In Fyrgen there had been a prophecy long-standing since the birth of the first Fyrges. “When the continent unites for good, there shall be the birth of a divine babe, blessed by the luminosity of the moon goddess herself. Despite being born to a family with limited means and resources, her birth will bring them joy and abundance. The first decade of her lifetime will be spent rejoicing in an environment filled with familial love and care. Until her eleventh birth anniversary, when the tide is bound to turn in a direction even the moon-blessed child would not be able to track. On this day a cataclysmic event will shake up her life, one that is vital for the child to take a different course in her adult years. The fate of the entire continent depends on the shift brought forth by this day. For this child holds the power to dip the twin moons when the world needs it the most.”
— The Foundation of Fyrgen Archives, The Great Hall Of Learning
Eleven years ago
The Palace of Citrindally has seen brighter mornings, but the way the sun shines today seems to hint at a good omen arriving. At least that is what Lena is thinking, sprawled across the hammock in her private courtyard, in the company of her two ladies in waiting, Iris and Bridget, who are busy fanning the relaxed queen. Her youngest, Princess Uliya, is busy playing with the queen’s royal companion Nysleon in the corner of the same courtyard.
“Any word about the king and prince’s arrival, Nyse?” Lena asks in her usual calm but firm tone. The winter lion comes running up to her, followed by Uliya on her tiny agile legs — she was clearly not finished putting flowers in his beautiful silver hair.
“Stravosa has not contacted me since their quick stop in Tyutir, your Majesty.” He offers with a polite bow.
“The sun god appears to be signalling me toward something. A positive development today.” Lena adds after a quiet sigh.
“What sort of development, if you do not mind my asking, your Majesty?” Iris asks, curiosity stirred at the confession of the sun-chosen queen.
“Time will tell, child. The sun god speaks in the sort of riddles I can only decode to a certain extent.” She answers. They all nod in unison, except the five year old princess who takes this as an opportunity to drop down beside her in the hammock.
“What is a riddle, Mama?” she asks, and the queen answers gently, meeting her gaze. “It is when we speak in a way that does not directly explain something. Only pointing in the direction of ideas and imagination.”
“Father speaks in that way!” She exclaims and everyone laughs at her excited squeal.
“Yes, my precious child.” The queen draws her close, making her sit beside her in the hammock, running her hands through her loose, sun-warmed golden curls.
“Uliya, would you like me to braid your hair?”
“Yes, Mama.” The queen nods and gestures to Iris, who quickly produces an amber silk ribbon from her pocket.
“You are my most adorable and well-behaved child,” Lena adds, slowly working through the labyrinth of curls and tresses that reach her tiny waist.
“Thank you, Mama. But what about Zir and Kush?” she asks teasingly, drawing a slight snort from Lena.
“Oh, they are just fine. Do not worry about them, dear. I love all of you.”
“But you love me the best.” Uliya appends her own ending to the sentence and is met with silence. Lena has the wisdom to know that even if you have a favoured child, it is never to be revealed. And Uliya is certainly that child for her.
Soon a royal guard approaches the main door with a knock. Nysleon rushes over to receive the message.
“What news?” the queen asks once he returns to the courtyard.
“His Majesty and his Royal Highness have arrived with the guards and emissaries. No one was hurt. However—”
The queen looks up immediately at that last word.
“They have brought someone else. His Majesty has requested your presence in the great hall immediately.”
And there is the direction the sun god was pointing in today.
The queen, flanked by her ladies in waiting and Nysleon at her side, arrives at the great hall shortly after. The others halt when they find two guards stationed outside the private chamber.
“I shall go and find Stravosa, if you permit, your Majesty.” Lena nods and enters the private chamber through the large oakwood double doors.
She finds the king resting alone on the low chaise. No sign of Ziruth.
“Kiev, my love. How was your journey?” she asks gently, settling beside him.
“A whirlwind, darling. Exhausting but the worthy kind.” He places her smooth, dainty fingers inside his own large callused ones.
“You look happier for it. And I heard we lost no one from our troops, which is wonderful news.”
He laughs. “Yes. Their resistance was not as strong as we had hoped. They gave up without much of a fight. Not that there was much choice in the matter.”
“I understand.” She nods solemnly and they share a quiet, intimate moment as he embraces her after more than three weeks away.
“I also have someone I would like you to meet.” He adds, pulling back to meet her eyes.
“I heard. Who is it?”
“You know that the Draumfells had recently seized control of the Great Monville estate by unlawful means. They slaughtered the minister in charge.”
“Yes, Stravosa kept us informed on all developments until yesterday.”
“I had not known, as it turns out. Our spies were tracked and killed by the Draumfell clan. Our allies were bought off with promises of gold so that no news would reach me during the excursion.”
Lena listens and nods, her expression shifting into hostile territory, all warmth for the king retreating from her face. A queen later, general first — Kiev had promised her that before their wedding.
“For the most important part of how we found out, I must ask you something first. Were you aware of Zir showing any magical abilities beyond what we discussed with the healer?”
She leans in, visibly confused. “No, only the freezing and the usual palm magic. Why?”
He sighs deeply. “He has countless others, it seems, that we may not know of until they emerge. But somehow, while we were resting at a stop nearby, our son insisted that we needed to go to Monville. Immediately. I brushed it off at first, told him it was not in our itinerary. But he was absolutely adamant, Lena. I eventually assumed he simply wanted to visit the carnival again — he had enjoyed it so much the last time. So we agreed to go the following morning.”
Lena caresses his hand gently, urging him to continue.
“The next sunrise, Zir woke right on time and shook me awake, urging us to leave two hours early. He seemed very anxious, which is so unlike him. But I had an empty feeling in my stomach that told me there was more to it. So we left earlier than planned. And Lena, I am so glad we did.” The pain on Kiev’s face is unmistakable.
He reaches for a small hunting knife on the stone table across from them — one studded with pink pearls and tiny ribbons, which she had not noticed before.
“As soon as we entered Monville I knew something was wrong. The town seemed to hush the moment we passed through the boundary gates. The guards had gone pale. The general public offered no welcome. Shops closed and people rushed home. And Zir said — ‘Father, we need to go to the Monville Estate.’ It was like an alarm went off inside me too, because I am certain he had no idea the estate existed. I ordered Evan to take us there immediately.”
“What happened then?” Lena asks, her own anxiety rising at the foreboding weight of Kiev’s voice.
The king swallows. The light dims slightly in his eyes. His hesitating is never a good sign. It is well known throughout the kingdom that Kiev the Second never wavers.
“We reached the castle gates. Evan immediately prevented the guards from announcing our arrival. And before we could even assess the situation, Zir rushed out of the carriage and ran straight for the gates. The guards went after him, Lena. But he moved with a speed that was not natural. I had to intervene and catch his arm just before he reached the double doors. And when I held our child, tears were already running down his face. He screamed at me — ‘They will hurt her. We have to go now, Father.’”
“I had the guards open the doors. There was no one in the hallway, so I took Zir’s hand and let him lead me. He brought me to the crown room. And Lena, what I saw there shattered me. We entered unannounced to find around a hundred men gathered at the centre of the room. Aggressive, frenzied. And then I looked up — and there was this child clad in black at the centre of it all. A youngling I vaguely recognised from somewhere I could not place. The next thing I knew—”
He pauses and clicks his tongue, a flash of rage crossing his face. “I cannot recount the rest of it. We have daughters of our own. Search the memory in my mind. I will not say it out loud.”
She nods, reaching for the power of her third eye. She visualises a thread connecting her mind to Kiev’s and draws his recent memories toward her. Once they become accessible, she moves back from the present moment and stops at the beginning — when he first sees the child.
The child has her hands clasped around the downrod of the chandelier. Panic-stricken, screaming for her life. The men below jump and lunge for her repeatedly, failing each time as she moves fast and pulls herself out of reach. At the far end of the room, the youngest Draumfell heir watches from the throne flanked by four guards, entirely unbothered. The men laugh collectively, vicious and feral. “It’s going to be so much fun when we grab her.” “I get the first turn.” “Even if she dies, pass her along.”
Kiev’s shock is palpable. He is barely done comprehending the sight when Zir steps forward from the corner of his eye. All the anxiety and dread that had been written across his son’s face is gone. Replaced now by fury so absolute it has no age. The eleven year old child is gone. What stands in his place is something ancient and divine, oozing a glittering blue-white light from his skin, eyes turned to a striking silver that swallows the pupil entirely.
“Halt and step back.”
The words leave his mouth and echo through the entire hall without him raising his voice. Perhaps because the voice does not belong to him alone but to something far higher. Every man in the room stops. Horror crosses their faces collectively. Zir is surrounded by a crackling, electrifying energy visible to everyone present.
Kiev, Evan and the guards drop to their knees and bow. What stands before them is no longer the Prince of Stars but something beyond it — a supernova. The child on the chandelier watches with a gaping mouth, all terror momentarily replaced by awe.
Zir moves to the centre of the room, directly below her. He raises one arm slowly and cuts his palm through the air. Every man in the room freezes instantly, encased in solid chunks of ice — all but Kiev and his entourage. Skarde Draumfell remains frozen on his throne, his guards with him.
Zir looks up. His eyes find the girl’s glassy ones and the crackling energy around him dims slowly, the swirling settling into stillness. He raises a hand toward her. She hesitates, doubt still visible on her face, then quietly raises hers. A thread emerges from both their palms and ties itself between them — his silver, hers gold.
“You can step down. My magic will keep you from falling.” His voice is gentle.
She looks down, afraid, then nods once with quiet trust. She releases the downrod slowly. “Visualise a staircase in your mind and it will take shape before your eyes.” She does, and descends with surprising ease.
Kiev and the others watch in silence as she steps off the final invisible stair and stops directly in front of Zir.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Yes,” she replies, body still trembling.
Before she can even look up to meet his eyes, Zir turns to his father. “This is Luminara, my friend. She is coming with us.” The vague recognition that had been circling Kiev’s mind finally settles into certainty. This is the friend he made during the Monville Carnival last year. That is where he knows her from.
Kiev nods, composure returning. “Zir, come here.”
Zir crosses back to him quickly.
“What of her family? We should find them,” Kiev says quietly.
“They died last night.” Zir offers nothing further, then gestures for her to follow. The child falls into step beside him immediately.
They are nearly out of the door when Kiev says, “Ziruth, wait. Defreeze the Draumfell.”
Zir turns sharply, the fury back at once. “What are you talking about? He sat on his throne and ordered his underlings to do unspeakable things to her.” The child moves behind him instinctively and he reaches for her hand.
“We will try him. Prison, as an example to the resistance.”
“No. He needs to die. Let me finish it now.” He raises his hand.
“Ziruth.” Kiev’s voice is lethal and cold. “I am your king as well as your father. You will follow my orders. This is larger than one incident.”
The defiance and disgust on Zir’s face do not leave, but his hand lowers. He turns to the frozen throne and cuts the air to release him.
Skarde Draumfell falls back against his seat with a thud, dazed and wide-eyed. Before the guards can reach him, Zir is already there, stopping directly in front of the eighteen year old.
“You, Skarde Draumfell, are my enemy for as long as I breathe. I will come for you one day and watch as you bleed and beg, your bones crushed by the friend you dared to disrespect. You will be nothing but dust beneath her feet. I make this blood oath before Demiurge’s watchful eye. Pray you die before that dreadful night arrives. You will be eviscerated into nothingness.” He marks the blood oath with a slow circular motion of his hand.
And just like that, the Prince of Stars drains every last trace of colour from the predatory heir’s face. He turns on his heel in sacred fury, takes his friend’s hand, and leaves the hall with his white brocade cloak flying behind him, sealing Skarde’s fate.
It took Lena a long time to surface from the memory. Her eyes were glassy with a burning rage held carefully behind them. Kiev sensed it without her saying a word. It was only when he leaned in and lifted her chin gently that life returned to her expression.
“My love,” he whispered.
“How could he think of doing such a thing to a child. She is our son’s age. It disgusts me, Kiev. Why did you not let Zir kill him? Why did you choose that moment to act as monarch? You should have let him die.”
A tear slips out, born of the particular frustration of being a female who understands exactly what was at stake in that room. Lena does not soften her words in times of great unrest. It does not matter that the person beside her is the king. She is speaking as a mother of three children, and her outrage is not limited to her own.
“He is the leverage we need against the resistance. It was not an easy decision, especially after what I saw — you felt my discomfort in the memory, I am sure — but—” Kiev attempts to continue and she raises a hand, stopping him. She may understand it as queen. She does not accept it as herself.
Thick tension settles between them. They are on opposing sides of the same love and neither can fully cross to the other. Moments pass in silence before Stravosa, the king’s companion white tiger — appears at the door with a knock and bows.
“What is it?” Kiev snaps, letting more show than he usually would.
Stravosa does not waver. “The lady in waiting informed me that your bath is ready, your Majesty.”
Kiev rises immediately, because he would be anywhere but here right now. “We will speak later,” he says to Lena. She answers with a solemn nod.
Alone in the silence that follows, she feels the infuriating knowledge of Skarde Draumfell still breathing settle over her like a weight. It spreads the way a righteous disease spreads — one she finds it honourable to carry, because it reminds her that she does not need to have experienced something herself in order to feel it fully. A just queen through and through.
She prays quietly to the sun god for his doom.
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