Aruna of Nowhere (Yrsoreth Chronicles 3)

◖𖤓◗ Prologue

-ˋˏ ༻◖𖤓◗༺ ˎˊ-

A man was standing on the balcony of his palace, overlooking the capital of his domain, filled with lights and cheers echoing throughout the ninth hour of the evening. One would look at the man's back with admiration, piety, or worship.

After all, it was now his era.

Giovanni Ormanov has finally ruled Syl Sulivar, including the city-state alliance.

The once warring land of the continent has been united under his iron hands. Its deserts that once shed blood, its skies, and its people.

It has been almost a century, and now, the empire of mostly sand, rocks, and butterflies has finally risen as one again.

Yet, he was not watching the twinkle of lights in the capital or was he listening to the praises of his nobles and their music in the great ballroom just beyond the hallway behind him.

He was looking at the twin moons, more so on the one that seemed to shine less than the other.

He was listening to the silence in between, waiting, that it might be filled by a peal of laughter that would never come. He always waited, for years, but he never heard it again. The garden below him was filled with flowers and butterflies, yet it seemed empty.

There was no one dancing on the grass by the tiptoes, wavy black hair swaying in the night breeze, and a faded yellow gown dancing along with the wearer. No one would pause and wave at him, with a clumsy curtsy and a greeting:

"Good evening, my Sunbeam."

If only he waved back, even once. If only he listened to her tattles about crops, wishes, and the beauty of butterflies in summer.

If only he looked back and watched her follow his steps like it was the only ground she could walk on.

If only he held her hand, and danced with her in silence with only their footsteps and her giggles.

She always told him he was her sun, yet, he never told her she was his moon.

Now, this emperor could never tell her, even once.

"My, my. Look at you, doing worse than the other one I know."

He was already pointing his sword to his left where the voice came from but found a space in the dimly lit balcony.

"More tragic, I say."

Giovanni swung the sword behind him, only to stop at the image of a woman, regally sitting by the ledge on the right, a tea in her hand. "Who are you?"

The woman sipped her cup and returned to the saucer with a frown. "Oh dear, at least the once bastard prince did not point a sword at me. If I'm to be disrespected as a noble, I should have been a maid, or gardener again."

Giovanni's mind raced, cautious that the woman in her fiery red gown might be an assassin. Or it could be another noble, aiming a shot at the empty seat of the empress. How did she even pass the guards and remain unnoticed, staring at him through her monocle condescendingly?

Yet, despite his vigilance, he was rather calm, alert yet unthreatened.

He found himself returning the sword to his scabbard. "Good evening, my lady. It seems you are lost. The ball is beyond the hall."

"Believe me, I am right where I should be," she said. "If one is lost, that is you."

The woman left her balcony seat and placed the tea on the surface. As she stepped into the light, only then Giovanni clearly caught the features of her face. Red hair tied to a clean knot atop her head, almost flaming from the moonlight and the spirit stone lamps, fiercer than the red of her gown.