...

...

“So, Commander, you really won’t stay a few more days?” In Paris’s castle, just after the ceremony, he looked like spring sunlight breaking clouds, joy plain on his face.

Medith caught that warmth; guilt pricked first, then her smile showed a flash of ivory. “Yes. The city’s piled with chores waiting for me, so...”

Paris tapped the badge on his chest, a small moon on his breastplate. “If you need something, say it. No outsiders here. I’m the king’s right hand now. I can do more.”

“Heh... Your Highness is joking. My purpose is done; I seek nothing else.” Medith’s refusal was a clean blade.

Paris’s smile glittered like a night sky, his deep blue eyes bright as lake ice. Medith met his gaze and felt a stranger’s chill.

“Commander, how about a little tale from the Eastern Nation?” Paris poured tea, steam rising like pale silk, and offered it. “Do you know what happened in Eunomia?

“Or where the rebels came from?”

Medith kept her hands still; unease spoke first, then she set the cup aside. “I won’t pick at old scars. Every nation has bitter years. Your Highness, let it rest.”

A stripe of sunlight speared the room, but clutter and curtains split it in two, casting twin shadows of light and dark across Paris’s face.

“Decades ago, the Eastern Nation faced an upheaval.

“Ogathas the Eighth fell to a sudden illness and died; the realm shook like a ship in a squall. In that storm, the former prime minister steered true and seated Ostos on the throne with thunderous resolve.

“With him and Ogathas the Ninth, the kingdom steadied in under a month. My father was then a low-ranked prince, stubbornly studying the sea and the Western Kingdom, ideas like sails no one would unfurl.

“Princes shunned him, nobles sneered, even the king let his words drift past like smoke. Only Ostos, his elder brother, understood; he was the one harbor in a hard wind.

“On ascending, his first act was to find my father and grant him supreme power. My father’s command and easy grace bloomed in the palace like spring after frost.

“In three months, most nobles trusted him; in six, they followed him like geese to water.

“Together they ruled; Eunomia enjoyed fair winds and timely rain. The common folk slept easy, and the nation’s strength climbed like a rising tide.

“Everyone thought Eunomia would break through every barrier and rock the continent like thunder.

“Until one year later, on 955, the twenty-fifth of July...

“The Divine Stone, the nation’s heart, dimmed. Its emerald blaze dulled to deep black-green; across the land, Impado’s power dropped by more than half, like a river gone thin.

“At the same time, Regido appeared, a shadow with no name. Before we could regain our footing, the Southern Kingdom struck, wielding that unknown force like lightning from a clear sky.

“We were routed, our lines broken like reeds; their incursions grew bolder. Once, they nearly smashed Sia City’s gate, stone dust like gray snow.

“The Northern Kingdom was fully bent on developing the Divine Stone and had no hands to spare. We had no navy then, no sea lanes; rumor spread like brushfire.

“People listened with tight chests; harvests and labor waned like a fading moon. Right then, Ostos made his worst choice: he diverted a mountain of troops and coin to prepare for war and swore to crush the South.

“My father begged him to stop, to risk everything on Western knowledge, to open sea routes, to chase a wider horizon; but Ostos would not hear.

“He dug harder into the Divine Stone, a miner under a fevered sky, and armed the soldiers to the teeth. Impado surged again; Regido rose in answer, but no one yet grasped its true use or weight.

“A war without revenue is a starving fire; it eats the house. In four months, the South stirred like wolves at the fence; rumor spoke of a hundred thousand under Regido ready to strike our cities.

“The king raised taxes. The people, already thin from fear, wailed like wind in broken eaves; nobles’ wealth and levies drew hungry eyes.

“He turned volatile, anger like summer thunder. He abused his power, stripping nobles by force; suspicion gnawed him raw.

“One by one, he killed nobles on trumped-up charges and dismissed my father, cutting his anchor rope.

“At last, war lit like dry tinder.

“Civil war burned for four full years. The South poised for a full invasion; at the brink, the Northern Kingdom sent aid and cooled their iron.

“My father led the army and stormed the palace; by his own hand, he felled his elder brother, mad beyond reason, and ended the war in blood and rain.

“The rebels were soldiers once loyal to Ostos. When the scandal broke, they were cast out without distinction, like wheat and chaff thrown together.

“Some carried away our gear and our knowledge, seeds scattered on hard wind.

“What came after, you know. My father took the throne and married the Northern princess, our mother; we were born, and he rebuilt prosperity, not as bright as before, but the track was set.

“As for that year’s truth, no one knows. Princes, ministers, the prime minister—all died in that storm; some seats still sit empty, the prime minister’s among them.

“Did the Divine Stone’s decline break Ostos’s reason? Did power blind him? Or was there some other hidden hand? Save for my father, no one knows.”

Medith listened in one breath, sorrow rising like a tide. In her heart, Ostos hadn’t started black; he’d wanted to guard his country, but haste and power drowned him.

Power, once tasted, is a wine that never runs dry; the wise sip; he drank to ruin.

“That’s... too sad.” The sigh left her like fog.

“So I won’t repeat their ruin,” Paris said, eyes closing like shutters in rain. “I’ll support Elyu. If he fails, I’ll stand. This country’s suffered enough.”

“Your Highness, you have my respect.” Medith rose and bowed, her shadow long on the floor.

Paris smiled, a small lantern in dusk. “That’s all. Get to your work. And don’t speak of today.”

“Never, Your Highness.” Medith stepped out, footsteps soft as felt.

After she left, Paris whispered like a knife sheathed. “Only I can do this. It has to be me...”

...

November 7th. Medith had been set to sail yesterday, but Paris’s words held her like a silk thread; she waited till today, packed, and finally moved to depart.

At the harbor, Haidra was gone like a bird at dawn; only Tianensai and Kailon remained. After the ceremony, they’d said a quick goodbye to Milia and the others and left without seeing Medith.

“Medith, without Haidra guarding you, you sure you’re fine?” Kailon called, teasing like a flicked pebble.

“Tch. Who do you think we are?” Sais stood on the deck and tossed her head, pride sharp as a spear-tip.

“Good. Just be careful on the road,” Tianensai said, worry showing like a crease in iron.

“Tianensai, come visit our Elven City if you can. I promise you’ll love it.” Medith smiled, sunlight in her voice.

“If I get the chance.” Tianensai watched the ship ease forward, his face a calm mask.

The women waved as they headed for Sia City. Sails bellied with wind; flags snapped like bright fish.

Three Eunomia ships, holds heavy with supplies, cut the wide sea in steady lines.

Medith drank the sea breeze, let the sun wash her skin, and looked to the far horizon, a bewitching smile blooming like a flower.

Volume Two: The Vast World — Part One [End]