At the beginning of summer, the heat began creeping in, day by day. The sun stood high in a cloudless sky, glowing stronger with each passing hour. Birds sang their familiar tunes, melodies echoing through every corner of the imperial capital of Wandal, Wanthal.
Wanthal was the heart of the Wandal Empire, the largest and most densely populated city in the realm. Here, people of all walks of life coexisted rich or poor, joyful or broken, strong or fragile. But no matter their differences, they all shared one thing: their unwavering loyalty to Wandal, and to those who ruled it, the Founding Families.
At the top of these noble bloodlines stood House Vallis, the ruling family of Wandal, sovereigns of both sea and land, and the chosen wielders of the mighty Wanda Stone.
Yet, House Vallis could not have reached such glory without the unshakable support of two other ancient houses: House Azmelanidor and House Taryon. Together, they formed the foundation of the empire, the three pillars upon which Wandal stood tall.
They were known far and wide as The Founding Houses.
Within the vast halls of House Azmelanidor's estate, nestled deep in the heart of the capital, sat a woman of breathtaking beauty. She rested in the grand hall, her figure poised and elegant. Appearing to be in her early thirties, her copper-toned hair shimmered under the golden afternoon sun, each strand enhancing the radiance of her ethereal beauty. Her jade-green eyes, cool and vivid, were fixed on the tall window as if waiting—either for something… or someone to step through the grand gates of the estate.
Beside her sat a young girl, her mirror image. the same copper hair the same soft, innocent features the same calm, jade-green eyes.
The girl broke the silence, her voice gentle yet tinged with excitement as she looked toward her mother. "He's late," she murmured, turning her gaze back to the window. "You said this was when Father would arrive."
Freyal turned her face slowly from the window to her daughter, her expression composed and serene.
"The journey from Wanmere to Wanthal is long and difficult, Yelva. Be patient he'll arrive soon."
her voice steady and composed ,so different from the woman who had spent her entire morning brushing her hair, perfuming herself with the finest scents, and choosing her most elegant clothes to appear at her best.
But then, her eyes flicked from her daughter toward the great doors of the hall, and her face shifted subtly still composed, but touched by a shadow of displeasure, as though something had just occurred to her.
"Where's your aunt?" she asked, her tone sharpening just slightly. "She's been gone since morning. "
Yelva glanced at her mother, trying to mask the flicker of tension that rose with the question.
"She's just resting in her room… still not feeling well since last night," she said quickly. "But once Father arrives, she'll get up, you know how much she loves him. She hasn't seen him in two years. Let her rest now, so she has the strength to greet him."
She rushed her answer, giving her mother no room to order her off to fetch her aunt.
Freyal didn't respond right away. Only after a pause did she mutter, eyes drifting back toward the window, "That aunt of yours is going to drive me mad." Then, with a sharper tone, she added, "She looks like a half-dead hen. When your father walks through that door, he'll think I've been neglecting her for the entire two years he's been gone."
Yelva was about to reply when the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the hallway. A servant burst in, breathless and beaming.
"My lady Feryal. The Grand Duke has arrived!"
Freyal and Yelva shot to their feet at once, joy lighting up their faces like the midday sun. Yelva barely held herself back from bolting straight to the door to welcome the man she hadn't laid eyes on in two full years since the day the Emperor had sent him to Wanmere on a mission befitting both his status as Grand Duke and Head of the Azmelanidor family, one of the Three Founding Houses.
Before she and her daughter stepped out of the hall, she stopped.
"Where do you think you're going?" Freyal said, brow furrowed. "Go fetch your aunt first. And don't take all day."
With a reluctant groan, Yelva turned and dashed off. She knew her mother wasn't asking it was an order. Still, her heart raced. Her father was finally home after two long years, two years in which he'd left her mother with mountains of responsibility. From managing the estate down to the tiniest detail, raising the children, overseeing the household, and handling the political and financial affairs of their family… all of it had rested on Freyal's shoulders.
But she had never complained. She had carried it all because he trusted her. Not just as his wife but as the woman he had chosen as his equal.
Yelva moved swiftly through the halls, heading straight for her aunt's chamber. She had a feeling her aunt had finally returned… from whatever strange place had kept her hidden all this time.
She flung the door open without the time or patience to knock. Standing at the threshold, Yelva froze, eyes narrowing at the sight before her.
There stood her aunt, Rorlan dressed in a light, plain-white tunic, her hair a complete mess, tangled and speckled with stray pieces of hay. Her face was smudged with dirt, and her overall appearance was more that of a stablehand than a noblewoman. One of her gloved hands held something small that Yilva couldn't quite make out yet.
Frowning in disbelief and irritation, Yelva stormed toward her, completely unimpressed by her disheveled state. She halted in front of her aunt, mouth about to open when a foul stench hit her like a slap. Gagging, she immediately covered her nose and snapped,
"What is this mess? And what's that awful smell?"
Her eyes widened in realization as she took a step back.
"Horse dung?" she said in disbelief. "I told Mother you were sick and resting."
Placing both hands firmly on her waist, she added with biting sarcasm,
"Was rolling around in manure the urgent task you had to attend to?"
Rorlan looked at her and laughed, the kind of joyful laugh that only comes when something long lost is finally found. She reached out her hand, revealing what she'd been holding a small stone, delicately dotted in a very distinct pattern.
"I've been looking everywhere for this," she said. "It fell in the stables. I was afraid someone might step on it or get hurt, so I needed you to cover for me."
Yelva's eyes widened as she stared at the stone. "Wait, isn't that…?"
But she stopped herself before finishing. She remembered the promise she made to herself to stay out of Rorlan's affairs. And more importantly, there were matters they couldn't afford to delay.
"You know what? Not my business. Just get ready Father's back, and they're probably waiting for us."
Rorlan's eyes went wide in shock. "My brother's here? Why didn't you say so sooner?!" She hurriedly placed the stone atop a small sideboard in her room and yanked off the glove from her hand, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Her mind was elsewhere. she only wanted to get out.
She rushed to move, but Yelva grabbed her arm, stopping her.
"Have you lost your mind?! You're going down there smelling like this?! Go change, right now. I'll tell them you were taking a bath to bring down a sudden fever. Hurry and don't take too long!"
Yelva stepped out and closed the door behind her, leaving Rorlan alone. As silence returned, warmth bloomed in her chest. She headed straight for the bath, wanting nothing more than to freshen up before going to see her brother. Then suddenly she froze in place, her expression shifted. The soft joy in her eyes dimmed, replaced by seriousness and something close to worry.
Rorlan turned back and walked across the room to the small sideboard. Sitting atop it was the dotted stone—the one she had held when Yelva walked in earlier.
"It needs to stay hidden," she whispered to herself, eyes fixed on it. "At least until the night comes."
She reached for it but stopped mid-motion. Her hand hovered, then quickly pulled back. She had a sudden realization that touching it with bare hands could hurt her. Instead, she grabbed a soft white cloth, wrapping it carefully around the stone to shield herself from direct contact.
Cradling the stone in the fabric, she looked down at it with golden eyes full of quiet awe.
"You… you're the Star of the Night," she murmured to it, as though the stone could hear and understand her words.
She walked over to her vanity and opened a small drawer filled with her jewelry. Gently, she placed the stone inside, closed the drawer, and headed for the bath.