Elkianara exited the observation room with a measured pace, each step a reminder to herself to maintain composure. The door hissed shut behind her, cutting off the hum of magical equipment and the rhythmic voices of medics murmuring over Alden. The corridor was quiet, but not still—the faint buzz of distant palace activity hummed through the walls, a sign that the weight of recent events had set the royal household into motion. She turned down a gilded hallway, her heels clicking softly on polished stone, and headed toward the royal quarters.

The seamless, ornate, doors slid open to reveal the familiar warmth of her private room, with it's soft lavender tones and minimalist elegance that contrasted with the grandeur of the palace outside. Elkianara was greeted by a most welcome sight - her faithful attendant and dearest friend, Isolde Thalindor. The older girl stood by the window, her auburn braid swishing lightly as she stepped forward to take the morning robe that Elkianara had thrown on when this had alls tarted not but a few hours ago.

“You’re late,” Isolde quipped, “For someone about to make waves, you certainly enjoy taking your time.” Isolde guided Elkianara to a stole in front of the vanity table, a faint smile gracing her lips.

Elkianara let out a small huff of amusement, letting her shoulders relaxs as she ploped down on the seat. “It wasn’t intentional. I got caught up staring at Alden…” Her voice faltered slightly. “He looked so… fragile. And I can’t help but think—”

“Stop,” Isolde interjected gently, setting the robe aside and moving to stand before her. “You don’t have time for guilt right now, El. Not when you’re on the brink of something important.”

Elkianara blinked, her friend’s words snapping her back into focus. Isolde only called her "El" in moments like this—private, unguarded, and often pivotal.

“You have a point,” Elkianara admitted, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “But I suppose that’s why I keep you around.”

“Oh, please,” Isolde teased, grabbing a small tray from the vanity and offering it to Elkianara. “You keep me around because no one else can get your hair into an updo that survives palace drama and your tirades against nobles you don’t like.”

Elkianara snorted softly and plucked the glass of water from the tray. “You have a talent for making light of things, Isolde. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t banished you yet.”

“Only one of the reasons?” Isolde raised a brow.

Elkianara gave her a sidelong glance. “Don’t push your luck.”

Isolde nodded toward the nearby mannequin, where a carefully laid-out dress awaited. “Shall we?”

Elkianara let her gaze linger on the gown for a moment, catching only glimpses of its intricate details—the storm-like hues of fabric, the faint glint of jewels catching the light.

“Let’s,” she replied, stepping toward the changing screen.

Isolde moved fluidly, retrieving the gown from its stand and unfastening its many clasps and hidden hooks. As Elkianara began to slip out of her current attire, Isolde’s usual professionalism was colored by a warmth that only Elkianara was privy to.

“You’re thinking too much,” Isolde remarked, her voice calm as she worked. “Your hands are shaking.” The gown slipped over Elkianara's head like liquid moonlight, the fabric cool and slick against her skin. Isolde's nimble fingers made quick work of the fastenings, each clasp and button sliding into place with practiced ease. As the final piece settled into place, Elkianara felt a tingling sensation wash over her, the magic in the gown awakening to her presence.

“They are not,” Elkianara retorted, though she knew Isolde was right.

“You forget, El, I know you better than you know yourself.” Isolde smiled, a teasing lilt in her tone as she adjusted the bodice. “Now hold still or you’ll ruin my hard work.”

Elkianara smirked but complied, allowing Isolde to pull the fabric into place and fasten the intricate straps that crisscrossed her back.

“Do you ever regret it?” Elkianara asked suddenly, her voice quieter. “Being here with me instead of… I don’t know. Pursuing a different path?”

Isolde paused for just a fraction of a second, her fingers lingering on the final clasp. “El,” she said softly, stepping back to meet her friend’s gaze in the mirror. “I chose to stand by you because I believe in you. That hasn’t changed. And it won’t.”

Elkianara turned her head to meet Isolde’s eyes directly, searching them for any hint of doubt. She found none.

“Thank you,” Elkianara said after a moment, her voice steadying.

“Always,” Isolde replied, giving her a small, encouraging smile.

When Isolde finally stepped back to let Elkianara view the full effect of the gown, the princess turned toward the full-length mirror and let out a soft gasp.

The gown was a masterpiece of artistry and enchantment. The bodice swirled with deep gray and silver, mimicking the roiling clouds of an approaching storm, while the skirt and train shimmered with the dark purple hues of a stormy twilight sky. Jewels embedded in the fabric glittered like raindrops, catching the light with every movement. But the true magic of the dress revealed itself as Elkianara took a few steps forward—the fabric rippled with a mesmerizing effect, ripping in a jagged white semitranslucent tears, as if bolts of lightning were slicing through the storm clouds, flashing from bust to hem before seamlessly restoring the gown’s deep, regal hue. The the accompaning shoes, the lightning effect would play out in a small lichtenberg pattern accross the surface of the floor around whereever she stood.

For a moment, Elkianara said nothing, her reflection captivating even to herself.

“Well?” Isolde asked, crossing her arms with a satisfied grin. “Am I good, or am I good?”

“You’re infuriating,” Elkianara said, though her tone was laced with admiration.

“Infuriatingly good, then,” Isolde quipped.

Elkianara turned to face her, her confidence now restored. “Let’s go. My mother is waiting—and so is the Council.”

The hallways of the palace were quieter than usual, the early morning light casting long shadows across the stone floors. The only sound was the rhythmic click of Elkianara’s heels, accompanied by the soft swish of her gown as she walked.

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As they neared the council chamber, Isolde reached out and gently squeezed Elkianara’s arm. “You’ve got this, El,” she said simply, before stepping away to wait in one of the near by ready rooms, spaces set aside for staff to relax and wait and work while those they attended were in closed door meetings.

Elkianara nodded after her, grateful for her friend’s quiet support. She straightened her posture stepped forward, Marcus stepped forward from his position beside the heavy doors, his towering figure clad in the formal uniform of the palace guard. His piercing gray eyes met hers, their usual stoicism softening slightly. He took a small step forward.

“Once more, into the breach.” he said in a low voice, his tone steady, as though bracing her for battle.

The cryptic encouragement, spoken with the weight of quiet authority, sent a shiver through her. It was exactly the kind of reassurance Marcus would offer—not flowery or verbose, but pointed, meaningful, and brimming with quiet confidence. Elkianara gave him a slight nod, her own resolve steeling in response.

Marcus straightened, stepping back to grasp the heavy handles of the manually operated doors. With a practiced motion, he pulled them open, the sigh of well maintained hinges breaking the tense silence of the corridor. Elkianara squared her shoulders and stepped forward, her gown shimmering and rippling like a tempest as she crossed the threshold.

Inside, the air was awash in tension, thick with unspoken fears and barely contained anger. Ministers and advisers sat or stood around a long, polished table, their voices low but heated. At the head of the room, Empress Serkai stood tall, her commanding presence a stabilizing force amidst the discord.

The conversation stopped abruptly as Elkianara entered, all eyes turning toward her. The rippling magic of her gown caught the dim light, the lightning-like streaks flashing from bust to hem with every movement, mesmerizing and unmistakably regal.

Some gazes were curious, others skeptical, and a few openly hostile—expressions hardened by years of political maneuvering. Most of them viewed her presence at routine council meetings as little more than a formality—part of her education as Serkai’s heir. But this was no ordinary meeting. To them, she was an interloper—a child stepping into a room meant for rulers and decision-makers.

For a brief moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.

“Good morning,” Elkianara said, her voice calm but resolute. “I have a suggestion regarding Duke Fairwood’s successor.”

The room fell into stunned silence. Elkianara took a deep breath and stepped forward, her confidence unwavering.

The silence in the council chamber stretched, a palpable weight in the air as every eye followed Elkianara’s confident stride. She stopped just short of the table, clasping her hands in front of her to steady herself. Her mother, Empress Serkai, stood at the head of the table, her sharp blue eyes fixed on her daughter. Though she gave no outward sign, Elkianara could feel the subtle undercurrent of trust and approval radiating from her mother.

The Empress’s lips pressed into a thin line as she finally broke the silence. “You have a suggestion, Elkianara?” Her voice was sharp, formal, and laced with a tone that invited no hesitation.

Elkianara took a deep breath, meeting her mother’s gaze with as much steadiness as she could muster. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she began, adopting the same formal tone. “In light of the tragic events at Fairwood Manor and the precarious state of young Alden Fairwood, I believe it would be prudent for him to accompany me to Starlight Academy.”

A ripple of murmurs passed through the councilors, their expressions ranging from curiosity to skepticism. Elkianara remained composed, waiting for her mother’s response.

Serkai tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “And why, precisely, do you believe this would be a prudent course of action?” Her tone was cold and clinical, a deliberate contrast to the warmth Elkianara had seen in her mother’s private moments.

Elkianara hesitated only for a fraction of a second, realizing with a jolt that her mother was testing her. This wasn’t skepticism—it was theater. Serkai was creating a stage for Elkianara to prove the worth of her plan in front of the council, ensuring that her reasoning would be beyond reproach.

The realization steeled Elkianara’s resolve. “Alden has suffered a profound loss, and his condition is… unique,” she said carefully, choosing her words with precision. “The magical scarring on his arm is unlike anything our healers have encountered. It resists traditional healing methods and appears to absorb arcane energy rather than respond to it. Starlight Academy is home to the most advanced magical researchers and practitioners in the galaxy. If anyone can understand his condition—and perhaps reverse or mitigate it—it is them.”

One of the councilors, a sharp-nosed woman with graying hair, leaned forward. “Are you suggesting that Alden’s condition is a threat to those around him?”

“No,” Elkianara replied firmly, meeting the woman’s gaze. “I am suggesting that we cannot afford ignorance. His condition is an unknown variable, and it would be irresponsible to leave it unexamined. At Starlight, he would be under constant supervision by experts who could monitor and study the mark on his arm.”

Another councilor, a portly man with a deep crimson sash, frowned. “And what of Alden’s duties as Duke? He cannot fulfill them if he is sent away.”

Elkianara nodded, having anticipated the question. “Alden is a child, barely old enough to grasp the weight of his new title. Even if he were to remain here, he would not be in a position to actively govern for years. The Fairwood estate already has a council of stewards who manage its affairs in Duke Lucian’s absence. They can continue to do so until Alden is of age.”

The portly councilor seemed mollified, though his frown remained.

Serkai’s expression didn’t waver as she spoke again. “And what of Starlight Academy itself? Admission is not automatic, even for those with remarkable abilities. What guarantee do we have that they will accept him?”

Elkianara turned her attention back to her mother, feeling the weight of the room’s scrutiny settle squarely on her shoulders. “Proctor Reenes, who is also the Headmaster of Starlight Academy, has already expressed interest in Alden’s case. He sees the potential for academic exploration and advancement in studying Alden’s condition. While formal acceptance has not yet been granted, I believe it is only a matter of presenting the situation properly to the Academy’s council.”

Serkai’s sharp blue eyes narrowed slightly. “And what role do you see yourself playing in this, Elkianara? Are you suggesting that Alden’s care and education should fall to you?”

“I believe my presence will ease his transition,” Elkianara replied, her voice steady despite the growing tension in the room. “As a fellow student at Starlight, I can ensure he feels supported and has someone familiar to rely on. More importantly, my role would be to represent Umbralumara’s interests. Alden is not just a child—he is the future Duke of Fairwood. His presence at Starlight Academy would solidify our planet’s connection to the galactic community and demonstrate our commitment to collaboration and advancement.”

The murmurs among the councilors grew louder, their expressions shifting as they weighed Elkianara’s words. Serkai let the noise continue for a moment before raising a hand, silencing the room with a single gesture.

Her gaze locked onto Elkianara, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink around them. “You make a compelling argument,” Serkai said, her tone measured and neutral. “But this is not a decision to be made lightly. There are risks, and the consequences of failure would be severe. I will need to consider your proposal carefully.”

Elkianara inclined her head, acknowledging the statement with the same formality. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Serkai’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before she turned to the councilors. “This discussion is adjourned. You are dismissed.”

The councilors began to file out, their voices low as they exchanged quiet remarks. Elkianara turned to leave as well, her steps measured and deliberate. The moment she stepped into the corridor outside the chamber, she felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease.

Marcus, the captain of the palace guard, was waiting just outside the door. His imposing figure and weathered face softened as he placed a hand on Elkianara’s shoulder, his touch firm but reassuring.

“You did well,” he said simply, his deep voice carrying a quiet warmth.

Elkianara looked up at him, surprised by the rare display of encouragement. “Thank you, Marcus.”

He gave her a small nod, his expression steady. “You’ve got your mother’s fire. Don’t let anyone extinguish it.”

The words settled over her like a protective mantle, bolstering her resolve. With a final nod, Marcus stepped aside, allowing Elkianara to continue down the corridor. She straightened her spine and walked forward, her steps carrying her toward the next challenge that awaited.