Early morning sunlight filtered through the tall palace windows, casting golden beams across the nursery’s marble floor. The air was cool, with the faint scent of roses drifting in from the royal gardens.

Ashar, now just past his first year, stood at the edge of his crib, the small, delicate fingers of his right hand gripping the edge. His eyes, sky-blue and sharp, flicked to his mother standing quietly by the doorway. She was watching him, her gaze unreadable. There was no expectation, only patience.

For a moment, Ashar held his breath. He pushed off the side of the crib with an almost deliberate motion, his small feet finding their balance. One step. Then another. His tiny legs moved with purpose, as if the very action had been rehearsed in some distant memory. There was no stumble, no wobbly misstep—his steps were precise, measured, even graceful.

A maid gasped in surprise from the other side of the room, her hands flying to her mouth. But Ashar didn’t flinch. His eyes remained focused ahead, unbothered by the reaction, as if it was all part of the plan.

Lira, still in the doorway, blinked, her face softening with quiet surprise.

“Just like his father,” she whispered to herself, the softest smile appearing on her lips.

Ashar didn’t need to look up. He knew what was expected of him—every small victory was simply a precursor to the next.

“One step at a time. That’s how all wars are won.” His thoughts whispered to himself, as if they were the words of a seasoned general.

---

Lira and Ashar in the Royal Garden

The royal gardens of Seria were filled with blooms, their bright colors contrasting sharply with the lush green that surrounded them. Ashar, nestled in his mother’s arms, looked around with curiosity.

Lira strolled gracefully through the garden, the soft rustle of her Silken robes mingling with the breeze. The mana-infused plants seemed to hum quietly in the air. The wind carried a certain weight, a depth that Ashar couldn’t yet understand but could feel just beneath his skin.

She stopped before a cluster of vibrant flowers. “This,” Lira began softly, her voice soothing like a lullaby, “is where the magic of Seria lives.”

Ashar’s eyes widened, his gaze shifting over the intricate patterns of glowing vines that intertwined the flower beds. His chest tingled with something unfamiliar, a pull he couldn’t name. There was mana in the air, yet it felt like a distant dream. 

Lira smiled as she noticed the faint spark in his eyes. “Mana flows through all life,” she continued. “It isn’t a force to be controlled—it is a force that connects us to the very pulse of the world.”

Ashar listened closely, though the words were more a gentle rhythm than something he could yet grasp.

“A wise king once told me,” Lira’s voice became soft, almost wistful, “that only when you listen to the world itself can you truly understand the flow of magic.”

Ashar didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His heart already understood what his mind could not—yet.

---

Gathering of Nobles

Later that day, the palace was abuzz with preparations for the seasonal gathering. Nobles, both minor and royal, were gathering to celebrate the late spring bloom and the prosperity it promised.

Ashar was seated in his mother’s arms, tucked into the soft folds of her dress. Her presence was steady, but the world around them was anything but peaceful. He watched as nobles moved in and out of the grand hall, speaking in hushed tones, their eyes sharp, calculating.

Ashar’s keen gaze studied their every movement—each smile, every handshake, and the forced laughter that filled the air. He could sense the unspoken power games, the subtle webs of alliances, the quiet betrayals.

A young noble stammered as he addressed the queen, his words faltering under her calm gaze. Another pair of lords quarreled over something trivial, their raised voices barely concealed beneath the politeness of the court.

“Power isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it wears perfume and speaks in riddles.” Ashar thought to himself, his gaze unblinking. It was a lesson, small yet vital. The world wasn’t always about grand gestures. It was in the quiet, in the whispers behind the walls.

---

Evening with Alric

That night, the mood in the palace softened. Alric, Ashar’s father, had taken a rare moment to spend time with his son. He carried Ashar in his arms, his strong fingers curling protectively around his tiny form.

Together, they ascended the spiral staircase to the highest tower of the palace, where the night sky unfolded before them like a vast tapestry.

Alric, a man of few words, didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he let Ashar take in the view—the stars scattered across the endless dark sky, the constellations twinkling like distant hopes.

“Do you see those stars, little one?” Alric asked, his voice low and thoughtful. “In the old days, men believed the stars were the spirits of our ancestors, watching over us. But I think… they were more than that. They were markers. Points of guidance. Even in the darkest of times, you look to them and find your way.”

Ashar, still silent, gazed up at the stars, his eyes reflecting the sky above.

Alric smiled, a rare softness in his expression. “There’s a time to be strong, and a time to be silent. Learn that, Ashar. You will need both.”

---

The Letter from Eirathal Vale

As the evening wore on, a soft knock echoed through the queen’s chambers. Lira, holding Ashar in her arms, opened the door to find a trusted elven courier standing in the doorway, a sealed letter in hand.

The courier bowed low, offering the letter with great reverence. “A message from Eirathal Vale, Your Majesty.”

Lira took the letter with a nod of thanks and turned back to her chambers. With Ashar nestled against her, she slowly unsealed the letter. Her fingers traced the elegant elvish script as her eyes scanned the message.

A small, tender smile curved her lips. “So, the stars bring forth two under the same sky,” she murmured softly to herself.

Ashar’s gaze flicked up at his mother’s face, his own features unreadable. He didn’t yet understand the significance, but the feeling of change settled in his chest—quiet, yet undeniable.

In the stillness of the room, the weight of what had just been revealed hung in the air.

The letter was clear—a daughter was born in Eirathal Vale. Aelira Sylvaine, the heir to the Sylvaine Dynasty.

---

End of Chapter 4