The first rays of dawn spilled over the Imperial Palace of Valcrest like molten gold poured across marble. From the highest tower, white stone inlaid with ancient sigils caught fire with light, runes gleaming in precise, angular patterns that danced as if alive. Floating lanterns hovered in the predawn gloom, their flames contained in crystal cages that never flickered or died, casting steady pools of warmth along sweeping balconies.
Below, fountains sang. Not in the mere rush of water over stone, but in literal notes—high, clear voices tuned by old magic to harmonize with the wind. Water arced in perfect, gravity-defying loops from carved basins, each spout etched with glyphs that shifted and shimmered, warding the grounds against curses, intruders, and anything unclean.
The very air felt awake. Glyphs hung in it like phantom constellations, twisting and refolding themselves in rippling sheets of pale blue and gold light. The palace's wards responded to the rising sun, humming with power. Varyn always thought they seemed almost pleased to greet the day.
He watched them from his bed for a moment, sleep heavy on his eyelids. His room was a miniature palace in itself—white marble floors veined with onyx, silk sheets in Imperial black and gold tangled around his thin frame, the obsidian hearth glowing with quiet heat. Runes set into the stone pulsed gently, maintaining a perfect warmth no matter the season.
A faint knock. The door eased open without a sound. His valet, Edrin, entered with his usual crisp bow.
"Good morning, Your Highness."
Varyn rubbed his eyes, grinning. "Morning, Edrin."
With a whispered word, Varyn commanded the glow-globes around the room to brighten. They obeyed instantly, flooding the space with warm, steady light that reflected from polished brass fittings and threw gentle shadows on the ceiling's intricate plasterwork.
He stretched, feeling bones pop. He was ten, but already tall for his age, lean from training, with hair as black as his father's but cropped short. The mirror beside the hearth showed a boy with a noble, sharp-featured face and eyes like polished obsidian.
The staff moved efficiently. Edrin laid out his ceremonial training garb: black and white with gold piping, the crest of the Valcrest Imperium in silver thread over the heart. Another servant entered with a tray of scented water and towels. Two more carried his boots and gloves.
They all bowed low.
"Good morning, Your Highness," they chorused.
Varyn sat up and swung his legs to the floor. The heated stone felt pleasant on his bare feet. He beamed at them. "Morning! You're all up so early for me."
A ripple of quiet laughter. He knew their names. He greeted each in turn, thanking them with unfeigned cheer. They liked him for that—he could see it in their eyes, the way their spines loosened just a little, the small smiles that slipped past formality.
He felt something like pride tighten in his chest. This was his palace. His people. Someday he'd rule it all.
If he proved worthy.
He tried not to dwell on that last thought. Today was going to be perfect.
They dressed him quickly, layering silken undershirts and the heavier, enchanted outer robe. The fabric whispered when he moved. He flexed his arms, enjoying the feel of it. Edrin brushed a stray hair back from his forehead and adjusted the collar with meticulous precision.
"Perfect," Edrin said quietly. "The High Courtyard awaits, Your Highness. Master Althred is already there."
Varyn's grin widened. "Good. Let's not keep him waiting."
He swept from the room, boots clicking on the inlaid floor. Behind him, the servants exchanged knowing looks, pleased with their prince's good mood.
The High Courtyard lay open to the morning sun, vast and gleaming. White marble paving stones had been laid in careful patterns of interlocking runes designed to reinforce the wards. Spellwork had been layered over generations, making the entire courtyard proof against errant fireballs, stray lightning, even the odd demon-summoning mishap.
The colonnades surrounding it were grand, each pillar wrapped in serpentine engravings that shimmered faintly when struck by dawnlight. Beyond them, stands of carved stone and gilt offered tiered seating for observers—today empty, save for a scattering of noble children who had come early to watch.
Practice dummies stood in neat ranks, carved from enchanted wood that healed its own gouges and scorches with slow, creaking magic. Some bore blackened scars of past training sessions like badges of honor. Ward circles were engraved into the floor—thick bands of sigils that glowed when touched by magic, designed to contain even the wildest spell.
Varyn strode in at a half-run, breath misting in the cool air, heart hammering with anticipation. The moment he saw Master Althred, he skidded to a halt and bowed deeply.
"Master!"
Althred was waiting with arms folded. He was tall, powerfully built even in his sixties, with a grey beard like braided wire. A longsword hung at his side. When he smiled, it was all crinkles and gleaming teeth.
"You're late," Althred growled without heat.
Varyn straightened, grinning. "Barely!"
Althred snorted. "Excuses are for diplomats. Draw."
Varyn obeyed instantly, pulling his training sword from its scabbard. The enchanted steel shone like silver in the sun. He settled into his stance: feet at shoulder-width, knees bent, blade angled to catch and deflect.
Althred circled him slowly, eyes sharp as augury.
"Good form," he muttered. Then, louder: "But don't preen, boy. Hold it steady."
Varyn tried not to laugh, but a giggle escaped. He corrected his angle instantly. Althred barked a short laugh of his own.
They began in earnest. Althred attacked without warning—a blur of speed for an old man, sword hissing through the air. Varyn parried on reflex, arms shivering from the impact. He staggered but didn't fall.
"Again!" Althred's voice cracked like a whip.
Varyn lunged forward, testing a riposte. Althred batted it aside, smacked him on the shoulder with the flat of his blade.
"Ow," Varyn grumbled, but his eyes shone. He adjusted his grip, shifted his weight. Father will be pleased if I master this, he thought.
Althred grinned like a wolf. "Good. You're learning."
They drilled for an hour. Althred corrected every slip, every too-broad swing, every lazy stance. Varyn bore it all with irrepressible energy, laughing even as he hissed at the sting of bruises.
Around them, noble children sat on the grandstands, whispering behind gloved hands. He heard them—The prince is so fast,Did you see that parry?—and felt pride warm his cheeks. He pretended not to notice.
At the end, Althred stepped back, resting his sword on one shoulder. He eyed Varyn for a long moment.
"You're the best student I've ever taught at this age," he said at last. His voice was low, grudging but honest.
Varyn's chest filled until he thought he might burst. He sheathed his sword with ceremony, bowing low, hiding the grin that threatened to split his face in half.
"Thank you, Master."
Althred only grunted, but there was satisfaction in his eyes. The noble children applauded politely, some even cheering. Varyn flushed, but held his chin high as he left the ward circle.
He was going to make Father proud. He was.
The palace's bathhouse was a temple to decadence disguised as hygiene. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows depicting Imperial victories, sending shards of colored light across white marble pools. Steam coiled lazily in the air, scented with crushed lavender and exotic spices from southern provinces.
Carved marble lions spouted perfumed water from their open mouths. Enchanted heating stones kept the water at the perfect temperature, adjusted by a few whispered words. Gentle illusion screens shimmered around each pool, providing privacy without ever fully blocking the grandeur of the space.
Varyn loved it here. Even now, still flushed from training, he all but bounded into the chamber, unbuckling his ceremonial robe and handing it off to waiting attendants. They averted their eyes with polite precision as he slipped into the steaming pool, sighing as the water closed over his shoulders.
Two other boys were already there: Aric and Dalen. Both sons of dukes, both his age, both already waiting to greet him with broad grins.
"Your Highness!" Aric called, splashing water with reckless glee. "About time!"
Varyn dunked his head under the water and came up slicking his hair back. "Blame Master Althred. He tried to kill me this morning."
Dalen laughed so hard he nearly choked. "He always does! It's how he shows affection."
Varyn settled back against the smooth marble, stretching out. "If that's affection, I'd hate to see him angry."
They laughed, water sloshing over the sides. For a moment there was nothing imperial about them—just three boys in a warm bath, steam curling around their flushed faces.
Conversation drifted naturally to magic. Aric was bragging about his older brother's recent duel at the Imperial Academy. "He used a double-layered Lightning ward! The examiner said he'd never seen anything like it!"
Dalen scoffed. "My cousin can conjure three fireballs at once. Almost burned his tutor's beard off."
Varyn snickered at that, closing his eyes. "I'd settle for having any affinity at all."
The other two went quiet for a breath. Aric cleared his throat. "But your Awakening is soon, right? Maybe you'll get five, like your sister."
Varyn's eyes snapped open. He grinned, fierce and unashamed. "That's the plan."
They whooped, slapping the water. Dalen's voice cracked with excitement. "If you get five, you'll be even more terrifying than her!"
"Don't tell her that," Varyn said quickly, smirking. "She'll make me spar her until I beg for mercy."
They roared with laughter, earning a dirty look from one of the older servants. Varyn didn't care. He felt warm to the bone. Accepted. He was the Emperor's heir, their friend, their prince. Even their rival, in some ways. But they were boys first.
He relaxed fully, closing his eyes again. Let the warm water soak the bruises from training. Let the scent of flowers and magic drift over him. Let himself be ten years old, for just a little while longer.
Because soon—very soon—it would all change.
The great dining hall of the Imperial Palace was a cathedral of light and stone. Morning sun poured through tall, arched windows of stained glass, flooding the hall with fractured colors that danced over the polished marble floors. The vaulted ceiling soared three stories overhead, carved with swirling reliefs of ancient battles and crowned with a vast enchanted chandelier: dozens of floating crystals suspended in slow orbit, each one glowing with captured starlight.
Below it, the Imperial dining table stretched like the spine of some colossal beast—gleaming blackwood inlaid with silver and gold filigree. Place settings of chased silver glinted in the dawn, while animated servants, shaped like stylized brass men and women, glided noiselessly to refill cups and platters.
Varyn paused at the threshold for a moment, drawing a slow breath. He could smell spiced meats, fresh bread, citrus peel in the warmed wine. He could hear the quiet babble of siblings, the scrape of cutlery. And beneath it all—the hush of respect.
He schooled his features, smoothing away the eager boyish grin he'd worn in the bathhouse. Then he walked in, head high.
"Your Highness," chorused the attending servants. They bowed deeply.
Varyn nodded to them, voice steady. "Good morning."
He moved to his seat along the side of the table, to the right of the Emperor's own massive, throne-like chair.
His father was already there.
Emperor Aurelius Von Valcrest was as imposing seated as he was on the field of battle. Broad shoulders filled his formal black-and-gold robes as though they'd been forged onto his body. Black hair streaked with iron grey lay neatly combed back, exposing a face that could have been carved from dark obsidian. His eyes, the same black as Varyn's, were hard and unreadable.
He did not smile. But he inclined his head a fraction. "Good morning, Varyn."
Varyn's heart beat faster. He bowed low from the waist. "Good morning, Father. I hope the dawn finds you strong."
A ghost of approval flickered in the Emperor's eyes before he turned away to sip from his cup.
Beside the Emperor sat Empress Lyriana of House Ithil, resplendent in an emerald-green gown woven with protective wards that glowed faintly at every seam. Her long black hair was braided elaborately, silver and emerald pins flashing. She regarded Varyn with her usual cool scrutiny, her black eyes sharp as a hawk's.
But when he met her gaze and bowed, she offered him a slow, regal nod. "Good morning, Varyn. You're prompt."
He smiled, carefully respectful. "Master Althred would drag me here by my ear if I tried to dawdle."
A hint of dry amusement curved her lips. That was approval enough.
The rest of the family filled out the table in varying states of dignity and chaos.
Several concubines sat at respectful remove from the Empress, in jewel-toned silks, all bearing the Imperial colors in some subtle way—a sash, a hair ornament, a brooch glowing with warded runes. They inclined their heads deeply to Varyn. Some were polite, others openly doting:
"Good morning, Your Highness!" one trilled, eyes soft with maternal affection.
Varyn gave them each a court-perfect bow from his seat. "Ladies. My thanks for your welcome."
Around them tumbled his younger half-siblings—small children of various ages, all dark-haired and pale-skinned in the Valcrest mold. One infant dozed in a concubine's arms, pudgy fingers clenching and unclenching in sleep. Another toddler babbled incomprehensibly with porridge smeared across his cheeks, making the older servants wince discreetly.
One child of about four scuttled around the table and clung shamelessly to Varyn's arm.
"Vy! Vy!"
Varyn blinked, then laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. "Good morning to you, terror. Sit down before the Emperor has your head chopped off."
The boy shrieked with laughter and ran back to his mother.
The Emperor's eyebrow twitched. The Empress let out an exhale that might have been the ghost of a laugh, quickly suppressed.
Varyn sat straighter, schooled his grin.
Food arrived in an endless procession: braised meats spiced with cinnamon and cloves; fresh-baked bread still steaming when broken open; soft cheeses; dishes of pomegranate seeds and honeyed figs; wine diluted for the children with spiced water.
Animated servants poured drinks and whisked away empty platters with perfect timing.
Aurelius finally set down his cup. He did not raise his voice, but the entire table hushed as he turned to Varyn.
"Your training?"
Varyn swallowed his mouthful of bread and sat up ramrod straight. His voice rang clear, practiced.
"Excellent, Father. Master Althred says my form is improved. He corrected my guard repeatedly and made sure I could maintain stance under pressure. He also tested my ripostes and said I'm the best student of my age he's taught."
Aurelius regarded him like a general surveying a formation. "He praised you so highly?"
Varyn nodded once. "He did."
Silence fell. Then the Emperor's mouth tightened in what might, to the perceptive, be called approval.
"Good," he said at last. "Maintain it. We do not suffer lax heirs in Valcrest."
Varyn's chest lifted. "Yes, Father."
Beside the Emperor, the Empress reached for her cup but paused to fix Varyn with her penetrating stare.
"Sit straighter," she said quietly.
He obeyed at once. She did not smile, but her voice softened a hair.
"Better. Discipline is more than swords and spells. It's every breath you take."
"I understand, Mother."
She nodded once, then returned to sipping her wine.
For a moment there was only the quiet clink of cutlery, the babble of children, the rustle of robes.
Then the Emperor lifted his cup slightly.
"To our future Emperor."
The words fell into silence like a stone in a well. The servants froze. The concubines looked at each other, gauging reactions.
Varyn's breath caught.
Slowly, one by one, the family joined the toast. The Empress raised her cup, her eyes locked with Varyn's, cool and hard but unwavering. The concubines lifted theirs. Even the older child beside him mimicked them clumsily, sloshing watered wine over the table.
Varyn lifted his own cup with a hand that trembled only slightly.
"To Valcrest," he said softly.
The Emperor's mouth twitched. For him, that was approval enough.
They drank.
The corridors of the Imperial Palace were a maze of luxury. Varyn moved through them at a measured pace, accompanied by Edrin at a discreet distance.
Animated tapestries lined the walls, their scenes shifting with subtle magic—an ancient battle here, the coronation of a long-dead Emperor there. The figures moved fluidly, banners fluttering in a phantom breeze. When Varyn passed, some tapestries bowed their heads respectfully or saluted in archaic fashion.
Statues flanked each corridor junction: armored knights, robed mages, kings and queens of old. Their stone eyes gleamed with warding magic, and once in a while one would incline its head in acknowledgement as he passed.
He liked this walk. It felt... his.
He let Edrin open the door to the private study. The space beyond was hushed and dim, lit by floating globes of mage-light in soft amber. Vast shelves covered every wall, packed with illuminated manuscripts, magical treatises, histories, scrolls bound in leather and reinforced with silver clasps.
A floating lectern hovered near the center, runes spinning around its shaft, projecting magical diagrams into the air like fragile glass sculptures.
Master Yurell stood beside it, straightening with a bow the moment Varyn entered.
"Your Highness."
Varyn bowed in return, grinning. "Master Yurell. Morning!"
The old scholar was rail-thin, with a neatly trimmed beard gone completely white. His robes were blue and silver, covered in sigils that shifted in response to ambient magic. He straightened with a crack of vertebrae, eyes bright with patient amusement.
"Ready to begin?"
"Always," Varyn said, darting to the lectern.
Today's lesson was on advanced magical theory—sigil composition, ward layering, the principles of resonant mana. Varyn devoured it. He interrupted constantly with questions, sometimes so incisive Yurell would pause, blinking in surprise before composing an answer.
"Your mind is a dangerous thing, Your Highness," Yurell said once with dry affection. "One day you will put us all out of work."
Varyn flushed with delight. "Promise?"
The old man barked a laugh.
They covered three whole treatises before Yurell finally called for a break. He watched Varyn with quiet pride.
"You know," he said mildly, "the Archmages' Tower has sent letters asking after you."
Varyn froze, heart leaping. "Really?"
Yurell inclined his head. "They are eager to see your Awakening results. They are... hopeful."
Varyn's mouth went dry. They want me.
He looked down at the diagrams, traced one with a trembling finger.
"I'll make them proud," he said softly. "I'll make the Empire proud."
Yurell regarded him for a long moment. His old eyes softened.
"I know you will, my prince."
The silence that followed was companionable. Outside, somewhere, a bell tolled to mark the hour.
Varyn let himself smile, full and unguarded, before burying himself back in the diagrams.