Far from Whistlehollow, in a kingdom still standing tall and proud, the walls of the royal palace gleamed beneath an overcast sky. The stone was clean and strong, the courtyards lush with everblooming trees, and the sound of guards' boots echoed through grand marble corridors.
In one of the inner courtyards, beneath the gentle shade of a silverleaf tree, a child's laughter rang out.
He was two years old, dark-haired and golden-eyed, with a brightness that charmed every servant who passed by. Caelan Alaric, second son of House Alaric and hidden heir to a powerful lineage, was known in the palace not for his title, but for his warmth.
He ran barefoot across the soft grass, arms wide as if pretending to fly. A wooden bird clutched in one hand, a trail of butterflies flitting just beyond his reach, he laughed and called to the nursemaid watching nearby.
"Miss Adra, they won't stop following me!" he shouted.
Adra, a young woman with a kind face and weary eyes, smiled from her place under the tree. "That's because you're the gentlest thing they've ever met, little one. Maybe you're secretly a butterfly prince."
"Nooo," Caelan replied, giggling. "I'm a dragon!"
He flopped onto the grass and held up his toy, roaring as fiercely as a two-year-old could manage. Adra clapped and laughed along, delighted by the energy.
At the edge of the courtyard, a pair of guards stood silently. One leaned toward the other and whispered, "At least he has a light heart. The Queen says he barely cries."
"Not strange for a noble-born," the other replied. "But his eyes... they always seem like they're watching more than they should."
Inside the palace, Queen Seraphina—Caelan's mother—watched from a balcony above, her hands folded at her waist. She wore no crown today, only a soft lilac gown, her dark hair braided and tucked behind one ear. Beside her stood her husband, King Darius Alaric.
"He grows brighter by the day," she said softly. "He'll shine in court when the time comes."
"He's strong," Darius replied, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Even when he stumbles, he doesn't cry. That's rare."
"Too rare," Seraphina murmured. "I want him to laugh more while he still can."
That evening, the boy sat on a cushion in the nursery, quietly building towers from polished stones. Adra told him stories of sky whales and singing wolves, her voice gentle as the wind outside picked up.
A low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.
Caelan didn't flinch. He tilted his head and looked at the nursery window.
"It's going to rain," he said.
Adra paused. "You always know. Did someone tell you?"
He shook his head. "The clouds did."
She chuckled and tucked a blanket around his legs. "Well then, little storm-watcher, I guess you have friends in high places."
He stared out at the sky for a long moment.
Far away, in a village nestled between forest and river, another boy stirred in his sleep.
[Stasis Recovery: 70% Complete]
Aleron shifted under his blanket.
Corvin, nearby in his mother's lap, blinked and tugged the fabric back into place without knowing why.
In the Alaric palace, Caelan stood at the window while his nurse dozed beside the crib.
His breath fogged the glass. He traced a circle on it with one finger.
He didn't know what he was waiting for. Only that he felt… aware.
Of something.
Of someone.
And beyond the horizon, though neither child would understand it yet, two threads pulled slowly toward one another in silence.
The world kept turning.
And fate was already watching.