The morning sun filtered through the thick canopy as the royal Virelian entourage rode beneath banners bearing the crest of House Arcael and the silver phoenix of the High Virelians. Aurean rode beside Princess Selene, the Virelian royal Rythe had once saved, her silken veil fluttering behind her like a whisper of the past. Ahead, Prince Rhaellis and Eiran rode in quiet conversation, while the guards trailed around them with practiced vigilance.
The journey to Calatheas had been smooth so far, their path guided by trusted merchants and cloaked diplomats who often traveled under false names. It was one of the few kingdoms that dealt with Virelia in secret—its markets rich with wares too fine and rare to be openly sourced.
Aurean's silver eyes sparkled beneath the hood of his traveling cloak, but his mind wasn't on trade routes or fabrics.
"Rhaellis," Aurean finally asked as they neared the outskirts of Calatheas, "the emperor mentioned a blade—he said it belonged to Rythe. What did he mean by that?"
The group slowed almost imperceptibly. Eiran and Rhaellis exchanged a glance, and Princess Selene looked away, her expression suddenly shadowed.
It was Eiran who spoke first, voice quiet, tinged with a respect rarely heard in any discussion of war.
"When Rythe was eighteen, he came to Virelia… to visit my father. A storm was threatening our enchantments. Dark forces—things that moved beneath the earth and over water—tried to breach our borders. Magic failed against them."
Selene took over, her voice delicate but firm.
"While exploring the northern lake, Rythe found a sword—sunken in the water, untouched by rust. No one had ever seen it before. But the moment his hand touched it, something… ancient stirred."
Eiran gave a dry, rueful laugh. "That night, the creatures came. Rythe stood alone in the valley of Kyraelin. What happened next—no one can properly recount. Just that by dawn… the lake had turned crimson. Nothing crossed into our lands."
Aurean listened in stunned silence.
"After the battle," Rhaellis added softly, "he left the blade with our forge. Said to keep it safe. That he would only ever call for it when something far worse than war was coming. When swords made by men would not suffice."
Aurean blinked slowly, his throat tight. "And… has he asked for it before?"
Selene nodded. "Twice."
"The second time," Eiran muttered, "was the Battle of Elgorath. When a rift opened in the west and devoured two cities."
A long, heavy silence settled over them.
Then Aurean asked the question that had begun to burn in his chest.
"So what does it mean… if Rythe has asked for it again?"
This time, none of them spoke.
They didn't need to.
Even the wind stilled as the tall towers of Calatheas rose on the horizon, gilded in pale gold and ash-white stone. Traders bustled at the gates, unaware that a sword had been awakened—and that history was quietly beginning to repeat itself.
The carriage behind them caught up, and the guards began to peel off toward the merchant district. But among the royal party, the weight of Rythe's blade—unseen, yet not forgotten—followed them like a second shadow.
Calatheas shimmered like a jewel beneath the twilight sun—its famed silver-marbled streets winding through tiered marketplaces and spice-scented air. Known across kingdoms for its neutrality and discretion, it was one of the few places where Virelia and even Ardan conducted anonymous trade under the veil of diplomacy and mercantile law.
The entourage from Virelia had been quietly ushered into a secured compound on the merchant tier—far from the eyes of public scrutiny. Only a select few knew of their presence, and fewer still of the mission they carried.
Within the high-walled courtyard of the House of Calathean Exchange, the group was greeted by the lean, sharp-eyed Prince Kaedor of Calatheas, a known supporter of trade independence and subtle politics. His long coat was embroidered with fireleaf patterns, and his gaze lingered with interest on their party—particularly Aurean.
As ceremonial wine was poured and pleasantries exchanged, Rhaellis stepped forward, diplomatic and poised.
"Prince Kaedor," he said with a slight bow, "it is always a pleasure. May I introduce a trusted friend of the Virelian royal house. This is Aurean, a man of remarkable insight and, I daresay, unmatched business acumen."
Kaedor's brow lifted slightly as he turned to Aurean, who bowed with grace, his silver eyes gleaming with a quiet confidence.
The next few hours passed in a blur of velvet cloth, shimmering glass, and enchanted inks. Aurean, having orchestrated the arrangement of the stalls and displays with precision, personally introduced the goods: intricately embroidered Virelian robes infused with temperature-modulating magic, oils that glowed faintly with enchantment, and scrolls etched with unique stabilizing sigils—perfect for elemental mages.
Buyers from hidden corners of the kingdom trickled in under false names, each carefully vetted.
Aurean moved through them like a tide. His voice was smooth, his knowledge vast, his instincts razor-sharp. He haggled when necessary but often didn't need to—his aura alone commanded respect, even fascination. Every word he spoke was measured, persuasive. It wasn't just the product—it was the experience, the allure, the prestige of owning something "Virelian-crafted."
Meanwhile, Eiran and Princess Selene handled the background exchanges—ensuring identities remained protected, documenting the most important buyers, and passing encrypted reports to waiting agents.
Rhaellis, ever the silent watcher, remained by Kaedor's side. The Calathean prince quietly observed Aurean's command of the floor, nodding to himself with every subtle win.
"He's not just a merchant," Kaedor murmured to Rhaellis. "He's a weapon. One sharpened not with blades, but gold and words. If I were less of an ally, I'd want to own him."
Rhaellis chuckled under his breath. "You can try."
The great hall of the Calathean Royal Pavilion glittered with soft amber lights, enchanted orbs hovering mid-air, casting a warm glow over marble columns and cascading tapestries. Aromatic smoke drifted lazily from censers shaped like sea serpents, and a quartet of strummed light, melodic tunes that wrapped the evening in elegance and ease.
In celebration of the successful trade—a venture Prince Kaedor declared "one of the smoothest exchanges in recent memory"—a private banquet was held. The guest list was short and exclusive: Aurean, Rhaellis, Selene, Eiran, and a few trusted Calathean nobles who had ties to the prince's inner circle.
Seated near the head of the long, curved table, Aurean looked regal in deep violet Virelian robes threaded with silver. His silver eyes caught the flicker of firelight like polished blades. And Kaedor, seated only one chair away, had clearly taken notice.
"I must say," Kaedor began, raising his goblet with a slight smile, "Calatheas has welcomed many traders, Aurean. But none have managed to charm both the court and the coin quite like you have."
Aurean offered a graceful nod. "Your hospitality and discretion make it easy, Your Highness."
Kaedor leaned slightly closer. "Flattery and strategy—deadly combinations. Tell me, are you always this dangerous, or is it just in Calatheas?"
Across the table, Selene nearly choked on her wine, quickly muffling her laughter with a silk handkerchief. Eiran raised a brow, a ghost of a smirk forming on his usually unreadable face. And Rhaellis gave an exaggerated sigh as he sipped his drink, muttering just loud enough for the others to hear:
"Another kingdom, another prince. He's collecting them now."
Aurean gave him a sidelong glare. "I do not collect royalty, thank you."
"No," Selene chimed in, "they collect you. Honestly, we should start taking bets at this point."
Kaedor, unabashed, chuckled at their banter and tilted his head toward Aurean. "Should I be offended or worried that you're so used to admiration?"
"Neither," Aurean replied coolly, lifting his goblet. "But I would advise you not to mistake politeness for availability."
That sent another ripple of laughter through the table.
Kaedor grinned, unfazed. "Touché."
The evening flowed with light conversation—topics drifting from trade agreements to fashion influences between the kingdoms. Eiran and Selene occasionally diverted into hushed commentary about potential buyers and market opportunities, while Rhaellis did his best to keep a watchful eye despite the wine softening his stance.
But all eyes kept returning to the subtle tension between Kaedor and Aurean—a game of wit and distance, like blades dancing in air.
As the final course was served, a rare dessert made from moonlotus petals and crystallized saffron, Kaedor raised his goblet once more.
"To new alliances," he said, eyes on Aurean, "and to those who carry the power to shift kingdoms—whether through blade or coin."
Everyone drank, but only Aurean met Kaedor's gaze evenly.
"To discretion," he replied, "the true currency of power."