In the dead of night, within the oppressive silence of Aelius's solitary confinement, the harsh clang of keys and the scrape of metal on metal ripped through the stillness. Several guards approached his cell, their faces impassive in the dim light.

"Get up," one of the guards said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You're being transferred."

Aelius, roused from a fitful sleep, sat up, blinking in confusion. He noticed a figure standing behind the guards – a man he didn't recognize, disheveled and seemingly lost.

The guards swung open the cell door. "Out," one commanded.

Aelius, his limbs stiff and heavy, obeyed, rising to his feet. As he stepped out of the cell, the guards roughly seized his arms. The strange man, a wild tangle of unkempt hair and a vacant stare, shuffled past him, muttering incoherently under his breath.

"Who is that?" Aelius asked, his voice hoarse. "Why is he… going into my cell?"

One of the guards replied, his tone flat and indifferent. "He's your replacement. If we move you, we have to put someone else in your place. Otherwise, there'd be questions. We don't need that hassle. General Marcus ordered your transfer. Don't think we're doing this for you."

Aelius, struggling against their grip, protested, "This is… this is unjust! It's not right!"

"You want to go back there?" the guard sneered, his hand tightening on Aelius's arm.

Aelius fell silent, the fight draining out of him.

"That's what I thought," the guard said. "Don't worry. Nobody's looking for him. He's… used up. Lost his mind to rambling. No one wants him. Just talk to himself. Like a madman."

The guards shoved the muttering man into the cell and slammed the door shut, the heavy clang echoing through the corridor. Then, without a word, they threw a rough cloth sack over Aelius's head, plunging him into darkness, and dragged him away, transferring him from the oppressive silence of the Palace Prison to the raucous chaos of the city jail.

In the evening, a lavish royal banquet was underway. The great dining hall echoed with music and the lively chatter of the assembled guests. The King sat upon a grand chair, the Prince beside him. Behind the Prince stood his aide, Devoni. Close to the King, Daeghir held a position of prominence. The remaining guests, a mix of dignitaries from both kingdoms, were seated at the long banquet table, engaged in polite conversation.

The King, clearly enjoying the fine food and wine, appeared to be in high spirits. The Prince, immersed in conversation with the King, was eager to impress.

"I assure you, Your Majesty," the Prince said, his voice brimming with self-importance, "you have a truly remarkable son. Daeghir. He strove for this peace. Didn't he, Devoni?"

Devoni responded promptly, "Indeed, Your Highness. He did."

The Prince continued, "And he was tireless in his efforts to expedite the peace process. He changed my perspective on everything. He made me understand it all. Didn't he, Devoni?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Devoni replied dutifully. "He made you understand everything."

"So I said to myself, 'The world is changing, evolving. And it's natural, even beneficial, for neighboring kingdoms to have differences of opinion. Isn't it, Devoni?'"

"Yes, Your Highness," Devoni confirmed.

"So I decided to meet with them, with the representatives, delegates, of the northern kingdoms. Didn't I, Devoni?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Devoni echoed.

"I met with them. And I told them that even if we have ideological differences, or differences in perspective, or on certain matters, the world is evolving, and that shouldn't ruin any cause for cordial relations. Didn't I, Dev?"

Devoni, with practiced smoothness, responded, "Not... that... what you said, Your Highness..." The Prince, the King, and even Daeghir looked at Devoni with a mixture of surprise and confusion. "...you confirmed that."

The Prince beamed. "Yes, Your Majesty. Exactly! I confirmed it. So, I worked towards this peace, and I hope it endures. Will it endure, Devoni?"

"Yes, it will endure, Your Highness," Devoni replied.

"And tomorrow," the Prince said with a smile, "all the representatives of the northern kingdoms will be here. I'm sure they'll all have much to say about my role in securing this peace." He paused. "Daeghir. Tell your father what I did."

Daeghir leaned closer to the King, his voice smooth and deferential. "I assure you, Your Majesty, the Prince has indeed been the primary architect of this peace."

"Yes," the Prince said, nodding vigorously. "Yes, Your Majesty. I strive for peace. That's why I convened with my brothers and came up with the idea of hosting this… tribute… for you on the first day. And tomorrow, we shall receive representatives from several kingdoms, so they may pay their respects. And we shall hold the race. It was my idea, the race. My brothers all agreed, they all concurred that it was a brilliant idea to solidify the peace between us. Wasn't it, Devoni?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Devoni said, his voice unwavering. "It is a peace… of your brilliant design."

The King responded, his voice deep and resonant. "I thank you for this gracious gesture, Your Highness. And, as you know, we, too, seek peace, not conflict. And I believe that whoever initially instigated the discord between us… after this peace between us and you as northern kingdoms… will be deeply disappointed and saddened by your decision."

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The Prince smiled and chuckled, attempting to smoothly change the subject, a hint of awkwardness creeping into his demeanor. "I assure you, Your Majesty, tomorrow's race will be magnificent. Do you have a rider representing you?"

The King turned to Daeghir. "A day for a race, on the morrow. What a splendid way, all will come together. Surely… we are… to join?"

"Certainly, my lord," Daeghir replied. "And I, myself, have brought our rider, my lord. He is highly skilled in horsemanship." Daeghir gestured towards the rider, who was present in the hall.

The rider rose swiftly from his seat and approached Daeghir, his movements fluid and graceful. He knelt before the King. "My lord Father," and kissed his hand.

The King addressed the rider. "Do not disappoint me, my son, tomorrow. I expect you to win that race."

The rider replied, his voice filled with confidence, "I promise you, I shall bring you honor tomorrow."

The Prince, observing the rider, remarked, "My, what a handsome rider! Tall, muscular… I congratulate you, Your Majesty. You Aslilians are renowned for your horsemanship and strength. Aren't they, Devoni?"

"Indeed, they are, Your Highness," Devoni agreed.

Also present at the lavish banquet, General Marcus found himself engaged in conversation with another general, this one from the Kingdom of Nordhall.

"General Marcus," the Nordhalli general said, his voice low, "I have a brother, a close friend, who is a merchant. He wishes to speak with you."

Marcus inclined his head slightly. "Very well, General. Let me speak with him."

The Nordhalli general gestured towards a man waiting nearby – a merchant, by his attire. The merchant approached, bowing slightly to Marcus.

"General Marcus," the merchant began, "I am honored to meet you. Although this is hardly the ideal time for such matters, there have been… difficulties. Several caravans have been lost since the reopening of the pass. Lost entirely. And they carried… valuable goods. But, that is not important now. Such things happen, after all. All I desire is greater security for my future caravans. I have been told that you are the man who can provide that."

Marcus's expression remained neutral. "Very well. For your sake, and for the sake of the General, I shall endeavor to assist you. But when we have returned, you must come and visit me in Aslilia."

The merchant bowed again, his face beaming. "It would be my greatest honor, General. Thank you."

Meanwhile, on another side of the hall, Valerius was holding court, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling young women, clearly captivated by his charm and attention.

Elsewhere, Eva engaged in polite conversation with whomever happened to be near.

Clytos, however, stood apart, leaning against a wall in a quieter corner of the hall, nursing a goblet of wine. Eden approached him.

"Master," Eden asked, "do you require anything? Shall I fetch you something?"

Clytos sighed. "Eden, stay near me. I need you by my side. I feel… drained… by these gatherings. I despise such social events. All of that is better. My energy… it leaks away. This wine… it helps a little. It, at last, helps… limits the leak." He offered Eden a weak smile.

" I also dont love all this gathering"

Eden smiled back sympathetically, staying close by. "Of course, Master. Whenever you wish to retire, I shall be ready."

"Thank you, Eden," Clytos said, his voice softening. "Thank you. You're a good apprentice."

Suddenly, a flamboyantly dressed man approached them, his manner effusive. "Clytos! There you are! I've been searching for you everywhere!"

Clytos straightened, a genuine smile replacing his weary expression. "Quillon! It's good to see you!" The two men embraced warmly.

"Where have you been?" Quillon exclaimed. "Clytos, I am so pleased that relations between our kingdoms have been restored! And I must thank you. You saved me with those complex formulae, those difficult equations! You aided me greatly, and you were under no obligation to do so. I am truly grateful. You are a brilliant scholar!"

Clytos waved a dismissive hand. "It was nothing, Quillon. I'm glad it was of assistance."

"And I'm even more excited," Quillon continued, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm, "because Falken will be here tomorrow! I suspect his presence is due to our presence, yours and mine! Once he learned of our attendance… well, he could hardly stay away, could he?"

Clytos's smile faltered slightly. "Falken… will be here tomorrow?"

"Indeed! I, for one, am most eager to see him again,"

Quillon prattled on. I must take my leave of you temporarily. But there’s too much we should catch up.” He looks like his going, then looked at someone "I have other matters to attend to now. We shall speak at length later!" He bustled off, leaving Clytos with a troubled expression.

Clytos's face shifted subtly when he heard the name, his earlier weariness replaced by a flicker of… something unreadable. A faint smile, almost a smirk, played on his lips. "Falken… here, tomorrow," he murmured, more to himself than to Eden. "Well, this should be… interesting."

Eden, noticing the change in his master's expression, but unable to decipher its meaning, asked, "Master, who is Falken? And why did your expression change when you heard his name?"

Clytos chuckled softly, a hint of irony in his voice. "An old… acquaintance," he replied, the word carefully chosen. "Let's just say… we have a… history. A complicated one. Rival, at times, definitely. Perhaps… put it… call it. A friendly…enemy, perhaps? It will depends." He paused, then added, with a dismissive wave of his hand, "No matter. Eden, take me to my chambers. I've had enough of this night."

Within the clamorous depths of Aslilia's city jail, inside a large, crowded cell, Aelius was a prisoner among many. Gavril, having searched desperately through cell after cell, his voice hoarse with worry, finally located him.

"Aelius! Aelius!" Gavril shouted, his voice echoing through the prison's din.

Hearing his brother's voice, Aelius pushed his way through the press of bodies towards the bars, his heart leaping with a mixture of relief and despair. "Here! Gavril! I'm here!"

Gavril rushed to the cell, his hands reaching through the bars, trying to grasp Aelius in a desperate, incomplete embrace. "I… I failed you again, brother," Gavril said, his voice choked with grief and guilt.

Aelius gripped Gavril's hands tightly. "I know what happened to Kaya. Don't blame yourself, brother. You are not to blame. You did everything you could. What happened… it wasn't your fault."

Gavril, though still reeling from the loss, seemed to draw a small measure of comfort from Aelius's words. He took a shaky breath.

"Where… where did you bury her?" Aelius asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"In the place she loved," Gavril replied. "Zao helped me."

Aelius squeezed Gavril's hands, his gaze intense. "You need to be strong, brother. I need you. I need you, now."

"You did it, brother, after all," he, Gavril, said with a low, questioning voice, with low and shaking, and confusing. "You moved. Moved to the city jail... How did it happen?"

"It was Marcus," Aelius explained. "He arranged the transfer. Now, I don’t have much time. Find, bring. Listen, Gavril, we don't have much time. I need to see Ricardi. Tell him… tell him to come here. Now, he must. Tell Ricardi to come here."

Gavril looked doubtful. "Do you really think he'll help you this time?"

Aelius's voice was firm, resolute. "This time… he will."