The Weight of Expectations
The palace buzzed with the lingering hum of celebration. Servants scurried to remove signs of the previous evening's festival—worn banners, petals strewn about like an offering to the gods, and goblets drained of their splendor. Though the event was over, the politics and whispers it had stirred were far from done.
Solenara stood on the balcony of her chambers, gazing down at the courtyard. Below, the ambitious Prince Halvryn conversed with her father, gesturing animatedly as if rehearsing a performance he had perfected over years.
Her hand tightened on the railing. While her station required composure, there were moments—like now—when she felt the full weight of expectation crushing her spirit. Halvryn's interest in her was no secret, and it had sparked murmurs among the nobility. A match between them would solidify alliances, enrich both kingdoms, and, most importantly to her father, secure the stability of the realm.
If only it were so simple to secure my own peace, she thought bitterly.
A soft knock on her chamber door broke her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, smoothing her features into an impassive mask.
Mireth entered, her usual quick steps now careful and measured. "Your Highness, one of the royal gardeners asked me to bring this to you."
She extended a small clay pot filled with an elegant vine, its leaves a rich green with hints of gold tracing the edges.
Solenara's shoulders eased as she accepted the gift. "It's beautiful."
"The gardener said it thrives under gentle care, though it tends to wither if left neglected. She thought you'd appreciate the parallel," Mireth added with a knowing look.
Solenara ran her fingers over the delicate leaves, smiling faintly. "I think she knows me better than most nobles ever will."
---
Later that day, she found herself in the palace's sunlit gallery. An easel stood before her, and in her hands, a piece of charcoal hovered over parchment. The artist she'd studied under would have been horrified at the liberties she took with realism—sky swirls curling like ocean waves, constellations exaggerated to illuminate the heavens.
But to Solenara, sketches were not about accuracy but escape.
Her fingers worked quickly, smudging and sharpening until the outline of a radiant sun appeared. Yet as she gazed at her work, something was missing—a balance, an answer to the sunlight's might.
The Earth.
Images of Kaelen came unbidden, the earthy hues of his clothing, the quiet strength he carried as if mountains moved in his wake. She frowned, shoving the thought aside. It was foolish to dwell on someone so utterly incompatible with her world.
Just then, footsteps echoed behind her.
"Still drawing the sky, I see."
She didn't need to turn to know it was Halvryn. His deep voice carried a mix of charm and condescension, the latter of which always set her teeth on edge.
"I'm afraid the Earth doesn't inspire me as much as the heavens," she said evenly, her eyes fixed on the sketch.
"Perhaps you haven't looked closely enough," he countered, moving to stand beside her. "Your focus on things far above can sometimes cause you to overlook the treasures right in front of you."
"Like kingdoms?" she quipped, her voice sharper than she intended.
Halvryn chuckled. "Kingdoms, alliances, futures… yes. And if I may be bold, yourself. You have a gift, Solenara, a blend of grace and strength this realm desperately needs."
She stiffened under his gaze, but before she could reply, Mireth appeared in the doorway, her presence an unspoken rescue. "Your Highness, your father requests your presence in the council room."
Relief flooded Solenara as she nodded, gathering her sketch. Halvryn's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he bowed slightly, his departure as polished as his words.
---
Kaelen leaned against the weathered trunk of an ancient oak, surveying the forest beyond the royal barracks. It was a stark contrast to the gleaming walls of the palace, and though he respected his position within the royal army, this was where he felt most at home.
His hand instinctively dropped to the hilt of his sword, his mind drifting back to another time—to a battlefield scorched under an unforgiving sun.
As Kaelen replayed the events of that fateful day, he often wondered if his actions had rippled beyond the battlefield. He hadn't been privy to what followed—he was too caught up in survival—but over the years, he had overheard whispers and rumors, each one more extraordinary than the last.
It began with the sun stopping in its tracks. Far from the bloody skirmish in the ravine, the land was bathed in that same strange, unwavering glow. Entire villages paused their labor, gazing skyward with a mix of awe and terror.
In the bustling streets of Lystera, the kingdom's largest city, merchants abandoned their stalls, priests froze mid-ritual, and scholars in tall spires frantically flipped through ancient texts. The golden light painted the markets and alleyways in brilliant hues, transforming mundane routines into something otherworldly.
Inside the Tower of Magi, the royal court's center of arcane knowledge, Archmage Artren paced with unusual urgency. His fingers danced in complex sigils, sending bursts of light and energy into hovering orbs above his desk. "The celestial patterns show no precedent for this," he muttered, glaring at an apprentice who stood wide-eyed in the corner.
"Is it an omen?" the apprentice dared to ask.
"Perhaps," Artren replied, his tone heavy. "Or a warning. Prepare the divination circle. We must know more."
In the grand halls of Solaris Cathedral, the high priests gathered, kneeling beneath the vaulted ceiling adorned with golden suns. The High Priestess Emerana pressed her hands against the cool marble altar, whispering fervent prayers.
"Does the sun favor us, or has it turned its eye in judgment?" one of the younger priests questioned.
"We do not presume to know the intentions of the divine," Emerana replied, her voice steady despite the uncertainty in her heart. "But the sun has always been a guide, not a tyrant. We must interpret this as a sign and prepare for whatever comes next."
Beyond the walls of the kingdom, the phenomenon even reached the distant deserts of Ignathar and the storm-riddled coasts of Valeyn. Foreign ambassadors began to send urgent missives back to their leaders. Stories spread of how crops withered under the prolonged heat in some regions, while others marveled at the prolonged twilight, taking it as an invitation to celebrate.
And at the heart of the kingdom, in the royal palace itself, the king and his council convened in hushed tones.
"This is not natural," one noble hissed.
"Of course it isn't," another snapped. "Have you ever known the sun to defy time? This must be sorcery—foreign or otherwise!"
The king, a stoic figure adorned in emerald robes, leaned forward. "If this is the act of a mage, we must know who and why. If it is divine intervention…" His voice trailed off, the weight of the thought silencing the room.
His spymaster, a wiry man named Raest, spoke softly. "Our soldiers report that a mercenary led the charge during the battle. They say he called for the sun to stop. Perhaps we should summon him."
The room descended into murmurs, half skeptical and half intrigued.
---
Back on the battlefield, Kaelen had noticed the ripple of shock spreading across both armies as the sun remained frozen. The enemy faltered first, then his comrades found courage in the inexplicable. But beyond that, Kaelen couldn't afford to think about the consequences then; he had a war to fight.
Yet now, in the quiet moments under the oak, he thought of the ripples he had inadvertently set in motion. Did people still debate what had occurred that day? Did the magicians, priests, and common folk find an answer?
Kaelen had long since decided he didn't care to know. Answers would bring attention, and attention brought complications. It was better this way: to let others speculate while he focused on the present.
---
After the battle, the silence from the battlefield belied the storm it unleashed elsewhere. Days later, temple couriers rode hard toward the palace with urgent dispatches. Royal messengers delivered reports to every corner of the land, written accounts struggling to describe what words could not.
"Divine will, perhaps…" mused one astrologer. "Or perhaps a disturbance in the heavenly planes."
Debates between secular scholars and temple priests became heated enough to border on violence. The Tower of Magi declared that a rogue mage must have interfered with the natural order, sending seekers to investigate the battlefield for any lingering traces of powerful spells.
Meanwhile, the clergy interpreted the event as evidence of divine favor or wrath, organizing prayer vigils in an effort to determine which it was. Rumors swirled that Emerana had visions in the wake of the event, though the High Priestess denied such claims.
Then there were the whispers of ordinary citizens—those who claimed to have felt something stir inside themselves during the prolonged twilight, something quiet and deep, as though the land itself had awakened.
---
Kaelen downed the last of his ale and leaned against the oak. The stars above twinkled, undisturbed by earthly questions.
"Enough of the past," he murmured.
But the past had a way of creeping into the present, especially for a man like him. He was no mage, no prophet, and no priest. He was simply a man who had shouted for the sun to stop and been startled when it listened.
"Still haunted?"
The voice startled him. He turned to see Aldrin approaching, his expression somber.
"Always," Kaelen replied, forcing a smirk to hide the depth of his thoughts. "What brings you here, old friend?"
Aldrin sat beside him, his own gaze scanning the forest. "I could ask you the same. You don't seem the type to bask in royal luxuries."
Kaelen shrugged. "Duty binds us, whether we like it or not."
"You mean the princess," Aldrin said bluntly.
Kaelen shot him a sharp look, but Aldrin held up his hands in mock surrender. "You're not exactly subtle, Kaelen. Anyone who knows you can see it plain as day."
"She's a royal. I'm just a soldier," Kaelen muttered, his voice edged with frustration.
"A soldier who once commanded the sun, and it listened," Aldrin said, his tone softer now. "You've been given something rare, Kaelen. Don't waste it by convincing yourself you don't deserve more."
Kaelen sighed, the weight of his past and present pressing down on him like twin anchors. "I don't know what I deserve," he admitted quietly.
---
Nightfall found Solenara in the gardens, tending to the vines she had been gifted. It was soothing, the act of nurturing something fragile yet resilient.
As she worked, she glanced toward the distant barracks, wondering—not for the first time—how someone like Kaelen saw the world.
She pressed her hand to the soil, feeling its cool texture beneath her fingers. It grounded her, much like the enigmatic warrior had grounded her thoughts in ways she couldn't explain.
In his quiet, steadfast way, Kaelen reminded her that while the heavens dazzled with their grandeur, there was beauty and strength in the Earth—something unshakable, eternal.
And that made him dangerous in ways she had not yet dared to explore.