In the wide, open-air training arena behind the manor, sparks danced in the air as Kaelith lunged forward, twin daggers flashing. His golden eyes burned with focus, sweat already dripping down his jawline.
Opposite him, Rokash Veythros swung his massive greatsword in an arc so wide it carved the wind itself, forcing Lith to duck and roll across the marble floor.
"Too slow, boy," Rokash rumbled, his voice like gravel. He pressed forward, heavy strikes shaking the ground, each swing meant to overwhelm rather than kill.
Lith twisted, daggers clashing against steel, deflecting just enough to dart in close, a black and gold blur. He slashed once, twice one dagger catching the edge of Rokash's gauntlet, the other grazing his tunic.
A thunderous laugh shook the arena. "Better!"
The next strike would have landed until a new sound cut through the clash of steel.
CLANG.
Two gleaming battle axes intercepted the greatsword, locking it in place with brute force. Arria Longclaw, Lady of the House, had entered the fray. Her golden eyes glimmered with calm amusement, but there was fire behind them the hunger of a seasoned warrior who lived for battle. Her braids swung like chains as she shoved Rokash back with surprising strength.
"You're hogging him all to yourself," she said coolly. "Our son deserves more than your clumsy swings."
Rokash grinned, sweat dripping into his beard. "Come, then. Let's see if your claws are still sharp."
What began as a duel became a storm.
Lith darted between them, daggers flashing as he weaved through his parents' deadly dance. His mother's axes came down like crashing meteors, her movements deceptively fluid for their weight. Calm and deliberate, she struck with precision, but every blow carried a ferocity that forced Lith to his limits.
Rokash's greatsword roared like thunder, sweeping wide arcs that would have cut down lesser men in a single blow. His raw power clashed against Arria's relentless hunger, the two meeting steel to steel, sparks spraying the ground.
Lith became the shadow between giants. His daggers carved narrow openings where none should exist, cutting at his father's flank, his mother's gauntlet, forcing both to respect his presence.
Minutes bled into hours.
Their clothes were soaked, their breathing harsh. Still, none yielded. Arria's calm mask gave way to gritted teeth and sharp laughter as her axes hammered down harder, faster. Rokash's greatsword grew heavier in his hands, yet his golden eyes burned brighter, fueled by pride in his son's growth.
Lith was bleeding from shallow cuts, his daggers chipped, his muscles screaming. But he refused to stop. He moved like a beast cornered, aura flaring like golden fire, his instincts guiding every dodge and counter.
Finally, with a roar, Rokash swung high, Arria pushed low, and Lith leapt between them, crossing his daggers in an X to block both. The clash rang like a bell across the arena. All three froze, muscles straining against each other, before at last… they laughed.
Rokash let his sword fall to the side, panting. "Two hours, and none of us dead. That's a victory in itself."
Arria rolled her shoulders, resting her axes on her back. Her calm returned in an instant, her face serene once more. But her golden eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
"Our boy grows sharper. Soon, even we won't be able to hold him back, impressive son ."
Lith dropped to one knee, daggers clattering to the stone, his chest heaving. Yet despite the exhaustion, a fierce smile broke across his face.
In the stands, the servants and retainers who had gathered to watch erupted in cheers. For them, it wasn't just a spar it was a glimpse of the strength that safeguarded Airevein.
That night, the Veythros household gathered in the grand dining hall. The scent of roasted pheasant, buttered root vegetables, and honeyed bread filled the air. Long tables stretched the length of the chamber, but only one was occupied at its center sat the family of three.
Rokash tore into his meal with his usual appetite, great hands cracking open a leg bone to scoop out the marrow. Arria ate more slowly, every movement deliberate, golden eyes calm and watchful as always. Lith sat between them, pushing food around his plate more than he was eating. His daggers lay sheathed on his belt, still faintly nicked from training.
It was Arria who broke the silence first. She placed her fork down and turned her gaze to her son.
"Lith," she said softly, her voice even but unshakable, "you've been uneasy since the spar. I can sense it."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not with judgment but with piercing maternal intuition. "Tell us what weighs on you."
Lith froze, fork halfway to his mouth. For a moment, he thought of denying it, brushing it off. But his mother's stare gave him no escape. He swallowed hard, feeling the heat crawl up his neck.
"I…" His words caught in his throat. "I think… Abella might be pregnant."
Lith's words hung in the air like a thunderbolt.
Rokash, caught mid-sip, choked and spat wine across the table. Arria nearly inhaled her food, coughing so hard her golden eyes watered. A maid dropped a glass, shattering it across the marble floor, while a butler carrying a tray of bread tripped spectacularly down three steps at the far end of the hall.
And through the chaos, Lith sat perfectly still, his jaw set and his gaze unwavering.
Then, as though silence were tinder and his joy the spark, Rokash roared with laughter. The Grand Duke slammed a fist onto the table, rattling plates and goblets alike. "A grandchild! By the gods, a grandchild! Lith, my son, you've done it! Our house will roar for generations to come!"
Arria recovered first, calm and composed as ever, though her voice carried a cutting edge. "Before you lose yourself in celebration, husband… consider who Abella is."
Lith looked between them, chest tight. "I know exactly who she is. She's not just a noble's daughter. She's the second princess of the Elven kingdom, and I love her."
The room quieted at once. Even Rokash's booming laughter faltered.
Arria's golden eyes narrowed, her tone grave. "The elves will not take lightly to news that their princess carries a child out of wedlock."
Rokash's expression shifted from joy to something far more serious. He leaned back, folding his massive arms. "Lith… this is no simple union. If you bind yourself to her, you're not just securing a wife. You're forging a tie with the Elven Throne itself."
Lith met his father's gaze without flinching. "Then so be it. I'll take responsibility. For Abella, for the child, whatever it takes."
Arria's stern face softened into a faint smile. "Good. You'll need every ounce of that resolve."
Rokash broke into a grin again, though tempered by thought this time. He got up from his seat and pulled Lith into a crushing hug, lifting him off the ground. "That's my boy. A Veythros through and through!"
From the shadows near the door, the head butler had already slipped away. Loyal and sharp-eyed, he wasted no time. By candlelight, he drafted letters addressed to his elven counterparts. Seals of House Veythros and the Grand Duke's authority pressed into wax. Marriage contracts would need to be arranged, politics smoothed, scandal stifled before whispers could spread beyond the walls.
By the time Rokash sat back down, the machinery of diplomacy was already in motion. The butler knew the stakes, this was not just about Abella. This was about peace between kingdoms.
Servants whispered through the halls, gossip spreading like wildfire: The young heir and the elf princess.
And somewhere in the great forests of Airevein, among the ancient trees, the Elven Court would soon learn of what had transpired.
The corridors of the Silverwood Palace were hushed that morning, but the air inside King Thalanor's private chambers was taut with dread. The royal physician, a wizened elf named Calerion, stood before the throne with his hands folded, eyes lowered.
Thalanor's voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"You summoned me at dawn, healer. This had best not be some trifling ailment."
Calerion swallowed hard before speaking.
"My king… forgive me, but I bring grave news. It is your daughter, Lady Abella. She is… she carries a child."
For a long heartbeat, silence filled the chamber. The crackle of the braziers seemed suddenly too loud. Then Thalanor rose from his throne, every inch of his tall frame trembling with fury barely restrained.
"A child?!" His emerald eyes flared, piercing into the physician like blades. "You dare speak such words, do you know the weight of what you claim?"
The doctor bowed low, his voice shaking.
"I would never lie, my king. The tests are certain. Lady Abella is with child."
Thalanor's jaw tightened, his breath ragged as he turned sharply away. For centuries, he had borne the weight of his kingdom with composure, wisdom, and patience. But now? His blood roared in his ears.
"Tell me," he demanded without facing the physician, his tone venomous. "Who is the father?"
Calerion hesitated, then forced the words out.
"The boy of House Veythros."
The king's fist clenched so hard his nails drew blood from his palm.
"Rokash..." The words dripped with venom. "Trade, treaties, alliances, I allowed these things. I saw them as necessary for strength. But this, this is a stain on my bloodline. An insult to every ancestor buried beneath these roots."
He whirled on the doctor, voice rising.
"Does she know you've told me?"
"No, my lord. She believes her secret is safe. But I could not hide it from you."
Thalanor's breathing steadied, though his wrath still burned behind his eyes. He dismissed the physician with a wave, the healer retreating quickly, grateful to escape with his life.
Moments later, guards were summoned, and Abella was brought into his presence. The rest played out as before: his accusations, his rage, his decree that she be confined until he decided her fate.
And when the chamber emptied, when only shadows remained, the mighty king slumped onto his throne, whispering through clenched teeth:
"Why him, Abella? Why a Beastkin?"
The moonlight filtered softly through the carved wooden lattice of her chamber, painting silver patterns across the floor. Abella sat curled up on the edge of her bed, arms wrapped around herself, her eyes still stinging from tears.
The heavy oak door behind her had been bolted shut by guards, but the memory of what had just unfolded was far heavier than any lock.
She could still hear her father's voice echoing in her ears , unyielding.
"Not with him. Not with a human, and a beast-blooded human at that. I will not have our line tainted!"
She had tried. Gods, she had tried.
"Father," she had pleaded, her voice breaking. "You know him, Kaelith is no stranger. He is son of Grand Duke Veythros, your ally, your friend's son. You and his father built bonds of trade and stood side by side in battle. He is not some stranger seeking to deceive us. I love him, and he loves me."
But her words fell like rain on stone. He had turned his back to her, his jaw set, his pride harder than iron.
"Love does not excuse weakness," he spat, his green eyes ablaze. "Your feelings mean nothing before blood, before legacy. Do you think our ancestors fought and died for centuries so their line could be diluted by an animal-born human?"
Her heart had cracked then, but she didn't stop. She had stepped closer, her voice shaking but firm.
"Eventually, this would have happened. Father, you know it. From the time we were children, Kaelith and I… we were bound to each other. You let us run together in the forests. You let us grow close. Did you not see it then? Or did you simply refuse to admit it might come to this?"
His silence had been answer enough.
Now, alone in her chamber, Abella buried her face in her hands. Her father's fury was not what stung most, it was his disappointment, his shame.
She had never seen him look at her like that, as though she had betrayed not only him but the weight of an entire people.
Yet beneath her sorrow was a steady ember of defiance. She pressed her palm to her stomach, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles.
"No matter what he says…this child is ours, Lith. And I will not let him erase us."
As she lay sleeping a pulsing violet light could be seen emanating from her stomach.