The Dawn of the Mist

20 years later

The fog settled like a silent veil over the entire city. The first rays of sun barely penetrated the thick wall of moisture. It was a calm day—at least at first glance. But deep behind the walls of the Zaltheris castle, there was a completely different atmosphere.

"Argh... not getting a wink of sleep again," I mumbled quietly to myself as I woke up in a cold sweat. My heart was still pounding in my chest, as if it was trying to tell me something.

I sat up, the blanket slipped off my shoulders, and I felt the cool breeze coming in through the gap in the window. From my window, not a soul could be seen on the streets. The fog had almost completely swallowed the city.

As I made my way to the dining room, I met my younger sister Amelia, hyperactive and energetic as ever, who greeted me in the hallway.

"Good morning!" she said with a look on her face that I was only used to seeing on special days.

"Why in such a good mood?" I asked as I rubbed my sleepy eyes.

"It's Dad's 20th anniversary as emperor today!" she replied, her eyes shining. But then her gaze changed, and her smile became a little uncertain. I couldn't make out her exact mood.

"Oh, that's right. The ceremony! Sorry about that. I'm not really awake yet," I replied and pulled her along towards the dining room.

My mother was already standing at the stove, her movements calm and careful. "Son, I've prepared breakfast for you," she said in her warm voice. She was so caring and took care of the whole household as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Thank you," I replied. I ate a little and then set off briskly. "I'll finish it later. I'm running late."

Back in my room, I dressed carefully. Today was a special day that demanded everyone's attention. I finally met up with my father Faelan and my older brother Duskael, who had recently turned 19, in front of our castle.

Thousands of inhabitants had gathered, their faces serious and unhappy. At first, I thought it was because I was late, but their looks were much darker, as if they could blame me heavily.

"You're late, Noctair," Father whispered to me. His voice was calm, but you could hear the sternness in it.

"We're used to that from him, Father," Duskael added provocatively. His confident grin was almost challenging.

I excused myself and we began the ceremony.

Every year on this day, a special memorial service is held to commemorate the end of the long and bloody war that almost destroyed our country.

Faelan raised his hand to command silence and began to speak.

"My people. Twenty years ago, as the last survivor of the war, I restored the empire so that today we can all live together in peace and tranquillity."

The people applauded, but I also felt the heaviness in the air.

"I'm getting on in years. So it's time for my firstborn to start leading the ceremonies. After all, he will be my successor."

My gaze fell on Duskael, who had been waiting for this moment since he was a child.

"Thank you for this honor, Father," he said in a firm voice.

He swapped places with our father and stepped up to the microphone.

"Noble citizens of our beloved realm," he began, "today we gather once again, at the dawn of the mist, to renew the unshakable bond between ourselves and the protection of the land.

We remember the dark days when shadows crept through our forests,

when evil tried to break through the walls of our cities and suffocate our light.

But with combined forces, with fire and magic, with strength and faith,

we have defied these threats.

Today, we not only honor those who gave their lives,

but renew our pledge: never to weaken, never to let the light go out.

In the name of light, in the name of unity

we vow to be vigilant,

to rise up against the demonic,

and to protect the kingdom year after year

as long as we breathe.

So be it!"

He had barely finished when a huge bolt of lightning struck not far away. The thunderclap echoed through the crowd, and a reverent cheer erupted.

This time the applause seemed to come from the heart.

"So the ceremony is over. My son, I am proud of you," Father said to Duskael, his voice full of warmth. I had never seen such a moment of happiness, not even when my sister Lydia was born.

In the dining room, I finished my breakfast, which my mother had prepared. It was time for my daily morning workout. As always, private instructors came to teach my siblings and me how to fight.

Duskael is, of course, Dad's favorite and is therefore strongly favored. Be it magic, swordsmanship, or unarmed duels—he is good at everything. He seems made for this world.

Lydia, on the other hand, is a strong mage and can already cast some powerful spells—four A-rank and seven B-rank spells, to be precise. Although she is only 15 years old, she can already hold her own against experienced adults.

I, on the other hand, am different. Unlike my siblings, I'm pretty average. I'm not particularly gifted in either magic or combat. My skills are somewhere in the middle, and that often makes me a shadow next to them.

Today, training is focused on magic, more specifically mana and spells. While Duskael and Lydia effortlessly perform complicated spells, I struggle, fighting against six of the private tutors at the same time.

My teachers are strict and challenge me, but I can also feel their belief in me.

After all, I have to become stronger, because evil lurks in this world.