Year 450 CE, Kingdom of Noravia
The early morning mist hung thick over the Noravian hills, shrouding the great castle that had stood for centuries, silent witness to countless secrets and shadows. King Belshazzar leaned against a stone pillar, his gaze fixed on the fog-draped horizon. The faint light made his golden mask gleam, casting him as both hidden and illuminated, a reflection of his own complex intentions.
"What are you doing, Azar?" the Prince Regent, his younger brother, asked, watching the king with a mixture of admiration and skepticism. They had been raised in a realm of ancient power and expectation, and while they shared blood, their paths in life were very different.
Belshazzar turned, a smirk playing on his lips. "The kingdom flourishes under your stewardship, Bernini. It seems my presence here is growing redundant. I would rather see the world beyond our borders, understand its rhythms, its people. Noravia cannot remain hidden forever, not if we wish for our people to thrive alongside the humans. I must know what stirs in their hearts, what fears drive them. And maybe, just maybe, they are ready to accept us."
Bernini narrowed his eyes. "But we already have spies—slaves who report on the outside world. Why risk exposure?"
"Our spies are bound to silence, tasked only with observing. They follow orders, carefully blending into the shadows, like echoes on the wind." Belshazzar's voice was steady, carrying a certainty forged by ages of rule. "But there are forces brewing among the subnormals that are beyond mere observation. The Anglo-Saxon colonies, for one. They are building something that, with the right spark, could be remarkable."
The younger prince scoffed lightly. "And I assume you are to be that spark?"
Belshazzar's eyes glinted with mischief. "Perhaps just a witness. A silent guide."
Bernini sighed, folding his arms as he regarded his older brother with something close to reverence, though skepticism lingered. "And under what guise will you be this 'witness,' Azar? It would hardly do to reveal yourself as the King of Noravia."
"Lance of Lotte," Belshazzar declared, tasting the name as if savoring fine wine. "A traveler of quiet wisdom, a warrior when needed. A simple man with an eye for miracles."
"A god disguised as a commoner," Bernini muttered. "Is this your grand plan, then? To subtly suggest to these mortals that we, the paranormals, are their equals? That we are not gods?"
"Exactly. Mortals have their gods to explain the inexplicable, to comfort them in the face of the unknown. I would never want to blur that line and encourage them to mistake us for divinity. I want them to see us not as idols but as beings worthy of respect, of partnership. It is too easy to mistake awe for reverence, to be worshiped rather than understood. That is a dangerous path for any race, mortal or not."
Bernini tilted his head, bemusement evident. "You think you can disappear among their ranks, Azar? That you can mingle with humans without leaving behind legends and rumors? I can already see the tales forming around you—the mysterious stranger, the wise wanderer who appears in times of need, as if woven from myth itself."
Belshazzar chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "If I must leave stories behind, then so be it. But I do not seek to create legends of power and might; instead, I wish to leave the memory of values. Values that outlast the ages, values that are harder to ignore than even the most dazzling miracles. Courage. Honor. Unity." His gaze turned introspective, the weight of centuries evident in his tone. "Men are mortal, Bernini. We live on borrowed time, even we paranormals. But virtues—they are immortal. They root themselves deep in the human spirit."
"Even so, I fear you underestimate your own charisma," Bernini said, a note of concern coloring his words. "You may not wish to become a legend, but you are a force of nature, brother. Legends cling to those like you, whether you invite them or not. They will speak of you as they speak of old gods."
Belshazzar sighed, conceding the point. "Perhaps they will. But let those tales not center around a man; let them speak of ideals. If stories can shape civilizations, let mine be one of harmony between our worlds." He paused, his gaze drifting as if recalling a prophecy. "I see a day, brother, when Noravia's borders dissolve, when you will not merely rule paranormals but also humans and fae alike. You will preside over a kingdom far greater than this one, united by principles that both the subnormal and the paranormal can respect."
The fog was lifting, revealing the jagged cliffs that guarded Noravia from the world beyond. Bernini's expression softened as he looked at his brother, his king. "And you think these ideals can truly be enough to bridge the gap between our worlds?"
Belshazzar nodded slowly. "I believe so. The world's boundaries—between the supernatural and the mundane, the divine and the earthly—are thinning. As they do, our role is not to stoke fear or demand obedience but to cultivate respect. The humans fear us now, but perhaps one day they will trust us."
The silence stretched, the mist giving way to sunlight that painted the valley below in muted gold. Bernini regarded his brother thoughtfully. "There are already stories in the mortal realms, whispers of great beings who roam the earth to inspire and challenge mortals. Tales of Lugh the Shining One, wise and skilled in all arts, and of the Morrígan, who wields prophecy and fate like a blade."
"Stories as old as the land itself," Belshazzar mused. "Perhaps we are simply the next in a long line of guides and guardians. But our approach must differ. We cannot rule through fear; we must rule through respect."
Bernini shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You seek an impossible balance, Azar. But I know you well enough to understand that you do not fear impossibilities. Perhaps, in the end, they will call you a god despite your wishes. They will look at you, at 'Lance of Lotte,' and see something too vast for their understanding. But if that is the price for a peaceful future, then maybe it is a worthy one."
Belshazzar's laughter was low and rich, rolling like distant thunder. "Let them see what they will. A god, a man, a myth. But let them see something else too—integrity, honor, and the courage to be more than they are. That is all I ask."
As he walked toward the horses, ready to leave Noravia behind, he turned once more to his brother, his eyes fierce with determination. "Hold Noravia together while I'm gone, Bernini. And remember—one day, this kingdom will be yours. And it will be built not just of stone but of virtues that no enemy can breach."
With that, King Belshazzar mounted his steed, the mist swirling around him as he disappeared into the dawn. Bernini watched his brother fade into the distance, feeling the weight of the future settle on his shoulders.
The Noravian King would become a wanderer, a myth, leaving behind not only legends but the seeds of unity that might, one day, change the world.