EndlessReverie
Chapter 8: Legends
𝚉𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗
05/26/2025
A/N: i took a short break, was sick may 25. so I'll reward you with a first combat scenario.
——————————————————————
Two years had passed.
There were memorable moments and memories for those two years but it's the chance to look into the present time. Zairon learned to talk and walk properly, no more awkward movements or words.
Now looking through the interiors of the estate of navalia, the grand hall stirred with gentle echoes—laughters and conversations while silk brushed across the marble surfsce, and clinks of crystal goblets.
Lights streamed from the high-arched windows, casting golden yet snow patterns over the hall's pale floor. And standing by the arched entryway was Asareth—who was watching with his close advisor and other guardians while his wife, Aidelie, entertained their guests with serene grace, the center of an effortless harmony.
The ball, the yearly ceremony to introduce the family to pre-existing affiliates and new ones—serving to befriend and continue the benefits of their friendships was here. The great halls of Navalia were alignt with opulence.
Nobles from surrounding provinces mingled in silk and armour, swirling through dances or sharing rumors over crystal glasses. The bloodline of Navalia stood proudly at the heart of it all.
But not everyone was drawn to the fanfare.
There was a little boy that slipped from the grasps of his mother while remaining unnoticed.
Zairon, now four, had quietly slipped away through the side halls. Followed — of course — by his ever-watchful and adoring sisters.
"Zai~ you'll get in trouble," Sofia whispered, nearly tripping over her yellow gown's hem as she chased him past the arched doorway leading outside.
Zairon didn't answer. He simply walked slowly through the patio that led continuously to a payh outside that would bring him to the garden of the estate. Once reaching thete, he simply sat down at a nearby bench before he stared at the bountiful amount of flora scattered even in the frost of winter.
The warmth brought by essence was truly a curiousity for anyone within this world, an idea and a capability that should be harnessed for the greatness of Aetheria.
He stole his eyes from the flowers and gazed at the glowing crest of the fox etched in a banner that was seen nearby from where he sat, the same fox hailed as the sacred guardians told in the legends of Navalia, before wandering back to the outer solarium of the estate.
Sofia sighed as he returned back to the interiors of the grand hall to seek out his sisters to find Zairon—
And while she was at it, Ethereth was behind Zairon. "Found you," she announced, crossing her arms as she entered in a sharp navy dress lined with silver threading. "Let's return back."
Zairon shook his head while standing before the fireplace of the solarium. He glanced slightly to look at Ethereth who had that neutral expression before stealing his gaze and sitting down on the warm surface of the wood.
"Of course you'd rather stare at a fireplace and that fox rather than attend the ball. You're such a troublesome brother," she muttered gently before resting her palm against the back of his head while feeling the warmth of the fire.
"Sister," Zairon calmly muttered as he took the attention of her sister—Ethereth was humming a question before he continued his words.
"Do you believe the legends are true?"
Ethereth blinked. The flicker of firelight danced across Zairon's pale features, his snow white hair catching gold. His words were soft and thoughtful—much clearer now, more certain than it had been the years before.
She moved to sit beside him, letting the warmth seep into her legs through her gown as she leaned an elbow against her knee. "Which legend?"
Zairon remained silent for a while. He then only pointed with his small index finger towards the crest of the winter fox above the hearth with crossed daggers below.
"Aikan," he murmured. "The guardian of Navalia."
Ethereth followed his gaze, then shrugged. "Mother believes they're real—Father however never talks about it."
Zairon remained quiet for a moment, little brows furrowing. "I dreamt about it, Ether," he spoke at last.
She turned her head sharply. "Dreamt it?"
"It felt as if it was real" he added. "It was standing in the snow. But the snow was black, and it was bleeding. But even when it bled, it smiled at me. It said…" He paused, squinting faintly as if trying to recall something half-forgotten. "It said, 'Soon, your thread will remember.'"
Ethereth's skin crawled.
She placed a hand over his, steadying it. He didn't pull away.
"That's a strange dream, Zai," she said quietly. "I haven't even dreamt of our guardian once."
Before he could respond, the doors burst open—Sofia and Yve skidded in, breathless.
"There you two are!" Yve huffed, adjusting her deep red ribbon. "The guests are asking where the youngest son is. I had to lie and say you were asleep."
Sofia also chimed in—voice laced with excitement. "The music's changed also!" she added with a grin. "The duel exhibition will start! Don't you wanna see Big Brother Heizen beat that cocky heir from Tempora?"
Zairon tilted his head. "I already know he'll win."
"Oh really?" Sofia asked, puffing her cheeks. "Then you'll just stay here?"
He gave a small nod, then Sofia gave an annoyed reaction but immediately smiled at Zairon as she stood before him between the fireplace.
Ethereth stood, brushing off her skirt. "You three go ahead," she said, glancing once more at the silent boy beside her. "I'll keep an eye on him."
Yve arched a brow but didn't argue. She took Sofia's hand and ran off down the corridor.
Ethereth lingered just a moment longer before she gently knelt and looked into her brother's eyes.
"I don't know if those dreams mean anything, Zairon," she said, voice quieter now. "But if they do… I'll believe them. Because you saw them."
Zairon's gaze didn't waver. The fox on the wall watched silently with him.
And above them, beyond the archways and candles, beyond the glass dome of the solarium roof—white snowflakes began to fall through a sky that hadn't forecast snow at all.
"... Thank you, Ethereth."
∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗
𓊆 Main Hall of the Navalian Estate 𓊇
The crowd gathered in a circle, aristocrats seated in raised surfaces with tables and seats that were positioned in a way that each and every individual may get a sight of the main event. Others leaned along the thin balustrades of the upper floors nestled within the eastern and western wings of the main hall.
At the center of the circle, two boys stood, blades drawn.
One bore the crimson and gold of Tempora—a tall, confident, and sharp faced heir with a smug curled to his lips. His name, Afaren Tempora, carried weight and ego in equal measure.
The other… stood silently, his gaze holding no intent to win nor lose.
Heizen von Navalia needed no ornaments nor vanities. Just clad in a sleeveless black vest over ceremonial whites, his hair was tied back with a single black thread. A steel sabre rested in his hand, barely gripping it within his palm as if it didn't matter.
Afaren threw his gloves on the floor. The glove was an inch away from Heizen as he had that smug look drawn over his face. "Once I defeat you, our Margravate will be known throughout the north, I shall be it's new pride!" He laughed out loud.
Alfaren brandished his silversteel rapier endowed with golden ornaments at the hilt of the blade.
And before him? Heizen paid no mind.
Unadorned, unfazed, and calm.
The bell rang.
Afaren unged first, fast and elegant, driving a thrust toward Heizen's center.
But Heizen wasn't there.
He sidestepped, casually, letting Afaren's momentum drag him forward.
"You dodge well," Afaren sneered, spinning on his heel and slashing again.
Clack
Steel met steel, just once, gently. Afaren blinked—the pressure behind his swing vanished. Heizen had caught the blade with the flat of his sabre and redirected it mid-air.
Then Heizen moved.
One step. A feint. A low swing aimed for Afaren's leg—not to strike, but to scare.
Afaren yelped as he leapt backwards.
Laughter bubbled softly from one side of the balcony.
Heizen didn't chase. He tilted his head, expression unreadable. Then stepped forward again, smoothly, like water over stone while raising the tip of his blade towards Afaren, gesturing for him to bite.
Afaren gritted his teeth and rushed him, slashing high, then low, then twisting his wrist for a downward thrust.
Whap—whip—tap!
Three precise counters. Heizen's blade touched Afaren's side, his forearm, and lastly, tapped the base of his rapier.
Afaren stumbled.
He lost his balance as he fell to the ground.
Afaren immediately grabbed ahold of his rapier as he stood up, jumping from the arch of his foot to deliver a piercing strike straight to Heizen's chest.
Swift, it was—
Yet predictable.
Heizen tilted his body—not enough to evade, but just enough for the blade to graze harmlessly along his coat, carving a shallow groove through fabric, not flesh.
He let it pass, let Afaren think he'd landed something.
Then, in that instant of false victory—
Crack.
Heizen's flat side of his sabre slammed down across Afaren's collarbone. Not enough to break it—but enough to drop him to a knee from the sheer force.
Afaren gasped.
But Heizen wasn't done.
He stepped to the side, hand still on the hilt of his steel sabre, and brought it around in a sweeping arc—low, smooth, and fast. It hit the back of Afaren's thigh, and the heir crumpled fully to the floor with a grunt.
Humiliation burned across Afaren's face. He panted, scraped, furious. "Stand still, you coward!"
Heizen's eyes narrowed, ice holding his neutral gaze. "If standing still means lowering myself to your speed, then no."
Afaren roared again, rising with fury, his rapier trembling. He tried a wild flurry this time—six strikes, all fast, all fueled by shame.
Heizen didn't block them all.
He didn't have to.
Heizen danced between the arcs like breeze over reeds, permitting the blade to pass within inches yet his movements were calculated and soft—not even a necessity to blink. Sparks flew from a few shallow scrapes on his tunic but his movements remained fluid effortlessly.
Then—he pivoted, and finally struck with purpose.
A jab to the gut. A sharp slap to the wrist with his hilt.
And then—
A sweeping blow across the back that sent Afaren face-first to the polished stone.
The rapier clattered away.
And this time, Heizen stepped on it.
Afaren looked up, eyes wide, face flushed from rage and sweat.
Heizen leaned slightly forward, voice like a knife sliding into fabric.
"You're too loud for a swordsman. Too proud to read the rhythm of a fight. You're not dangerous. You're ornamental."
He removed his foot, kicked the rapier away with one smooth motion—and turned his back.
He walked away before the announcer could even declare him victor.
And the crowd… erupted.
Asareth clapped once—firm and proud. His voice carried through the chamber: "That is the strength of Navalia."
Beside him were his daughter's, Sofia exclaimed first. "Way to go, Big Brother!"
Yve was next. "Of course he'd win, he's just too focused in training," she clicked her tongue.
From the dais, Aidelie smiled softly, pride radiating in her gaze, though her thoughts wandered. She leaned toward one of the stewards.
"Where is Zairon?"
The steward stiffened. "He slipped away, Lady Aidelie. We believe one of the guards saw him near the solarium wing."
She didn't scold. Only nodded and thanked the steward.
She sighed before letting out a small smile. "I wonder if Zairon would follow in Heizen's steps."
——————————————————————
𝙰𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚡
Balustrade, a railing supported by balusters, especially an ornamental parapet on a balcony, bridge, or terrace.
MagravateTempora, a military governed state that's located east from Navalia. It serves as a crucial point of defense to ensure northern monstrosities wouldn't cross the continent.
AfarenTempora, the eldest child of the Tempora Household. A prideful and spoiled heir—yet senseful in losses and takes his time to understand his mistakes. He has green short hair stylized in a sophisticated cut while having amber eyes.