Aster Solace, eldest son of the Solace Kingdom, had never truly been one man.
From the cradle he learned that the world belonged to those who could smile while planning murder, bow while sharpening knives, and weep while laughing inside. While other boys bled in the training yard dreaming of knighthood, Aster watched.
He watched the exact angle his father's mouth twitched when he lied about loving his children. He watched the way the queen's pupils dilated whenever a foreign envoy mentioned war. He watched the guards scratch their noses at the third bell, the maids steal glances at the fourth, the nobles drink themselves brave at the fifth. By age seven he could walk into a room and leave mimicking any soul he wanted.
Power, he understood early, was not the loudest sword or the brightest flame.
Power was the silence after someone realized they had already lost and simply hadn't noticed yet.
His awakening at sixteen was the first crack in the Solace bloodline's long decline. For centuries the royal line had thinned to B-rank talents and below, yet when the day came, he was the first to receive an A rank bloodline. But it was one no one had seen never through their history
Solace Bloodline of Noctis Solis.
Through is body ran the first mutation of their bloodline, stitched into his bones. Silver-white light soft emanated from his skin like holy radiance yet left a crawling black shadow that sometimes lagged half a heartbeat behind him. The fire he summoned looked angelic, pure and blinding, until it kissed flesh and froze the soul inside the body.
Light he shaped was blacker than any void, yet seared retinas and boiled eyes in their sockets. And everywhere he stood, within fifty meters, the very concept of truth began to rot: oaths loosened, memories softened, lies tasted sweeter than honesty. Those weaker than him never noticed. It would take only those stronger by one rank or mentally to resist.
Then came the Aspect, the first in Solace history.
Something the lowly Kingdom hadn't even begun to track at the time.
He had what was called, Eclipsed Mind.
His consciousness did not reside in his skull any longer; it lived inside an endless palace of black mirrors orbiting a burning, lightless sun. Anyone at the same rank or weaker, who tried to peer into his thoughts found only infinite reflections of themselves screaming.
And in the deepest halls of that palace he kept twelve glass coffins, each holding a perfect, mimicked personality: the way a certain duke laughed, the exact tilt of a spymaster's head when he lied, the tremor in a queen's voice when she begged. Aster could slip any of them on like tailored skin and walk among men as their brother, their lover, their king.
The kingdom celebrated its golden prince.
Aster celebrated the birth of his true self.
He played the dutiful warrior for years: armor polished, sword raised, scars earned just deep enough to look heroic. All the while he catalogued heartbeats. By twenty-three he knew the palace better than its architect, knew the court better than its king, knew his own family better than they knew themselves.
Shia would sell her soul for a louder cheer. Draven would break his hand before admitting he was wrong. His father would burn ten kingdoms to feel tall. His mother... well she was perhaps the trickiest to figure out. At times she was like a different person all together, but even with that he began to pick up on hints.
However, Aster wanted none of it.
He wanted a throne built exactly to the measurements of his ambition, not a crumbling relic stained with his father's greed. So, he left Solace in the nights, under the false pretense of training. With everyone having their own agendas, it wasn't hard to get around.
And that brings us to now.
The throne room of Ebonreach was carved from a single slab of obsidian so dark it seemed to drink sound. Twelve figures had already left the room as their cloaks whispered across the floor like funeral shrouds, leaving only the hulking "king" on his throne and the slender, silver-eyed advisor standing just behind the seat.
"Aster," the king growled, meaty fingers tightening on the armrests until the bone creaked. "I've told you too many times. Tardiness is not accepted!"
Aster inclined his head, the picture of scholarly deference. "Your Majesty, things have not been light on my end. I've been busy keeping watch on the outside world. One careless breath could unravel everything before we even begin."
The king stared for a long moment, jaw working, then barked a laugh that echoed like a dying bear. "Yes, you always know best. If you didn't, you wouldn't be my advisor, now, would you?"
Inside the mirrored palace of his mind, Aster watched as he could just see the reapers blade hanging over his neck.
'This bozo… your expiration date is soon, old friend. Just a few more sunrises.'
On the outside, Aster allowed only the faintest, politest smile to touch his lips as he bowed again and backed from the room.
Behind him, his shadow lingered a moment longer than it should have, stretching across the throne like a noose waiting to be knotted.
Soon, the mask would come off.
Soon, Ebonreach would finally have the king it was forged for.
Soon, the world would learn that Aster Solace had never been truly known.
He had only ever been the silence before the blade.