing through the chamber. Both Lucian and Caius instinctively tensed, a flicker of panic in their eyes. Valdemar, however, slammed his hand on the table, the sharp crack cutting through the tremor. "Calm yourselves," he commanded, his voice firm and reassuring. "It is time for Nyveris to wake up."
His words seemed to soothe the underlying tension. The council members rose and exited the cave, stepping out onto what appeared to be nothing more than a normal, windswept mountain peak. But high above, atop the jagged summit of Mount Despair, the colossal form of the Abyss Dragon, Nyveris, stirred. Its obsidian scales shifted, catching the faint light of the sky. The wind, a constant companion at that altitude, whipped around its immense body.
For centuries, its presence had been nothing more than a whispered legend among the mountain's few inhabitants. Now, its molten gold eyes flickered open, their ancient gaze sweeping across the desolate landscape. A wisp of black smoke curled from its nostrils, the dragon's breath a tangible sign of its awakening. With a slow, deliberate grace that belied its size, Nyveris began to unfold its vast wings, leathery membranes that stretched like canvases of night, speckled with faint, shimmering starlight. As they unfurled, they caught the wind, creating a sound like distant thunder. The dragon's powerful muscles coiled and flexed, and with a low groan that seemed to emanate from the very heart of the mountain, it rose, its movements fluid despite its immense bulk.its silhouette a stark and awe-inspiring contrast against the grey sky.
[If that thing decides we look like a tasty snack, it's game over. I am definitely not equipped to handle that.] Aerion thought, his infant body feeling particularly vulnerable in the presence of such raw paranh.
Vivienne instinctively shielded Aerion, turning her body to protect him from the initial wave of the dragon's powerful howl, a sound that resonated deep within their bones. "Don't worry, little one," she murmured reassuringly, her gaze steady. "Look at me, not at the peak."
Nyveris, its massive head descending slowly, bowed its immense form in a clear gesture of respect towards Old Man Darius before letting out a colossal yawn, a gust of smoky air washing over them, and then settling back down onto the peak, its golden eyes closing once more.
Lucian, his gaze fixed on the now-slumbering dragon, approached Vivienne hesitantly. "Ah, mhm, Mother…"
"Yes, son? Do you need something?" Vivienne asked, her tone gentle.
"Yes…" He paused, a rare display of uncertainty on his usually composed face.
Vivienne smiled softly. "You can speak your mind freely, Lucian. I am your mother too; please, don't hesitate."
"I was wondering," Lucian began, his gaze shifting to Aerion, "if I might have the opportunity to… teach Aerion some things before he leaves for Suryasthirh."
Vivienne's face brightened, a genuine warmth spreading across her features. "Of course, Lucian, why wouldn't you? He is your brother. You don't need to ask my permission for such things, alright? I trust your judgment implicitly."
…
[I can't… feel my body… the difference in strength is just… immense.] Aerion panted, his small limbs trembling with exhaustion as he lay sprawled on the training yard floor.
From the ground, Aerion lifted his head, looking up at Lucian, who stood over him, his silver-blonde hair glowing with a faint golden light, his red eyes radiating a soft power. "Ahhhh, I give up, brother. That's enough for now," Aerion gasped, his voice strained with exertion.
Lucian rolled his eyes, a familiar expression of mild exasperation. "Come on, brother, get up and hold your ground. The elven training methods are far harsher than anything I'm putting you through."
"How do you even know that?" Aerion retorted, pushing himself up onto his elbows.
"Don't get smart with me now. Stand up," Lucian commanded, extending a hand to help his younger brother.
Aerion grunted, accepting the assistance and shakily rising to his feet. He tightened his grip on the wooden training sword, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I really can't continue this… why don't we take a break?"
Lucian rested his own wooden sword lightly on Aerion's shoulder, his gaze intense. "Not until you get it right. This sword is not just a weapon, Aerion; it is an extension of your own body. You must learn to move with it, to feel its balance as if it were your own arm."
"You're not making any sense," Aerion mumbled, but his determination flickered in his eyes. "But… I'll try." He focused, trying to connect with the simple weight of the wood in his hand, and with a burst of renewed energy, rushed towards Lucian, only to be swiftly disarmed once more.
"Stand up again," Lucian instructed, his voice firm but patient.
Aerion shook his head, exhaustion etched on his small face. He grunted, "Give me a minute, brother… just a minute… Let me breathe…"
Lucian sighed, a hint of reluctant understanding in his eyes. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he tossed the wooden sword back to Aerion. The training exercise, though strenuous for the young prince, was a familiar routine, the rhythmic clash of wood on wood a common sound in the castle training yard.
But this time, as the two swords met in another exchange, something unexpected occurred. A sudden, brilliant light flared between the colliding wood, illuminating the training yard with an otherworldly glow for a fleeting fraction of a second. It was a light unlike any natural flame, pure and intense, a stark contrast to the mundane nature of their training. Aerion, his eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of the impact, remained oblivious to the phenomenon. Only Lucian, his gaze sharp and ever-observant, registered the strange, radiant flash. The glow vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the ordinary sound of wood striking wood, and a lingering sense of wonder in Lucian's mind.