The days passed slowly.
Caelen lay in the white-walled room, wrapped in soft blankets and silence, his thoughts circling like birds with broken wings. Every breath he took in this strange place felt like borrowed time. The knowledge that he was not Elarathi—not what his father had always said—gnawed at him.
He was human.
Whatever that meant.
Each morning, a gentle knock sounded at the door before a woman entered—always the same. She was tall, with silver-streaked auburn hair tied in a low twist, and eyes the soft gray of early fog. Her name was Maerin. She wore a simple uniform of deep blue and white, and when she pushed his wheeled chair through the polished halls of the castle, she moved with the quiet grace of someone who had spent a lifetime unnoticed.
Caelen bombarded her with questions.
"What's that?"
"A tapestry," she'd say. "Depicts the Fall of Emberhold."
"And that?"
"A chrono-lamp. It uses Veyrith to glow in tune with the hours."
He asked about everything—the strange fruits in the gardens, the carriages that moved with beasts called Durnak Striders pulling them, the golden statues, the marble archways etched with curling runes. Great lanterns of crystal hung from vaulted ceilings, glowing with a soft, color-shifting light that pulsed in harmony with the hour. The halls were filled with paintings of silver-haired emperors staring across centuries, their expressions proud, solemn, sometimes cold. He passed corridors lined with etched glass and carved ivory, where water flowed in channels built into the walls, casting refracted rainbows across the floor.
There were trees growing indoors—white-barked with violet leaves, their roots woven into the marble. In one open atrium, vines sparkled faintly with motes of light, like stars caught in tangled webs. Birds nested in alcoves high above, their feathers iridescent and unfamiliar.
The world buzzed with names he'd never known. Every answer was a thread, pulling him further from the dark ignorance he'd been born into.
But when he asked about the other races, about Veyrith'tal, Maerin's smile would fade. Her voice would soften.
"I'm not permitted to speak of such things, young lord."
He noticed the looks from the servants. Whispers trailing behind him like shadows. Eyes filled with curiosity and caution. He was a question mark walking the halls—half-healed, alien, real.
And every night, Maerin returned to the Emperor.
She bowed in the candlelit chamber, kneeling at the edge of a deep indigo carpet.
"He is no spy, Your Majesty," she said. "His responses are genuine. I used my Veyrith Sense every day. He speaks with wonder, not deceit. His ignorance is complete, and his awe… childlike."
She hesitated, then added, "He looks at the sky as if it's the first time he's seen it. As if it's a miracle."
The Emperor's eyes, sharp and still as stone, narrowed. "Good. Bring him to me tomorrow."
Maerin bowed lower. "As you command."
—
The next day, they dressed him in loose robes of soft gray and wheeled him through a great hallway flanked by statues of emperors long gone. Each one was carved from white stone veined with gold, their eyes inset with sapphire or obsidian, gazing down in silence as if judging the future through the eyes of the past.
Gilded windows spilled morning light across the black marble floors, and the ceiling above was domed glass, showing the endless blue sky dotted with circling hawks. The faint scent of polished stone, old parchment, and burning myrrh hung in the air.
They passed two towering bronze doors etched with a rising phoenix surrounded by ten radiant stars. A pair of guards clad in dark blue steel stood motionless as they opened them with synchronized precision.
His heart thudded as the doors creaked open.
The Emperor's study was nothing like Caelen had seen before.
It was alive with history.
Books lined the walls—thousands of them—each bound in leather, crystal, or cloth. Maps hung between the shelves, some drawn in ink, others etched onto plates of silver. An enormous window arched behind the Emperor's desk, filling the room with sunlight that washed across a floor of silver-veined stone. A massive globe of carved jade spun gently in one corner, rings of brass orbiting around it with silent precision.
Veyrith conduits ran in subtle patterns beneath the glassy floor, glowing softly with veins of light—like a heartbeat in the stone.
And at the center of it all stood the Emperor.
He wore robes of gold and midnight blue draped over broad shoulders. A crown of polished obsidian sat lightly upon silver-white hair. He turned as Caelen entered, his presence filling the room like thunder held just behind clouds.
"Ask away, Caelen," he said.
Caelen opened his mouth—then closed it again. His thoughts were too tangled, his tongue too slow.
This place… these people… the sheer weight of everything crushed him. He had never seen a room with windows before, let alone a sky with no roof. He had never known what books were, forget books he didn't even know how to read or write. His whole life had been shaped by darkness and silence—and now he was surrounded by brilliance, sound, power.
A knot formed in his chest. What am I doing here? I don't belong in this world.
After a pause, the Emperor stepped forward. "Then allow me to begin."
He folded his hands behind his back. "I am Emperor Kaelvarion Vaelthorn, twenty-seventh of my line. Where you now stand—or sit—now is in Drakhalis, capital of the Empire of Vaeloria, a realm that spans much of this continent of Aldenys, the land of humans. And the force that flows through our blood, powers our cities, and fuels our greatest achievements is Veyrith."
He studied Caelen a moment. "But you don't need to know about the empire. Not yet. You should just know about us. The humans. And the other land. For now."
Caelen's eyes lifted.
Valtan began to pace.
"Six thousand years ago, my ancestor was just a minor king ruling a fragmented land. But in the depths of an old ruin—yes, the very one you arrived from—he found something. A Veingate- Veingates are ancient stone archways that use Veyrith energy to open portals between distant locations. It activated under his touch, revealing a path to the other side of the world."
He glanced down at Caelen. "That was the first time we set foot on Veyrith'tal."
The Emperor continued. "That land was wild, beautiful, untouched. Rich with metals, herbs, and energy that shimmered beneath the soil. But we weren't alone. The natives—creatures with fur, horns, wings—were intelligent. Some looked like beasts. Others, like men wearing masks of animals. But they welcomed us. There was peace."
"The humans who remained there founded a city: Aurelen. Trade with this continent grew, transforming the once-fragmented land into an empire. One that happened it crushed its neighbours and grew in size. But over the centuries, power bloated. The human king of Aurelen demanded control of the Veingate and more riches to keep on supplying resources though the gate. The emperor of Vaeloria at the time was infuriated and refused his demands. So the king shut the Veingate and severed contact."
Valtan's face darkened.
"For five hundred years, silence. Then—chaos. Survivors came through the gate, desperate. You see the Demi humans had learned form us humans, learned a trait that all humans are filled with— greed. We will always want more no matter what. The Demi-Human races had turned on them trying to get the wealth they had amassed. There was war. The Empire refused aid. And the gate was shut again."
He stopped in front of Caelen.
"That was fifteen hundred years ago. And now, you've returned. Alone. With news of extinction."
Caelen's mind reeled.
Six thousand years. Cities. Wars. A world erased while he lived in a cage.
My life… was the aftermath. A forgotten echo of a war they abandoned.
He felt faint.
Valtan sighed. "I know it's a great deal to absorb. And I can't spend more time here explaining—I've a realm to run, after all." His voice softened. "But I'll assign you a teacher. Someone who'll guide you. Answer your questions. Help you understand the world we live in—and your place in it."
A flicker of something stirred in Caelen's chest. Not hope. Not yet. But the shadow of it.
He turned away. "Take him out."
Maerin stepped forward. She touched the handles of the chair gently, her expression unreadable.
As she wheeled him away, Caelen glanced back one last time. The Emperor stood unmoving, outlined against a window of white-blue light.
Just before the doors shut behind them, Caelen saw someone waiting in the hallway.
A tall figure leaned against the far wall. A cloak of ash-gray, edged in emerald thread. Their eyes, sharp and unreadable, met Caelen's—and for a moment, the world felt like it tilted.
Maerin didn't acknowledge the figure. But she slowed for just a breath.
And then they passed.
Caelen said nothing. He couldn't.
The words the Emperor had spoken thundered in his skull—Aurelen, the gate, the war. Human.
As the doors closed behind him, he stared blankly ahead.
A world had opened before him.
And he didn't even know where to begin.