The morning sun cast golden warmth over the lush courtyards of the Azure Pavilion, one of the inner sanctums of Virelia's royal residence — a tranquil palace surrounded by soft white blossoms and marble walkways. Birds chirped softly, and wind chimes swayed lazily with the breeze.
Aurean stood by the lotus pool, bathed in sunlight.
Gone were the shadows under his eyes. Gone were the bandages, the wounds, and the bitter tightness around his mouth. Thanks to the famed Virelian medicine, his skin had fully healed — soft, smooth, unblemished — not a scar in sight. It was as though the torment he endured had never touched his body.
He was dressed in the regal silks of Virelia: flowing robes of blue and silver, the fabric light and majestic against his newly regained strength. His hair had grown longer, shinier, pulled back with an ornamental pin — his eyes brighter, more vivid — no longer hollowed by pain.
He was, in a word, breathtaking.
The young attendants often paused when passing by, caught off-guard by his quiet beauty. The courtiers whispered fondly about him — not for his past or titles, but for his grace, his humility, and the gentle way he listened when others spoke.
He had begun to laugh again.
Meals were no longer battles for him. He sat under the flowering trees, eating fully, smiling shyly at the cooks who prepared his favorites. He practiced daily with a few knights, training not to fight — but to strengthen himself. To feel capable in his own skin again.
The salves given by the Virelian princes had worked wonders — but it wasn't just magic that healed Aurean.
It was safety.
It was sunlight.
It was peace.
Aurean walked over to the shaded pavilion, where one of the Virelian princes — Prince Eiran — awaited with tea.
Eiran rose when Aurean approached and gave him a long, appraising look, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"You're glowing today," he remarked, pouring tea into Aurean's cup.
"If you keep looking this ethereal, the palace poets may just start worshipping you."
Aurean laughed softly, looking down as a blush crept into his cheeks.
"It's the sunlight," he murmured. "And food. And… peace."
Eiran studied him carefully. Then said, just loud enough to hear:
"You've been beautiful all along, Aurean. You just didn't have the light before to show it."
Aurean's smile faltered for a moment — not out of pain, but something else. A quiet yearning. A memory of someone who once looked at him like he was made of more than shadows.
He stared at the ripples in his teacup, the faint shimmer of the sun.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn't flinch at the idea of tomorrow.
The sun was just beginning to dip when Prince Eiran returned to the Azure Pavilion, this time with a scroll tied in ribbon and a bright glint in his eyes.
Aurean was in the garden again, this time reading — or trying to — though his gaze kept drifting up toward the sky, lost in thought.
"Aurean," Eiran called, casually dropping beside him on the stone bench. He handed over the scroll with a teasing grin. "This is an official summons."
Aurean raised a brow and untied the ribbon carefully.
Inside, the parchment was lined with golden ink, stamped with the imperial seal of Virelia. It read:
To Emissary Aurean of the Empire,
You are warmly invited to attend the Festival of the First Light — a night of music, fire, and celebration — held under the Moondrop Trees of the Sky Terrace.
Your presence is not only requested, but eagerly awaited.
Formal attire required. Dancing encouraged.
Signed,
Her Highness, Princess Amirei of Virelia
Aurean blinked. "Festival?"
Eiran laughed. "You've lived in the capital for how long now, and haven't seen a Virelian festival yet? We can't allow that."
He rose and gave Aurean an exaggerated bow. "Tomorrow night. We celebrate the longest moonlight of the season. The Sky Terrace will be lit with fire lanterns and enchanted glass. There'll be food from all kingdoms, music, dancing... and people dressed in their most ridiculous finery."
Aurean looked uncertain. "I haven't been to… anything like that. Not since…"
Eiran's smile softened. "You don't have to do anything, Aurean. You just have to show up. Let the night hold you. Let yourself be seen as more than someone healing. Be someone… alive again."
Aurean didn't answer, but he didn't say no.
The Sky Terrace glittered like a dream — lanterns floating mid-air like stars pulled from the heavens, strings of crystal light wound around silver-barked trees. The night was alive with color — reds, golds, violets — and laughter echoed from every corner.
Aurean arrived late, dressed in a sleek robe of midnight blue with silver embroidery — a gift from the palace tailors. His hair was swept back, loose strands curling at his cheek, and a soft fragrance clung to his skin — citrus and something rarer, something warm.
The moment he stepped onto the terrace, the music faltered for a breath, just a beat — not out of mockery or surprise, but something closer to awe.
People noticed him — really noticed him — not as a broken thing, not as the emissary with a tragic past, but as something… radiant.
Prince Eiran found him quickly.
"Now this," Eiran said with a wide grin, "is going to make half the nobility faint. I'd warn you, but I think you need this attention."
Aurean smiled shyly. "You might be right."
They moved through the crowd — Aurean greeted with warmth, politeness, and genuine admiration. There were no whispers. No judgment. Just light. Joy. Life.
He was offered fruit wines, led to food stalls glowing with enchanted steam, and when the music shifted — soft violins under the moon — a young noble asked Aurean to dance.
He hesitated, then glanced at Eiran, who gave a subtle nod.
And Aurean took the offered hand.
His movements were hesitant at first, but as the music wove around them, he forgot to be afraid. The terrace spun with light and song, and in that moment, Aurean wasn't haunted. He wasn't hiding. He wasn't healing.
He was alive.
He was wanted.
He was free.