The huge oaken doors groaned as Cassius and another guard pushed them open with minimal effort. On the other side lay a huge hall, its splendor familiar but somehow different for the occasion.
But it was not the hall itself that left Fenix breathless—it was what lay at its end.
Where a wall was supposed to be, there was none. Instead, the vast, ancient forest loomed over them, its towering trees moving off into the distance into the horizon. Their roots twisted up high into the air, their green roof shrouded in a mist, as if the air hummed with unseen forces. It appeared that the palaces' great stone walls were scooped out, and they stood facing the essence of nature.
A combined force of many gazes fell on him all at once. Eyes from all around him—some curious, some expectant, others judging piercingly.
Fenix breathed deeply, straining his shoulders stiff. Every step he took on the marble floor was deliberate, every movement honed by years of practice. He maintained his head up, his face expressionless, his posture that of a prince—not a boy.
Standing before him in the middle of the room were three individuals.
He was followed by his father, King Lauren Meliora, whose kingly bearing was only relaxed by the kindliness in his eyes. Years had begun to crease lines on his aristocratic face, but there remained strength in his stance, an unshakeable presence which controlled the room with ease.
Across from him stood his mother, Queen Regina, regarding him with a face that was expressionless—one any stranger would mistake for coldness. But Fenix, who had lived his life under the watchful gaze of that queenly countenance, knew better: pride. Tactile, subtle, but certain. Her dark hair had been swept back and carefully braided, no doubt at the skilled hands of Solis.
And there he was—Solis Meliora, Prince and future king—standing at their father's right hand, his face radiant in formal attire, the slightest quiver of a smile on his lips. Cassius moved silently forward, bowing his head in respect before going and standing behind Solis, prepared to protect him at a moments notice.
Fenix did the same, making a low, respectful bow before moving forward to their mother's right.
"Very well," his father's voice echoed down the corridor, stern but inviting, "now that our youngest son is with us, let the ceremony proceed."
A silence settled over the assembled nobles and their offspring, all waiting for the ritual that was to take them from childhood into adulthood.
The Ceremony of Binding.
It was an ancient tradition, a sacred compact between the mortal and the spirits that roamed the land. At the age of fourteen, all children of noble birth were summoned to the forest's edge, where they would call down the spirits and make a contract.
These spirits—neither wholly good nor evil—were forces of nature herself. Unchecked, they could be used to destroy, their forces capable of wreaking havoc should they be released without restraint. It was on this premise that the contracts had been written: a bond which gave the individual who carried them access to the power of the spirit, for in return the spirit would, upon the bearer's death, feast on their soul.
It was a price and a gift, one that none could deny.
Fenix lined up with the rest of the initiates, a line waiting in the border of the woods. The air hung thick with expectation.
The children extended their hands one by one, and the spirits obliged.
A girl beside him gasped as a silver mist wrapped around her fingers, coalescing into the form of a beautiful, ethereal fox. A boy to his left screamed with excitement as black wings unfolded before him, the form of a great black hawk settling onto his arm.
The spirits came one by one.
And then Fenix held out his hand.
Nothing happened for a very long time.
He extended a hand, felt nothing but wind's caress. Mutterings began at his back, indistinct voices growing louder with perplexity.
And then—
Grains of sand spilling down across his spread hand.
Dust whirled in his palm. At first small, spreading, evolving, throb with an intangible force. He drew a ragged breath, heart thundering, as dust at last subsided, and reveal—
Nothing.
No form. No ferocious beast. No shining person.
Just a small, grey pile of ash.
Silence.
Then—
"Ashes!"
The cry erupted from somewhere in the crowd, and the room was no longer quiet.
Fenix turned around, expecting pride—expecting smiles, relief, some sign of acceptance.
But instead, he was met with fear.
Shock.
Despair.
The assembled nobles looked, their lips white, their mouths open in soundless horror. The other initiates drew back, too, as if afraid of what had been revealed.
He looked towards the front of the hall—towards his family.
His father's warm smile had become unreadable, his lips drawn into a thin line. His mother, whose pride was always masked by cold reserve, now regarded him not with approval—but with uncertainty.
And Solis.
Solis, who had ever smiled, ever reassured him, ever been brother before heir—
Was silent.
Something inside Fenix twisted.
If he had been younger, he could have crumbled beneath their stares. He could have attempted to reach out, beg for forgiveness, for comfort. But not now.
No longer.
If they were unable to see beyond their fear, if they were unable to believe in him now, then perhaps they never had at all.
He curled his hand into a fist, scattering the ashes from his palm.
He had pushed forward boldly to claim his future.
Instead, he had been abandoned.
All because of a pile of ashes.