The girl did not rise immediately.
She remained kneeling where Caelum had left her, palms pressed to the polished floor, breath shallow as though the world might shatter if she inhaled too deeply. The eastern hall was silent again—no black suns, no bending light, no wrongness lingering in the air.
And yet nothing felt the same.
Caelum watched her for a long moment, galaxy-eyes calm, distant, as if her fate had already settled into orbit.
"You may stand," he said gently.
She obeyed at once.
Her movements were precise now. Controlled. The tremor that had once lived in her hands was gone, replaced by something quieter and far more dangerous—certainty.
"My name is Lysara," she said, lowering her head. "If Your Highness wishes it."
Caelum smiled, a small, sincere curve of the lips.
"I do," he replied. "Names matter."
He gestured toward the far doors. "Come. There are things you should see."
⸻
The private corridors of the palace were not meant for royalty alone.
They were meant for those who belonged.
Few knew they existed—hidden passages woven between reinforced walls, shielded from surveillance magic and mundane technology alike. Caelum walked them effortlessly, barefoot against the cool stone, Lysara following half a step behind without being told to do so.
She was learning already.
"Why me?" she asked quietly.
Caelum did not slow. "Because you hesitated."
"That seems… small."
"It is everything."
He turned a corner, passing sigils old enough that even the palace wards deferred to them. "Those who rush forward desire recognition. Those who hesitate fear failure. But those who hesitate because they are seen…" He glanced back at her. "They are aware of consequence."
They reached a door that did not exist on any blueprint.
Caelum pressed his palm to it.
The door opened.
⸻
Inside was not a room.
It was a threshold.
The air changed first—thicker, heavier, as if gravity had learned to listen. The lighting dimmed into something like twilight, though no lamps were visible. Shelves lined the walls, but not with books alone—artifacts, instruments, weapons, masks, and objects that refused definition rested there in careful order.
"This is where my servants stay," Caelum said softly.
Lysara's heart hammered.
"I thought servants lived in the west wing."
"They do," he agreed. "The ones who serve the crown."
He stepped inside.
"This is for those who serve me."
The door closed behind them without a sound.
⸻
Elsewhere in the palace, laughter echoed.
Prince Aurelian lounged across a velvet couch, one leg draped over the armrest, goblet of imported wine in hand. His sisters sat nearby, engaged in idle conversation, the kind that bloomed only when there was nothing of consequence to discuss.
"Caelum's at it again," one of them said with fond amusement. "Hiring performers like stray cats."
Aurelian chuckled. "Let him. It keeps him entertained."
"He's too kind for this family," another added. "Honestly, I hope he never changes."
The King stood near the window, back to them.
His reflection in the glass looked older than it should have.
"He won't," the King said quietly.
They laughed, assuming it was humor.
The King did not turn around.
⸻
Back in the threshold room, Lysara stood frozen.
She could feel it now—an invisible pressure brushing against her skin, testing, measuring. It was not hostile, but it was absolute.
"What am I to you?" she asked.
Caelum considered the question seriously.
"A beginning," he answered.
He moved to a low table at the center of the room and sat, folding his legs beneath him. With a graceful motion, he gestured for her to do the same.
When she complied, he extended his hand.
"Swear nothing," he said. "I don't value oaths given in fear."
She hesitated.
Then placed her hand in his.
The moment their skin touched, something clicked.
Not magic.
Alignment.
"You will stay because you choose to," Caelum continued. "You will leave if you wish. But if you stay… you will learn who I am."
Lysara's voice trembled. "And if I betray you?"
Caelum's galaxy-eyes deepened, black suns turning slowly within.
"Then you will end," he said kindly. "And the world will forget you were ever possible."
She nodded.
"I will stay."
⸻
That night, the palace slept peacefully.
No alarms rang.
No wards flared.
No stars fell from the sky.
Yet beneath the capital, something ancient shifted—as if a long-dormant system had registered a new center of gravity.
Caelum stood alone on the balcony once more, Lysara behind him now, silent as shadow.
"How many?" she asked.
"How many what?"
"How many servants will there be?"
Caelum gazed out over the city—the lights, the lives, the unknowing orbit of it all.
"Thirty," he said after a moment. "Enough to form a constellation."
"And after that?"
His smile returned, faint and unreadable.
"Then we see who notices."
Far below, a ripple passed through the city's magic network—so subtle it went unreported, unrecorded, unfelt.
Only the King woke in the night, breath sharp, hand pressed to his chest.
He stared into the darkness and whispered his son's name like a prayer.