The sun bled gold over the crumbling rooftops of Eastmere.
The slums—crowded, cracked, and forgotten—stretched like an old, torn blanket beneath the towering white walls of the royal palace.

Eren wiped the sweat from his brow, hammering another rusted nail into the bent wood. His fingers were blistered, his clothes stitched with more patches than original fabric. But when he smiled, it was real. It was the smile of someone who had nothing... yet still found beauty in the day’s end.

He sat back on his heels, staring upward.
Above him, past the gray smoke and crooked chimneys, the royal spires pierced the sky like needles. The palace was so close, yet it may as well have been another world. Behind those white stone walls lived the nobles, their silk-draped daughters, and the King himself—people who had never set foot in the muddy streets of Eastmere.

People like her.

He had never seen her up close.
Only once, two years ago, from a distance.
A carriage rolling past, four white horses galloping ahead, gold-threaded banners trailing in the wind.
Inside the carriage window: a glimpse of a girl with hair the color of morning sun and eyes too sad for someone so dressed in jewels.

That moment stayed with him. It lived in the back of his mind, like a dream you try to forget but can’t.
Eren didn't know her name. He didn't know her voice.
But sometimes, at night, when the stars looked down kindly on Eastmere, he wondered what it would be like to meet her... to speak her name aloud... to be seen, even once, by someone like her.

A bell rang sharply in the distance.
The bakery was closing.
Eren stood, brushing dust from his worn trousers. He slung the day's leftover loaves into a burlap sack, slung it over his shoulder, and began the long walk toward the kitchens that supplied the palace guards.

The streets of Eastmere were alive with voices — shouting merchants, laughing children, haggling women — but beneath it all hummed something else.
A low, restless murmur.
The people were growing tired. Tired of hunger. Tired of empty promises. Tired of bowing to a crown that only weighed heavier with each passing year.

Eren knew it. Everyone knew it.
Even the King, sitting high in his marble tower, must have felt the ground starting to shake beneath his feet.

Tonight would be just another delivery.
Another quiet glance through the palace gates.
Another day of pretending he was invisible.

He didn’t know that tonight would change everything.

That tonight, destiny itself would brush past him — soft as a whisper, sharp as a blade — and that everything he thought he knew about his place in the world would fall apart.

It all began with a loaf of bread.
And a girl who wasn't supposed to be there.

The Weight of Dreams

The sun dipped lower, casting long, golden shadows across the crooked streets of Eastmere. Dust rose with every step Eren took, swirling like tiny ghosts in the dying light. The clatter of carts, the shouting of merchants, and the laughter of street children wove together into a chaotic symphony of life — a life he knew all too well.

Eren wiped the sweat from his brow and shifted the basket of bread on his shoulder. The warmth from the loaves seeped through the cloth, but it did little to ease the heaviness in his chest.
Today wasn’t just another delivery.
Today, he was to cross the Inner Gate — a place forbidden to most Heartlanders. A rare privilege granted only to a few trusted suppliers. His father’s bakery had earned that trust over decades of loyalty and silent obedience.

As he neared the white-stone bridge leading toward the palace walls, the city began to change. The air grew cleaner, the streets wider, the noise softer — as if the city itself bowed in reverence to the looming fortress of power ahead.

Guards in polished armor lined the road, their faces hidden beneath metal helmets, eyes cold and unfeeling. Eren kept his gaze down, just as he had been taught. Do not look at them. Do not speak unless spoken to. Deliver the bread. Leave.
Simple rules. Rules that kept him safe.

Yet, as he crossed the bridge and glimpsed the massive gates of Aeloria Palace, a strange feeling stirred in him — a dangerous, unspoken yearning.
Not for gold.
Not for titles.
But for something even more precious.

Freedom.

He wanted to be more than just a nameless face in the crowd. More than just another laborer destined to live and die in the gutter.
He wanted to matter.

The palace was unlike anything he had ever seen. Towers of ivory rose into the heavens, crowned with banners bearing the royal sigil: a silver hawk soaring above a crimson sun. Marble statues lined the garden paths, their stone eyes forever watching. The scent of roses and lilacs perfumed the air, carried on soft breezes that never reached the slums.

Eren was nothing more than a shadow moving through this splendor. A delivery boy, invisible and unimportant.

At least, that was what he believed.

Until he saw her.

Across the courtyard, beyond the sparkling fountains and the columns of carved jade, a girl stood alone.

She was dressed in flowing robes of white and gold, her hair a river of sunlight cascading down her back.
Princess Liora Darian.

Eren froze mid-step, the basket slipping slightly from his shoulder.

She wasn’t surrounded by ladies-in-waiting. No guards hovered at her side. She stood there quietly, gazing out at the setting sun, as if she were searching for something beyond the horizon. There was a sadness to her stance, a fragile loneliness that no royal gown could disguise.

For a moment, the world around Eren faded — the palace, the guards, even the weight of the bread he carried.

All he saw was her.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, Liora turned.
Their eyes met.

It was not a dramatic moment, not the kind sung about by poets.
No trumpets blared. No angels wept.

It was quiet.
Simple.
Real.

Eren quickly dropped his gaze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He had no right to look at her. No right even to exist in the same space. Fear clenched his stomach like a fist. If any of the guards noticed, if they thought he had been disrespectful, punishment would be swift and brutal.

But even as he forced himself to move, to resume his path toward the kitchens, he could still feel her gaze lingering on him — gentle, curious, and impossibly far away.

He didn’t dare look back. He couldn't.

And yet, a seed had been planted in that single stolen glance.
A seed that would grow into a love both beautiful and tragic — a love that would defy the world.

The palace kitchen was a hive of activity, cooks barking orders, maids rushing to and fro with trays of food and pots of boiling stew. Eren placed the bread carefully on the stone counter, nodding respectfully to the head chef before turning to leave.

As he made his way back through the courtyard, a soft voice called out behind him.

"Wait."

He stopped, every instinct screaming at him to keep walking. Yet something stronger — something reckless and foolish — made him turn.

There she was.
Princess Liora, standing barely a dozen paces away, holding the hem of her gown with delicate fingers as she approached.

The guards at the perimeter watched but did not move.
Perhaps even they understood that the whims of royalty were not to be questioned.

"You’re... the baker’s son, aren’t you?"
Her voice was like music, gentle but tinged with sadness.

Eren bowed his head low. "Yes, Your Highness."

A soft laugh escaped her lips — a sound like bells on a winter morning.
"Do you have a name?"

He hesitated, unsure if it was proper to answer. "Eren, Your Highness."

"Eren." She repeated it thoughtfully, as if testing how it felt on her tongue. "It’s a good name."

He said nothing, afraid that speaking might somehow shatter this impossible moment.

For a few heartbeats, they stood in silence, the world holding its breath around them.

Then, with a smile so fleeting he almost doubted he had seen it, Liora turned and walked away, disappearing into the marble labyrinth of the palace.

Eren stood frozen, the echo of her voice lingering in the air.

He should have been terrified. He should have forgotten her immediately, as any commoner with sense would have done.

But he didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Instead, he looked up at the towering walls of the palace and, for the first time in his life, he dared to dream of a world beyond them.

A world where love wasn’t bound by birth.
A world where he could stand beside her, not as a servant, but as an equal.

It was a foolish dream.

But it was his.

And it had begun.

The First Threads of Fate

The world outside the palace gates had long since surrendered to twilight. Oil lanterns sputtered to life along the narrow alleys of Eastmere, casting trembling pools of light onto the uneven stones. In the slums, laughter mingled with sorrow, and dreams were as fleeting as the rising mist.

But for Eren, the world had changed forever.

He wandered home through the crooked streets in a daze, the basket empty at his side, his heart unbearably full. Every sound — every smell, every sight — felt sharper, brighter, as if life itself had shifted its shape.

Her voice still echoed in his mind.
"Do you have a name?"

It was such a small thing. A few words, a glance, a smile. Yet it had cracked open something inside him that could never be sealed again.

When he reached his home — a small, crumbling house wedged between a tannery and an alehouse — the familiar creak of the door brought him back to earth. His father, a stout man with flour-dusted hands and kind eyes, looked up from where he was kneading dough.

"You're late," his father said, not unkindly.

"Sorry," Eren mumbled, setting down the empty basket.

"You get lost in the palace gardens?" his father teased, chuckling.

Eren forced a smile, but his mind was elsewhere. He didn't dare tell his father what had happened.
Not because he didn’t trust him — but because he understood instinctively that what had passed between him and the princess was dangerous.
Sacred.

Something too precious to speak of casually.

Instead, he helped shape the loaves for the morning’s baking, his hands working automatically while his thoughts soared far beyond the soot-stained windows.

He thought of her — of Princess Liora — standing alone among the roses, her eyes heavy with dreams she dared not voice.
Was she happy behind those palace walls?
Did she ever wish, like him, to be free?

Questions without answers gnawed at his heart.

Meanwhile, within the gleaming corridors of Aeloria Palace, Princess Liora sat by the window of her private chambers, staring out at the stars that had begun to pierce the night sky.

Her lady-in-waiting, a soft-spoken girl named Mira, bustled around, preparing the princess’s gowns for the next day's council banquet. Yet Liora barely noticed.

She was thinking about the boy.
The boy with the unruly brown hair and the solemn, honest eyes.

So many nobles passed through these halls — princes in silk tunics, lords dripping in jewels — yet none of them had ever looked at her the way he had. Not with greed. Not with ambition.
But with something pure. Something real.

For a fleeting moment, she had been seen — not as a symbol, not as a bargaining chip, but as a girl. Just a girl.

A soft knock sounded at her door.

"Come," she called.

An elderly servant entered, bowing low. "Your Highness, your father, King Aldren, wishes to see you in the East Wing library."

Liora’s heart tightened.
The East Wing was reserved for private meetings — ones not meant for courtly eyes.

"I will come at once," she said, rising gracefully.

As she followed the servant down the echoing halls, her mind raced.
Had someone seen her speaking to the commoner boy?
Had she already crossed an invisible line she didn’t even know existed?

The palace was a web of rules and secrets, and even a single misstep could have consequences far beyond her understanding.

In the East Wing, King Aldren stood by the vast library window, his hands clasped behind his back. The room smelled of old parchment, sandalwood, and authority.

He turned as she entered, his gaze stern but not unkind.

"Liora," he said. "You are soon to be of age. It is time we speak of your future."

She bowed her head respectfully. "Yes, Father."

"There are many offers for your hand," he continued, his voice measured. "Princes from neighboring realms. Dukes. Even the son of the High Chancellor."
He smiled faintly. "All powerful men. Men who could strengthen our kingdom’s alliances."

Liora swallowed hard. The words fell on her like cold rain. She had always known this day would come — the day her heart would be weighed and bartered like a sack of grain.
Yet knowing did not make it easier.

"I understand, Father," she whispered.

King Aldren stepped closer, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Good. You are a princess of Aeloria. Your duty is to the realm."

She nodded again, but inside, a silent scream rose.

What about my duty to myself?

Back in the slums, under a leaking roof and a threadbare blanket, Eren lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling.

Tomorrow would be just another day.
Bread to bake. Deliveries to make. Mouths to feed.

And yet, everything had changed.

He had seen her.
Spoken to her.
Dreamed of something more.

A dangerous thought crept into his mind, wild and impossible.

What if... somehow... their paths could cross again?

What if fate had brought them together for a reason?

It was foolishness. Madness.
And yet, in the quiet darkness, Eren dared to believe in it.

For the first time in his life, he did not curse the dawn.
He longed for it.

He longed for her.

Whispers in the Garden

The palace gardens were a world of their own — a place of blooming roses, singing fountains, and secret pathways hidden beneath canopies of emerald leaves.
Few dared to wander them alone, for the royal guards patrolled the grounds relentlessly.

But sometimes... fate is a better guide than fear.

Eren did not know what madness drove him back to the Inner Gate two days later.
He had no official reason to return — the bread had already been delivered, and his father had assigned him to help clean the ovens at the bakery.

Yet he found himself standing near the white-stone bridge once more, heart pounding, palms sweaty, staring up at the towering gates.

What am I doing? he thought desperately.
She’s a princess. I’m... nothing.

The sensible part of him begged him to turn around.
But the other part — the reckless, dreaming part — urged him forward.

A rustle of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts.

Two guards were approaching from the side, their armor clinking softly in the cool morning air.

Eren lowered his head, stepping back into the shadow of an archway, heart hammering so loudly he feared they would hear it.

But the guards merely passed by, deep in conversation, and Eren’s breath escaped in a shaky gust.

He turned to leave — when a soft voice stopped him.

"You came back."

Eren spun around, his eyes wide.