Sole Survivor of a Generation

Valeryon dressed with deliberate care, selecting each piece of her outfit with precision. She chose a long-sleeved dress that fell just above her knees, crafted from a breathable fabric in a deep pink hue. The material was woven to adapt to the castle's fluctuating temperatures, providing comfort whether she wandered through the cool stone corridors or ventured into the sun-drenched courtyards.

Layering over the dress, she added an ankle-length overskirt of delicate black lace. The intricate rose patterns cast subtle shadows against the vibrant pink beneath, creating a striking visual contrast. The elegant yet practical boots on her feet were a gift from Laurel for her recent sixth birthday; soft leather moulded perfectly to her feet, reinforced for durability during her explorations around the castle grounds.

To cinch her waist, Valeryon fastened a thick belt made of interlinked rows of tiny black crystals that sparkled faintly in the morning light. This, too, was a gift from Laurel, reflecting his growing passion for craftsmanship. She topped off her outfit with a wide-brimmed, pointed black hat, its sleek design complementing her ensemble. The opaque black silk veil attached to it draped gracefully over her shoulders, providing a sense of relief as it obscured her face.

Each piece of clothing had been crafted by her own hands in the Weaving Room, a space she had frequented since its opening a year ago. The room replicated the one she had used in the Trial Grounds, where she first learned to refine her skills. Watching Laurel busy himself in the Crafting Hall—a sprawling complex where artisans practiced their trades—had inspired her to hone her own.

Valeryon adjusted her outfit one last time before slipping on her silk gloves. Satisfied with her appearance, she stepped out of her room, the door closing quietly behind her. The corridor was bathed in soft light, and her footsteps echoed faintly as she made her way toward the docks. Today’s destination was the library—the most recent area to have its restrictions lifted.

The library stood alone on a small island within the castle grounds, separated from the main structure by a serene lake. The only way to reach the island was by a small wooden boat with glowing runes etched into the hull, allowing it to glide effortlessly across the water.

As she approached the docks, Valeryon passed several knights stationed along the way. Their armour gleamed in the sunlight, each breastplate bearing the Valeryon sigil—a phoenix in flight, clutching a branch of asphodel in full bloom. The knights stood at attention, offering respectful salutes as she walked by.

One knight, taller and older than the rest, stepped forward as she reached the dock. His grizzled hair peeked out from beneath his helmet, and his roughened hands gently assisted her onto the boat. “Wishing you a pleasant day, your highness,” he murmured, his voice warm despite his stern exterior.

“Thank you, Sir,” Valeryon replied.

The ride across the lake was serene. The water, like glass, reflected the clear sky above. Willow trees lined the shore, their long branches dipping into the water, creating delicate ripples. Valeryon took in the beauty around her—the gentle lapping of water against the boat, the distant chirping of birds, and the whispering leaves of the willows—momentarily quieting her restless thoughts.

Upon reaching the library island, she was greeted by a group of younger knights, their polished armour and eager, slightly nervous movements betraying their inexperience. They saluted her as she stepped off the boat, and she acknowledged them with a nod before following the cobblestone path that crunched softly beneath her feet.

The library loomed ahead, a majestic structure with three stories crowned by a domed roof, flanked by turrets. Dark stone walls and tall arched windows created an imposing yet inviting presence. Entering the main hall, Valeryon's eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the high windows. The air was rich with the scent of aged parchment and leather-bound tomes—a fragrance that felt oddly comforting.

Scholars and visitors moved quietly among the towering bookshelves, their hushed voices blending with the soft rustle of pages. Above them, floating orbs of soft light hovered, casting a warm glow over the tables and plush couches scattered throughout the hall. As she navigated the library, heads turned in her direction; the occupants recognised her presence and stood to offer respectful bows, murmuring greetings before returning to their studies. Valeryon appreciated their discretion.

Her destination was the section dedicated to the history of the Valeryon clan specifically the shelves containing journals warded to only be accessed by the ruling family due to the sensitive nature of its information. Approaching the shelves, her fingers grazed the spines of ancient volumes, their worn leather covers whispering tales of generations past. Each book bore witness to rulers, master sorcerers, scholars, and artists whose influence had shaped not just their territory but the world beyond.

The Valeryon Archipelago, a collection of islands off the southern coast of Fiore, was more than just a territory; it was a marvel of magical expertise and power. Vesperia, the largest island, stood as the heart of their monarchy. The grand citadel crowned its highest peak, overseeing the capital city of Vinora like a silent guardian. This island was the first of its kind, created during the Sorcerer’s Hunt, a dark era when those with magic were persecuted by the non-magical majority. The Founder envisioned Vesperia as a sanctuary, a place where magic could thrive without fear of persecution.

Over time, Vesperia became a beacon for those seeking refuge, though entry came at a steep cost—an Oath of Fealty. This binding magical contract demanded absolute loyalty to the Valeryon clan. Twelve families were the first to swear fealty, forming the Twelve Vassal Houses that supported the monarchy. Each house played a specific role, from agriculture to military defence, ensuring the Valeryons could rule without compromising their Healer’s Oaths, which forbade certain actions necessary for the kingdom’s continuation. The Vassal Houses bore these burdens, allowing the Valeryons to maintain their sovereignty without backlash.

Valeryon selected a book from the lowest shelf, its spine frayed from centuries of use. She settled onto a nearby couch, the plush cushions sinking slightly under her weight as she opened the fragile tome. Her eyes scanned the pages, absorbing the knowledge within until she paused at a name that had become all too familiar—Lunarys.

Her initial encounter with the name had been during her research on the Twelve Vassal Houses. At first, she had dismissed the Lunarys family as just another loyal house. But further reading revealed a deeper connection that troubled her. The Lunarys of the Archipelago and the Lunarys of the Origin shared the same lycan heritage, capable of shifting between human and wolf forms. It seemed improbable that a ruling clan from the Orcus Galaxy would submit to another without resistance, even under the Oath of Fealty. Yet, historical records showed no signs of rebellion; if anything, the Lunarys were among the most dedicated and loyal, fiercely guarding the Archipelago’s borders.

Could the Lunarys of the Archipelago be a native variant of their Origin counterparts? If any of them were Trainees from the Origin like herself, it could be disastrous. Valeryon pushed these thoughts aside, reminding herself that her coronation was still two decades away. She had time to navigate these murky waters.

A sigh escaped Valeryon’s lips as she turned her attention back to the journal of Queen Vera Valeryon. The more she read, the more convinced she became that Queen Vera was no ordinary ruler; she was a hidden mastermind operating beneath a veil of controversy. Boldly defying the Council of Vassals, Queen Vera had aligned herself with the Furian Revolutionaries to establish the first government of magical Fiore, a daring act during a time when the Furian aristocracy vehemently opposed magical governance. In a striking move, she signed the Unity Accords, transforming the Valeryon Archipelago from an independent nation into an autonomous region of Fiore—an action that earned them a hereditary seat in the House of Lords, the governing body of magical Fiore. While many criticised Queen Vera’s decisions as foolishly benevolent, Valeryon sensed a shrewdness beneath the surface.

She believed that the ulterior motives behind these decisions were anything but benevolent. The Accords’ stipulation that the Archipelago would pay taxes to the Furian government while maintaining its own Constitution and legal system seemed too calculated to be merely a concession. She suspected that Queen Vera’s long-term goal was to assimilate Fiore into the Archipelago by infiltrating it from within. It was an ambitious strategy that could ultimately strengthen their clan while circumventing the backlash of the Healer’s Oath by straddling the lines of ethical beneficence. However, Valeryon could not confirm her suspicions; Queen Vera had died before her vision could be realised, and her successor, King Vilram Valeryon, had focused primarily on internal development during his reign.

As she mulled over these thoughts, the approaching sound of approaching footsteps broke her concentration. She looked up just in time to see Laurel Vesalius drop into the seat beside her.

"Good morning, Val. You look lovely as always,” he said, his bright purple eyes sparkling with mischief.

Laurel's dimple-cheeked smile was reassuring, though Valeryon still felt a slight tension in her body when he shuffled closer. His wavy, snow-white hair was neatly tied back with a black ribbon, and he wore a dark pink robe over a pale pink high-collared shirt adorned with intricate pearlescent buttons, paired with charcoal grey trousers. The outfit had been Laurel’s idea after Valeryon offered to make him a set of clothes. It suited him well. Their outfits were quite complimentary as her dress had been made from the left over fabric of his robe.

“Good morning,” Valeryon managed, the words feeling clumsy on her tongue as she belatedly responded to his greeting.

Laurel leaned in, the familiar lavender scent of his presence enveloping her. “Are you excited for today?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.

Valeryon nodded slowly, but Laurel nudged her side playfully, his laughter brightening the air around them. “Words, Val.”

"Yes, Laurel. I am excited for today," she replied obediently.

Laurel raised an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. “Really? You sure don’t sound it.”

Valeryon pursed her lips, struggling to articulate her feelings. “Well, that’s…,” she began, trailing off as she searched for the right words.

“I’m just teasing you, Val. You sound fine. You don’t always have to take me so seriously,” he said, lightly tugging a lock of her hair and twisting it around his finger.

“I see. I apologise,” she said, a hint of warmth creeping into her cheeks.

Laurel sighed, though fondness laced his exasperation. “Val, what are you apologising for?”

“For… taking your teasing seriously?” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, uncertain if her response was appropriate.

He sighed again, shaking his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “You really don’t need to. But whatever, I’m just here to take a nap. Could you wake me up when it’s time to go?”

Valeryon almost nodded again but caught herself in time. “Okay,” she said instead.

The other boy leaned back against the plush cushions, shutting his eyes with a relaxed expression. His hand released its grip on Valeryon’s hair and instead lightly grasped the lace hem of her dress.

Laurel leaned back against the plush cushions, shutting his eyes with a relaxed expression. His hand released its grip on Valeryon’s hair and instead lightly grasped the lace hem of her dress. Valeryon returned her attention to the book in her hands, a small smile playing on her lips as she continued reading.