Ceremony

Drums roared as the grand festival began. The crowd—gathered both outside and within the palace—fell silent, their eyes drawn to the arriving procession.

The first parade emerged: men and women bearing large drums, pounding them with rhythmic force.

Following them came the blare of trumpets, blown proudly by a second group of celebrants.

Then, the final parade appeared. It was the most solemn: priests from across the capital, clad in flowing black robes. At their center stood Prince William, adorned in ceremonial garb—a white formal suit beneath a deep robe, his presence dignified yet visibly tense.

As the drummers and trumpeters reached the benches where nobles and dignitaries were seated, they stopped and lined up along the red carpet, continuing their triumphant music.

The priestly procession, however, continued. They walked past the benches, straight toward the ancient stone wall. When just meters away, they came to a halt.

A heavy silence descended.

For many in the crowd, this was their first time witnessing the sacred ceremony. For others, it evoked memories—memories of King Robert’s own initiation.

The priests formed a line on either side of the red carpet, leaving only the head priest and William at its center.

The head priest, his aged face a map of wrinkles and wisdom, lifted a hand and beckoned.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, clasping William’s hand.

William, drenched in sweat, said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the stone wall—the very wall he'd been forbidden to approach since birth. Memories stirred of him and Edwin, his younger brother, scheming as children to sneak past the guards for even a glimpse. Every attempt had failed.

Now, standing before it, he felt drawn in—as though the wall itself was calling him.

Snap!

The head priest clicked his fingers sharply.

“Stop. You mustn’t stare too long, my dear child,” he warned, though his voice carried a soft smile.

He led William to a golden bowl resting atop a carved pedestal. The bowl gleamed on the outside, but its inside was stained deep crimson.

“Come, my boy. Dip your hand.”

William obeyed. He submerged his hand in the bowl, coating it with the sacred blood. Then, turning to the wall, he placed his hand against it as instructed.

SMACK!

The sound echoed through the garden. Blood dripped slowly from the wall... then stopped.

A heartbeat passed.

Then the crowd erupted in cheers.

William withdrew his hand. He looked at it—then at the wall—with quiet disappointment. After all those years of wonder and anticipation, the wall had felt... ordinary.

He wiped his hand clean and turned to greet the assembled guests one by one.

As the ceremony neared its end, William approached his sister, Angel—the youngest member of the royal family.

The two bowed formally before she spoke.

“Oh, my beloved brother,” Angel began, her voice clear, “for this noble journey, I gift you a carriage crafted from the finest timber in Vraxen. Strong and enduring, it shall carry you far.”

The crowd applauded as William bowed sincerely, thanking his sister.

A butler soon approached with a slight bow. “My deepest apologies, my lord. Prince Edwin is feeling unwell and could not attend. He sends this parting gift.” The butler handed him a small black box, no larger than a jewelry case.

William smirked, accepting it quietly.

Next, he stepped before his mother. Rowena, regal and serene, smiled softly as he bowed.

“How much you’ve grown,” she murmured. With a snap of her fingers, a butler appeared, carrying an ornate box. Rowena opened it and revealed a plain golden ring.

“This is my parting gift,” she said, gently placing it in his palm. “It will protect you in times of danger.”

William nodded in gratitude, not pressing her for more. He bowed low and stepped toward his father.

Robert, the king, beamed with pride.

“Look at you,” he said. “About to take your first steps toward ruling this great nation.”

He snapped his fingers. “And no ruler can be strong without a strong sword.”

Two butlers arrived, carrying a transparent case. Inside it rested a majestic sword—its blade forged of Valerian steel, its hilt gilded in gold. It radiated nobility.

“My father gave me the same gift,” Robert said. “Now, I pass it to you.”

Overcome with joy, William embraced his father. Surprised but pleased, Robert returned the hug.

And so, it was time.

William bowed once more to his family and walked toward the waiting carriage—his sister’s gift.

From their seats, his parents watched him step inside. Slowly, the carriage rolled forward, bearing him toward destiny.