Conflict

The grand dining hall of Starlight castle was quiet, its overwhelming elegance casting a serene yet heavy aura upon the space. The walls, lined with intricate tapestries, told stories of ancient victories and forgotten heroes, their colors rich with history. The crystal chandelier above bathed the room in a soft, ethereal light, casting delicate reflections on the polished marble floor below, like pools of starlight. The long table, adorned with crystal goblets and silver platters, stood at the heart of the room, gleaming with quiet majesty. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh herbs, and floral notes from the lavish arrangements that decorated the table. A distant murmur of hushed voices filled the vast hall, but the tranquility seemed at odds with the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Aerondrion sat across from his brother, Loceran, their shared silence weighing heavier than any spoken words could. They were not the crown prince and the second son of Starlight in this moment; they were simply two brothers, bound by blood, but distant by duty. Aerondrion's gaze drifted over the golden plates before him, his mind elsewhere. His thoughts, sharp and restless, moved in circles, constantly returning to Elara and the choices ahead. He had been the one to bring her into this realm, and he had no regrets. His decisions were always for the greater good, and yet, today, the weight of them seemed heavier than ever.

Loceran, as always, sat composed, his cool gaze fixed on his brother. The second son was a master of unreadable expressions, his thoughts always a step ahead, calculated. He knew his brother well—knew the burden that weighed on him, the burden that they both carried. It was clear, even to Loceran, that Aerondrion's gaze betrayed more than mere distraction—it was uncertainty, something that Aerondrion rarely allowed to show. And yet, in this moment, it felt as though their paths were converging on something neither of them could control.

"Loceran," Aerondrion called, his voice steady but laden with something more—something buried deep inside. "Ephrael has said he'll begin helping her return in three days. Will you take on this task instead?"

Loceran met his brother's gaze, his eyes unreadable as always, though something flickered behind them—a thought, a hesitation—before he spoke. "It is now my duty to guide her back to her world," he said, his tone firm, but a slight edge of curiosity sharpened the words. "Why do you ask?"

Aerondrion didn't falter. He couldn't afford to. His words slipped out, quicker than he had intended, but they needed to be spoken. "How long can you keep her here?"

For a brief moment, the room fell silent. Loceran's face softened only slightly, a small, imperceptible shift in his expression as he processed the question. His voice was measured when he answered, though the weight of the conversation began to settle between them.

"Humans cannot stay in this realm for too long. It disrupts their essence, their connection to their own world." His gaze hardened slightly, as if bracing for something more.

Aerondrion's jaw clenched, but he held his brother's gaze. "I don't care about limits. I need her here. Keep her as long as you can."

Loceran's posture remained stiff, his eyes narrowing, his thoughts clearly wrestling with the request. The weight of his responsibility as a student, as a son, bore down on him. But the quiet fire of his brother's determination was not to be ignored. He shifted in his seat, the silence between them heavy as he considered his next words.

"You're asking me to bend the rules," Loceran said, his voice low, almost regretful. "And I won't do that."

Aerondrion's eyes darkened. His words were sharp now, cold and unwavering. "I'm not asking, Loceran. I'm telling you. Keep her here. We can't risk Vaylen finding her."

"The threat is real," Aerondrion continued, his voice steady but insistent.

The doors to the hall creaked open, shattering the fragile stillness. The king and queen entered, their presence commanding the room as though the very air shifted in reverence. The king, his stature regal and composed, walked with the calm grace of one accustomed to ruling with quiet authority. The queen, her beauty unshaken by the years, glided beside him, her eyes sharp and cold. She was a woman of power and purpose, and the tension in her gaze was unmistakable as she scanned the room.

Aerondrion and Loceran rose to their feet in unison, the formalities of their roles never far from their minds. But as they sat again, the difference in the air was palpable, the tension now a heavy cloak draped across the table.

The queen's gaze fell immediately on Aerondrion, and there was no mistaking the fury in her eyes. "Aerondrion," her voice cut through the stillness, smooth yet laced with an unmistakable edge. "I am deeply displeased with your decision to bring a mortal into the castle." Her words were like ice, each syllable a dagger aimed directly at him. "What were you thinking? A mere human—here, among us?"

Aerondrion met his mother's gaze without flinching, his voice calm, almost placid. "I did what needed to be done, Mother. I know exactly what I am doing."

The queen's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing with frustration. "You cannot simply act without considering the repercussions. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

But Aerondrion knew exactly what he was doing. He always did. He was unshaken by her accusations, his thoughts already moving forward, thinking of Elara's safety and the greater battle that loomed on the horizon.

"I understand the risks, Mother," he said unwavering.

The room seemed to hold its breath. The quiet flicker of the candlelight was the only movement, the air thick with the weight of Aerondrion's conviction. Loceran's gaze softened for just a moment, the sharp edges of his duty, of his loyalty, wavering. But only for a brief moment.

There was a pause, the queen, spoke, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "This cannot go on. The mortal girl must leave." Her tone was final, and the disapproval radiating from her was unmistakable.

Aerondrion's gaze never wavered from his brother, but his words were cold as he turned to address their mother. "You do not need to accept it, Mother. It's not your decision."

The queen's face flushed with frustration, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, her voice rose, sharp as a dagger. "No, Aerondrion! The girl cannot stay any longer. I will not allow it."

Aerondrion's gaze didn't waver as he looked at his mother's, "Your Majesty, I know what I am doing."

The king, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, his voice deep and commanding, carrying the weight of authority. "Aeron, you are not free to make these decisions without explanation. Tell your mother why this is necessary."

Aerondrion turned to face his mother, his voice unwavering. "If she leaves now, Vaylen might use her. If he discovers that she can travel between realms, he'll stop at nothing to exploit her, to seize control of the orbs. I will not let that happen."

The king's gaze softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You never disappoint me."

But the queen, her frustration undiminished, turned her piercing gaze on Loceran. "And you, Loceran? Why is Ephrael involving you with this mortal? Doesn't he have other students to attend to?."

Aerondrion's voice cut through the exchange, more insistent now. "It doesn't matter. She stays. And You Loceran will keep her here."

Loceran's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features, but he held his composure. "I will not jeopardize my duty for your desires, Aerondrion."

Aerondrion's eyes hardened, his resolve unshaken. "Then I will ensure she never returns."

The words hung in the air, final and irrevocable. Silence fell over the room, heavy with the weight of his declaration. The queen's fury remained unspoken, but it was evident in the tension that curled in the corners of her eyes. The king's gaze lingered on Aerondrion, a quiet understanding passing between them. Loceran, too, remained silent, his thoughts heavy with the burden of the decision.

And so, the meal resumed, but the atmosphere had shifted irrevocably. The delicate dance of power and familial duty had entered a new, uncertain phase—one that none of them knew how to navigate, and none of them could yet predict where it would lead.