The Crown
Sky Reaper, the floating city, continued to defy gravity with its magnificence. A vast archipelago of suspended islands, connected by bridges and magic. Crystal-clear lakes reflected the sky, lush forests housed mystical creatures, mountains touched the clouds, and deep caverns guarded ancestral secrets.
The city formed a perfect circle, with the imposing Black family castle at its center, like a heart pulsing with life and magic.
The castle was a masterpiece of architecture, built from white marble with golden veins that seemed to capture and refract sunlight, giving it an ethereal glow. Tall, slender towers pointed towards the sky, adorned with sculptures of legendary creatures and arcane symbols.
On the left side of the castle, a training courtyard stretched out, bathed in the morning sun. The fresh air carried the sound of metal against metal and shouts of command. In the center, three figures moved with the precision of dancers in a combat ballet.
"Faster! More strength! You move like slugs!" roared Magnus Frost, commander of the Royal Guard, his voice echoing through the courtyard like thunder. His imposing figure, two meters tall, was an intimidating sight.
His light blue skin, the trademark of his ice elf lineage, contrasted with the white and gold plate armor he wore. His silver hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. His eyes, blue as glacial ice, still shone with the same intensity and loyalty as always.
Before him, two panting youths, their sweaty bodies gleaming in the sunlight. One of them, taller and slender, had red merle hair, a mesmerizing mix of reddish and grayish tones, that stirred with every movement. His amber eyes reflected fierce determination, even amidst exhaustion. He moved with agility, dodging and attacking with precision.
"Your father is a monster, Blake!" he complained, his voice hoarse from the effort. "We're thirteen, damn it! We're not veteran soldiers!"
The other youth, slightly shorter but with broad shoulders and defined muscles, had inherited Magnus's same light blue skin and penetrating blue eyes. Blake, the commander's son, was the spitting image of his father in his youth, albeit with a milder expression.
"Yeah…" agreed Blake, somewhat awkwardly, glancing nervously at his father. "Sometimes he overdoes it a bit." He laughed, a muffled, nervous sound, and refocused on the training, dodging a blow from Magnus with a swift movement.
Magnus continued to shout orders, his relentless voice pushing the youths to their limit. Suddenly, soft yet firm footsteps interrupted the routine. Magnus turned, his rigid posture relaxing slightly upon seeing Queen Gália approaching.
The Queen seemed to float across the courtyard. Gália's long, wavy, light-brown hair framed a face with delicate features and skin as pale as the moon. Her red eyes, an inheritance from her vampiric lineage, shone with sharp intelligence and comforting gentleness. She wore a simple yet elegant sky-blue dress that enhanced her slender figure.
"I believe that's enough for today, Magnus," she said, her melodious voice cutting through the air like a soft song. "They are already exhausted."
Magnus nodded. "Yes, my Queen. Stop! Rest!" he ordered the boys.
Gália approached the youths, her red eyes fixed on Logan. She extended her hands and murmured ancient words in a forgotten tongue. A white light, soft as moonlight, enveloped both boys, easing their muscle aches and renewing their energy.
The healing ability
"Come, boys," she said with a gentle smile. "Your father wishes to see you, Logan."
***
The throne room was a spectacle in itself. An enormous hall, with marble columns stretching up to the vaulted ceiling, where a complex spell projected constantly moving images of Sky Reaper's history and the glorious lineage of the Black Family. Every half meter, a Royal Guard soldier in full armor stood motionless as a statue, their eyes fixed forward, ready to protect their King and Queen. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting epic battles, mystical creatures, and breathtaking landscapes. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, painting the marble floor with vibrant patterns.
The oak doors opened with a soft creak, and Gália, Logan, Blake, and Magnus entered. Everyone present in the throne room made way, bowing in respect.
Gália walked gracefully to the end of the hall and sat on a throne of polished silver, adorned with amethysts and pearls, beside King Rogan.
Rogan Black, seated on his throne of solid gold, was the very image of power and authority. His silver armor, the same he wore the day he adopted Logan, shone intensely, reflecting the sunlight streaming through the windows.
The Black family crest, a majestic Qilin, was engraved on his chest, seeming to vibrate with a life of its own. His blond hair was tied back. His golden eyes, the mark of the Evolved Humans, radiated an aura of wisdom and determination, the aura of a king born to lead.
Logan, Blake, and Magnus knelt before the throne, their heads bowed in respect.
"Rise," ordered Rogan, his deep, resonant voice echoing through the hall, laden with authority.
Magnus rose and walked to the King, stopping behind him, his hands resting on the pommel of his sword, ready for any eventuality, a silent and loyal guardian.
"There will be a party at the Grey family mansion tonight, celebrating Kassia's birthday," explained Rogan, his gaze fixed on Logan. "You will represent the Black family at the celebration. Your mother and I cannot attend due to urgent kingdom matters."
Logan swallowed hard, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. "I will not disappoint you, father," he said, his voice firm, determined to prove his worth.
Logan was a boy driven by a burning desire to honor his adoptive parents. He loved them deeply and longed to show he was worthy of the Black name, that he was more than just a rescued orphan; he was an heir, a protector, a future leader.
"Very well. Take Blake with you," continued Rogan, a warm smile softening his features. "I know how tedious these high society parties can be. A friend by your side is always welcome." He let out a loud, infectious laugh that echoed through the hall, breaking the tension of the moment.
Blake, hearing the king's words, straightened his posture and said, "It will be an honor, sir." He shot a quick glance at his father, Magnus, who nodded with a slight, proud smile.
"Go get ready. The carriage will depart soon," ordered Gália.
"Yes, my lady!" the boys replied in unison, bowing before exiting the throne room.