CYRDEL SONASSON, heir apparent to the Alkaran Throne, is a budding inventor against the wishes of his father, the King. But when a friend from the Inventor's District needs help, he has to drop everything and come to their aid, even going as far as...
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2410 Crescin 21, Velpa
Cyrdel's joints cracked as he stretched his arms on his way out of his most recent lecture. Everything he learned from the scholar had flitted away from his brain the moment he passed through the door. Well, he could always learn it again should he feel like it.
As such, it wasn't too much of a hassle to go meet with the scholars now. If he was caught unaware, he might even say that attending lectures was a tolerable experience. Still, he wasn't ready to admit that wholly just yet.
His footsteps echoed along the long hallway decorated by a mess of paintings and marble busts. It was like the King and Queen ran out of things to put their memorabilia and had just decided the corridors were the best place for it. When was the last time they even looked at some of these?
The faces of his ancestors, the past ruling dynasties, and their own set of advisers blurred in Cyrdel's mind as he breezed through them. The only thing that succeeded in catching his eye whenever he walked past it was the faded portrait of Dina the Tame. This time, however, Cyrdel paused in front of it when he came upon it.
Time had faded the painting to nothing more than an artful arrangement of brushstrokes and paint. The luster that must have been bright in Dina's eyes had subsided into a scant reflection of light. For someone who brought tremendous honor to her race, so much so that she had a holiday celebrating her naming day, her own memory sure was being honored by being hung in a corridor where not a lot of people pass through, gathering dust.
Maybe that's why her smile had not been the happiest in this portrait. Or something.
Cyrdel shook his head and continued walking. Ravalee should be waiting for him in the Crafting District. He couldn't wait to join them for lunch after hurriedly eating his own in the form of a fairy potion. That way, he could take it while he walked and Airene wouldn't have to feed him with the meager wage she earns by working in the textile factory.
It had been his habit for a long while ever since Ravalee suggested it. Cyrdel hated sitting stiffly in a rigid dining hall, enduring hundreds of eyes upon him as he take a bite out of his soup. He'd rather talk and laugh with Airene and Ravalee inside a dimly-lit dining table in the middle of the Crafting District.
He turned a corner and he came across the main, second floor lobby of the main wing. The wide space was adorned with couches, ornamental plants, and yes, even more paintings. Although, thankfully, the ones out here featured only random splashes of color thrown into the canvas. There was one of a varichria wing on the far corner but that's that.
Muffled voices reached his ears and he turned just in time to see the throne hall's doors slightly ajar. Cyrdel knitted his eyebrows. What's going on there? Usually, the proceedings were calm. What's got them so riled up today?
Without thinking, he edged closer to the door and peeked. The podium, being on a raised dais in the middle of the short pews, was the first thing he saw. On it, standing with her back to the door, was a woman with curly red-gold hair reaching her waist. It was a familiar woman. Cyrdel's eyes widened. It couldn't be...
