The fire crackled softly in the duchess's study. Lireya stood by the tall window, arms folded, watching as the wind stirred flurries outside the glass. Across from her, Lord Marek sat on a cushioned armchair, a steaming mug of spiced tea in his hands. Alaric had left not long ago, but his words still lingered like the scent of burning wood.
"The Equinox Flame," Marek repeated quietly. "You're sure?"
Lireya nodded. "It came from him. And when he said it, it wasn't a child's lie. He believed it. It's passed down to him."
Marek sighed. "That… complicates everything."
She turned, her expression tight. "You remember the legacy, don't you? The Flame wasn't just a power. It was a shield. A balance."
He set down his cup. "Tell me again."
Lireya walked to the fire, staring into the flickering light. "It's a secret passed only to the ruling heads of the four duchies—never written, never spoken beyond our halls."
"The Equinox Flame," she began, "was born from the union of light and dark. The first king, Alarion, wielded light. His queen, Saphira, wielded darkness. But together, they were more than opposites—they were balance. Harmony. When the Flame manifested, it didn't belong to one element. It belonged to both."
She looked over her shoulder. "That balance… is what protects our world from the Veil."
Narrator: The Veil is a barrier between the Spirit Realm and the mortal world. It keeps the natural spirits—those summoned by mages and summoners—in balance. Good and dark spirits alike usually reflect the heart of the summoner. A kind soul brings forth gentle spirits, even if they wield fire or shadow. A corrupted soul? The spirits darken in turn.
But evil spirits are different.
They do not answer summoning calls. They exist to consume, to corrupt. Some low-rank ones slip past the Veil and roam freely, causing mischief or giving rise to monsters. But mid- and high-tier evil spirits—those with true will—are kept at bay by the Equinox Flame. Some of them bond to living beings, corrupting them, warping their desires, even granting terrible power. Others infect wild beasts, giving birth to the monstrous creatures adventurers now hunt.
"And now," Lireya said, "the Flame has returned. To a child. A child whose mother… could be the answer to a long-forgotten rumor."
Marek raised a brow. "You believe it?"
"The third child of the first king and queen. Officially stillborn. But there were whispers—hidden passages, strange disappearances. Some say the child was taken. Hidden. For protection… or for power."
"It's been three hundred years," Marek said.
"I know," Lireya whispered. "But that boy has the hair. And the Flame. If he's what I suspect… then this kingdom is not as safe as we thought."
A Day of Sun
A few days passed.
Morning dawned unusually bright. The northern capital, blanketed in fresh snow, shimmered beneath the sunlight. Children played in courtyards, throwing enchanted snowballs that burst into sparkles. Merchants opened their stalls early, and chimneys poured smoke from every rooftop.
It was one of the rare sunny days in the north, and the twins intended to make the most of it.
Alaric stepped out into the courtyard wearing a warm fur-lined coat, gifted by the duchess herself. His white hair caught the sunlight, and for once, the chill didn't bite quite so hard.
"Ready?" Lira asked, practically bouncing.
Malric crossed his arms. "We're not just touring. We're introducing you to everyone. You're a guest of the duchy now."
Alaric smiled slightly. "I think I'm ready."
The city welcomed them with warmth.
At a bakery near the main square, Old Man Harnen, a retired knight-turned-pastry chef, offered Alaric a steaming berry tart. The crust was golden and flaky, the filling sweet and tart, made with mountain berries grown in enchanted greenhouses.
Alaric took a bite and his eyes widened. "This is amazing," he murmured, licking his fingers. "I've never tasted anything like this before."
Lira grinned. "Told you! Harnen's famous all over the north."
They visited the silverbell weaver, Mistress Yora, who sold enchanted winter scarves that hummed softly in the cold. "Try this one!" she said, wrapping one around Lira's neck. "Matches your eyes."
Lira beamed and passed it to Alaric instead. "It looks better on you."
He flushed slightly but didn't protest.
Further down, they stopped at Kelran's Stall, where they shared skewers of grilled winter boar glazed with honeyed cider and a plate of roasted snowroot seasoned with frost herbs.
Alaric paused mid-bite, eyes bright. "Is… is this what nobles eat every day?"
Malric laughed. "Not really. But it's what we eat on sunny days."
Alaric smiled, the warmth of food and laughter softening the ache in his chest. For a moment, he forgot.
Then they reached a scenic overlook just past the upper terrace of the city. From there, one could see the vast snowy expanse stretching to the northern cliffs, silver trees swaying gently, and the glitter of the frozen river curling through the land.
Alaric stood silently, eyes wide.
"It's beautiful," he whispered.
Lira stood beside him. "You'll see more when spring comes."
Alaric's voice dropped. "I wish… my parents could see this. Mira would have loved it."
There was a quiet pause. Neither twin spoke. But they didn't need to.
Malric placed a hand on his shoulder. "You'll see her again. And you can show her yourself."
Alaric nodded slowly, blinking back tears.
The Training Grounds
As the sun crept higher, Malric pointed to a path leading up toward the western wall. "Want to see the knights train?"
Alaric nodded, excitement flickering in his chest.
The Northern Training Grounds were a large open field layered in thick warding runes, with high stone barriers and sand pits. Knights in blue and silver drilled in formations, their auras flashing with every strike and block.
At the far end stood a familiar figure.
"Sir Aldren!" Malric called.
The grizzled knight turned, his scar-lined face breaking into a half-smile. "Well now. Looks like you survived."
Alaric stepped forward. "Thank you. For saving me."
Aldren nodded. "You held on long enough for us to find you. That's more than most."
He motioned to the rows of trainees sparring with shields and spears. "These are the Northern Knights. We specialize in defense. Shield formations, barrier techniques, reinforcement aura."
Lira chimed in, "That's because Mother says the north must protect. Our people come first."
"But that doesn't mean we're weak," Malric added quickly. "We have offense too."
Aldren chuckled. "We do. A wall's no good if it can't push back. Our duchess believes a knight should be a fortress—and a blade."
Alaric watched as a knight deflected a flurry of attacks, his shield glowing with frost sigils. The clash of steel rang across the field, rhythmic and powerful.
"They're amazing," Alaric whispered.
Aldren nodded. "Maybe one day, you'll train here too."
Lira nudged him. "You should. You've got the look."
And for a moment, standing in the snow and sunlight, Alaric didn't feel like a victim. He didn't feel lost.
He felt hope.