Arion, or Gabriel as he'd once been called, lived the next year in quiet misery.
In the cradle of golden halls and solemn silence, the child once called Gabriel continued to exist—not live, not grow, only endure. Time did not pass for him in days or moons, but in the changing weight of his heart. If he had a name, it was now Arion. If he had a home, it was a gilded cage. And if he had a destiny, it watched him from the shadows, breathing.
The halls of Castle Ortenia were tall and gilded, draped in banners of sapphire and white, but all the gold in the world could not mask the coldness that lingered in the stone. Especially in the nursery.
Each day fell like dust upon the last. Meals, robes finer than his nature could tolerate, and the gaze of a mother who smiled but never slept. Lady Ariana. Noble. Beautiful, her face carved from frost and fire. But her eyes were tired. She cradled him with the tenderness of a mother and the calculation of a regent preparing her heir for war.
She fed him, clothed him, held him in arms softer than snow—but there was something beneath her skin, a storm that never passed.
He could not protest. Not because he was forbidden, but because protest belonged to those with freedom.
He could not speak, but already he listened. On the day it began, the sun had risen pale behind a veil of clouds, the sort that seemed to warn of something. Sunlight poured lazily across the marble floors. Gardeners sang of things that had long since died.
Ariana took him into the gardens, as she often did. The air smelled of crushed lavender and old roses. He was wrapped in velvet, warm but uncomfortable, and dressed like a doll for court.
The rider came as they passed beneath the old ash tree—alone, cloaked, and dressed too finely for a vagrant, too poorly for a lord. His horse was lathered. His eyes were sharp.
After he stepped through the gate, something changed. Inside the walls, there was motion. Lord Sued's knights—men of discipline and iron—were packing saddles, checking blades, exchanging tight-lipped glances. The boy's father had always worn calm like armor. That day, it cracked. There was news. Bad news. Sued Ozar Aren, husband and Lord of Ortenia, stood still by the balcony's edge, his eyes clouded by an omen unseen.
Later that morning, a maidservant arrived. And all the while, Gabriel sat nestled in Ariana's arms, watching men scurry like ants before a storm. He was forced to study the language of this realm, its rhythms and whispers, which were becoming his. His learning was slow, but he had nothing else. Sleep, perhaps, but sleep came like a thief and left him emptier than before.
"My lady," she said carefully, bowing her head. "The priest. He's returned. He asks to see the young lord."
The maid's voice was careful. She remembered the man—the priest who had spoken of gods and birthrights, of omens and contracts. The priest had not been seen since before the birth, and there were rumors—there are always rumors—that he had spoken with gods no sane man would name. Now he returned like a debt come due.
Lady Ariana stood still. Her gaze drifted into the distance. Her fingers played absently through the child's dark hair.
"Let him in."
The priest entered like smoke—quiet, insistent, unwelcome.
The priest had changed since the last time he had walked this land. His robes hung loose on his frame, torn and weather-stained. His beard had grown wild, and his staff was no more than a gnarled branch. Yet his eyes gleamed with that same strange hunger they had the first time he had crossed these halls.
He bowed low, but his attention rested only on the boy.
"I hear the child was born strong," he said. "What a joyful occasion, Praise be, Arivan."
"You speak of joy," said Lady Ariana coolly, "but I see no joy in your eyes."
"Perhaps I am a poor actor," the priest replied, smiling thinly. "Or perhaps I know what comes next."
He stepped forward, bold. Too bold.
"I would remind you, if you allow it, of the promise you made before the gods." He said.
"I remember." Her voice turned sharp. "But promises made in desperation are not always honored. I bore the child. I will raise him. He is the heir to House Aren, and I will not give him to shadows."
"Shadows?" The priest's lips twitched. "You call Arivan a shadow? The god who breathed life into your womb? Who gave you this boy?"
"A god who demands a firstborn as payment is no god I would worship."
"I would remind you of your vow. There was a bargain, my lady."
"And I bore the price. I bore him."
"The price is not yet paid."
"He is mine." Said Lady Ariana while raising her soft voice slightly.
The garden grew quiet. Even the wind dared not rustle.
"The path of this child is forged in blood and fire. Only lord Arivan can save him."