The royal court no longer glowed with the warmth of the Aurelion suns. The halls of Solaryn Citadel felt colder now, even though the golden banners still fluttered proudly along their marble walls.
Emperor Cassian no longer attended council meetings. His voice—once firm as thunder—was now just an echo heard through servants' whispers. And in that silence, his younger brother, Prince Varcan Solaryn, began to fill the void.
At first, it was subtle. Varcan spoke for the Emperor during small matters: repairing roads, regulating trade routes, and approving the new harvest taxes. He called it "temporary stewardship," and no one questioned it. After all, the emperor needed rest, and someone had to lead.
But within months, Varcan's word became law.
He started every council session with a warm smile that hid sharp intent. "The Emperor wishes peace and stability," he would say, laying down sealed scrolls bearing Cassian's faded emblem. Few realized that Helmor Veyne, the Grand Chancellor, had forged the seal himself.
Each week, Varcan replaced another minister. The Minister of Defense was "retired" for old age; the Treasurer resigned "from exhaustion." New faces entered the hall—men loyal not to the Emperor, but to his brother. The generals were next.
General Rynel, commander of the Skyguard, had served the Emperor for decades. One evening, he was found poisoned in his quarters, a cup of untouched wine on his table and a letter of resignation placed neatly beside it.
"Tragic," Varcan said solemnly at the council the next day. "But life moves forward." Within the hour, a new general was appointed—a man whose loyalty ran straight to Varcan's command.
Helmor's influence spread through every corner like smoke. He stood by Varcan's side in every meeting, whispering directions, calculating moves, and erasing those who hesitated to bend.
"The court is stabilizing," Helmor said one night in Varcan's private chamber. "The people already look to you for orders, not the Emperor."
Varcan stared out the window, the twin suns setting over the horizon. "And the Emperor himself?"
"He remembers nothing," Helmor replied confidently. "Only fragments—dreams of a son long gone."
Varcan's eyes flickered, something dark stirring behind them. "Good," he said softly. "Let him keep dreaming."
Far beyond the glittering walls of Solaryn, the world was alive with harsher colors. The Aurelion wildlands stretched endless and raw—rivers of molten gold weaving through valleys of glass rock. There, under the shadow of the Crimson Peaks, Mukul was training.
The sun burned his skin, and the air sang with energy. His goddesses—Faith, Luna, and Nira—watched nearby as he controlled waves of radiant flame, shaping them into spirals that danced above the ground.
Each motion was slower than he wanted, his strength still adjusting to the nature of this world. But with every day that passed, his powers grew steadier. The Aurelion flame inside him pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
When the training ended, he wiped sweat from his brow and sat on a rock, breathing deeply. Luna created shade with a curl of illusion, smirking lazily. "You're improving. Almost looks like you know what you're doing now."
Nira smirked back. "He's getting there. Slowly."
Faith smiled gently. "Power follows pain. He carries enough of that."
Before Mukul could reply, the wind changed. A faint ripple of sound echoed from the valley below—a voice calling his name. A lone rider approached through the dust, wearing tattered armor bearing Solaryn's faded sun emblem. His blue cloak flapped behind him like a torn flag.
Mukul straightened, hand instinctively ready. "Identify yourself."
The rider dismounted, bowing low. "Highness… Prince Mukul Ardyn Solaryn… by the stars, you live."
Mukul froze. It had been years since anyone had called him that. "Who sent you?"
The man raised his head, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. "I bring news from the capital. I am Lyrek, once a messenger in the royal guard. I barely escaped after… after they started purging the loyalists."
"What happened?" Mukul asked sharply.
Lyrek's jaw trembled. "The Emperor—your father—he's ill. Gravely. They call it soul fever, but no healer can cure it. He loses his memory, even his name, some days."
The world suddenly felt too still.
Faith stepped forward, voice calm but worried. "It sounds like a curse."
Luna narrowed her eyes. "Or poison."
Lyrek nodded. "Most say it began after your exile. Some whisper that the illness isn't natural. The Chancellor visits him daily, and the council has given your uncle full power to 'act in the Emperor's stead.'"
Mukul felt something twist inside him. "Varcan rules now?"
"Yes, Highness," Lyrek said. "They say the ministers and generals bend to him. Those who don't vanish overnight."
Nira crossed her arms. "Your uncle wastes no time."
Mukul looked toward the horizon. The suns were setting—two golden circles dipping beyond the mountains. His chest felt heavy, as if the light itself pressed down on him. The image of his father—strong, kind, once the pillar of the empire—flickered in his mind, now hollowed by sickness.
"When I left," Mukul said quietly, "I thought my exile was the worst thing that could happen. But it wasn't punishment—it was part of something larger."
Lyrek stepped forward urgently. "Highness, if you return openly, they'll brand you a traitor again. The Rift curse still lingers on your name."
"I know," Mukul said softly. "But tell me something, Lyrek—does the empire remember me?"
The messenger hesitated. "A few still do. Old soldiers whisper your name like a prayer. They say the Flame Prince will return when the suns merge at dawn."
Luna's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Sounds dramatic. Very you."
Mukul ignored the teasing. He rose slowly, eyes burning with quiet resolve. "If my father still breathes, then so does my duty. The Solaryn flame isn't dead—it's waiting."
Faith stepped beside him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Then what will you do?"
Mukul stared toward the golden horizon. "I'll gather strength. The court may serve my uncle now, but I will reclaim it from the shadows. And when I return, they'll see that exile didn't break me. It forged me."
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of burning flowers from the valley below. The suns glowed deeper red, bathing the world in molten light.
Somewhere far to the east, deep in his poisoned palace, Emperor Cassian stirred in his sleep—and whispered his son's name again.
"Mukul…"