Chapter 2
Solvane was no ordinary boy. He was a true Golden Asper, born of a bloodline so rare it was whispered to be a gift from the gods themselves. The Sparllahs had spent centuries chasing that miracle, their brightest minds laboring to engineer another Golden Asper through blood and science. But their efforts were cursed—nine out of ten experiments ended in stillborn tragedy, and the few who survived were pale shadows, frail imitations of the legends. Solvane, though, was a marvel. A natural birth. A prodigy. Even as a child, his strength surpassed his peers—he climbed higher, ran faster, struck harder, endured longer. By ten, his training was a crucible: daily drills in combat, strategy, and discipline forged him under unyielding pressure. The golden crest on his forehead marked him as divine to some, a harbinger of war to others. Even the seven living Golden Aspers, near-divine themselves, watched him with eyes sharp with expectation and unease.
His father, King Aubrean, held the highest seat on the Asper council, his intellect a weapon that had secured the Sparllah throne. At fifteen, an Asper's gift—unique, world-shaping power—would awaken, reshaping their soul and purpose. Solvane's day was still months away, but the weight of it already pressed against his chest, heavy as the twin suns above Avallah's wastelands.
From the balcony of the highest tower in the oasis city, Solvane gazed at the sprawl below. The city, a rare jewel amidst Avallah's cracked and barren expanse, glittered under the twin suns. Glass spires caught the light, their edges gleaming like blades, while waterfalls fed by ancient springs sparkled amidst lush gardens—a defiant pulse of life in a world that craved death. The fortress-palace loomed over it all, its steel and stone walls both a throne and a cage for the boy who bore its crest. The festival had begun, a rare mingling of humans and Aspers in Valthorne's streets. Lanterns glowed gold and red, strung between stone arches, their light dancing on the faces of merchants, dancers, and children. Music pulsed through the warm night air, drums thundering, flutes weaving melodies that carried the scent of roasted meat and sweet wines on the breeze.
Solvane's claws dug into the balcony's stone railing, his tail flicking restlessly. His father's command from that morning echoed like a lash
"Do you remember the terror Days? The war that shaped our very lives,Solvane if we had been weaker by just a little bit, we would have been wiped out,but ur grandfather fought back and we stood our ground and chased them back,marking our grand victory,
Do u understand where am getting at? If they see a sign of weakness from the next generation of Aspers, There will be a war, A war that they have been preparing for,while we relish in our worn out victory, Never show any signs of weakness ever"
Aubrean's voice had been cold, precise, leaving no room for failure. Solvane wanted to make him proud, to prove the golden crest wasn't wasted on him. He imagined standing before the council, his words steady, his presence commanding, earning a nod of approval from the king who seemed to see only flaws. But the thought of reciting Sparllah doctrine, of binding himself to the throne's will, made his stomach twist. Below, the festival's joy called to him—human travelers laughed freely, unburdened by crowns or prophecies. He saw a group of youths, their faces lit with reckless abandon, weaving through the crowd with no one to answer to. Solvane's chest ached. What would it be like to join them? To shed the crest, the palace, the weight of Avallah's fate?
He closed his eyes, picturing himself slipping into the crowd, his golden fur hidden under a cloak, his name forgotten. He could wander the wastelands, seek the fabled oases where life thrived without chains. The dream was fleeting, fragile. His father's expectations were iron, and Solvane's duty to him felt like a noose tightening with each passing day.
The door creaked behind him. Solvane spun, his face breaking into a grin as his mother stepped into the chamber. He darted forward, leaping into her arms. "Mom! You're back!"
"Easy, Sol," she laughed, her voice warm but threaded with weariness. Her golden fur, once radiant as the suns, had dulled, its luster faded like a dying flame. Dark shadows rimmed her eyes, and a quiet sorrow clung to her, heavy as the palace's stone. She'd been gone four years, her absence a wound Solvane couldn't name. Yet when she smiled at him, her face transformed, glowing with a warmth that outshone the festival below.
He seized her hand, tugging her to the balcony. "Come look!" She let him lead, her laughter soft as they leaned over the railing. The city sparkled like a field of stars, dancers spinning in circles, fireworks bursting in blooms of gold and crimson. Solvane pointed to the human travelers, their carefree laughter cutting through the night. "They don't have to be anything," he said, voice low. "No crests, no councils. Just… free."
His mother's smile faltered, her eyes searching his. "Sol," she whispered, "do you want their happiness? To live without this weight?" Her voice carried a strange, aching sorrow, as if she saw a truth he couldn't yet grasp.
He puffed out his chest, hiding the doubt gnawing at him. "I'm strong, Mom. Stronger than anyone. I'll make Dad proud—I'll be what he needs." But the words felt hollow, a performance for her sake. He wanted Aubrean's approval, but the cost was his own soul, chained to a throne he didn't want.
Tears welled in her eyes, glistening in the moonlight. "I just want you to be happy," she said, her voice breaking. "And one day… I hope you'll forgive me." She brushed a hand against his cheek, her touch trembling.
Solvane froze. He hadn't seen her in years, and her words carried secrets he couldn't unravel. He hugged her tightly, pressing his cheek to hers, as if he could hold her fading light. "Don't worry, Mom," he whispered. "I'll protect you. I promise."
A knock sounded at the chamber door—slow, deliberate, like a heartbeat of stone. Footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Their embrace broke, and Solvane's pulse quickened.His father entered, clad in white leather armor traced with golden lines. The twin suns' dying rays caught his plating, casting him as both sovereign and specter. His presence filled the room, silencing the festival's music, heavy as the wastelands' heat.