Chapter 15

Night has wrapped Central City Minamo in its neon embrace. The air is quiet around the old, ivy-wrapped observatory on the city’s edge, slated for demolition but eerily untouched.

Astera drops onto the rooftop in silence, his footsteps cushioned by a thread of floral wind. His breath fogs slightly—the air here is colder than anywhere else in the district.

Astera
(whispering)
That mana spike wasn’t random.
Someone wanted to be found… or someone got careless.

He slips through a cracked skylight, descending silently onto the central floor. The star-mapping dome still looms overhead, dimly glowing from residual mana circuits. Astera draws a sigil of silence around himself and creeps forward.

At the far end of the chamber stands a figure—lean, pale, hair like woven sunlight. Despite the dim light, his eyes glow faintly like glacial fire. Dressed in a frayed royal coat, fur-lined and centuries out of date, he stands next to a collapsed telescope, arms crossed.

Kalt XVIII
—or as he prefers—
XVIII
You’re late, floral prince.
Took you longer than I expected.

Astera
(startled, but composed)
So you are Kalt XVIII.
You look like you could be Lily’s age.

XVIII
(smiling softly, a distant, almost melancholy look in his eyes)
Elves rarely age, if at all, past twenty-one. My body was sealed in its prime... my mind, though, hasn’t had such mercy.
But I have a question for you, young sovereign—why do you come here?
To bring me to the Kingdom of Flora? Make me swear loyalty to your floral thrones?

Astera
(sharp, but curious)
How do you know I’m the Floral Prince? I’ve never announced it publicly. I don’t even use the title.

XVIII
Because I’ve seen your father fight, before he became Azalea the Floral Emperor.
Because your birth was written into every Elven calendar in the Northern Quadrant.
And because your mana... it smells of lilies and wildfire. You can't hide what you are from an heir of Raureif.

Astera
(tense, now certain this is no fake)
Then you know that Givre’s reign has destabilized everything north of the celestial equator.
That your father—Kalt XVII—is either dead or worse.
The universe is preparing for another era of war. We need your knowledge, and maybe even your blade.

XVIII
(quietly turning away)
You sound just like my father did.
Tell me, floral prince—
Would you still want my help… if I told you I stood beside Givre the day he was crowned?

Astera’s eyes widen.

Astera
...You’re joking.

No. But I wish I were.