The days Edwin, Celia, Isadora, and I spent wandering the grand halls of Silvaria were cherished ones, steeped in laughter and the carefree spirit of youth. They were moments woven with stories, games, and the shared wonder of growing up together within the walls that had witnessed generations before us. Yet, as with all bright chapters, ours too was bound to find its end, fleeting like a comet streaking through the night sky before fading into the dark.
The end came on the heels of victory—a decisive triumph that shifted the tides of uncertainty. The tension between the Antalus Empire and the Killion Empire had, for a time, reached a boiling point, but the Battle of the Vyrannis River changed everything. Under the formidable command of the Archduke, the forces of Killion seized victory from the brink, pushing back the ambitions of Antalus and paving the way for peace talks to commence.
Though fierce, this conflict had not swelled to the scale of a true war between empires. Had it been so, the Archduke would not have sent a dozen Black Lion knights to guard Edwin, and the White Wolf and Silver Wolf knights of Silvaria would have been dispatched westward in their entirety, their banners flying in the wind. No, this was a clash contained to the edges of the map, a tempest that raged primarily through the lands of Ardenfall, with support only glancingly provided by the Imperial forces.
But now, with the echoes of battle quieted and the weight of the West's victory allowing for fragile diplomacy, it was time for Edwin to return. His stay at Silvaria, a season that had stretched beyond six months, was drawing to a close. The halls that once rang with our laughter seemed, in that moment, a little more solemn, as though even the stone knew that something precious was slipping away.
Edwin's departure was no longer a distant reality but a certainty, one that settled over us like a shadow cast at dusk.
At last, the letter arrived—a formal summons for Edwin's return to the West. The message, sealed with the black-and-gold crest of the Archduke of Ardenfall, left no room for delay. The day of parting had come, and it settled over the estate with a quiet finality, like the shadow of a bird passing swiftly overhead.
We stood together on the stone steps of the Silvaria estate, the wind playing gently with Celia's silver hair as she clung to my arm, eyes brimming with a blend of excitement and sorrow. Beside us, Isadora shifted on her feet, her usually bright expression subdued. The dozen Black Lion knights, their armor dark and gleaming under the mid-morning sun, stood in silent formation, their stern faces and unwavering gazes reflecting their readiness. They were a testament to the strength of Ardenfall and to the importance of the boy they were tasked with protecting.
Edwin stood apart, already dressed in his traveling cloak, which billowed around him with the crisp breeze. His dark hair, as black as the banners of his house, caught the light, and his golden eyes—so often calculating and stoic—held a flicker of something softer, something akin to regret.
"Ready as you'll ever be, huh?" I said, attempting to lighten the mood with a small grin.
He turned to me, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. "Seems that way," he replied, voice steady but quieter than usual. Then, with a glint of determination returning to his eyes, he added, "Lance, when we meet again, I will challenge you to a duel. I want to see how much we've both grown."
I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his declaration. "You've never wanted to spar with me before. Why now?"
He hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping before returning to mine, steadier this time. "Because… I was never confident I could win," he admitted, a rare vulnerability slipping through his composed exterior.
I smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Edwin, confidence or not, you're always welcome to challenge me. But remember," I said, my voice softening as I spoke with genuine encouragement, "it's not always about winning. It's about learning and pushing yourself."
As he nodded, a silent understanding passed between us. He was talented—remarkably so—but as I watched him, a part of me knew that, despite his potential, he could never surpass me. The echoes of my past, the lifetimes of battle and skill etched into my very being, made sure of that. It was an unspoken truth I carried, a secret burden and comfort all at once.
Celia stepped forward then, breaking the moment with a small parcel she had prepared—a gift for him. "You'll come back, won't you?" Her voice was small, as if afraid to break the moment with the weight of her hope.
Edwin's gaze softened as he took the gift from her, his fingers brushing hers briefly. "I will," he promised, and for a moment, the formalities of nobility fell away, leaving just three children bidding farewell to a friend.
The head knight, a broad man with a scar tracing down his cheek, stepped forward and inclined his head respectfully. "My Lord, the carriage is ready," he announced, his voice rough but respectful.
With a final nod to us, Edwin climbed into the grand, darkly adorned carriage. The door closed behind him with a heavy thud, and the horses stamped their hooves as if sensing the journey ahead.
The caravan began to move, the sound of wheels crunching over gravel mixing with the steady clink of armor as the Black Lion knights fell into formation around it. We stood there, watching as the procession wound down the path, growing smaller with each turn until only the faint dust rising from the road hinted at their passage.
Celia let out a long, shaky breath, blinking rapidly as if to keep the tears at bay. "It's going to be different without him," she said.
I nodded, a strange emptiness settling in my chest. "Yes," I agreed, "but he'll be back. And until then, we have much to do."
The estate behind us seemed quieter than before, as if it, too, felt the absence of the boy who had brought a piece of the West with him. But life, as it always does, moved forward, and with it came the unspoken promise of new adventures and the hope of future reunions.
"You shouldn't cry, Celia," I said, my voice soft as I reached out to wipe the tears that clung to her cheeks. "It's not as if we won't see him again soon."
She looked up at me, eyes narrowed, a stubborn glint shining through the tears. "Don't try to comfort me with half-truths, brother. I'm not foolish." Her voice wavered, but there was defiance in it. "I know how far the Archdukedom is. Even with portals, it's not easy for him to come all the way here."
I nodded slowly, acknowledging her words. "True. The distance is vast, and there are so many things that can get in the way. But he'll come for our tenth birthday, won't he? You'll see him then."
Her lips pressed into a thin line, the pout still lingering as she mulled over my reassurance. "Maybe," she said grudgingly, a hint of hope wrestling with her doubt.
"And besides," I added, tilting my head in that way that always made her smile, "as we get older, there will be more events, more chances to meet him."
Celia's eyes flickered with frustration. "But we're going to be busy too! Look at Mother—she's known the Archduke since she was our age, and even she barely sees him now."
There was truth in her words, and for a moment, silence settled between us like an uninvited guest. Our mother, the Grand Duchess, was indeed a figure of power and duty, her days consumed by the unending dance of politics and responsibility. Friendship, even one as storied as hers with the Archduke, was often a luxury pushed aside by the demands of the realm.
"You're right," I said, my voice quieter, tinged with understanding. "Life will get busier, for all of us. But friendships like ours and his—they don't fade just because of distance or duty."
Celia's eyes softened, though the storm of her emotions hadn't fully passed. "You really think so?" she whispered.
"I know so," I replied, a small smile playing at my lips. "And one day, when we're older and faced with our own duties, we'll find a way to make time for those who matter. Just like Mother does, in her own way."
The words seemed to calm her, and she leaned into my side, her small hand slipping into mine. Together, we watched the path that Edwin's carriage had taken, the morning sun casting long, wistful shadows that stretched toward the horizon, as if reaching for the friend who was now miles away.
Suddenly, a burst of cheerful energy disrupted the quiet. "And don't you forget about me, Celia!" Isadora chimed, her voice full of laughter as she grabbed Celia's free hand and began swinging it back and forth with a playful vigor.
Celia's face lit up, a grin breaking through the remnants of her earlier sadness. She looked at Isadora, eyes sparkling, and nodded, the shadows of worry lifted by their shared joy.
Watching them, I couldn't help but smile, a warmth settling in my chest. Here, beneath the vast sky and amidst the gardens of Silvaria, we found a moment untouched by the weight of the world—a moment where laughter and friendship held sway, unyielding and true.