On the Anniversary of the Kingdom's Founding
That day, the sky radiated with dazzling sunlight, casting its bright glow over the entire city as though the stormy darkness of previous days had only been a passing dream. A massive crowd converged at the city gates, now festooned with gold-trimmed fabrics and the kingdom's flags fluttering gently in the breeze. Fragrant petals rained down along the procession path, their perfume drifting on the wind. Bells chimed across the city, accompanied by waves of drumbeats—a grand announcement that the victorious army was at last returning home.
From beyond the far end of the road outside the city gates came cheers of celebration and praise, growing louder as they reverberated within the walls. At last, the first division of troops appeared in the citizens' view. Their dark uniforms were adorned with medals glinting under the sunlight, as if reflecting the kingdom's hope and honor. Warhorses stepped forward with regal poise, the clatter of their hooves on cobblestones echoing off the high walls and capturing the spectators' awe.
A wave of vibrant flags preceded them, dancing in a riot of color and grandeur. Musicians sounded trumpets and beat drums in triumphant melodies, invigorating the crowd and dispelling memories of the past war. The music swept over everyone like a hymn paying tribute to those who had made the ultimate sacrifice on the battlefield.
The triumphant procession entered the city gates with stately pride, blaring trumpets and thunderous drums heralding its arrival. At the front marched the highest-ranking officers of the army, their every step charged with authority and dignity.
Leading them was the Commander General in full regalia, clad in a formal uniform embellished with a plethora of ribbons and medals, crowned by a tall, wide-brimmed hat. A gold-hilted sword hung at his waist, and a long navy cloak embroidered with fine gold filigree draped over his shoulders. Epaulettes on each shoulder marked his lofty rank. He led the procession with a calm and resolute expression, a magnificent white warhorse at his side—a striking symbol of renewed peace.
Behind him followed the grand marshals and generals in orderly formation. The people on both sides of the street erupted in joyous cheers for those who had returned this victory to their land. The men's faces glowed with pride in having restored peace. Their names were called out by the crowd as though they were heroes of legend.
Next came Major General Miranda, mounted on her horse with quiet composure. Though her face was absent of smiles, her light-blue eyes flecked with gold gleamed with resolve. She stood out as a beacon of a strong woman in a battlefield world still largely dominated by men. The sight of her caused both men and women in the crowd to cry out in admiration.
Behind Miranda came the colonels and lieutenant colonels, marching with precise discipline. Their uniforms were similar in style but featured simpler gold ornamentation. The rank badges on their epaulettes and hats were the main distinction, each officer holding a tricorn hat against their left flank while their right hand gripped a sword or personal weapon. Some still bore wounds not fully healed, yet none displayed pain; they marched on with unfaltering pride.
Following them, the captains, lieutenants, and sergeants advanced in ranked order. Their uniforms were more modest, but they maintained an air of precision and honor. Muskets were slung across their backs as they stepped forward with firm resolve, a testament to their discipline and sacrifice. These were the men who had brought victory to the kingdom—bodies fatigued but hearts brimming with pride.
The crowd's cheers grew louder as the procession made its way deeper into the city. The kingdom's standard fluttered high in the breeze, igniting a rousing atmosphere. From the upper windows of homes lining the streets, onlookers scattered flower petals onto the parade below. Applause and acclamations swelled, honoring their brave soldiers.
Upon reaching the inner royal district, the splendid grandeur of the royal palace loomed ahead. Towering stone walls bore the royal family's insignia, a display of the highest power.
The palace gates slowly swung open, a formal welcome from the king himself. The parade progressed into the wide courtyard, and the rolling drums subsided. All the soldiers came to a synchronized halt as the King and high-ranking nobles emerged from behind a regal curtain, moving with a stately grace. The king surveyed the lines of soldiers with pride.
In perfect formation, the troops bowed their heads in homage to the King and Queen of Hydelyn. An awed hush fell over the courtyard, charged with a sense of majesty. Every gaze fixed upon King Callandros-Zillumyn and Queen Lunessa-Zillumyn, standing upon the palace's expansive balcony. Their names were derived from the kingdom's ancient tongue. They were flanked by members of the royal family and prominent nobles, all arrayed in precise rows just behind them.
King Callandros-Zillumyn stood tall in a pristine white uniform accented with refined silver threads that shimmered in the clear sky. Though his face wore a gentle expression, his pale-blue eyes shone with a wisdom and courage befitting a reigning monarch. His golden hair fell to his shoulders, streaked with white that hinted at his advancing years, yet it did nothing to diminish his regal bearing.
A silver crown set with jewels rested upon his brow, while in his right hand he held a silver scepter, the symbol of his authority and the guardian of the realm's order.
Beside him stood Queen Lunessa-Zillumyn, poised with a regal grace of her own. Her dark hair was gathered at the back of her head, drawing attention to her deep-blue eyes that glowed with both resolve and inner strength. She wore a white gown adorned with discreet silver embellishments that, though simple, shone with refined splendor. Her smaller, more delicate silver crown, while less ornate than the King's, exuded an elegance all her own—a quiet assertion of power.
The silver and white worn by Their Majesties were not just royal colors but also sacred hues within the Kingdom of Hydelyn. According to legend, the kingdom's founder had dreams guided by the gods: whenever he dreamed of a pure white light, he would personally lead his army into battle; whenever he dreamed of a silver moon, he would grant mercy and ensure peace for his people. Those dreams had helped unite a once-fractured land, forging it into the prosperous realm it was today. For this reason, white and silver had become enduring symbols of fortune and blessing, passed down through the generations.
When the drums at last fell silent, King Callandros slowly raised his scepter, prompting all the soldiers to bow their heads once again in unison.
"Beloved citizens, brave soldiers…" the King began, his voice clear and resonant. "Today is a day of honor, the anniversary of our great Kingdom's founding—a day to remember the sacrifices and courage of our forebears who built the foundation of this land. It is also a day to celebrate our unity, our perseverance, and our shared hope, all guiding us toward a prosperous future…"
During the King's speech, Joseph stood next to his family, letting his gaze wander to the circle of long-established powers gathered on the balcony behind the royal family. To the crowd, these four ancient noble houses were considered pillars of the kingdom; yet to Joseph, they often represented reactionary forces holding the realm back.
The House of Ankharan, led by a dignified figure in full military regalia, controlled most of the kingdom's army.
The House of Alathys, masters of commerce and trade, owned key ports both on land and by sea.
The House of Callathor wielded influence in court politics, having embedded itself throughout the administrative ranks, from low-ranking clerks to high-level officials.
The House of Lutharkis reigned over two of the largest gold and silver mines in the realm.
Joseph narrowed his eyes slightly as he glanced at these noble factions. Outwardly, his face remained impassive, but inside, an ember of resentment glowed. He had not forgotten the political scheming that had stripped him of his ambassadorship and trampled on his pride. Even now, he could see in them the very elements that had once orchestrated his downfall.
He forced himself to inhale deeply, pulling his gaze away to calm his inner disquiet. Another glance took him to a different group on the balcony, where he spotted Christopher Darcy, the Treasurer—an ally who acknowledged Joseph with a subtle nod, a quiet gesture of camaraderie.
Joseph then turned his attention to the foreign delegations who had come to attend the celebration: emissaries representing powerful nations, symbolizing Hydelyn's ties to the wider world.
There was the envoy from Sarnia, attired in a sleek, modern uniform reflecting their famed advancements in science and innovation. Sarnia was recognized as the world's leading center of technological progress.
There was the envoy from Affrig, his dark skin blending into the shadowed edges of the terrace. His keen eyes bespoke intelligence and power. As the foremost power on their continent, Affrig was a hub of both trade and economics.
There was the envoy from Terravea, bearing an austere expression and dressed in finely wrought attire embellished with intricate patterns—an embodiment of that ancient, art-driven culture. Hailing from the eastern lands rich in philosophy and art, he carried himself with subdued dignity.
Aside from these main envoys, representatives from other kingdoms were present in ranks according to their status. Some were from lands of lesser significance, yet they had come to maintain diplomatic relations.
When King Callandros finished his speech, triumphant trumpets resounded anew, echoing across the grand courtyard. The soldiers bowed in unison to Their Majesties, and a roar of applause and cheers rose from citizens assembled outside the palace gates.
The King descended from the throne with Queen Lunessa to bestow medals of honor upon soldiers recognized for outstanding service on the battlefield. Families of those fallen received medals in their stead, and the onlookers watched in solemn gratitude at the courage and sacrifice displayed.
The thunderous acclaim and continuous applause created a moment of collective unity. Pride surged through the crowd, momentarily allowing them to forget the internal conflicts that had beleaguered the kingdom for years.
When the medal ceremony concluded, foreign envoys stepped forth to congratulate the royal family and the people of Hydelyn. One by one, they presented gifts and tokens of goodwill to the King as symbols of thriving commerce and diplomatic ties.
The envoy from Sarnia offered a masterfully crafted golden clockwork device—an innovation underscoring their famed technological achievements.
The envoy from Affrig presented a golden sculpture reflecting his kingdom's grandeur, along with lavish textiles representing their vast economic might.
The envoy from Terravea brought scrolls of ancient Eastern art, along with intricately carved jade and ivory, celebrating the artistic bond between the two lands.
With the military parade concluded, honored guests and foreign delegations were ushered into the palace's grand hall. The interior dazzled with silver chandeliers and fine embroidered drapes of matching silver thread. A gentle melody filled the space, fostering a warm, convivial atmosphere.
Amid the banquet's sumptuous food and choice wines, the nobles and foreign dignitaries formed small, discreet clusters of conversation. Joseph silently noted some of them, seemingly engaged in secretive discussions, their hushed tones betraying matters of deeper gravity than the evening's festivities suggested.
He knew that despite the ceremony's apparent grandeur and unity, old rivalries between the traditional power blocs and the royal family quietly simmered. A number of nobles remained displeased with the fresh reforms King Callandros strove to implement.
Throughout the reception, Joseph kept a vigilant eye on every subtle movement among these noble circles. He soon spotted his father, Richard Cavendish—one of the King's closest advisors—approach the King's location.
Richard bowed respectfully, speaking in a voice that was soft yet firm: "Your Majesty's decision to celebrate the soldiers' victory together with the Kingdom's founding anniversary is most astute. It will temper any discontent the people feel toward the royal house, at least for a time."
King Callandros-Zillumyn stood poised, eyes drifting out toward the ongoing revelry beyond the palace walls. "You believe so?"
Richard inclined his head. "Yes, Your Majesty. For several years, unrest has been growing among the populace due to old powers, inequity, and the raised taxes. Economic woes linked to the war eroded their faith in the crown. By praising our heroes and hosting this proud celebration, their attention is temporarily diverted."
The King exhaled softly. "Temporarily, indeed…"
Richard answered with conviction. "Yes, Sire. It is merely buying time—but time is precious if we use it well. We can advance much-needed changes to the kingdom without provoking intense backlash from the old nobility or the public, who remain unprepared."
The King fell silent, deep in thought, before speaking in a subdued tone. "So where do we begin?"
"Begin with vital reforms," Richard replied. "Lower taxes for the common people, grant them more rights and a greater voice, and persuade the nobility to accept these changes without feeling utterly humiliated."
The King gave a small nod. "We may not have long."
Richard's smile was faint but resolute. "But it should be enough, as long as we do not give up, Your Majesty."
All around them, the strains of gentle music and jubilant conversation lingered, the palace alive with lavish decorations and shared triumph. Laughter mingled with toasts and the clink of glasses. Yet beneath this bright pageantry, under the veneer of unity and goodwill, lay a dark tangle of power struggles and clandestine bargains—like shadows coiling in every corner, waiting for their moment to emerge.