The door closed behind Lorien with a muted thud, and the sound seemed to echo longer than it should have in the great chamber. For a fleeting moment, silence lingered between the king and me — the kind of silence only two old men could share, burdened by too much history and too many regrets. The flicker of torchlight cast long shadows across the stone walls, catching on the engraved sigils of the Maris line — reminders of the weight both of us carried.
"Tharion," I began quietly, breaking the silence, "you should've told him sooner."
The old king exhaled, his hand brushing down his beard as if trying to smooth out the years of guilt that clung there. "Aye," he murmured, "I should have. But what good would it have done? The boy deserved answers, not excuses. And yet… I gave him both."
I crossed my arms, the leather of my gloves creaking softly. "He's strong, but he's not his mother. You can see how they treat him. Every day, he bears that same weight Loretta carried until she left."
Tharion looked up at me then, the firelight glinting in his amber eyes — the same eyes as my son's. "I know," he said, voice thick with sorrow. "Lorien is… different. The first mage born to the Maris Clan, and that makes him a curse in their eyes."
"He's already barely tolerated," I said bitterly. "Once Darion takes the throne, it'll get worse. The boy hates mages — hates what they represent. And Lorien is the only one who will suffer from his wrath."
The king turned toward the great window overlooking Ironclad, the city sprawling below like a forge in the night. "You think I don't know what my son has become?" he asked quietly. "I tried to temper him, Callan. I tried to make him see reason — that magic isn't the enemy, that the clans of Sylva and Aurion are not our foes. But the boy's heart burns with fear… and fear, as you and I both know, turns easily to hate."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "If he goes to war with them, we'll lose everything. The Aurion controls the coast, the Sylva commands nature, Ironclad's steel won't be enough to stand against spell and nature both."
Tharion's shoulders sagged. "That's why the ceremony must happen today," he said, almost to himself. "My strength is fading, Callan. The council has already been prepared. They'll name Darion as successor before the sun sets."
I clenched my fists. "Then we're handing the kingdom to a man who'll burn it down out of pride."
The king's gaze hardened, his old fire sparking briefly. "He's still my blood. And there's no other heir. The council will not accept another, and neither would the people. If I resist, it'll fracture the clan before a single spell is cast."
I turned away, pacing before the throne. "And what of my son? You know what will happen once Darion has the crown. He'll see Lorien as a stain — a reminder of your friendship with Loretta, of her exile, of everything he despises about magic."
A grim silence hung between us. I could hear the wind howling faintly beyond the battlements.
"You're afraid for him," the king said quietly.
I met his gaze. "He's my son. Of course, I'm afraid. He's all that's left of her — and all I have left to protect."
The king nodded slowly. "I will do what I can to shield him, Callan. As long as I still breathe, Darion won't touch the boy."
I studied him for a long moment. The old man still looked formidable, but the tremor in his hands betrayed the truth — time had finally caught him.
"The ceremony," I said after a pause, "when will it begin?"
"By midday," he replied. "The council gathers even now. I would have you at my side, Callan — one last time."
I bowed my head. "You've had my loyalty since the day we first drew steel together. You'll have it until the end."
He smiled faintly — weary, but grateful. "You've always been a stubborn bastard," he said. "That's why I kept you close."
For a moment, the years fell away, and I saw the warrior he once was — the man who had led us through fire and blood and built the peace we now stood upon. But as his gaze drifted back toward the window, I saw the doubt there too — the same fear that had taken root in my own heart.
When I finally spoke, my voice was low. "If Darion wages war, we'll lose more than lives. We'll lose who we are."
The king didn't answer right away. Then, softly, he said, "Perhaps that's already begun."
The great bells of Calbourne Hold began to toll in the distance, marking the hour. The sound rolled through the halls like thunder — the beginning of an ending neither of us could stop.
I bowed once more and turned toward the door. "Then I'll see you at the ceremony, Your Majesty."
As I stepped into the corridor, I saw my son waiting — staff in hand, eyes bright despite the sorrow that still clung to him. For a moment, I watched him in silence, feeling the weight of what I couldn't say.
With me finally deciding on my own personal quest to find Mom and Father, Father had finally finished his talk with the King, and I knew I was in for a big challenge. She had seven years ahead of me, and the Everlasting Isles were a big and diverse place, capable of hiding powerful magic, such as hexes that some parts haven't even been explored yet, even after five hundred years of living on the Isles. We started to leave Calbourne Hold and make our way home, but Father steered me away from the path we had taken to get here, taking me out of my thoughts.
"Huh, where are we going, Father?" I asked, looking around as people began to gather.
I was initially worried that they would stir up trouble, despite my Father being present, but no, I looked up to the balcony above us and saw King Tharion and his son, Darion, along with Royal guards flanking them. I looked to my Father for guidance as I had no idea what was going on.
"Father, what is going on?" I asked him, but he paid me no mind as he stared up at Darion and the King.
A familiar head of blonde hair caught my eye as Astrid approached Father and me. My face lit up with recognition, and I rushed over to wrap her in a warm hug.
"Hey, Lor," she said, her expression wide with surprise as she wrapped her arms around me. "How have you been?"
"Good, although I don't know what's going on right now," I told her.
Astrid gave me a small smile — the kind that was half comfort, half concern. "You'll see soon enough," she said softly, glancing up toward the balcony where King Tharion and Crowned Prince Darion of the Maris bloodline stood. Her expression shifted — admiration mixed with worry. "It's happening today."
"What's happening today?" I asked, but before she could answer, a trumpet's sharp call echoed through the square. The gathered crowd fell silent as the trumpet's call died. Even the air seemed to be still.
The King stepped forward, his aged frame straight but heavy with the weight of years. Sunlight gleamed on the circlet of black steel that crowned his brow. He raised his hand for quiet, though none dared to speak anyway in the presence of a legendary king and warrior.
"People of Ironclad," he began, his voice still carrying the command of a man who'd led armies. "For decades, I have guided our clan through war and peace alike. But the time has come for a new hand to guide the Maris."
A murmur rippled through the assembly. My heart tightened. "By Alaya's light," I muttered. So this was it — the crowning of the new King.
Beside the king, Crowned Prince Darion stood tall and proud, his armor polished to a gleam, the silver of his pauldrons catching the torchlight. His dark hair was bound into a loose braid that fell over one shoulder, framing a face lined with quiet strength and weary wisdom. A short beard traced his jaw, and a blue pendant rested against the simple tunic beneath his coat — a subtle mark of someone who had seen both battle and burden. Even from below, I could see the confidence in his amber eyes — and something colder beneath it.
King Tharion turned toward him and drew the Iron Circlet from his head. "My son," he said, "you will bear the mantle of our ancestors. May your strength never falter, and may your will be as unyielding as the mountain itself."
Darion knelt, lowering his head. The King placed the crown upon him, the steel catching the morning light.
"I name you Darion Maris, King of Ironclad, and Lord of the Maris Clan."
The crowd erupted — cheers, roars, the clash of weapons against shields. I could feel the ground tremble beneath their excitement. Father stood tall beside me, his expression unreadable. I knew what he was thinking — what this meant for us. For me. Darion rose to his feet and turned to face his people, raising his hand to quiet them. When he spoke, his voice carried like thunder through the stronghold square. I wasn't sure how to feel about this. Darion was known to be against magic, which led the younger generation to develop a deep hatred that resulted in frequent bullying of me.
"People of Ironclad!" he called. "For too long, we've been content to let the other clans dictate the course of the Isles — the Aurion with their spells, the Sylva with their illusions. But we — we—are the sons and daughters of steel and storm! It's time the Maris reclaim our birthright!"
The crowd roared again, chanting his name. My stomach twisted.
He continued, eyes burning. "From this day forward, we will forge warriors unmatched — masters of the Adept Arts, the truest expression of power! We will no longer bow to the magic of others. The Isles will kneel to Ironclad!"
At that, I felt every eye around me burn like fire. I didn't have to look to know what they were thinking. A mage. In a clan that despised magic. A reminder of everything they wanted to erase.
Astrid's hand brushed my shoulder — a silent reassurance. "Hey, it's going to be alright, Lor," she murmured. "Just… don't draw attention."
I nodded, trying to ignore the whispers.
"Why's he here?"
"Shouldn't that witch's boy be gone already?"
"The mage spawn — he's a curse to the clan."
"Blight born"
Their words stung like daggers, but I bit my tongue. I had heard it all before, but now it fell differently, more hateful and passionate than before, all thanks to the new king's direction with the clan. I looked up at Old King Tharion, and I saw remorse in his eyes as I locked eyes with him. He didn't know what to do this time, but there was nothing more he could do; he was no longer in his prime, and the world was changing too fast for him to keep the clan together.
Father said nothing either. His gaze stayed fixed on the new king, jaw set, eyes cold. I could tell he was holding back every thought that burned behind them.
As the ceremony came to a close, the king and his retinue turned to withdraw. The people began to disperse, still chanting Darion's name. My chest felt hollow — the cheers rang in my ears, but they weren't for me, weren't for anything I believed in.
Father finally placed a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go, Lorien," he said quietly. "We've stayed long enough."
We turned to leave, Astrid walking beside us. Her expression was thoughtful, her usual spark subdued.
As we descended the stone steps away from the plaza, my mind drifted back to Mom, to the King's words, to the promise I had made myself in the hall. The Isles stretched wide and mysterious, full of forgotten ruins and old magic — the kind of places even the Maris warriors dared not tread. Somewhere out there, my mother was waiting.
Astrid stopped and looked around, then at me, and finally landed her green eyes on Father. "Father, I need to return to my duties," his sister said.
Father merely nodded, and she took off, leaving us. I felt a piece missing once she left during these changing times. I was worried about my future in the Clan that was now uncertain. I wasn't strong enough to defend myself, nor was I brave enough to stand up for myself. I was weak and cowardly, I knew that, everyone did, that's why they treated me the way they did. I felt tears forming, but I managed to hold them back. I didn't want to look weak now, that would give everyone a reason to come at me even more than they did before.
I stood close to Father as we left Calbourne Hold on the way back home. There was much to process once we returned to the safety of our home, but I was never truly safe; it was merely a lie I told myself to keep hope burning inside me, which was now dwindling faster.
As we descended the stone steps away from the plaza, my mind drifted back to Mother, to the King's words, to the promise I had made myself in the hall.
The Isles stretched wide and mysterious, full of forgotten ruins and old magic — the kind of places even the Maris warriors dared not tread. Somewhere out there, my mother was waiting.
I'll find you, Mom, I thought, tightening my grip on my staff. No matter where you are — no matter what it takes.
That day marked the rise of a new King… and the beginning of my journey.