The sun had just begun its ascent, casting a soft golden glow across the house. In the stillness of the early morning, Agneyastra emerged from her room, her steps barely audible on the polished wooden floor. Descending the staircase, she turned down the hallway towards the front door, a sense of anticipation filling the air.
As she made her way, a distant sound caught her attention. A faint, haunting cry floated through the silence, growing louder with each passing moment. Agneyastra''s heart quickened with concern, drawing her closer to the source of the sorrowful wailing.
Approaching the sewing room, a soft light spilled out from beneath the partially open door. With gentle trepidation, Agneyastra drew nearer, her curiosity mingling with worry. Slowly pushing the door open, she beheld a scene that tugged at her soul.
Ramil, his face etched with anguish, knelt by his mother''s old sewing machine. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his breath hitching with each sob. Agneyastra, compelled by empathy, joined him on the floor, her presence a quiet comfort amidst his grief.
In hushed tones, Ramil poured out his heart, his voice a fragile thread of remembrance. “I thought I could be strong, to carry on without her. But today, I came in here to mend a hole in my coat, and memories of her flooded my mind. I remember her nimble fingers, meticulously sewing for hours, pouring her love into every stitch.”
As the scene unfolds in the Sewing Room, the air is heavy with grief and sorrow. Agneyastra finds herself sitting beside Ramil on the cold floor, their bodies huddled close to a worn-out sewing machine. The room is dimly lit, with only a few rays of sunlight filtering through the small window, casting long shadows on the floor.
Agneyastra''s voice, tinged with compassion and wisdom beyond her years, breaks the silence. “Even the strongest among us mourn their loved ones, Ramil. You are still young, and it is not your burden to bear the weight of running this household.”
Gently, Agneyastra''s hand reaches out to rub Ramil''s back, offering him solace in the midst of their collective pain. Her words hang in the air, a reminder of the loss that has touched both their lives. “And you, Emathion and Sinai, have lost your mother,” she says, her voice filled with empathy.
Ramil''s face is etched with sadness, and tears well up in his eyes as he struggles to find the strength to speak. “I can''t let them down. I can''t let Father fall into despair,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion.
Agneyastra''s gaze softens, reflecting the depth of her understanding. She knows the weight of responsibility that rests on Ramil''s young shoulders. With a delicate touch, he wipes the tears from his eyes, his vulnerability laid bare before her.
With a steadying voice, Agneyastra offers him a glimmer of hope. “He must recover soon, Ramil. But remember, there is only so much you can do. You cannot shoulder the burden of his grief alone.”
Ramil stands before Agneyastra, his eyes fixated on the ground. The room feels heavy, each passing moment filled with an unspoken tension. As the weight of their shared pain hangs in the air, Agneyastra rises to her feet, her expression determined.
“What are you going to say, Ramil? That this is not your problem?” Her voice rises, filled with conviction. “But it does affect you, deeply. It becomes my problem too because I care for you, because I am part of this family and am here to support you.”
Ramil stood at the threshold of the sewing room, the soft light of morning filtering through the delicate lace curtains. His voice carried a hint of weariness as he spoke, “I have to go over some paperwork in my father''s office.” His words hung in the air, a heavy burden echoing through the room.
Agneyastra reached out and gently tugged on Ramil''s hand. Her voice, gentle yet filled with concern, whispered, “I am glad you were able to let it out a little bit.” A fleeting smile played at the corners of her lips, a spark of warmth reaching out to comfort him.
Ramil pulled Agneyastra into a tender embrace. His voice, barely above a whisper, pleaded, “Please, don''t tell Emathion and Sinai.” A vulnerability crept into his voice.
Agneyastra, her eyes filled with a mix of amusement and affection, released herself from Ramil''s grip. She playfully retorted, “Yes, we wouldn''t want them to believe that you actually had feelings.” A hint of teasing danced in her voice.
Ramil, his laughter bubbling up from deep within his soul, chuckled and replied, “No one would believe you anyway.” The sound of his laughter, a rare and beautiful melody, filled the room, filling the air with a sense of lightness and joy.
Agneyastra, with a touch as gentle as a whisper, placed her hand on Ramil''s forehead. Concern etched in her gaze, she asked, “Are you feeling well? You''re laughing and telling jokes now.” Her touch, soothing and calming, brought a gentle warmth to Ramil''s brow.
Ramil, a genuine smile lighting up his features, gently removed Agneyastra''s hand from his forehead. He replied, “Yes, now let''s get back to our normal morning routine.
As Ramil and Agneyastra made their way out of the sewing room and down the sunlit hallway, the distant sound of knocking reached their ears. Emathion, drawn by the commotion, descended the grand staircase.
Agneyastra and Emathion stood flanking Ramil as he cautiously turned the ornate doorknob, revealing the grand entrance of the Ash King''s palace. Just as they crossed the threshold, a soldier clad in a gleaming suit of black gold armor stepped forward, his voice resonating with authority.
“Good morning,” the soldier addressed Ramil, his words dripping with deference, “is the Ash King available?”
Ramil''s eyes darted around, a flicker of caution in his gaze. “You have said too much already,” he replied in a hushed tone. “Follow me, and I will arrange a meeting for you.”
Agneyastra''s sharp eyes followed the soldiers as Ramil led them down the lavishly adorned corridor, disappearing behind the mahogany doors of an office. She turned her gaze to Emathion, her brows furrowing at the sadness etched across his features.
“What happened to you?” she inquired, concern lacing her voice.
Emathion walked with Agneyastra into the opulent living room, his footsteps heavy with the burden of his secret. With a sigh, he spoke, his voice tinged with resignation.
“Moriko used her power on me,” he confessed, his words barely above a whisper, “to probe our thoughts and gauge our situation.”
Agneyastra mulled over his words, her mind delving into the depths of the possibilities. “Can she control your actions or is it merely a visual intrusion?” she wondered aloud.
Emathion recoiled, a look of disbelief etched on his face. He shook his head vigorously, his hands trembling in disbelief, before turning away and retreating back upstairs, leaving Agneyastra to contemplate the power wielded by their adversary.
“That is an awe-inspiring power to possess,” Agneyastra acknowledged.
But Emathion''s final words, “She invaded my mind, Agney, it is not awe-inspiring.”
***
The sun''s golden rays gently peeked through the curtains, casting a warm glow upon the room. Ramil stirred from his slumber, his deep breaths signaling the start of a new day. He arose, stretching his weary limbs and preparing himself for the tasks that lay ahead. Stepping out of his chamber, Ramil made his way down the hallway, its walls adorned with delicate tapestries and intricate artwork. His footsteps echoed softly on the polished marble floor.
Without hesitation, Ramil halted before a closed door, his knuckles rapping gently against the wood. “Emathion, get up!” he called, his voice a gentle command that carried a sense of urgency.
A few moments passed before the door swung open, revealing a disheveled Emathion. His once neat hair now stood unruly, and his tired eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected awakening. “What is it?” he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.
In that instant, Ramil produced a crumpled piece of paper and thrust it into Emathion''s unwilling hands. The paper trembled slightly as it made contact with his chest, as if aware of the importance it held. “I need you to keep Agneyastra and Sinai away from the house today,” Ramil instructed sternly. “I have a few visitors coming for meetings.”
Emathion''s face scrunched in confusion, his mind struggling to comprehend the sudden request. “When do we need to leave?” he finally managed to ask, his voice laced with a hint of resignation.
“Now,” Ramil replied, his tone brooking no delay. “But be sure to return before dinner.”
With a resigned nod, Emathion accepted his charge, fully aware of the gravity of the situation. As he turned to make his haste preparations, Ramil watched silently, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and determination.
Time seemed to stand still as Emathion swiftly gathered Agneyastra and Sinai. And so, as they disappeared from sight, Ramil was left alone, the weight of the impending meetings pressing upon his shoulders.
Ramil sat hunched over his father''s grand desk, surrounded by a sea of paperwork. The room was bathed in a soft golden glow, the sunlight streaming through the window, highlighting the dust particles dancing in the air. The rhythmic scratching of the quill echoed in the silence, as Ramil diligently filled out the stacks of papers, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Amidst the stack of papers, a faint sound broke the stillness. A persistent knocking reached Ramil''s ears, stirring him from his tasks. With a flick of his wrist, he cleared the scattered papers off the desk, creating a semblance of order, before rising to his feet.
As Ramil made his way towards the front door, with a slight hesitation, he twisted the doorknob and pulled it open, revealing the figure of Sandra standing there, a basket nestled in her arms. A faint breeze blew strands of her dark hair across her face, accentuating her radiant smile.
“Why are you here?” Ramil''s voice carried a tone of surprise, his eyes scanning Sandra''s face for answers.
Undeterred by his initial reaction, Sandra gracefully passed by Ramil, stepping into the comfort of his home. She gently placed the basket in Ramil''s hands, her voice filled with a soft undertone of concern.
“I remember you saying that you were busy with work this weekend,” Sandra began, her eyes expressing genuine care. “I thought I could lend a hand.”
Ramil''s eyes softened, gratitude washing over him. He opened his mouth to protest, but Sandra''s determination and kindness melted his resistance. “That is a nice gesture, but I have it under control,” Ramil insisted.
Refusing to take no for an answer, Sandra walked with Ramil, her steps exuding determination and compassion, as they made their way back to his father''s office. Without hesitation, she took a seat in the chair Ramil had gestured towards, her gaze fixed on him, her eagerness to help palpable.
“I will help, just tell me what to do,” Sandra offered, her voice gentle and reassuring.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Ramil approached his father''s desk, fingers tracing the worn edges, his gaze lost in the sea of words and numbers. With a sense of purpose, he turned to Sandra, his voice filled with a mixture of gratitude and guidance.
“Well, you can manage the front door,” Ramil suggested, his voice tinged with a sense of relief. “If someone knocks, you answer it. I am expecting a visitor from the farmlands, hailing from a different realm.”
Sandra nodded, a smile gracing her lips. She settled into the chair, brimming with confidence and readiness. Ramil turned his attention back to the mountain of paperwork, as Sandra gracefully assumed her new role as the guardian of the front door. Ramil immersed himself once more in the depths of his work, the papers whispering secrets and stories as he filled them out, while Sandra sat by the door, watching Ramil.
As Sandra sat in the worn-out chair near the door, her eyes wandered to Ramil who diligently sifted through the mountain of paperwork. Oblivious to her quiet admiration, Ramil remained engrossed in the daunting task of managing his father''s affairs during his prolonged absence.
Driven by an inexplicable force, Sandra rose from her seat and approached the cluttered desk. With tentative grace, she extended her delicate hand to gently brush against Ramil''s as he fervently signed a document. Startled, Ramil''s gaze lifted to meet hers, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice betraying a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
Without uttering a word, Sandra allowed her fingertips to caress the contours of Ramil''s face, her touch so delicate it felt like a whisper of a breeze. “You are truly remarkable,” she whispered.
Moved by her words, Ramil stood up, their bodies gravitating towards each other as if drawn by some invisible bond. His finger traced a tender path along the length of Sandra''s arm, leaving behind a trail of electrifying sensations. “I thought you were going to help me,” he uttered.
A surge of desire swept over Sandra as she pulled Ramil into a fervent kiss. In a passionate embrace, they moved towards the small couch tucked in the corner of the office, their passion fueling the intensity of their connection.
But just as the flames of their desire threatened to consume them both, Ramil abruptly stopped, his eyes filled with a mix of longing and restraint. Slowly, he retreated, meticulously adjusting his disheveled clothing. “I will not do this with you,” he declared firmly.
Confusion clouded Sandra''s features as she recoiled from his rejection. “Why? Because I am not as lovely as Ruby and the other girls?” she spat, her frustration palpable.
Ramil''s gaze bore into hers, his voice laced with tenderness and resolve. “Sandra, you must understand that you are the most beautiful Dweller in our class. But I refuse to let our desires jeopardize our friendship. You mean more to me than any fleeting pleasure. My fate belongs to the Ash Kingdom.”
Sandra, compelling her to thrust her hand against Ramil''s chest, her actions fueled by a mixture of rejection and disbelief. “Fine,” she retorted, her voice trembling with fury, “if that''s all I am to you, then I''ll leave.” With that, Sandra stormed out of the office, slamming the door shut behind her.
***
As the mid-day sunbathed the Earth Kingdom Palace in a soft golden glow, Moriko leisurely strolled through the empty halls. The echoes of her footsteps mingled with the faint sounds of Brucies diligently working to repair and revive the once glorious palace.
Descending the grand staircase, Moriko encountered Sir Brucie. With a respectful nod, “Prince Tyson and Princess Yeongi await in stone city.” he informed.
“Why haven''t they come to the Palace?” she inquired, her curiosity evident in her voice.
Sir Brucie''s gaze dropped, his expression filled with sorrow. “King Aiden has barred Prince Tyson from setting foot within the sacred walls of the Earth Kingdom Castle,” he explained.
Understanding the gravity of the situation, Moriko made up her mind in an instant. “I shall go to meet them in the Stone City,” she declared, determination painting her features.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Moriko quickened her pace, her green hair flowing behind her like an emerald waterfall. As she reached the imposing double doors of the palace, their regal beauty held a certain melancholic aura. Two other Brucies, ever dutiful, opened the majestic doors for her, allowing her to step out into the world beyond.
The sun-drenched path led Moriko towards the Stone City, casting intricate shadows upon the worn cobblestones. The once bustling streets now lay deserted, save for the distant sound of Brucies diligently repairing the damaged structures. Moriko walked swiftly, her anticipation casting a spark of energy within her every step.
Finally, as Moriko arrived at her destination, she spotted Tyson and Yeongi waiting patiently amidst the solemn stillness. Her heart soared with joy at the sight of her friends. With arms outstretched, she approached them, a grin etching itself across her face.
Moriko released Tyson and Yeongi from her tight embrace. As she gazed out at the sprawling stone city, she could see the Brucies diligently working, their hammers and chisels shaping the once grand structures back into their former glory.
Yeongi tried to offer words of encouragement. “I am sure you will fix everything, Moriko. You told me that Emathion is no longer communicating with you.”
Moriko couldn''t help but feel a pang of guilt as she looked down. “Yes, it has only been a few days since our last interaction. I can only hope that he will soon reach out to me again.”
Tyson stepped forward solemnly. “I must confess, it was my fault. I convinced Moriko to use her powers on Emathion, unaware of the consequences. And now, he is rightfully angry.”
Yeongi, fueled by his protective instincts, pushed Tyson away. “Perhaps I should speak with him, try to reason with him.”
Moriko shook her head, her voice filled with doubt. “I fear that would be in vain. Emathion is not one to easily forgive. Perhaps, if I were to apologize to him in person, face-to-face, he might soften his anger.”
They wandered through the vast expanse of the deserted stone city, the echoes of their footsteps reverberating off the silent walls. “I should go, speak with Emathion,” Tyson said, his voice heavy with a sense of duty.
Yeongi shook her head gently, her eyes filled with concern. “No, my love. If you were to be seen by Agneyastra, she would surely pry and ask questions that you are not yet allowed to answer. I will take care of it. Let us spend the day with Moriko instead. Come, show us around this city.”
Moriko''s face lit up with a radiant smile, her excitement contagious. “Although it is still a desolate place, there is much for us to explore. Come, follow me.”
Tyson''s steps momentarily faltered as his gaze lingered on a trail that led to the Earth Kingdom Palace. Moriko tugged on his hand, diverting his attention to a building that stood away from the beaten path. Tyson nodded, suddenly filled with curiosity. “Yes, let us go and see what lies within.”
As they ventured deeper into the city, Yeongi spoke softly to Tyson, her words filled with pride and reassurance. Their hands intertwined, a tender connection that anchored them in the midst of uncertainty. “You are doing well,” she said, her voice a gentle caress. “Remember, my love, you carry a burden, but you bear it with grace. Look how far we have come.”
Moriko gazed at the dilapidated buildings of the stone city, each one holding fragments of a forgotten past. With a determined expression, she pointed towards them, her voice resonating with a mix of restoration and nostalgia.
“I plan to fully restore this city back to its former glory,” Moriko declared, her eyes scanning every corner as if envisioning a rebirth. “It was a place where Alyona and the other Earth Kingdom people found solace, a realm they embraced before it was mercilessly torn apart.”
Caressing the delicate hand of Yeongi, Tyson positioned himself closer and voiced his curiosity, his tone laced with a hint of skepticism. “But why go through the effort? Couldn''t you simply create a new city of your own?”
Moriko''s gaze turned towards Tyson, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. “It''s not just about creating something new,” she replied softly. “It''s about preserving the memories, the moments of joy that were once woven into the very fabric of this place. I imagine a day when they return, and it will be as if they never left.”
Moved by Moriko''s sentiment, Yeongi embraced her tightly, her voice filled with both understanding and concern. “It''s a beautiful thought, my dear, but what if they never come back? What if this city remains a mere echo of the past?”
Moriko''s expression softened, and she gently brushed a strand of hair away from her own face. “I have a belief,” she whispered, her voice carrying a touch of certainty. “They will return, but only after the Water King''s reign comes to an end.”
Tyson interjected, his voice holding a note of realism. “King Arroyo is still strong and healthy, and he has three children to carry on his legacy. Perhaps you should focus more on yourself and less on the Earth people who abandoned you here.”
Moriko''s gaze met Tyson''s, a blend of understanding and resilience on her face. “I understand why they left,” she replied calmly. “But that doesn''t mean I can''t long for a sense of social connection, a life beyond these ruins.”
Yeongi smiled warmly, her unwavering support evident in her words. “Do not worry, my love. The next time I come, we will host a tea party for Emathion, and perhaps we can rekindle the spark that once ignited this city.”
***
In the evening, as the sun cast its golden hues upon the Water Kingdom Palace, Evain found herself being escorted down a long, regal hallway. The sound of her mother''s voice echoed through the eerily quiet corridor, urging her to wait until they could speak with her father, the king.
Evain trailed behind her mother and the group of soldiers, her mind bubbling with questions. “You shouldn''t bother father now, after dinner,” she suggested, hopeful for a reprieve. But her mother''s urgency wouldn''t waver.
With each determined step, Queen gently pushed Evain forward, as if a force beyond her control propelled her onward. “He will have to address this now,” the queen declared.
Approaching the entrance to the King''s Office, Evain and her mother noticed something amiss – no soldiers stood guard outside the usually guarded door. Concerned, the queen turned to one of the soldiers accompanying them, her voice tinged with worry. “Where is he?” she inquired, partially to the soldier and partly to the empty air around her.
A soldier, his expression a mix of confusion and duty, modestly stepped forward. “Allow me to find out, Your Majesty,” he responded with a bow, swiftly disappearing in search of the elusive king.
As they waited, an unspoken tension hung in the air. The queen exchanged a silent nod with the other soldiers, conveying her desire for their cooperation. Sensing the impending possibility of a delicate matter being discussed, they nodded back, their eyes glancing sympathetically toward Evain.
The Queen her voice filled with a mix of determination and maternal concern, redirected her attention to her daughter. “Take the Princess to her chambers,” she instructed the soldiers, her gaze softening with a touch of regret. “I will speak to her father, and he can resolve this matter later.” The group of soldiers, solemn and loyal, escorted Evain away from the scene, their footsteps echoing alongside her racing thoughts. As they guided her through the familiar palace corridors.
The Queen stood impatiently near the Water King''s office, her heart pounding with anticipation. She watched as a soldier approached, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. The soldier''s voice rang out, breaking the silence, “The King is hosting a small private party with both the Princes and female guests in the lounge room.”
Without a moment''s hesitation, the Queen darted down the hall. Her regal gown billowed behind her, a blur of silk and lace. She sped past tapestries adorning the walls, their intricate designs whispering tales of forgotten kingdoms. When she finally arrived, breathless and flushed, she found King Arroyo standing beside Prince Marius. Their eyes were fixed on Prince Devereaux, who was surrounded by a group of enchanting ladies. The Queen''s steps faltered for a moment as she took in the scene before her.
She discreetly positioned herself within earshot, her heart pounding in her ears, as she overheard Arroyo''s low voice. “See, your brother Devereaux sees them as they are,” he whispered to Marius. “I order these ladies to entertain you, think of it as a reward for your hard work.”
Marius, ever the noble son, responded with a quiet determination, “Father, I prefer to be in love with someone before I lay with them.”
Arroyo''s face twisted with displeasure, and he cast a piercing glare at his son. The weight of his authority pressed heavily upon him as he spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of command and frustration. “Boy, don''t choose love,” he proclaimed. “It will make you do the most unimaginable things. I order you, as your king, to go speak with one of those ladies.”
The grand lounge room was filled with an air of elegance as Marius, clad in his finest attire, dutifully mingled with the ladies present. The flickering light of the chandeliers cast a warm glow upon the opulent surroundings, highlighting the intricate details of the decorative furnishings.
However, amidst the lively atmosphere, the Queen''s dismay permeated the air. Her graceful steps led her towards Arroyo her eyes bearing a mixture of disappointment and concern. Her voice, though tinged with a hint of condemnation, carried in a whispered murmur.
“I didn''t realize you were turning your once sacred lounge room into a haven of debauchery and scandal,” she softly chided, her words dripping with disapproval.
Undeterred by his wife''s reproach, Arroyo raised his wine glass to his lips, savoring the exquisite taste. His smile widened as his gaze fell upon Marius, engaging in light conversation with one of the ladies. The scene amused him, a display of the complexities and intrigues of courtly life.
Arroyo''s eyes shifted, and he observed his wife''s majestic presence, adorned in a gown of majestic blue. Though he acknowledged her beauty, his response sailed far from flattery.
Arroyo takes a sip of his wine, his eyes fixed on Marius as he engages in lively conversation with one of the elegant ladies in the room. Observing his wife, the Queen, adorned in a resplendent blue gown, Arroyo''s lips curl into a sly smile. He leans in closer, his words dripping with an undertone of desire. “I must admit,” he whispers, “I find it both enchanting and maddening when you wear blue. It stirs within me a longing, a yearning to fill you with even more offspring.
The Queen''s expression remained composed, “your daughter,” she said, her tone firm yet tinged with a hint of sadness, “is once again engrossed in her training to become a soldier.”
Closing the gap between them, Arroyo stepped closer to his wife, his voice filled with conviction. “I know,” he confessed, a glint of pride shining in his eyes. “It was I who provided Evain with her own training room, for she possesses a strength and determination that cannot be curtailed. It is time for you to come to terms with her chosen path.”
The Queen''s concern could not be extinguished, however, as she voiced her worries. “But how will we ever marry her off in the future? Who will take a soldier as a wife?”
Arroyo''s demeanor softened, a tenderness creeping into his tone. “Let Evain live her life freely,” he urged, his voice carrying a touch of wisdom. “For she is like a riptide, too strong-willed to be controlled. In due time, the right person will recognize her valor and embrace her with open arms.”