The school's courtyard was alive with laughter and the warm hum of conversation. A patch of sunlight cut across the grass where a group of children sat cross-legged in a half circle, their eyes wide with excitement and curiosity. At the center sat King Aren, relaxed, legs folded, and posture open—more a teacher today than a ruler. Their teacher stood beside him, grateful but slightly overwhelmed.
"Thank you so much for having us, Your Majesty," the teacher said with a small bow. "I'm sure the children have more questions than time will allow."
"It's my pleasure to be here," Aren replied, his voice gentle, familiar. "It's always good to speak with the future of our world."
A small hand shot up almost immediately, fingers wiggling for attention. Aren's smile deepened as he nodded to the eager child.
"What kind of Emblem do you have, Your Majesty? My dad says yours is the best of the best, even better than his!" the boy blurted out with unfiltered excitement.
Aren let out a soft laugh, his tone warm. "Oh, that's very kind of your father. But I believe every Emblem has its own strength. When nurtured with the right training and dedication, any Emblem can achieve great things." He paused for effect, letting his answer settle before continuing. "But yes, mine is called the Bright Dragon. It's what people call a Prime Emblem."
The teacher used the opportunity to steer the class into more familiar territory. "Now, we've talked about Emblems quite a bit this year—who can remind us where they come from?"
Dozens of little hands sprang up at once, each one buzzing with the thrill of being chosen. The teacher picked a girl near the front who could barely stay seated.
"Emblems are divine powers that people are sometimes born with! The Prime Emblems were the first ones, and all the other Emblems—like the Grand and Lesser ones—come from them!"
"Very well remembered," the teacher said with a nod. "Now, who can tell me what Emblems do?"
This time, a quieter hand rose in the back. A girl with a hesitant voice spoke. "Um… they're shiny. When someone uses them, glowing drawings show up on their body. They look like… light tattoos."
"Exactly!" the teacher beamed. "Each Emblem has a unique symbol, shape, and color depending on its type."
A boy in the front looked back at the king. "What does your Bright Dragon do?"
The teacher glanced quickly at Aren to see if the question was too forward, but the king seemed delighted to continue.
"Well," he said, sitting up straighter, "Emblems allow us to do many things—make our bodies stronger, faster. Some control elements like fire or wind. Others let us do unusual things, like flying or making objects float. Imagine that," he added with playful hand gestures, drawing a wave of giggles.
The teacher appreciated that Aren was being careful—not mentioning the darker powers of Emblems: curses, destructive force, and manipulation. Those were topics best left for a more mature classroom.
"But the Bright Dragon…" Aren said, his voice dipping slightly into reverence. "I inherited it from my father when I became king. Because Prime Emblems are unique, they can only be passed down from one bearer to another. Mine allows me to bend light—shape it into tools, weapons, even art."
As he spoke, the emblem on his chest began to glow faintly through his shirt. With a flick of his fingers, small globes of golden light emerged around him. They hovered in the air, swirling playfully around the children. With a twirl of his hands, they danced like fireflies. The courtyard filled with laughter as the children reached up, trying to touch them.
For casual uses like this, a high-rank user like Aren didn't need to speak incantations. At his level, gestures and thought alone could manipulate light in delicate ways.
"Your Majesty," came a softer voice, "what happens if someone doesn't have an Emblem?"
The teacher's expression tensed slightly. This wasn't a scripted question—and both he and Aren could tell the child was likely speaking from personal concern. It wasn't uncommon. Some Emblems stayed dormant for years; others never awakened. And historically, those without Emblems had been vulnerable, especially before the unification efforts of the great houses.
Aren responded with warmth and certainty. "Emblem or not, you can become anything you want to be. Passion, courage, and wisdom—they're more powerful than any Emblem. Even the most dazzling power means little without the right heart to use it." The girl's face lit up with a shy smile, and her shoulders relaxed.
"Your Majesty, who's the strongest of the Six Dragons?" another student asked, completely unfiltered. The teacher raised an eyebrow, caught off guard—but Aren chuckled, welcoming the challenge.
"I thought someone might ask that," he said. "Most people would argue it's between the Ember Dragon and the Storm Dragon. I once watched them spar—it wasn't even a real fight, but my Bright Dragon was practically screaming just being in the same space."
The kids gasped, thrilled.
"But, if you ask me, I'd say the Verdant Dragon and the Shadow Dragon are the most dangerous. Their wielders… let's just say they don't hold back." He remembered the brutal "friendly" duels between Houses Thornwynd and Drakmora. Friendly in theory—warfare in execution.
"Did you fight them?" one of the bolder children asked.
"No, no need. Our houses are close allies. But I've seen their Emblems in action up close. They're breathtaking... and terrifying."
"And what about the Abyssal Dragon?" another asked, wide-eyed.
"Ah, the Abyssal Dragon," Aren mused. "That one's a mystery. I haven't seen it in combat, but I have seen it change the weather—turn rain to snow, freeze an entire lake. It's beautiful… and humbling."
He meant every word. House Tideborne, bearers of the Abyssal Dragon, ruled with quiet grace and terrifying potential.
The class continued for over an hour. Aren answered questions about history, architecture, even his favorite foods. When it was time to go, he stood and gave each child a small glowing feather—an illusion of light, a temporary charm they could wear for the day. They waved him off as if they'd just spoken with a hero from their bedtime stories.
It was a tradition within House Valoria, one dating back to the founding of the Gilded Expanse—that the royal family would visit schools and speak with students. It was more than ceremony. It was a reminder that even kings serve.
Long ago, Valoria had simply been one of many tribes scattered across the resource-rich lands. But over time, they had united others under one banner—not by domination, but through shared purpose. A coalition that had eventually become one of the six greatest nations of the world. Aren carried that legacy, and today's visit, humble as it was, kept that spirit alive.
⁂
The royal car waited outside the school, polished and sleek. Standing beside it was Val, always punctual.
"Your Majesty," she greeted. "How was the lesson?"
"Very entertaining," Aren replied with a grin. "I learned a lot today."
Val tapped quickly on a tablet. "Today is Aelinday, the fourth of Verdahn. Our guests are expected on Voiday, so we have four days. The city preparations are nearly complete."
"I saw the flags," Aren said, glancing down the road. "They look good."
Flags bearing six colors and six heads—one for each Great House—draped from rooftops and arches. Aren himself had designed the emblem: a six-headed dragon, each head bearing the colors of the houses—orange for Valtheris, bright blue for Zephandor, white for Valoria, dark blue for Tideborne, green for Thornwynd, and purple for Drakmora.
It was meant to symbolize unity—not just in politics, but in identity. The new inter-nation transportation system would tie them together, physically and symbolically.
As the car rolled toward the palace, Aren's gaze drifted to the skyline. Towers shimmered in the afternoon sun. Yet again, the dizziness returned, subtle but unwelcome. He blinked it away.
"Are you feeling alright, Your Majesty?" Val asked, noticing.
"I think so. Just… tired, maybe."
She hesitated. "May I offer a thought?"
"Please."
"I've seen many rulers accomplish incredible things. But this next step—this unity you're building—is unlike anything before. Take a moment to reflect. You and your kin live long lives. Progress can feel slow when viewed year to year… but astonishing when seen in the arc of centuries."
"That's a good point," Aren admitted, the thought grounding him.
"And," Val added, her tone softer now, "perhaps spend some time in the family library tonight. The past often hides clues for the future. I still find things in those old stories that surprise me."
Aren glanced at her, curious. Her eyes were distant, almost as if they were seeing something no one else could.
"I'm not sure I understand yet," he said honestly. "But I'll give it a try. Thanks, Val. For everything."
Night fell quietly, and the car slipped through the gates of the palace, shadows trailing behind them like whispers from a forgotten time.
⁂
Aren was already deep within the library by the time the moonlight touched the palace windows. The room was vast—labyrinthine. It had been expanded many times over the centuries, its walls reshaped by ambition and reverence. No two shelves matched, their styles clearly pulled from different eras—some carved from dark stone, others molded from luminous wood that still whispered with enchantments.
Memories drifted in like dust motes catching the lamplight. He had spent countless hours here as a young prince, hunched over ancient texts, trying to understand the world he would one day be expected to lead. Even in adulthood, he sometimes came here seeking clarity, inspiration… or simply quiet.
Tonight felt different.
Aren walked slowly among the towering shelves, letting his fingers trail across spines of leather, glassweave, bark-paper, and stitched metals. Titles pulled at his attention—some familiar, others alien. He grabbed a few instinctively, drawn by their feel, their weight, or the forgotten languages engraved on their covers.
They're heavier than I remember.
With a breath, he activated the Bright Dragon.
The emblem shimmered to life over his heart, glowing like liquid gold. In response, the books lifted into the air and hovered obediently beside him, guided by threads of light. With a flick of his wrist, they followed him to the central table like loyal birds.
He sat and began to read.
The books were old, their pages delicate and filled with diagrams and accounts of Prime Emblems. He flipped through them hungrily, soaking up long-lost theories, strange symbology, forgotten bloodlines. But as he was reaching the middle of a chapter on Emblem resonance theory, the ground jolted violently.
The tremor was short—but intense enough that Aren immediately stood, heart racing.
Silence.
Nothing had fallen. No shelves had shifted. No dust had stirred. Everything was... pristine.
He exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his chest.
That wasn't dizziness. That was real. Right?
He sat again, shaking off the sudden rush of adrenaline. His eyes returned to the book, only to find—
The page was blank.
He blinked. Turned the page. Still blank.
More blank pages. The entire book had gone empty, as if the ink had vanished.
"What in the world...?" he muttered aloud.
He pulled another book from the hovering pile. Same thing—completely blank.
Then, a voice echoed softly through the stillness:
"Wake up…"
Aren jolted upright, spinning in place. The library was vast, but silent. Empty. No footsteps, no presence—just the whisper hanging in the air.
His heart raced.
That voice. That was the same voice from my dream.
He reached for another book—and froze.
Words had appeared on the page.
Wake up, Aren.
Not once, but repeated—page after page.
He stumbled backward, grabbing the book tightly and rushing toward the door. As he flung it open, Val stood waiting on the other side, startled by his sudden presence.
"Val! Look! I'm not going crazy," he said breathlessly, holding the book out like evidence of a crime. "You can see it too, right? I'm not losing my mind?"
Val looked at the pages. Her face grew still.
"I can see it," she said. "You're not imagining this."
"Then what is it? Some sort of illusion? A curse from an Emblem?"
"No, Your Majesty," she said quietly. "Your Bright Dragon gives you natural resistance to illusions. If this were a curse, you'd feel the distortion. This is… something else."
He searched her face.
"Then what is happening to me?"
Val hesitated. Her expression cracked for just a second—revealing sorrow, fear, and inevitability all at once.
Finally, she spoke.
"Check procedure progress."
Aren opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a voice—not human, not quite machine—echoed around them:
[KING'S RETURN LOADING... EIGHTY-SEVEN PERCENT PROGRESSED]
[WARNING — PROCEDURE IRREVERSIBLE — DO NOT TURN OFF]
He turned to her, stunned. "Val? What is that? What's going on?"
She stepped closer. "Do you trust me?"
Aren took a breath. "I do. But I need answers."
Val studied him for a moment. His reaction—calm, collected—reassured her more than he knew.
She was about to speak when the room was flooded with red light.
[ALERT! PROCEDURE COMPROMISED — EXTERNAL DAMAGE DETECTED]
A shockwave rattled the windows.
They rushed to one of the high glass panes. What they saw outside drained the blood from their faces.
The sky had turned crimson—not like a sunset, but like the whole atmosphere was bleeding. Great burning rocks fell from the heavens like divine punishment, crashing into the city below. Flames erupted from rooftops. Screams pierced the air.
Val stepped back, her voice trembling. "No... no. Not now. We were so close."
Aren's heart pounded in his chest—but he didn't panic. Not now. Not when everyone needed him most.
Without hesitation, he turned, ran to the open window—and jumped.
"Halo Wings!"
Light burst from his back as four radiant wings unfolded from the Bright Dragon. They caught the wind effortlessly, turning his fall into flight. He soared above the palace, above the city, eyes scanning the devastation.
Hundreds of meteors—some small, others the size of buildings—rained down across the skyline. Fires spread like veins of lava. Citizens ran for cover beneath glowing crimson clouds.
This couldn't be natural. There had been no warning—no astronomical signs, no tremors, no omen. His scientists monitored everything constantly. This… this was impossible.
Then, mid-flight, a meteor—thin and sharp as a spear—struck him directly in the chest.
He barely had time to scream. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, and the Halo Wings vanished instantly. He plummeted from the sky, falling like a stone.
Everything froze.
His mind, his senses, even time itself seemed to halt. The world around him became a silent canvas.
Just before darkness claimed him, he felt hands—soft, but impossibly strong—catch him midair.
He opened his eyes, barely conscious. Through blurred vision, he saw her.
Val. But not quite.
She was younger. Her hair longer. Her uniform unfamiliar. She glowed faintly—like someone remembered from long ago.
An angel? he thought, somewhere between dream and death.
She looked at him with quiet urgency.
"Aren… wake up," she whispered. "And don't be afraid. You know what to do. You already did it once."
Then everything went dark.