The western balcony of High Veil offered an unmatched view of Noctisveil. Father and son stood side by side at the ornate railing, gazing out at the sprawling city below. From this height, Low Noctis appeared as a tapestry of blue-tinged lights and elegant spires, with the massive dome of the Prime Church of Embrace at its center. Gliders and small airships moved like luminous fish between the palace and the city, their mana-powered engines leaving faint trails of azure light in the evening air.

King Sylvaris rested his hands on the railing, the intricate patterns of his Magik Circuit briefly visible beneath his skin when he flexed his fingers. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he asked, his voice softer than it had been in the council chamber. "When I was your age, the western district had only just begun construction. Now look at it—academies, markets, gardens. Three generations of peace have allowed our people to flourish."

"Thanks to the shields that protect us," Lenundis replied, his mismatched eyes reflecting the city lights. "The Empire, the Federation... and the sacrifices of the Somnus line."

The king nodded slowly. "Yes. Always there is a cost." He gestured toward the northern horizon where the Kingdom's border with the Empire lay, far beyond sight. "Our forebears understood this. Everything we enjoy—everything our people enjoy—exists because those who came before us were willing to pay that price."

"And now it falls to us," Lenundis said, not as a question but as acknowledgment.

"To me for now," Sylvaris corrected gently. "And to you, when the time comes. The crown of Somnium is both blessing and burden, my son. It grants power beyond measure, but demands sacrifice in equal portion." He turned to face Lenundis directly. "There is much about ruling that cannot be taught in council chambers or through royal tutors. Some knowledge can only be passed from king to heir when the time is right."

Lenundis studied his father's face. "You speak of Somnus secrets? The ones shared only with the reigning monarch?"

"I do." Sylvaris's eyes glowed slightly brighter as he rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "Our bloodline carries responsibilities that would break lesser men. When you take the throne, you will understand fully what it means to bear the name Somnus."

Lenundis nodded, then turned his gaze back toward the city below. After a moment of contemplative silence, he spoke, his voice softer than before. "I sometimes wonder what Aestalon would have done in the council today."

At the mention of his firstborn son, Sylvaris's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. "Your brother was... less diplomatic than you."

A smile touched Lenundis's lips. "He would have shouted Lord Foghorn down the moment he suggested cutting aid to the Empire. Called him a miser and a coward, probably."

"Indeed." The king's chuckle held both fondness and regret. "Aestalon never had patience for court politics. His approach was more... direct."

"Like a hammer to an anvil," Lenundis agreed. His hazel eye seemed to dim while his blue one glowed brighter in the twilight. "Sometimes I wonder if that wouldn't be more effective. The lords respect you because you demonstrate your power. Like today, when you..." He made a floating gesture with his hand.

"You handled the situation well," Sylvaris assured him. "Better than your brother would have. Court politics is a delicate dance, but you're right—there are moments when one must remind the dancers who leads." He squeezed his son's shoulder. "You're finding your own way, Lenundis. Your approach is neither mine nor your brother's, and that is as it should be."

They fell into silence again, both gazing northward as if they might spot a familiar figure approaching from the horizon.

"Six years," Lenundis said finally. "Six years since he disappeared. Do you think he's still alive?"

The king's jaw tightened. "A Somnus is not easy to kill. Wherever Aestalon is, I believe he lives."

"I miss him," Lenundis admitted, the words barely audible. "For all his recklessness, his laughter filled these halls. Nothing has been the same since he left."

"No," Sylvaris agreed, his voice heavy with an emotion he rarely displayed. "Nothing has." He straightened, his royal posture returning. "But we carry on, as we must. For Somnium. For our people."

"For Somnium," Lenundis echoed, performing a subtle version of the Embrace.

Neither spoke the thought that lingered between them: that perhaps, somehow, Aestalon would return to them. The Somnus men were not given to voicing hopeful wishes—only certainties and duties.