The medieval night swallowed Lucian's silhouette the moment the heavy back door of the noble estate closed. The chill of the capital's streets stung his face, but the thick bread in his stomach and the clean linen cloth around his leg gave him an energy he hadn't felt in months.
Instead of returning straight to the miserable suburb where he slept, curiosity won out over prudence. Risking everything, Lucian made his way toward the great citadel, shuffling stealthily until he emerged into the capital's vast main square.
There, erected in the very center under the moonlight, stood a colossal structure. It was the statue of Aelivorn, the First High King, the rightful ruler and first direct descendant of the deity of the Red Gem. Directly in front of it stood the statues of his two children, the Twins of Dawn—Prince Aeliorus and Princess Valyriath—immortalized there together and bound for eternity. Although the monuments were ancient, they had been restored and modified throughout the ages by various governments; however, due to the glorious contributions of their thousand-year reign, they were the only ones in the entire history of the kingdom who had earned the honor of having their likenesses engraved in that sacred place.
Lucian stopped at the feet of the stone and bronze figures, stunned. The statue of Aelivorn gazed fixedly toward the horizon, toward the great sea where, centuries before, the ships of the ancient elves had sailed; the monarch had demanded that his image be immortalized, eternally looking in that direction, toward the kingdom of his beloved. Looking up, Lucian felt a peculiar, mystical familiarity in those bronze faces, something that resonated with his own hazy dreams.
"Hey, you! You in rags!" the harsh shout of a kingdom guard shattered the spell.
Two officers in iron armor, torches in hand, noticed him. In the capital, a street urchin loitering near royal monuments late at night was a recipe for trouble.
"Stop right there, you alley scum!" roared the other guard, drawing his wooden club.
Lucian didn't wait. Pure instinct for survival, he turned and ran with agility, ignoring the throbbing pain in his wounded leg. He slipped between the stone doorways, turned down a narrow alley, and reached the abandoned shed he called home. There, panting, he collapsed onto a straw mattress, wrapped himself in a threadbare blanket, and fell asleep, his mind fixed on the statue and the red insignia.
At dawn, on the other side of the city, the sumptuous noble residence awoke.
Valdrick's parents were people of high birth and great influence in the kingdom. The father, Duke Corin, was an active and respected member of Valdorán's capital society, and the mother, Felicia, was the direct descendant of another grand duke. Besides being landowners, they owned powerful trading posts that supplied swords and iron armor to both the capital and the other seven provinces on the map.
While they were having breakfast in the grand dining room, Felicia frowned as she reviewed the servants' inventory parchments.
"It's strange... One of the fine white linen cloths we kept in the chest in the drawing-room is missing," she remarked suspiciously. "None of the servants are authorized to touch it."
Upon hearing this, Duke Corin flew into a rage. He slammed his fist on the oak table and, in a furious and irritated tone, immediately summoned the head of the household maids. When the woman stood trembling before him, the nobleman questioned her sternly:
“Who took it upon themselves to take the canvases from the chest without permission? I'm not bothered by the value of the fabric, but by the fact that you did it behind my back. If you had asked, I would have handed them over myself. Why take things without authorization?”
The maid lowered her head, pale, unsure what to say. Valdrick, who maintained impeccable posture in his chair, felt his heart leap. However, remembering his promise and the pact of secrecy he had with his great friend from the street, he intervened with remarkable composure to save the day:
“It was me, Father. It was me, Mother,” the boy said firmly, halting his father's fury. Last night, as Barin finished recounting his travelogues, I leaned too close to the fireplace to stir the embers and, clumsily, dropped the canvas into the fire. It went up in smoke in an instant. I apologize; the servants are not to blame.
Duke Corin took a deep breath, calming his temper at his heir's confession. The explanation was enough to put an end to the matter, the secret safe.
Meanwhile, in the guest room, Barin hadn't slept a wink all night. He stared at the circular medal of dark iron and red ruby resting in the palm of his hand.
He didn't like what he was thinking. Something in his memory didn't fit; old, scattered stories that his family had taught him to view with suspicion. What was the meaning of those strange words from a seemingly insignificant child? In the darkest corners of his mind, a distant whisper barely echoed, something he vaguely remembered from old trails and things that sensible men preferred not to discuss around the fire.
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Barin gritted his teeth, putting the medal back among his belongings. There were no answers. Only a lingering unease. The mystery remained completely open, undecipherable, and silent.56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLRZHOiImUe
and then Add to home screen.