The soft bedside lamp illuminated Celia's room, casting soft shadows on the walls decorated with her colorful paintings. His mother, Emilia, carefully spread the blanket around him, the blankets warm and cozy against the cool evening air.

"Sweetheart, what do you think of Ronan?" Emiliya asked, her voice a soothing lullaby in the quiet room.

Celia's brow furrowed in thought as she fidgeted with the edge of her blanket. "He's kinda… aloof," she replied, her tone tinged with uncertainty. "It feels like he's not really there, you know? I really want to be closer to him."

Emiliya smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind Celia's ear. "Do you want to be his fiancée, like I am to your father? To grow old together?"

Celia's eyes sparkled, a blush creeping into her cheeks. "I kinda like Ronan! I really want to be with him!"

Her mother chuckled, a blend of joy and hope filling the room. "Then we'll have to see how things go. It's lovely to have someone special in your life."

In the dimly lit room of the Arcanveil estate, Ronan sat on his bed, tossing a small ball into the air. His mother, Elara, entered with a gentle smile, settling down beside him.

"What do you think about Celia?" she asked, her affectionate gaze fixed on him.

Ronan paused as he caught the ball, his blue eyes showing a mixture of thought and confusion. "She's kind and adventurous... and so cute!" he exclaimed with a slight laugh that broke his usual seriousness. "This is the first time I want to show kindness to someone outside of our family."

Elara raised an eyebrow, pride swelling in her heart at his openness. "And how do you feel about having her as your fiancée?"

Ronan's expression turned contemplative, and he shrugged slightly. "Mom, I trust your judgment. If you think she's a good match, then go ahead with the engagement. I want to make sure she's happy with me. And… I kinda think she's cute, too."

Elara beamed, the warmth of her son's budding affection bringing a glow to her heart. "That's wonderful, Ronan. You're growing up."

As the evening settled around them, both Celia and Ronan lay in their respective rooms, hearts fluttering with new feelings—like whispers of affection just waiting to bloom.

Ten years had passed since that innocent night of giggles and flower crowns. Now, the sprawling gardens of the Arcanveil estate echoed with laughter and friendly banter as four teenagers engaged in a lively sparring match.

Ronan, now fifteen and undeniably handsome, stood tall with his striking black hair and bright blue eyes that mirrored the sky. Across from him was Celia, her golden hair catching the sunlight, and her silver-blue eyes glinting with determination. They circled each other, playful grins plastered on their faces.

"Ready to lose again, Ronan?" Celia teased, her voice light and filled with mischief.

"Not a chance!" he shot back, lunging toward her. Their bodies moved in sync, a dance of agility and laughter, but it was clear from the start that Celia had the upper hand. With a swift sidestep, she evaded his advance, her movements fluid and graceful. A quick kick sent him stumbling backward.

"See?" she laughed, her voice ringing like a bell. "Told you I'd win!"

Ronan chuckled, brushing the dirt off his clothes. "One day, I'll beat you. Just you wait!"

"Sure you will," Celia replied, raising an eyebrow in playful challenge.

Nearby, Dante, two years their senior, leaned against a tree trunk, his red hair catching the light. His green eyes became mischievous as he watched the spectacle unfold. "Ronan, you have to try harder. You'll never catch upto her at this rate!"

"Don't get too cocky, Dante. I'll take you on next!" Ronan shot back, a competitive fire igniting in his blue eyes.

Just then, Liviya entered the scene, her presence commanding attention. With her golden hair and her striking blue eyes, she looked like an ethereal being. Despite her beauty, it was her kind smile that truly captivated everyone. "What's going on here?" she asked, her voice sweet and melodic.

"Ronan's getting schooled by Celia again," Dante replied, laughter lacing his words.

"I wasn't schooled! Just… strategizing!" Ronan defended himself, a playful blush creeping to his cheeks.

Liviya giggled, and in that moment, the playful banter transformed into a warm camaraderie. "Well, while you're busy strategizing, maybe I can take a turn?"

Ronan's heart raced at the thought. He knew that while he held authority and power, Liviya was a force to be reckoned with. Her psychic abilities were unmatched, often giving even him a tough fight. But it was always in good spirits; the two of them challenged each other with a shared love for competition.

"Alright, bring it on!" he said, stepping back to face her, a grin spreading across his face.

Celia and Dante watched with eager anticipation, ready to witness the clash of powers and wits.

As Liviya approached, her demeanor shifted slightly, focusing her immense strength and psychic energy. "Just remember, Ronan, no holding back!" she called out, confidence radiating from her.

With a flick of her wrist, she sent a gust of wind swirling around them, playful yet powerful. Ronan steadied himself, feeling the challenge ignite within him. They began their dance, exchanging moves and laughter, the air filled with the promise of friendship and rivalry.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

In that sunlit garden, surrounded by friends who had grown together in ways beyond mere physical appearances, Ronan felt a surge of gratitude.Each of them become now not simply beautiful however incredible in their own right—Liviya, the kind-hearted powerhouse; Dante, the charismatic older pal; and Celia, the fiery spirit who had once captured his heart.

The golden mild of the afternoon solar spilled into the grand sitting room of the Arcanveil estate, casting a heat glow over the rich mahogany fixtures and the problematic tapestries that adorned the walls. Ronan, now fifteen, lounged on the luxurious couch, a ebook sprawled across his lap, even though his attention wandered elsewhere.He stole glances out the window, captivated by Liviya in the garden.

Cyrus and Elara entered, their presence instantly infusing the room with warmth and comfort. They exchanged loving glances, their pride evident as they admired the young man Ronan had become. With his striking black hair mirroring his mother's, Ronan's handsome face was framed perfectly, his piercing blue eyes holding the weight of the celestial realm.

"Ronan, dear," Elara began, her tone gentle yet filled with maternal concern as she settled into a chair across from him. "Have you given any thought to your studies today?"

Ronan shrugged, a playful smirk dancing across his lips. "Mom, I'm fifteen. I think I can handle a few chapters without your supervision," he replied, mischief glimmering in his tone.

Cyrus chuckled, the sound resonating throughout the room. "Ah, but remember, my boy, the responsibilities of a ruler come with the need for knowledge. Your mother just wants to ensure you're prepared for what lies ahead."

Rolling his eyes, Ronan couldn't suppress the fondness that crept into his smile. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But can't I take a break? Liviya's just outside, and I could use some fresh air."

Elara's expression softened, her voice taking on a nurturing quality. "Of course, dear. Just remember to balance your time. We want you to excel in all areas of your life—not just as a ruler, but as a kind and understanding person."

Suddenly bursting with energy, Ronan leaped to his feet. "I'll be back in a bit!" he called, racing toward the door. His parents watched him go, their hearts swelling with pride.

Outside, Ronan joined Liviya, who was weaving flower crowns with an effortless grace that made everything around her seem brighter. She looked up and beamed, her blue eyes sparkling with kindness.

"Hey, Ronan! Come help me!" she called, her voice light and inviting.

As he approached, the warmth of their friendship enveloped him. Liviya was more than just a companion; she was a confidante, someone who understood him in ways no one else could.

Meanwhile, back inside, Cyrus and Elara exchanged knowing smiles. "They're growing up so fast," Elara mused, her gaze following Ronan outside.

Cyrus nodded, his expression turning serious. "I worry about the weight of our expectations on them, especially Ronan. He has so much potential, but it's crucial for him to find his own path."

Elara placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "They have each other, Cyrus. Liviya's strength and kindness will guide him, just as our love guides them both."

In the garden, Ronan and Livia smiled at each other decked out in flower crowns, their innocent childhood joy blossoming anew in the unbreakable family love that surrounded them.

A few years passed by Ronan is now 18 year old.

Ronan left his machine shop, the smell of metallic oil clinging to him as he closed the door behind him. As he adjusted his clothes, a butler appeared beside him, urgency written in his voice. "Your Highness, your father has requested your presence in his study."

"Alright," Ronan replied, curiosity piquing as he navigated through the grand corridors of the Arcanveil estate.

Upon entering Cyrus's classroom, he was immediately enveloped by the warmth of his father's side. Startled, Ronan rushed forward, wrapping Cyrus' hand in a tight hug."Hey, Dad!"

Cyrus chuckled, affection evident as he ruffled Ronan's hair. "Where have you been hiding? Working on your weapons again?"

"Yes, Father. You called for me? What's going on?" Ronan asked, his demeanor shifting to one of seriousness.

Cyrus's expression turned grave as he gestured for Ronan to sit. "We have a situation. I need you to interrogate a suspect involved in a murder."

Ronan nodded, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. "I'm ready."

As he walked into the interrogation room, he was filled with a mixture of resolve and fear. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway, each one bringing her closer to the truth of her opening.

In the dimly lit room, a man sat chained to a desk, his eyes narrowed in defiance. Ronan sat in the opposite seat, a calm confidence masking the tension hanging in the air.

"Mr. Haze," Ronan began, his voice steady, "you find yourself here for an interrogation regarding the murder of a god residing in heaven. As a god from hell, your actions could reignite a war we've fought hard to keep at bay. So, let's get to the point: why did you kill him?"

Haze leaned back in his chair, an air of arrogance cloaking him. "I killed him for one simple reason: he took my land in the bidding. I was in the running for it, and he outbid me, leaving me with nothing."

Ronan held his gaze, nodding as he processed the information. "So, there was a bidding war for land in hell, and you felt insulted enough to take a life. But tell me, where did you get the confidence to kill him?"

"Because," Haze replied with a smirk, "I'm one of the major gods of hell. I can take out a minor god of heaven when they cross me in my own territory."

Ronan leaned in slightly, trying to steer the conversation toward a more informative territory. "Interesting. Are there others like you, with that kind of confidence in both heaven and hell?"

Haze hesitated, perhaps weighing his options before finally relenting. "Yeah, there are a few. Like Luriel and Braxis from hell and Beladon from heaven. They're not as weak as they look."

"Thank you for your cooperation," Ronan said, his tone shifting back to business-like as he stood, nodding to the guards. "Keep him in his cell until tomorrow. I'll summon him to court; I will be the judge for this incident."

Ronan made his way through the dimly lit corridor, the echoes of his earlier conversation with Haze still reverberating in his mind. Each step felt heavier with the weight of what lay ahead. He pushed open the door to the observation room where Cyrus watched the interrogation through a one-way mirror.

"Dad," Ronan called, his voice firm yet respectful as he approached his father, who appeared lost in thought.

Cyrus turned, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. "Ronan. How did it go?"

"Not as straightforward as I'd hoped," Ronan replied, glancing back at the interrogation room before continuing. "But I want to summon all the gods Haze mentioned, along with all gods as witnesses from both hell and heaven. This time, I want to conduct the judgment myself."

Cyrus's brows furrowed slightly as he studied his son, a mix of pride and concern etched on his features. "You're asking for a lot of responsibility, Ronan. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I am," Ronan insisted, his blue eyes fixed unwaveringly with his father's. "I need you to trust me with this. If I want to learn what it really means to be a leader, I have to face the challenges directly. I want to make sure the tests are fair and just and for both sides."

Cyrus took a deep breath, weighing Ronan's words. He recognized this as an important step for his son, both as a prince and as a person. "Very well," he finally said, a hint of a smile breaking through his serious demeanor. "If you believe you're ready, then I will support your decision. I'll gather the names and make the arrangements for the summons."

"Thank you, Dad," Ronan replied, relief washing over him. "I want this to be a chance for everyone to see that justice is more than just a title. It's about making the right choices."

"Just remember, judgment is not something to take lightly," Cyrus cautioned, his tone shifting to one of seriousness. "You may encounter emotions and conflicts you never expected. Keep your heart and mind balanced."

"I will, I promise," Ronan said, determination solidifying within him. As he left the observation room, he felt a renewed sense of purpose surging through him. The upcoming trial would be a defining moment—not only for Haze but for himself as well