Night had fallen, yet the city of Aetherlyn remained wide awake.
The glow of a thousand lanterns hung along the cobblestone streets, casting a magical ambiance that danced with music and laughter. A grand royal ball was in full swing inside the Great Hall of the Palace. But unlike previous gatherings reserved only for nobility, tonight the invitation extended to all the people of Aetherlyn—regardless of caste or bloodline.
For tonight was no ordinary celebration...
It was a night of new hope for their kingdom.
Yet, while the hall echoed with joy and clinking silver goblets, Arion was far from the spotlight. He sat at the edge of his bed, his body weary after a day filled with rituals and ceremonies that drained both his energy and mind.
The ceremonial robe for the evening ball hung neatly on the wall, its golden embroidery glowing softly beneath the candlelight. But Arion hadn't touched it. He simply stared into the mirror, eyes calm… but hollow. As if something deep inside him was stirring—something he could not name.
Until a soft knock broke the silence of that night.
"Who is it?" he asked, slowly rising to his feet.
The door opened.
And behind it stood the figure he knew best… King Balderick VII—his father.
Arion froze.
"Father?"
Without answering, the King stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him. His movements were calm, yet the way he looked at Arion felt... different. Heavy. As if he carried secrets too old to speak of, and time was running out to reveal them.
He came closer, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"Arion… I want you to promise me something."
"Promise what, Father?" Arion asked, puzzled.
King Balderick placed both hands on his son's shoulders, staring into those sky-blue eyes—so much like his own from years past.
"Never give up.
Never lose your way, even when the world turns against you.
Keep standing. Keep moving forward.
Because this destiny is far greater than you realize."
Arion held his breath.
There was no war. No threat. No reason.
Yet his father's words felt like a final message before a storm breaks.
"I… promise," Arion answered softly.
Then the King pulled a ring from within his robe—deep red, like dried blood frozen in ruby. The candlelight flickered against its surface, revealing faint ancient engravings no longer easy to decipher.
"Guard this ring well.
When the time comes… take it to an Alcemy in the city of Niagara.
His name doesn't matter—he'll know you when he sees you."
Arion accepted the ring without a word, though his mind brimmed with questions. But before he could speak, the King was already walking toward the door. At the threshold, he paused and looked back.
"The people are waiting for you, Prince of Light.
Don't let them lose their flame."
Then the door closed gently behind him.
Left in silence, Arion looked down at the ring once more…
and for the first time that night, his chest tightened with something he couldn't explain—
like a premonition of something vast… and perhaps, terrible.
Still, he rose.
He prepared himself.
And the night spun on, carrying the Prince of Light into the heart of the celebration…
while the shadows of fate began to stir in the distance.