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Solvane walked alongside the seemingly quiet, refined man who had come for him. The man's face was carved with the stillness of age, yet his bearing carried a subtle sharpness, like steel hidden beneath silk. His steps were slow but deliberate, echoing softly against the marble floor. Solvane followed in silence, his own footsteps far too loud in his ears, as though the palace itself wanted to remind him of the weight of this moment.
They passed through the endless hallways of the palace, the gilded walls reflecting torchlight like living fire. Pillars rose high above, carved with the histories of kings and their battles, a silent reminder of the blood that had kept the dynasty alive. At the end of the corridor, the massive doors of the Council loomed—two golden gates, engraved with dragons devouring the sun. Solvane swallowed, the air suddenly thick in his lungs.
He had been here before, many times, but always as a shadow—never as the center of attention. Today, everything was different. For the first time in years, the seven Golden Aspers—the pillars of their kingdom—would gather at the same table. And all because of him.
His hand trembled as he pressed against the door, the cold metal burning his palm. With a deep breath, he pushed, and the doors groaned open.
The sight that met him nearly stole the courage from his chest.
The Aspers sat in their elevated seats, each one cloaked in radiance, their very presence bending the air. They gleamed in gold, their bodies haloed by a divine shimmer that made them look less like men and women, and more like gods wearing flesh. Their eyes, sharp and merciless, turned toward him in unison, pinning him in place like a thousand blades. The room itself seemed to shrink under their collective weight, and Solvane, for a brief second, wanted to turn and flee.
But his legs refused. He forced himself to remain, his back straight though every instinct screamed for him to bow.
"This junior greets you, Seni—"
"Cut the crap, boy."
The voice sliced through him like ice. Cold, sharp, unyielding.
He froze. He knew that voice. He had heard it whispered in the halls long before he was old enough to understand the danger it carried. His gaze snapped toward its source, and his blood ran cold.
Seraphine. The second female Asper of the kingdom. Her beauty was like a blade—refined, deadly, untouchable. Her golden eyes narrowed at him with a mixture of disgust and curiosity, like one might regard a stray dog that had wandered into a banquet. Solvane's heart pounded. He tried to recall the face of the first female Asper, but… for some reason, the memory slipped through his mind like smoke.
Seraphine's lips curled into a cruel smile.
"I hear you don't possess a unique aspect. Tell me, boy… why is that? Aubrean, is this truly your spawn—or have you brought us a fraud? How can the blood of a king produce something so pitiful? Or was this your plan, all along? To present us with weakness, while plotting to usurp us in secret?"
Her tone shifted as she spoke, from mockery to venom, each word stabbing at him and his father alike.
Another Asper chuckled, his voice thick with amusement. "Careful, Seraphine. Don't speak to the king so harshly. We wouldn't want his majesty to get cold feet."
A ripple of laughter followed, sharp and mocking, filling the chamber like the hiss of serpents.
"Can't even speak? How humiliating…" another voice chimed in, dripping with disdain. "The father of a god reduced to silence, all because of his weak-blooded heir."
"I see where the prince gets it from," someone else added smoothly, laughter hiding venom. "Like father, like son."
The chamber shook with their laughter, cruel and echoing. Their words were not merely insults; they were daggers meant to pierce dignity, to shred honor into dust.
But Solvane did not look at them. His eyes were locked on his father.
The king sat upon his throne, unmoving, his face unreadable—a statue carved of ice and stone. He neither defended nor denied. His silence was deafening.
Solvane's breath grew shallow, fear coiling inside him. It wasn't the insults that chilled him—it was that they dared mock his father at all. His father was not a man to be looked down upon. Not by anyone. And if these Aspers mocked him so freely, it meant only one thing: their power was vast enough to stand equal to his father's. That thought alone made Solvane's spine tremble.
The laughter and whispers suddenly withered, dying all at once, as though smothered by an unseen hand. The air grew heavier, so heavy it pressed down on Solvane's shoulders until his knees nearly buckled.
An old figure stepped slowly into the chamber.
And without hesitation—every single Golden Asper rose from their seats.
The sound of chairs scraping against marble echoed like thunder.
Solvane's heart lurched. He turned, his breath caught in his throat.
His eyes widened, the world tilting in that single moment.
"…It's him."