Chapter 26: The Golden Coronation

The next morning that followed was dim, gray clouds smothering the city of Typhos like a heavy blanket. The storm had passed, yet the scars remained. Smoke still curled faintly from a few rooftops on the lower tiers of the city where lanterns had been knocked over in the panic of the previous night’s attack. The palace itself bore the smell of ash even after hours of scrubbing; its marble floors were polished, yet faint streaks of dried red clung stubbornly in the cracks between tiles. Guards tried not to step on them, but their boots left faint scuffs across the lines of blood that refused to fade.

Yet despite everything, the bells of the citadel tolled.

The coronation could not be delayed.

Within the great hall, long banners of crimson and gold were rehung. The Phoenix crest stretched proudly across each one, its golden feathers catching what little light poured through the stained glass. Candles were placed at every column, the glow of hundreds of flames doing their best to fight against the gloom of the gray skies outside.

Commoners crowded the outer halls of the palace and filled the courtyards. Many had tears in their eyes, some from grief, some from awe, but all of them craned their necks to catch even the smallest glimpse of their young ruler to be. Nobles filled the inner chamber itself, standing in their places with perfect posture and guarded expressions. Their finery was polished, yet dulled by exhaustion. No laughter rang in the hall, no casual chatter like there would have been on any other day of celebration. Instead, the air was thick with whispers: suspicion about the attack, fear of demons, and hushed questions of whether traitors walked among them even now.

But none dared to speak their suspicions aloud.

Leo and Lea stood with their parents near the front rows, close enough to see the podium where the ceremony would take place. Both twins felt the weight of the moment pressing down on them. For a brief instant, Leo thought of Japan, of the school assemblies he used to attend where everyone stood in silence while some speech was given on stage. But this was nothing like that. Here, a kingdom’s future hung by a thread.

When the trumpets sounded, the hall straightened at once. Princess Luminaria appeared from behind the dais.

She wore ceremonial white, the gown embroidered with threads of crimson, trailing behind her as if the fabric itself bore the weight of fire and ash. Draped over her shoulders was a robe of state, far too heavy for her small frame. She was barely older than Leo and Lea, yet the way she walked made her look older than anyone around. Every step she took resounded like a drum in the hall’s silence.

At her side was Amarley, her attendant, dressed in white and gold. Her eyes scanned the chamber like a hawk, sharp and unrelenting, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword. She was not dressed for ceremony alone—she was prepared for war, even here.

The priest stepped forward, his long robe brushing the floor. He raised the golden crown high above his head, turning so the gathered nobles and commoners could all see it glimmer in the light. “By the blessing of the Phoenix, by the oath of the Flame, we crown the daughter of Aglia, rightful heir to the throne,” his voice boomed.

Lea’s breath caught in her throat as she looked at the girl before them. She’s just like us, she thought. A child, someone who should be free to laugh, to grow, to be ordinary. Yet she’s being forced into something far greater than herself, a burden heavier than the robe upon her shoulders.

The priest lowered the crown slowly, placing it upon the princess’s golden hair.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Every noble seemed to hold their breath. Even the torches on the walls flickered more softly, as if waiting.

Then, when the crown finally rested upon her head, Princess Luminaria lifted her chin.

Her voice rang out, steady and clear, far stronger than her years should have allowed.

“I swear upon the Phoenix that though our kingdom has suffered, it will not fall. My parents’ blood cries out for justice. And though I am young, I will not falter. Ronayah will endure.”

The nobles bowed as one. The twins mimicked their parents, lowering their heads, though Leo dared to peek up at her. His chest swelled with something he couldn’t describe. Admiration. Pity. Respect. She’s braver than me… and yet, maybe we’re not so different.

From outside, the roar of the commoners filled the hall. They cheered loudly, their voices echoing through the city. Some cried her name, others shouted blessings. Their grief had found a spark of hope to cling to, however fragile.

Luminaria lifted her hands slightly and spoke once more.

“I, now Queen Luminaria Aglia, promise to serve my kingdom the best I can. We will rebuild. We will strengthen. And we will become the greatest in the land. We will not be dismissed by anyone, nor intimidated by those who strike in shadow.”

The cheering outside rose again, louder this time, as if the city itself tried to drown out its fear with hope.

That evening, after the public ceremony had concluded, the Kazantrias were invited into a smaller council chamber. The room was dimly lit, with a map of Ronayah spread across the table and several advisors lingering nearby.

The Queen herself thanked them.

“You saved me when others turned their backs in fear and tried to save themselves,” she said, her gaze fixed directly on the twins. Her voice no longer carried the ceremonial tone. It was raw, young, but full of sincerity. “For that, I am in your debt. And eternally grateful.”

Amarley stepped forward, placing a pouch of gold upon the table before Solan. The weight of it was obvious. “A reward from the Crown. Three hundred gold coins,” she said plainly.

The twins’ eyes widened. That was more than their entire household saw in a year. Solan accepted it quietly, nodding once.

But Luminaria shook her head. “This is not only for your family. It is for you both.” Her crimson eyes lingered on Leo and Lea. “Use it as you see fit. Do not waste it. Perhaps use it for something that will prepare you for the future, for battles that may yet come.”

Lucina bowed, placing a hand firmly on each of her children’s shoulders. “They will not squander such a gift, Your Highness.”

The Queen smiled faintly, though there was sadness in her eyes. “Then hear one last thing. If you wish to leave this city for now, to breathe air free of grief, consider traveling south. The coastal city of Merlia is safe and prosperous. I have heard its markets are rich with the season’s fish. It may take weeks of travel, but perhaps… it will do your hearts good to see it.”

Her tone hardened slightly. “For we must remain here. My advisors and I will hunt those who plotted this treachery. If it was orchestrated by one of our own houses, then this will be the greatest act of betrayal the kingdom has ever seen. And those responsible will pay for their crimes.”

Her words carried the weight of a vow.

The Kazantrias bowed once more before being dismissed.

For the next couple of days they lingered in the capital. Guards stood watch at every corner, soldiers drilled in the courtyards, and investigators moved like shadows through the halls. Yet the palace felt different now. Less like a fortress, more like a cage. The twins trained lightly in the gardens, sparred in small bursts to calm their nerves, and kept close to their parents.

When their carriage was finally readied, the family knew the decision had been made.

They would head south.

Beyond Typhos, past forests and plains, toward the sea. Toward Merlia