The night sky stretched endlessly, boundless and vast, as if devouring the horizon in eternal silence. A scattering of stars cast a soft, tranquil glow—gentle, yet enough to remind mankind of how small they truly were beneath the weight of the cosmos. The night air was cold—not the bone-chilling frost of winter, but sharp enough to bite against the skin of those too used to comfort.
In the center of the courtyard, bathed in the gentle glow of arcane lanterns, a young boy stood tall—clad in a silk nightrobe of the finest quality. The smooth, shimmering fabric was not something easily found, even among the lower nobility. Yet for him—a child of House Arvandir—such luxury was never a matter of question. It was simply expected.
"...I never imagined those monsters would return," he murmured softly, as if speaking only to himself—yet loud enough for the night wind to carry his words.
The boy was Leonhardt Arvandir, the youngest son of Grand Duke Arvandir—sovereign of more than half the central continent. Among the nobility, the name Leonhardt was not merely known; it was feared and revered. No other noble house could rival the Arvandirs in power or influence.
Though still young, Leonhardt had already shown an intellect far beyond that of his peers. Unfortunately, that talent was often overshadowed by his chronically lazy nature. Even something as simple as waking up in the morning required his personal attendants to drag him out of bed.
That night, he stepped into his private chamber—a vast room designed to reflect the status of a future sovereign. A grand bed stood gracefully at its center, flanked by an antique wardrobe etched with ancient runes indecipherable to most. On the far side, a massive study desk loomed—its size excessive for someone his age, yet prepared with the intent of serving him well into adulthood. Above, a warm light from a suspended magic crystal bathed the room, illuminating every corner without leaving a single shadow behind.
Leonhardt let out a quiet sigh, slipped off his nightrobe, and turned his gaze to the soft bed before him.
"Time to rest... Tomorrow, I must prepare for the academy."
His voice was light, yet carried an air of authority—as if even his own words were commands not to be disobeyed.
He climbed into bed, pulled the warm blanket over himself, and closed his eyes. The world may have been in turmoil, but that night—if only for a moment—he was simply a boy who wished to sleep in peace.