Chapter 14 – Kingdom of AelvarinSomewhere far to the north—beyond the rolling golden pins of Alswin and the sanctified spires of Aerenthal, where the Holy Church oversaw the divine bance—y a realm forgotten by most maps, yet whispered in cautious reverence by those who traversed the continent’s edges.

  The Kingdom of Aelvarin.

  Nestled at the limits of Veltherion’s known world, Aelvarin sat like a jewel in the palm of winter’s hand, its nd hemmed in by jagged peaks and eternal frost. To the south stood the mighty Vinterheim Empire, its banners proud and defiant in the snow. But further still, beyond Aelvarin’s high mountain veil, loomed a realm of silence and death—the Bck Demon Forest.

  The name alone could still a tavern’s chatter.

  Where most kingdoms staked their power through conquest, Aelvarin endured through wisdom, neutrality, and unseen strength. It was ruled by a man often called a legend, yet who remained humble in his solitude—King Endor Caerthalen, the Lantern of the North.

  A sovereign of sixty winters, his body still carried the surety of youth, and his mind, the depth of ancient rivers. Where kings of men often sought dominion, Endor had carved out harmony beside chaos, standing as the final wall between civilisation and the maddening dark beyond the peaks.

  Beside him ruled Queen Selyra Caerthalen, known among old mystics as The Spirit-Blessed. Graceful and wise, her blood carried whispers of the spirit realms, her counsel often guided not by logic, but by visions under moonlight.

  Together, they had borne three children.

  Prince Caelen Caerthalen, the eldest, burned with a fire that did not suit his kingdom’s cold. Renowned for his unmatched strength and mastery of froststeel weaponry, he longed to see Aelvarin rise from its shadows. Prince Theren Caerthalen, younger, quieter, but sharper than steel, commanded the court like a seasoned general. Behind every subtle political manoeuvre or brilliant monster-defensive tactic, his hands left their print. And the youngest, Princess Lysari Caerthalen, the gem of the family, currently resided at the Holy Magic Academy in Aerenthal. A gentle soul gifted in healing and lightcraft, Lysari’s presence was often said to bring warmth to even the coldest hearts of Aelvarin.

  The great meeting chamber of the Ivoryheart Keep, seat of Aelvarin’s power, pulsed with tension. Its high-arched windows cast silver light across the frost-polished floor. Pilrs carved with moonsteel and wood from the Spiritgrove rose like silent sentinels.

  Seated at the roundstone table were the pilrs of the kingdom—the Dukes of the Northern and Eastern provinces, the sharp-eyed Prime Minister Vaelor, a man of relentless logic, and the arch-advisor of spirit matters, Mistress Ilynne of the Moonward Order.

  At the head sat King Endor, serene but focused, the soft gleam of his crown catching the frostlight.

  Queen Selyra sat beside him, her eyes closed in thought, fingers gently tracing runes on a bowl of still water, seeking signs.

  Caelen sat in his usual rigid silence, armed even within the walls of peace, his eyes like storms behind a frozen ke.

  Theren leaned forward, one hand beneath his chin, his other tapping soundless rhythms on a scroll—calcuting, always.

  The atmosphere was heavy, not just with diplomacy, but with the weight of the North itself—that strange pressure Aelvarin bore, being the st breath of light before the darkness that was Bck Demon Forest.

  “Reports indicate another surge of adventurers toward the Venomspire Dungeon,” said Prime Minister Vaelor without looking up. “The great spider stirs. And with it, the bance of our border wavers.”

  Caelen scoffed. “Let them. We’ve grown too reliant on fools seeking coin and fame. One day, they’ll rouse something they cannot kill—and expect us to fix it.”

  Theren’s voice cut through, calm and clear. “And we will. Because if we do not… we become the next border to fall.”

  Endor's gaze swept the room. His voice was gentle, but there was a chill in it that silenced all.

  “There is a change in the air. Not of war… not yet. But of awakening. The world stirs in pces it should not. Old echoes rise.” He paused. “The time of isotion may be nearing its end.”

  Queen Selyra opened her eyes at st. “And the moon shows visions of frost and fme. Of a girl… with eyes like ice. And a name the world is beginning to remember.”

  The room went still.

  Somewhere beyond the peaks, the Bck Demon Forest trembled.

  The council chamber of Ivoryheart Keep remained quiet for a moment longer, lit gently by the golden light streaming through tall windows. Beyond, the city of Aelvarin stirred under a mild spring sun, the skies clear, and the scent of blooming orchards drifting in with the breeze.

  But within these stone walls, the warmth of the season did little to ease the weight of discussion.

  Prime Minister Vaelor adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat. “There’s… been a pattern developing. Not in the Venomspire Dungeon, but farther west—toward the Greenfang Vale, along the edges of the Verdant Spine Mountains.”

  King Endor nodded for him to continue.

  “Our patrols have noted an increase in monster sightings—particurly aggressive wolfpacks, rger-than-usual goblin bands, and even a mantis drake or two,” the minister said, unfurling a light map on the polished table. “It’s not unheard of for monsters to wander from the Green Mountain Range, but this season’s activity is… unusual.”

  “They’re migrating?” asked Theren, his brow furrowing slightly.

  “More like… scattering. As if something’s pushed them closer to the kingdom’s border. Perhaps a new predator has entered the food chain, or their mating season is out of rhythm.”

  Duke Bralen of Thornward crossed his arms. “It’s likely the mana veins. They tend to fluctuate this time of year. Spring always wakes something, whether beast or root.”

  Queen Selyra gnced toward her husband. “Still, we should be cautious. The vilges near the Verdant Ridge depend on our protection. And if adventurers chase bounties too far north, they might stir up more than they can handle.”

  Prince Caelen, ever focused on action, leaned in. “We could deploy a rotating watch. Perhaps send a group of Silver-Rank adventurers to reinforce the outposts. No need to involve the military unless it escates.”

  “Agreed,” King Endor said. “Quiet strength. No arm.”

  “And what of the guild?” asked Theren. “Their hunger for coin makes them careless.”

  “Then we feed it carefully,” said the queen. “Issue new bounties, but only within approved boundaries. Nothing near the upper ridge passes.”

  “And the dungeon?” Vaelor asked.

  Endor's eyes narrowed slightly. “Let them dive. If the Venomspire grows active again, we’ll deal with it—but we will not let rumour become panic.”

  The room nodded in agreement, the tension now steadier. This wasn’t a war. Not yet. Just the rhythm of nature stirring slightly more than usual.

  Outside, the breeze rustled the banners on the balcony. Spring had come to Aelvarin. And with it, the quiet stirrings of the world beyond.

  As the st notes of concern over monster activity settled, a calmer, more thoughtful tone returned to the room.

  Prime Minister Vaelor tapped the map again, but this time near the southern border, his voice softening.

  “On a reted note… the Holy Land of Aerenthal has completed the summoning. The heroes arrived a week ago.”

  The mention of the heroes brought a ripple of murmurs across the gathered lords and advisors.

  King Endor did not flinch. “So, the stars have turned again.”

  “Indeed, Your Majesty,” Vaelor said. “By the will of the Divine Pantheon, they were summoned from the other world into Aerenthal’s central sanctuary. The Holy Academy has decred a two-month recess, both to accommodate the influx of divine energy and to allow these young heroes time to adjust and train in private.”

  Queen Selyra, ever serene, sipped her tea. “Then we can expect the return of Lysari soon.”

  “Two days from now,” said Theren, gncing toward his brother. She wrote st week. The caravans from Aerenthal are already en route, carrying several nobles and apprentices home for the season.”

  Prince Caelen offered a rare smile. “She’ll be gd to be away from the sanctimonious halls. And I imagine she’ll want to see the Venomspire with her own eyes again.”

  “Adventurers, no doubt, will flood the roads during the recess,” said Duke Bralen. “They’ll smell a coin in the absence of academy patrols.”

  Vaelor nodded. “And two months hence, once the recess ends, there’s word the heroes may officially enrol in the Holy Academy to continue their growth under its guidance.”

  Endor folded his hands, thoughtful. “So they shall become students of the divine… while the world watches.”

  A soft wind stirred the curtains. The quiet stillness of the castle seemed suddenly full of small changes—shifting mountain winds, returning daughters, and distant, otherworldly footsteps.

  Queen Selyra’s voice broke the silence. “May Lysari return safely. And may the heroes tread carefully. For the world they were summoned to… is more tangled than tales ever tell.”

  Scene: The Return of the Princess

  The hum of residual aether still shimmered faintly in the air as Princess Lysari Caerthalen stepped off the teleportation dais within the imperial port of Vinterheim. The blue-white runes beneath her feet were slowly dimming, like dying starlight, as the grand circur ptform of stone and silver inid sigils cooled from its test jump.

  Despite the pomp and brilliance of the Empire’s architecture—the towering spires, the vaulted ceilings of the Teleportation Hall carved from mountain crystal—Lysari felt an odd emptiness in her chest. The energy of the Empire, so proud and vibrant, no longer stirred awe in her the way it once did. It was duty, now. Magnificent, yes, but not home.

  Wrapped in a travel cloak of pale sapphire trimmed with silver thread, she looked almost ethereal as she stepped down the marble stairs and into the bustle of the station. Golden hair tied in an elegant braid, a single spirit-light crystal resting on her colrbone, and the subtle shimmer of Aelvarin’s royal crest sewn into her mantle—she was unmistakable. And unmistakably tired.

  Her escort was already waiting. A modest but elegant carriage painted in pale forest green stood near the courtyard, surrounded by a small retinue of knights cd in silver-trimmed steel armour.. The banner of Aelvarin—a silver ntern over a mist-wrapped hill—fluttered gently in the spring breeze.

  The wind here still held a bite of northern cold, but it was the crispness of te snow melting into rivers, not the deathly frost of the higher peaks. The mountains that bordered the Greenwild Range loomed far to the east, their tree-covered shoulders glistening with morning dew. In the distance, birdsong danced with the ctter of hooves on polished stone.

  As she stepped into the carriage, Lysari exhaled a soft sigh of relief. She hadn’t realised until that moment how much she missed the scent of pine and earth. Not incense and marble halls, but the living world—the quiet wilderness and clean skies of her homend.

  The interior of the carriage was lined with plush velvet cushions and a small foldable writing desk. A vase held a sprig of moonbloom, her mother’s favourite flower, freshly pced. The driver snapped the reins, and the vehicle began its descent through the winding paths of the Empire’s lower terraces, heading toward the border passes that separated Vinterheim from Aelvarin.

  She leaned her head against the window. Snow-touched peaks blurred into view, distant and silent. Somewhere beyond them, her father sat in council. Her mother waited with gentle eyes. Her brothers no doubt prepared questions she’d already grown tired of answering.

  And yet, she was eager to see them again.

  Her fingers curled over a folded letter in her p. The Holy Academy’s recess had begun only a few days earlier, and there was already so much news—the heroes had arrived, summoned by the Church after centuries of quiet. Even the instructors had seemed restless, watching the sky more than the students in the days before the summoning.

  Her crystal pendant pulsed softly against her skin, as if echoing the stirring of fate in distant nds.

  Lysari closed her eyes, letting the gentle sway of the carriage lull her. She would reach Aelvarin by nightfall. There, no doubt, a feast would await. Formal greetings. Family. Warmth.

  But in her heart, something else stirred.

  A whisper of unease. A flicker of intuition. Not fear—a ripple, as though the wind itself had shifted.

  And as the road dipped into the emerald-hilled valleys of home, she wondered if the world was already beginning to change.

  The day’s light was waning as the carriage wheels rolled across the forest-cleared road, the warm orange glow of sunset filtering through the canopy of trees. Princess Lysari Caerthalen, travelling with her sole maid, Elira, and four elite knight escorts, had nearly reached the borders of her kingdom. Just one more night, and she’d be home.

  They had pnned to make camp soon. The air carried a refreshing chill, birds had begun their evening chorus, and the princess had asked her retinue to search for a quiet clearing near a spring.

  Elira, ever sharp-eyed and poised, crouched beside the carriage with a hand resting near the dagger hidden in her sleeve. The knights discussed the pcement of wards and defensive formations, though the area seemed calm. It was almost too peaceful.

  Then the ground trembled—subtle at first, then more violently. Trees cracked. Birds scattered in screaming flocks.

  A roar.

  From the dark of the woods, three massive ogres burst forth—eyes bloodshot, flesh scarred and raw. Each wielded crude clubs of stone and bone. The knights instantly took formation, steel drawn, their A-rank training igniting like lightning.

  “Protect the Princess!” one barked.

  What followed was a blur of precision and raw power—bdes singing through the air, ogres snarling as they fell, one by one. Elira moved like a shadow, dashing beneath a wide swing to drive a bde into the skull of the st one. The earth was stained red, but the threat ended as swiftly as it had begun.

  Everyone exhaled, rexing for the first time since they had left the empire.

  But Lysari’s heart didn’t settle. A chill skittered across her spine, one she could not expin. She looked up at the rising moon, its pale light casting silver along the treetops.

  “…Something’s wrong,” she whispered.

  The knights looked to her, puzzled.

  “We’re leaving. Now,” she commanded. “No more stops.”

  They began reading the carriage when—

  Shff.

  Figures dropped from the trees. Twenty of them. Cloaked in bck, faces masked, daggers glinting with a faint green sheen.

  “Protect the Princess!!” the captain roared, but the ambush had already begun.

  They moved like spectres—silent, lethal, merciless. Each dagger coated in poison, each strike aimed to maim or kill. Despite their strength, the knights struggled to hold the line. Elira struck down two assassins in an instant, but a bde caught her in the ribs—just a scratch, yet the poison surged through her veins. She stumbled, colpsing near the princess.

  “No—Elira!” Lysari cried, kneeling beside her, glowing hands pressing against the wound. “Stay with me!”

  The knights, one by one, were driven to their knees, wounded and exhausted. The assassins began to close in.

  Then—

  A single fsh of silver in the moonlight.

  One assassin, mid-leap, was cleaved in half by a narrow, pin iron sword.

  A figure stood where he fell—shorter than most men, cloak billowing, a mask of silver porcein covering their face. In their left hand: that sword, gleaming with moonlight. In their right hand: fingers bent like they were pulling on strings.

  And around them, there were strings.

  Invisible at first, then shimmering with moonlight—fine lines of glowing mana, strung from trees, grass, rocks, even across the assassins themselves. Dozens, hundreds, like a spider's web.

  The figure stepped forward, and the strings moved.

  Assassins fell, cut, pierced, entangled, crushed by the invisible force as though fate itself turned against them. Within seconds, all but one had colpsed in lifeless heaps.

  The st was bound in pce, trapped by shining threads of mana-infused steel, trembling and wide-eyed beneath his mask.

  The battlefield was silent.

  Lysari, still kneeling beside Elira and the wounded knights, looked up—eyes wide, face tear-streaked, lips trembling. “W-Who…?”

  The masked figure strode toward her, the captured assassin writhing behind, held tight in magical thread. As they neared, the mysterious person raised their hand, and with a soft pulse of green light, healing magic washed over the injured. Intermediate css, clean and practised. The wounds closed. Breaths steadied.

  The five of them—maid and knights—fell into sleep, their bodies overtaken by fatigue and magical restoration.

  Now, only the Princess remained awake, kneeling, dazed, her heart pounding.

  The figure looked down at her. A feminine voice, smooth and ced with mockery, came through the mask.

  “…How can these knights sleep so soundly,” she said, almost idly, “when their princess is left alone with a stranger like me?”

  A pause.

  “What if I killed you now?”

  Lysari couldn’t breathe.

  Her hands trembled.

  The moonlight framed the stranger like some divine spectator, sword still glinting, and mana-threads fading around her like vanishing stars.

  She didn’t know whether to speak, to run, or to beg.

  And in that moment, the world changed.

  ___________________________________________

  “No, you can't kill the princess—she's one of the main characters!” the author muttered aloud at midnight, in the quiet of a perfectly ordinary house, on a perfectly ordinary day. Moments ter, he sat there, wide-eyed, acting as though he’d just awakened from a thousand-year slumber.

  Hello! Author here.How are you all enjoying the story so far? This is my very first time writing a novel, and I truly hope to improve with each chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who has read up to now and is looking forward to more—it honestly means a lot to me!

  Just a few things I’d like to share:

  I’m aiming to release about three chapters a week.

  I know there are quite a few mistakes, and I’m working hard to get better.

  I’m always grateful for your support, and if you have any suggestions or feedback, please feel free to leave a comment!

  Once again, thank you so much for reading. ??Let’s keep walking this journey together!

  —The Author : kelvin