Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne

Veynessa gently set the ornate box down on the marble surface. Her voice held no anger, no urgency—only calm, unquestionable certainty.

"We have one hour. Selene will prepare our garments."

Selene, who had been standing silently by the door, curtsied with grace. Her movements were almost soundless, as if she were part of the palace decor, perfectly blending into the rhythm of routine. Without a word, she disappeared through the doorway, leaving the queen and princess alone in the growing tension of anticipation.

Sylphia glanced at her mother, hesitant. "You heard it too...?" she whispered, as if unsure whether the voice had been real or a figment of her imagination.

Veynessa didn’t look at her. "In a moment, we’ll stand before someone who existed in stories long before you were born. If you don’t know how to act—just do as we do."

The doors opened noiselessly, and Selene entered with arms full of deep navy robes embroidered with silver thread. Even Sylphia, unversed in noble rituals, felt a sense of ceremony in the air. As if the garments carried more than silk—as if they carried weight.

...

Elsewhere in the palace, Shion sat cross-legged on the marble floor, focused on the rhythm of her breathing—an exercise she’d repeated so often it had become automatic.

Calista stood behind her, leaning against a cool column. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, finally, she stepped away from the wall. "Repeat the cycle until your muscles start to tremble. Then ten more times," she said calmly, her voice echoing softly through the chamber. "I need to step away for a bit."

Shion opened her eyes slowly, pupils wide, as if waking from a dream that had lasted ages. She looked around, confused, and when she saw Calista walking away, her voice came out small, almost childlike: "Alone...?"

"Just for a moment, little Rabbit."

Calista approached and gently brushed Shion's head with her hand. Her touch was warm and steady, a gesture that said everything she couldn’t put into words.

Only then did she turn and vanish through the door without looking back.

...

The ceremonial chamber, usually sealed and silent, was now full of presence. Sylphia walked slowly between the towering columns, led by Veynessa.

At the front stood King Aldrich with his sons. The eldest, Kaelis, looked every bit the image of royal composure—upright, serene, with a soft smile and eyes full of warmth.

Sylphia froze for a moment. These were her brothers. Though she’d seen their portraits, heard their names in passing, this was the first time she truly saw them. Her stomach tightened.

Next to them stood Vaelin. Sylphia noticed how he fidgeted with his fingers, as if something was gnawing at him.

"All this fuss over some old man waking up," he muttered with a scoff. "Might as well kneel in the mud."

"Vaelin," Aldrich warned with a single word, and he fell silent.

Sylphia felt a tension in her neck. She knew she was the youngest, the least important. But still, she lifted her chin.

"Just do what we do," Veynessa whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder.

...

The courtyard before the portal was filled with faces Sylphia had never seen—yet their features echoed portraits from the ancestral gallery.

To the left stood Prince Renald with his wife Mira and their three children. The eldest, Lioren, was tall, cold, with eyes that seemed to pierce through the soul. Beside him, Cassya carried herself with composed elegance. The youngest, Toren, looked... just as lost as she felt.

To the right: Duchess Maren with her husband Thaleon and their twins, Lyra and Noel. The twins stared at Sylphia with wide, curious eyes, nearly identical in every detail.

A bit farther: Prince Thalos with his wife Eria. Caius, his son, wore a smirk, as if everything amused him. Ilyra looked away, disinterested. Elric lingered in the shadows, almost invisible.

King Aldrich and Veynessa moved forward, greeting their siblings with practiced politeness—quiet words, shallow nods. There was something mechanical about it, cold. As if they all knew this formality masked neither warmth nor real connection.

The children stood at the back, silent. Sylphia noticed how some cousins exchanged glances and subtle gestures, but no one spoke. No one dared break the moment.

Sylphia felt like a lamb among lions.

And then Calista arrived.

She walked slowly, lightly, as if she already knew every eye would turn to her. Two princes watched her with thinly veiled disdain—a distaste so thick it hung in the air like dust in an old council hall.

Calista stopped at the edge of the courtyard, her gaze sweeping across the gathered nobles. Her steps were relaxed, almost careless, but every movement carried a confidence that refused to be ignored. The two princes nearby measured her with guarded eyes, as if the presence of someone "from outside" disrupted the sanctity of their world.

She smiled at them with unfiltered audacity. "Missed me?"

No reply. Only cold stares.

She sighed theatrically and started walking toward Veynessa, tossing over her shoulder: "They don’t even pretend not to hate me. Adorable."

As she neared the queen, her expression softened and her tone took on a lighter warmth—though still edged with mischief.

"Well then, Sylphia. Ready for tea with a demon from the past?"

Veynessa looked at Calista with that calm severity that required no raised voice to command obedience.

"Calista... this is neither the time nor the place. Conduct yourself as a member of this family should," she said coolly, though without anger.

"Just calling it like it is. It’ll be... entertaining."

Before she turned away, Calista stuck out her tongue with childish defiance. The queen sighed deeply, lifting her chin as if wondering where her endless patience came from.

...

The portal pulsed.

Into the courtyard stepped the Elders. Their presence had weight—ancient men with sunken cheeks, snow-white hair, and eyes that had seen more than most could fathom. Their steps were slow but unwavering, as if even time no longer dared burden them. But it wasn’t them who stole Sylphia’s breath.

It was the Former King—Theron—who came last. His steps were unhurried, yet each one seemed to shift the air itself. A gravity surrounded him that nothing dared interrupt.

No one spoke.

Then a voice appeared—right beside each of their ears, as though someone stood mere inches away:

"Enter."

One word, cold and indifferent as steel, rolled through their minds like a wave of pressure. No one dared move. Even the most self-assured felt a twist in their gut, as if something primal warned them not to take the next step.

Silence gripped the courtyard so tightly that even breathing felt sacrilegious.

The first to move were the elders—Theron and the Council—without a word, as though they'd known the path long before the portal opened. Behind them followed King Aldrich, Kaelis, and Vaelin, their faces emotionless masks. Calista stepped beside them, her gait steady and serene.

Sylphia looked at her mother, then at the glowing threshold. She felt Veynessa’s hand press gently against her back—not forceful, but unyielding.

"Come. It’s time."

She stepped forward.

The rest followed—the royal children, the cousins, their parents. Each one walking in silence, burdened with their own thoughts and expectations.

Sylphia felt the portal's light wrap around her skin. Her final thought:

So this is what a true royal family looks like.