The bells tolled again as the enormous metal domes rang outside his window. "Happy birthday," an old gruff voice echoed from the periphery as the crimson-haired young man lay in his bed. The sunlight streaming through the window nearly made his pale skin glow. His flame-colored hair, tousled from sleep, framed a cranky expression slowly turning towards the source of the voice.
The bedchambers, vast and grand, were adorned with Venturan marble that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Each pillar, a testament to the craftsmanship of Venturan's finest artisans, upheld the grandeur that was Beacon Keep. This ancestral home of Venturan royalty, where Avalanc the great drake once laid the foundations of their airborne kingdom, stood majestically at the highest point of the floating island. Its architecture—a blend of celestial elegance and fortified pragmatism—radiated a soft, iridescent glow that was enhanced by protective enchantments embedded within the stone.
However, the luminescent glow that bathed every inch of the castle barely reached the young prince’s room. Here, the illuminating enchantments were dimmed by spears lodged into the walls, a testament to past conflicts. The aura of his father, though bright and commanding elsewhere, only served to disturb the prince’s peace here. Indeed, everything in Ventura seemed to unsettle him, his odd hair color and sulking demeanor marking him as the proverbial black sheep of the family.
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“What does the king wish from his loyal son at this scorched hour?” he asked, his voice silky yet sharp, a quiet venom laced within.
The king, chuckling loudly, approached to embrace his son. "It is your 18th birthday, my boy! Today you'll lead the nameless through the Venturan itself. Meleonora is already at the Soran Tower, preparing."
His mention of the twin sister only intensified the prince’s annoyance. "You managed to go a sentence or two without mentioning your perfect child. I commend you, King Galadin," he remarked sarcastically. His tone, although soft, struck sharply like a viper’s bite. "The honor of being mentioned in the same breath never seems to diminish her value, Father. For this, I thank thee."
A silent venom filled his words, the product of years of brewing resentment. King Galadin’s face fell, momentarily shocked as if he had just noticed his inadvertent slight. Struggling to articulate a response and overcome by his own pride, he simply sighed, straightened his regal, marble-colored white armor, and issued his commands. "Be at the Sword of The First Wind and be ready," he stated firmly. "And afterwards, fix the runes and remove the spears from these walls."
Before Maelor could respond, the door closed behind the departing king. At that moment, a crimson serpent with golden eyes, mirroring those of the prince, slithered to his side. "Happy birthday, Mae," hissed the snake, not through spoken words but through a shared glance that conveyed volumes. "Thank you, Hasserakh, my only friend," the prince replied, their eyes locking in silent communion.