Rhea and the Altan girl had set a modest table for their fellowship, arrayed with their best goblets for their new companions and the dried meats brought by the Altans. Breads of various kinds lay amongst grapes Amelia and Zayn had foraged from the forest. The meal's sole drawback was that it would be consumed on the floor. Tarkan had proposed using the boat or a table, but Aelar had dismissed the suggestion. Now, Tarkan sat opposite Aelar, goblet in hand, scrutinizing it with a growing unease. The imagery on these goblets had made him wary, but

Rhea had assured him all would be well. He had noticed the Altan girl tracing her fingers over the goblets, particularly Aelar’s, which was adorned with dragon handles. She had not inquired about its origin, only admiring its craftsmanship. Meanwhile, the other Altan boy, Dimer, had ventured to swim on a distant beach, claiming he needed to maintain his training. Aelar harbored other suspicions. It had been a week since Tarkan had received the mark on his eye, yet Dimer’s own mark had yet to appear, despite his efforts. The boy remained stubbornly independent, refusing the Altan girl’s offers of help.

Other than Tarkan’s mark changing, there had been no real progress among them, which, in a way, relieved Aelar. His task was to bide his time until his mother’s arrival, which loomed near. She would bestow his own mark upon him, and with the newfound knowledge, he would manage these children. However, he was troubled by how his friends had grown far too friendly with the newcomers for his liking. The camaraderie extended only to the three children and the servants; a palpable tension remained between them and the soldiers, a divide Aelar had no intention of bridging. After the Zeno man had taken his sister hostage, Aelar had imagined his head on a spike, but his diplomatic nature prevailed. This was why they now shared this meal. Their camps had even merged, though the knight Zeno was relegated to sleeping near the forest.

“So, could we call this ‘bridging the gap’ for our kingdoms?” Tarkan suggested, raising his cup of hibiscus. An Altan servant had brought out wine, seemingly reserved for the knights, judging by their disappointed glares. Tarkan had attempted to take a cup, but the Altan girl had swiftly denied him..

The wine held a refined taste, Aelar conceded, perhaps the finest he had ever savored, though his experiences with such luxuries were sparse. He smiled, raising his cup.

“Let this be the bridge,” he declared, taking a sip. With his fork, he speared one of the cheeses brought by the Altans, savoring its light, creamy texture, more suited to bread.

“What do you eat in Turukhan?” asked Amelia, her eyes shining with curiosity. Despite their past, she seemed enthralled by tales of their origins, ceaselessly querying them.

“Oh, you know,” Tarkan replied, swirling his goblet thoughtfully. “Roasted turkeys, lamb, and cow, accompanied by an array of fruits,” he recounted, popping a grape into his mouth before taking a sip. “And breads and cheeses you likely haven’t encountered, alongside the finest pies,” he added, gazing into his goblet with a hint of nostalgia.

“And the desserts,” Derya chimed in, delicately indulging in bread and cheese, echoed by a nod from Dimer.

“We mostly subsisted on fish,” Ayrn interjected softly, prodding one of the dried meats with his fork. Tarkan shrugged, reclining slightly from the meal.

“We had our share of fish too, although I could do without. Sometimes, at our dinners, the Frostheim folk attend, and it’s fish all around,” he remarked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“They all smell and look like fish, I must say, but give me game pie any day,” remarked Tarkan, raising his goblet to his lips. Aelar glanced past his own meal to where his men and theirs were gathered, sharing a tense atmosphere. Stitched lips and scarce glances passed between them. Here, only he, Ayrn, and Rhea dined with the three children. Zayn would have been present, but he opted for a solitary walk over the meal. Aelar couldn’t help but wonder if his absence stemmed from annoyance or perhaps resentment. Though he pondered his own culpability, it seemed too absurd to consider.

“What other Altan bore the mark of the moon in their eye?” Zayn queried, leaning against a nearby tree.

“The Words foretell Altan himself, not some child ignorant of such marks,” Aelar retorted, gesturing dismissively.

“And isn’t it perilous? Were it me, I wouldn’t permit those three to roam freely here,” Zayn muttered. Aelar nudged his half-brother, causing him to straighten. At that moment, Aelar realized Zayn stood taller than himself.

“Thank the gods you’re not our leader,” he retorted icily. “But I am. Forge alliances with these children, and our purpose becomes that much simpler,” Aelar asserted, as if it were the most obvious truth.

"Pride taints their words with falsehood. What if they're merely children of some minor lord from a distant land? Why risk so much?" Zayn countered sharply. Aelar closed his eyes, seeking inner calm. In his mind's eye, he envisioned Rhea beside him, her counsel urging him to maintain composure. Patience and serenity were virtues he must master if he aimed to rule.

“I don’t believe these children deceive us. Your words stem from folly. I, too, once harbored disdain for foreigners, but...” Aelar paused, a smirk playing at his lips. “A king must act with prudence.” Thus concluded their exchange, leaving Aelar burdened with more guilt than he cared to admit. He observed Tarkan as the boy absentmindedly plucked another grape, chewing thoughtfully.

“Any developments with your mark?” Aelar inquired casually. But instead of Tarkan responding, it was Derya who spoke up.

“I think I've discovered something new,” she chimed. “It's hard to explain, but it's as if...” She paused, then chuckled. “Let me just show you.” Rising to her feet, all eyes were drawn to her. Even the men in the background turned their gaze toward her. With one arm outstretched to the sky and the other held sideways, the sunlight danced across her skin, until... it didn’t. The rays seemed to pass through her arm, and suddenly she was jumping and laughing with delight.

"Oh, gods..." Rhea whispered, her gaze fixed on the spectacle before her. Aelar shared her apprehension as he surveyed the array of food. He had never anticipated such marks to possess genuine power. The sun and the moon? What potential could they unlock for a mortal? Altan, with his moon mark, had wrought havoc upon the world, but Aelar suspected the truth had been distorted by legend. True power resided in the flames, wielded by his forebears to conquer and reign. Yet, Derya's newfound ability exceeded all expectations. If she manipulated the sun's rays, the possibilities were boundless. Aelar could only imagine Zayn's reaction if he were present.

“How are you doing this?” Dimer exclaimed, rising in astonishment. He cautiously reached out, his hand meeting an invisible barrier.

“I... I don’t know,” Derya stammered, clearly awestruck. “Aelar and Ayrn said to channel our willpower, so I willed the sun to empower me, and... this happened,” she explained, marveling at her own feat. Aelar rose abruptly, abandoning his meal in fascination.

“It seems you've grasped it,” Aelar remarked tersely, his gaze lingering on Derya. “While you two seem to lag behind,” he added pointedly, directing his words at Tarkan and Dimer. Dimer averted his eyes, his frustration evident, while Tarkan merely took another sip of his hibiscus before setting it aside.

“Only time will reveal,” Tarkan murmured, stretching and yawning. “I could use a nap now, though.” Aelar sighed, slapping his hand across his face as Tarkan rose and departed to rest once more. Derya watched silently, her earlier excitement fading as her arm gradually regained visibility. Suddenly, a loud curse shattered the tranquility from the neighboring table. Aelar's hand instinctively went to where his hilt should have been, only to find it absent. The expletive had erupted from one of the knights, a man known as Bataar. He rose swiftly, drawing his sword, his comrades following suit, except for Zeno, who remained seated. Tarkan paused, turning to watch with wide eyes, yet he made no move to intervene.

“I can make him sit in an instant,” Ayrn whispered softly in Aelar's ear. Aelar cast a brief glance at him but remained still. He wanted to observe how his own men would handle the situation. They too had risen, their demeanor defiant, as if they had committed no offense.

“Don’t pretend you're oblivious,” Kamil retorted coldly to Bataar. “A fiend like you shouldn’t have—” Feron shoved Kamil forcefully.

“What nonsense are you spouting?” he snapped. “These guests share our meal, and you speak to them like this?” he spat. Kamil turned on Feron aggressively, then shifted his focus to Aelar.

“You're familiar with their tales, just as we are,” Kamil addressed Aelar. “All of you are. The only ones oblivious seem to be those who committed the acts,” he sneered.

“I don’t agree,” Dimer interjected suddenly, then sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I understand your people may believe we 'Altans' are guilty of something, of which I am unaware,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But whatever accusations you level against us, I can confidently state we are innocent.”

“Why deny it when the evidence is so glaring?” Xeron chimed in, aligning with his friend. Feron shot him a look, seemingly offended by his support of Kamil.

“Of the Three Swords, the Altan House alone refrains from warfare,” Derya interjected matter-of-factly. “That's why, unlike other realms, we boast no illustrious knights or legendary princes among us,” she explained. Tarkan snorted dismissively and departed, leaving Derya's gaze piercing into his back.

"Bold words for one of your stature," Bataar muttered, sheathing his sword, the fire in his eyes dimming. "You bear a mark on your hand and suddenly you think you're invincible," he sneered, then turned away. "Tell your men to mind their tongues," he muttered, walking off in Tarkan's wake. "Some 'bridge' this turned out to be." Bataar trailed after Tarkan, leaving the others in his wake, until even Zeno rose to follow.

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"Duty calls," he declared with feigned cheerfulness before departing to join the boy he was sworn to.

“You should have allowed me to handle it,” Ayrn remarked, but Aelar shoved his head away, suddenly irate. Why did his own men persist in challenging his decisions? He was their king; what made them believe they knew better? Though Ayrn pushed his hand aside, Aelar barely reacted. His mind was set on finding his brother in the forest.

“Tidy up this mess, or enlist the men's servants to do so,” he instructed coldly as he walked away. Rhea trailed after him, but he halted her with a gesture. It was his brother he sought to speak with.

“Please,” she whispered softly, gripping his hand. He wanted to refuse, knowing his brother would offer the most sensible counsel, not a woman. Yet, the earnestness in her gaze disarmed him. They silently ventured into the forest until they discovered a serene stream to rest by. Aelar felt somewhat foolish, pondering if past kings had ever engaged in such unceremonious acts as sitting alone with a woman. But then, he reminded himself, he was not yet king.

“I'm grateful for the tranquility of our island,” Rhea remarked, brushing her hair with her fingers. “In legends, it was depicted as a cold and cursed place, but our reality couldn't be more different. We've yet to explore much of the world, but I believe there's no place as beautiful as this,” she said, smiling at him. “Wouldn’t you agree?” Aelar nodded slowly, uncertain of her intentions. With a sigh, she settled beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. Aelar considered shifting away briefly but decided it would only add to the awkwardness. “What troubles you?” she inquired softly. Aelar snorted.

"Even if I knew where to start," he muttered. "Though my greatest challenge must be these children and their retinue," he confessed.

"How so?" Rhea inquired. "Is it the disputes they spark, or perhaps their knights?" she suggested. He shook his head.

"I can overlook all of that, but it troubles me. I cannot comprehend why three children— you must grasp the gravity of the situation. Princes and princesses of their realm sent to us, uncertain if we would extend hospitality and truly meet their needs. What rational king would take such a risk, especially with such marks? It's utterly absurd," he exclaimed, realizing his voice had risen, though Rhea remained unperturbed.

"I found that peculiar as well," she agreed, gazing up at him. "But they're gentle children, especially Derya and Dimer. Though I can't say the same for Tarkan," she added, shivering.

"Why is that?" he inquired. She shrugged. "Perhaps because he reminds me of Altan from the legends. Of course, I've no knowledge of the man, but this boy unnerves me. Simply being near him made me uneasy," she confessed, straightening up, her gaze growing more serious. "You're right that we don't treat their marks with the gravity they warrant. We know those marks hold power, yet we allow them to roam freely with them," she observed, looking at him, realization dawning on her.

"Are we mere fools, then?" he asked her. She faltered, struggling to articulate her thoughts, then took a deep breath, composing herself.

"I believe we are part of something greater," she said, placing a hand on his chest, locking eyes with him. "Remember, our mother dubbed you the Orchestrator of History. She foresaw you penning a new chapter on this blank page of life," she continued, her grip tightening. "Encounters like ours with those bearing such marks cannot be mere chance," she asserted firmly. "There is a deeper significance at play here," she insisted.

"I will not do anything to sever our bond with them," Aelar declared suddenly. The image of Tarkan flashed in his mind—his smile, his mannerisms. Aelar believed that if the boy ascended to kingship, he would make a formidable ally. Whether he would bend the knee or not remained to be seen.

"Why is that?" Rhea inquired, drawing her face closer to Aelar's. He deliberated for a moment, considering whether to divulge the full truth, but opted against it.

"I believe they will be valuable allies in our forthcoming conquests," he stated calmly. Slowly, he encircled her neck with his hand, drawing their heads closer until their foreheads touched. "I will not do anything to ruin us," he assured her with an unusual tranquility. He was resolute in that conviction. Rhea held his gaze for a moment longer, and suddenly, a flush of warmth spread across his cheeks, yet he made no move to withdraw. Her eyes drifted to his lips, and instinctively, he found himself leaning in towards her.

For the first time in his life, his lips met another woman's, and it was perhaps the most exhilarating sensation he had ever experienced. Yet, overwhelmed with guilt, he pulled away abruptly.

"Sorry," she muttered, touching her lips as if she were scarcely present. Clutching her chest and biting her lip, she retreated into herself. Aelar stood up, gazing at her for a moment before turning away and striding back to their camp. He avoided the beach, fearing encounters with his friends or the foreigners. He had no desire for the cold glances he knew awaited him. Aelar had no intention of dishonoring himself with anything premarital, but he feared he already had. A legend flashed through his mind, a cautionary tale from the annals of history.

It recounted a time when Aelar the First, still a chaste young man, had yet to marry his eldest sister. One fateful night, she had entered his chambers, her features concealed by a thin robe. Awakening to her presence, Aelar had recoiled, refusing her advances. Legend had it that three women, their beauty a curse that bewitched all who beheld them, had roamed the land. Two were Aelar's sisters, his future wives, while the third was Safya, one of the First Ones. Despite the allure, Aelar had rebuked her, ordering her to dress and not shame him with her rash desires. The following day, he had wedded and bedded her, but only on his own terms.

As he entered the camp, a bright idea flickered in his mind, only to be extinguished as quickly as it came. He realized he couldn't proceed without his mother's guidance, and a sense of disappointment washed over him. "What's wrong with you?" came a voice from beside him. Aelar nearly jumped in surprise, having forgotten that the knight Zeno was nearby. Curling his lip at the man, Aelar strode past him towards the camp. "Right back at you," the man called after him, but Aelar paid him no mind. He halted in the camp, realizing only the three children were present. Derya and Dimer frolicked in the ocean, while Tarkan rested in the hammock he had fashioned for himself. Aelar felt oddly out of place among them, as if he were much older and wiser.

"Aelar, come join us," Dimer called from the water. Aelar snorted, acknowledging the truth of his seniority compared to them. Tarkan, however, seemed unperturbed as he lounged in his hammock with closed eyes.

"I'd prefer not to," Aelar replied, pulling up a crate to sit on. Derya emerged from the ocean, her clothes clinging to her form.

"Why not? It's quite refreshing on a hot day like today," she remarked, her beauty suddenly striking him. Though perhaps not as captivating as Rhea, she was a pearl in her own right. It was a shame she was already spoken for.

"He's afraid of the water," Dimer chimed in, grinning widely as he joined them. Aelar felt a twinge of annoyance at the children's perception of their relationship. It was hardly that of teacher and student; rather, it felt more like husbands acknowledging each other solely for the sake of their wives.

"Leave him be," Tarkan interjected. Aelar shivered, surprised that the boy was still awake. Tarkan sighed and rose to his feet, wearing a frown. "Can't get a moment's rest with you three chattering, can I?" he grumbled. Derya playfully splashed water onto Tarkan's face, causing him to tumble off his hammock in the least dignified manner possible.

"You can sleep whenever you please on this island," she teased, helping him back to his feet. He sighed, glancing down at his damp clothes before turning to Aelar with a laugh.

"A little fun never hurt anyone, right?" Dimer chimed in. "Even princes and kings deserve some joy." Tarkan's laughter faded as he turned back to Aelar.

"You are a king, aren't you?" he inquired. Aelar pondered the boy's question. For some inexplicable reason, he felt compelled to affirm it, but he knew the truth—he wasn't yet a king, no matter how regally he acted.

"Not yet," he confessed at last. Dimer emerged from the water, eyeing Tarkan with narrowed eyes.

"What will you do when you are?" Tarkan inquired. "When you finally wield absolute power over your people?" Aelar wanted to scoff at the question, finding it rather presumptuous. "Will you come and eradicate us all?" Tarkan's question caught Aelar off guard.

"What are you implying, Tarkan?" Dimer interjected, joining him, but Tarkan disregarded him. The marks on his eye seemed to gleam brighter now, particularly noticeable in the dusk, with the moon looming overhead, sending shivers down Aelar's spine as he realized the extent of the boy's command over it.

"That's not my intention," Aelar responded. "In the future, if you were to become king—" He was interrupted by Derya.

"Tarkan, a king?" she exclaimed incredulously. "He can hardly be deemed an heir!" she protested, but Tarkan merely smiled at her.

"Wouldn't I make a splendid king, though?" he mused, his gaze distant. With a fervor that seemed to sear Aelar's skin, he took Derya's hand. "Imagine it. You by my side as Queen. Who else but you?" Tarkan sighed wistfully. "The day that comes…" He trailed off, still clasping Derya's hand, her shocked expression not escaping Aelar's notice. Whether Tarkan truly comprehended the weight of his words to the young girl was unclear, but regardless, he spoke with conviction.

"Let's await that day then," Dimer remarked, crossing his arms with an amused smile. Tarkan nodded in agreement, retreating slightly before turning his attention back to Aelar.

"I know your people likely do not favor us," Tarkan conceded. "Despite that, I want to be by your side when I ascend to power." He extended his hand, and Aelar almost instinctively grasped it. The mark on Tarkan's face glowed so intensely now that it cast a light across his features. He turned his gaze toward the ocean. "Our firm hands can be the bridge that spans the ocean, helping you rise from the ashes of your forgotten kingdom," he declared. Dimer watched Tarkan intently, while Derya still seemed unable to process the words he had spoken to her.

"I must admit, Tarkan," Aelar said, trying to regain his composure and snap out of the trance the boy's words had cast. "You have a way with people's thoughts." Tarkan shook his head.

"I'm merely showing what is possible," he replied. Aelar looked out at the sunset as Tarkan released his hand and knelt down to pick up a crude shell. It was sharp and unattractive, certainly not something any hermit crab would have ever worn. With the crude shell, Tarkan carved a deep line down his palm, and blood quickly began to flow from the wound. Aelar watched in a mix of fascination and horror.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. Tarkan looked up at him, his eyes blazing with determination.

"Sealing a pact," he said. "A bond of blood to signify our alliance." He held his bleeding palm out to Aelar, waiting for him to reciprocate. Aelar hesitated for a moment, the weight of the gesture sinking in. Then, with a resolute nod, he took the shell from Tarkan and made a similar cut on his own palm. They clasped hands, their blood mingling as they sealed their pact. "To our future," Tarkan said solemnly.

"To our future," Aelar echoed, feeling a strange mix of hope and trepidation. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the glow of Tarkan's mark seemed to burn even brighter.

"One day, you and I," Tarkan began, his voice filled with unwavering conviction, "will rule the world side by side." As he spoke, his red eye glowed intensely, and it almost seemed as if blood was flowing down its sides.

"What a hopeful thought," Aelar breathed, captivated by the intensity of Tarkan's vision. Tarkan withdrew his hand, the promise of something great lingering in the air.

"One day," he repeated, his voice carrying the weight of destiny. Dimer came to stand by Tarkan, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. "It will be just you and me," he said, his tone equally resolute. Aelar felt a surge of emotion, a mixture of hope, ambition, and a touch of fear. He looked at the two boys before him, feeling the enormity of the path they were setting out on together.