---
The Human Continent stretched far across the eastern horizon, its great empires rising and crumbling like the slow breaths of history. And at its very edge—where the land narrowed, curved, and finally surrendered to the sea—rested a kingdom most maps only bothered to mention in passing.
Aravell.
A peninsular jewel embraced by three oceans. Forgotten by conquest. Overlooked by ambition.
And quietly proud of both facts.
While distant empires waged endless wars for glory, Aravell lived in peace—not because it was strong enough to deter invasion, but because no conqueror bothered wasting an army on a land so small.
Yet as dawn rolled across the continent, bathing all in its rising warmth, Aravell glowed as though carved from serenity itself.
The capital, Vaelhold, unfolded along ascending terraces—white stone houses stacked like frozen waves, their rooftops glimmering with dew. Fishermen called to one another across the harbor. Merchants opened early stalls. The smell of warm bread drifted across the waking streets.
And above it all—higher than the terraces, the marketplace, even the sea-kissed breeze—stood a palace that defied the kingdom's modest size.
The Frostglass Palace.
Rising from the highest cliff, its towers speared the sky like crystalline lances. Pale marble walls reflected dawnlight as if storing pieces of the sun. Bridges arched over courtyard fountains fed by arcane channels. The windows shimmered with faint frost—not cold enough to freeze skin, but enough to refract the morning light into soft fragments.
Rivers of blue mana flowed within its walls, pulsing like the veins of a sleeping deity.
Even on a quiet day, the palace was majestic.
But today—it felt awake.
Movement filled the corridors. Servants hurried with trained quiet. Knights adjusted armor polished to a mirror sheen. Ministers rehearsed greetings. A strange, luminous anticipation threaded through every stone.
Because today was no ordinary morning.
Today was the Awakening Ceremony of the Crown Prince of Aravell.
---
⭐ The Royal Wing: Where the Morning Held Its Breath
Inside the royal wing, the world seemed softer—an untouched stillness preserved for those who carried the kingdom's name.
The King
King Alistair Vael Aravell stood before a tall window, hands resting lightly behind his back. Light brushed the silver-grey of his hair, sharpening his silhouette with a quiet authority.
He surveyed Vaelhold, expression steady, shoulders unyielding. Despite what the world believed about his kingdom's weakness, nothing about him looked small.
A ruler forged not by conquest, but responsibility.
His gaze lowered slightly, softened almost imperceptibly.
"Today, Arcanis…" he murmured—
And then stopped.
Some truths felt too heavy to share with the morning air.
—
The Queen
Queen Elara Vael Aravell sat at her dressing table, her ash-silver hair falling like flowing mist as she brushed through it. A faint glow shimmered around her fingers—the gentle echo of her Spirit element. The air moved with her, quiet and respectful.
Her eyes closed for a moment.
A ripple of mana ran through the palace. Subtle. Ancient.
A sign she felt more deeply than anyone else.
"A new thread has entered the weave," she whispered.
A soft smile touched her lips—half motherly affection, half instinctive knowing.
The world had shifted.
Even if only she sensed it yet.
---
The Princess
In the next chamber, chaos bloomed like wildflowers.
Four maids chased Princess Aria across the room, panic rising with every step.
"Princess, please—your hair!"
"No time! Brother is awakening today!" Aria declared, leaping over a footstool.
She had tied her own ribbon… very badly. But her bright eyes and snow-white hair—messy or not—shone like morning light itself.
"Princess, you must look presentable!"
"I am presentable!"
"You are not—!"
Aria stuck out her tongue, ducked under a maid's arms, and twirled.
She was joy wrapped in royal silk.
And today, she practically vibrated with excitement.
---
⭐ The Sleeping Prince
And then, at the far end of the wing, behind a heavy door carved with runic lilies, rested the quietest room of all.
Soft curtains danced with the breeze. Light pooled gently across the floor.
And in the center—
Arcanis Vael Aravell slept.
The Crown Prince of Aravell lay beneath pale sheets, his hair—pure white, untouched as first snowfall—spread across the pillow.
There was no tension in his body.
No restlessness.
No excitement.
As though some instinctive part of him already knew:
Nothing happened today that he could not handle.
Outside, the palace prepared for a day that would be carved into history.
Inside, he simply breathed.
---
⭐ The Gathering Storm: Captains Arrive
Below, in the courtyard, the kingdom's greatest warriors arrived one by one.
Serion — Sword Captain
A man of precision, silver cloak trailing behind each step. His eyes were unwavering, every movement deliberate.
His sword was conviction forged into steel.
Vareth — Shield Captain
Broad as a wall, steps steady enough to shake dust from pillars.
He walked with the authority of someone who had faced death and refused to bow.
Lyris — Wave Captain
Skin kissed by sea winds, posture fluid, presence calming.
Her every step resembled the tide's return.
Seraphine — Arcanist Captain
Quiet. Measured.
Her eyes glowed faintly with runic brilliance, her presence sharp as untouched frost.
Rheon — Shadow Captain
One blink—empty courtyard.
Next blink—he was leaning against a pillar.
Silent. Watching.
Danger hidden in stillness.
They took their positions without a word.
Five pillars of Aravell's strength, present for a single purpose.
---
⭐ The Noble Houses Arrive
Carriages rolled through the palace gates, each more ornate than the last.
House Kynos — Ice
A cold aura surrounded their arrival, crisp and precise.
House Aevon — Sea Influence
Blue and viridian robes rustled like waves.
House Thale — Knights
Boots synchronized, gazes strong.
House Lunara — Diplomats & Spirit Scholars
Their steps gentle, their eyes thoughtful.
House Valestris — Shadows & Intelligence
Observant, subtle, missing nothing.
Each noble entered with quiet anticipation.
What would the prince of a peaceful kingdom awaken with?
Weakness?
Strength?
Potential?
Destiny?
No one truly knew.
---
⭐ The Awakening Hall
Deep within the palace stood a chamber older than Aravell's own written records.
The Awakening Hall.
A grand dome upheld by twelve towering pillars, each representing a known element—
Fire. Water. Ice. Earth.
Light. Shadow. Wind. Lightning.
Nature. Metal. Spirit. Gravity.
Runes pulsed faintly across their surfaces, breathing with ancient energy.
At the center floated a crystalline orb, clear as stilled water, threaded with faint shimmering veins of mana.
Priests of the Elemental Church—drawn from every race—moved gracefully around it, adjusting sigils, aligning conduits.
They were keepers of balance, not power.
Scholars of elemental truth.
Listeners to the world's silent voice.
Today, they would witness the birth of a new path.
---
⭐ The Prince Awakens
Sunlight filtered into the royal chamber, gliding across Arcanis's resting form.
Time moved slowly here.
The breeze was cool. Shadows soft. Silence respectful.
A moment suspended.
Then—
His eyelashes stirred.
A tiny breath escaped his lips.
The world seemed to quiet further, as though sensing something waking beneath the calm surface.
His fingers twitched slightly beneath the sheet.
And then—
Arcanis opened his eyes.