Chapter 13: Resolve

The next morning arrived quietly, with a gentle breeze slipping through the high windows of Aeldenmarch Castle. Aurette was already awake, sitting by the window with a warm cup of tea between her palms. The pale light of dawn spilled across the room’s stone walls, catching on golden accents and velvet drapes of deep red and navy. The chamber she had been given was regal yet warm—a stark contrast to the crystalline, frost-kissed halls of Caelrhime. Here, fire crackled gently in the hearth. There, silence echoed off the ice.

She took a sip from the cup, its warmth grounding her—though her thoughts were still adrift.

The dream from the night before lingered in her mind like mist. A snowy place—silent, endless, and cold, yet not unwelcoming. In that solitude, she had seen a silhouette—graceful, powerful. A woman. Her voice still echoed.

“Aurette Rhimehart of Caelrhime. So you are the chosen one.”

The storm had grown harsher as the figure approached, obscuring her form. Aurette had asked who she was.

“Eluria,” the woman had said—and nothing more.

Even now, the name stirred something in her. Eluria... Was that a memory passed down through blood? A myth she had never learned? The air had felt sacred. The frost had whispered. Something inside her had awakened.

A knock at the door pulled her back. A young maid stepped in with a soft smile, balancing a tray of fruit and warm bread.

“Good morning, Lady Caelrhime,” she said with a gentle bow.

Aurette blinked, gently correcting her. “Please… just Aurette.”

The maid hesitated, surprised by the humility, then nodded with a respectful smile. “Yes, Aurette. I’ve brought your breakfast. Madam Lysena said your mana is flowing well again, and your wounds are closed. Also, His Majesty said he may visit you shortly.”

“Thank you,” Aurette replied softly.

The maid curtsied and stepped out, leaving her alone once more.

She turned back to the window, her gaze faraway again. Her body still ached faintly from the battle—a phantom reminder of her defeat. Vaerond. Her people. Her failure. The guilt pressed against her like frost on her chest. She had lost—not just the fight, but the ability to protect.

The door creaked. She turned.

King Caelan V. Eirwyn, clad in his usual deep navy and silver-trimmed cloak, entered the room with a quiet, composed air. Aurette rose at once to greet him, despite the lingering ache in her limbs.

“You don’t need to stand,” Caelan offered.

“I must, Your Majesty,” she said with respectful firmness, bowing slightly. She didn’t know his name, but she knew royalty when she saw it.

Caelan observed her quietly. Two peas of the same pot, he thought, recalling how Raye had done the same.

“I am Caelan V. Eirwyn, King of Aeldenmarch,” he said, offering a polite nod as he pulled a chair to sit nearby.

Aurette sat as well, folding her hands in her lap.

“Aurette, your kingdom… your people… they are not safe. Vaerond’s forces are still advancing, and as you may assume, the entire land is being drawn into war.”

She nodded slowly.

“But that is no longer just war,” he continued. “It’s conquest. His goal isn’t victory—it’s domination. He’s breaking alliances. Uprooting the land. And the storm hasn’t settled over Caelrhime either. It seems your people have gone into hiding. Perhaps you would know more.”

Aurette’s brow furrowed slightly. She didn’t answer. Her thoughts turned to the people she had sworn to protect. Where were they now?

“There is something rising,” Caelan said. “A wave—dark and powerful. If we do not stand together, we will fall alone. That’s why I’ve formed an alliance. And I ask you, Aurette Rhimehart… will you join us?”

Aurette looked down, uncertain. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “If I do, I cannot place others before my own people. My first duty is to them.”

Caelan leaned back slightly, his expression understanding. “And that is why you belong in this alliance. The purpose of this alliance is to protect what is ours. You are not asked to abandon them. You are asked to fight for the chance to save them.”

He paused, letting his words land.

“You don’t need to answer now. Take your time. However… I have a request.”

Aurette looked up. “Yes, Your Majesty. Please tell me.”

“I’d like you to walk with me.”

She nodded, setting aside her tea and rising.

Caelan led her down a long corridor. The castle halls echoed with distant sounds—training, conversation, footsteps. As they neared a broader chamber, the sharp clanking of steel echoed through the air. The rhythm of battle.

They stepped into a high-ceilinged hall, and Aurette paused.

At the center, two figures danced in combat. One was Raye. The other—a tall, sharp-eyed man—fought with precision and strength. Their swords clashed, the air around them charged with raw power.

“Theron,” Caelan said. “Commander of Aeldenmarch.”

Aurette’s eyes were locked on the fight. No words passed her lips, but something shifted within her.

The clash intensified. With every blow, she could feel the weight of their Aura. The very air pulsed. She felt it against her skin, like a ripple of thunder riding the wind.

Her chest tightened—not out of worry, but something else. A recognition. A connection. The wild fire she had always known was still there, but it had been tempered. His resolve was stronger. And yet… there was something in his eyes that spoke of a depth she hadn’t seen before. She didn’t want to admit it, but she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration for him.

Caelan, noticing the quiet contemplation in her expression, glanced toward the training grounds where Raye and Theron continued their fierce sparring.

“That wildfire is still burning quite wildly, isn’t it?” Aurette muttered under her breath, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Caelan smiled, a knowing look crossing his face. “It always does. But it’s no longer just the fire. It’s something more now.”

Aurette turned to him, resolve firm in her eyes.

“Your Majesty, I will join the alliance. However… I must do something first. I must return to Caelrhime. My people need me.”

Caelan nodded, unsurprised. “Of course. I expected nothing less.”

Just then, a chill rolled across her skin—faint, almost like breath on her neck. Her eyes darted upward toward the sky visible through a stained-glass arch. Snowflakes had begun to fall lightly, despite the lack of clouds.

And in that moment, a whisper danced through the air—soft, ancient.

“When the time comes… choose the storm.”