The North and South had long been entangled in a ceaseless conflict, their enmity etched deep into the bones of history. The annals of Akaaria commenced with war, and it seemed destined to conclude the same way. Arhalt, the southern realm, was nestled in tranquillity, occasionally faced insurrections, but it was a land of relative peace.
In stark contrast stood Ardan, the northern realm – a land of wild extremes. There, monstrous creatures roamed untamed, and only the mightiest could claim the throne. Power was inherited, but it was also seized. This was the way of the Ardans – unyielding, brutal and unchanged for generations. Ambition burned in their blood. The Ardans had always hungered for more – more land, more power, more dominion.
Time and again, they launched their invasions into Arhalt, bringing with them the fearsome monsters, bent to their will. They came to conquer, to plunder, to abduct and destroy. Their goal was singular: to crush the South and forge a united realm under their iron rule.
Yet, not all history was written in blood. Nearly three centuries prior, a rare peace blossomed. King Benicius of Ardan and King Adaliro of Arhalt ruled not as enemies, but as allies – perhaps even as friends. Every year, in the summer, the monarchs hosted a grand gathering, open to every citizen of Akaaria, regardless of allegiance. It was a celebration of unity, held beneath the open sky.
Chairs lined the fields, flowers of every hue adorned the grounds, and music filled the air – brass and strings weaving melodies that mirrored the joy in the atmosphere. By day, laughter rang out as strangers shared food, drink, and stories. Some debated philosophy beneath the shade of trees, while others spoke of simple things—weather, crops, the mischief of children, but all letting their worries drift away like smoke from their cigars.
When night fell, golden bulbs lit the gathering in a warm, gentle glow. Royals, nobles and villagers alike, emboldened by wine and the rare magic of peace, plucked up the courage to dance together beneath the stars. For one night each year, the people of Arhalt and Ardan forgot the wars, the losses, the scars. They saw each other not as enemies, but as people.
It was, indeed, a brilliant strategy – uniting the kingdoms not through treaties, but through shared joy beneath the rare warmth of May's sun. For the Ardans, starved of sunlight most of the year, it was a gift; for the Arhaltians, a gesture of peace. Games, music, and laughter softened old grudges, if only for a day. Bonds were formed over wine and dance, and for a fleeting moment, war felt like a distant memory. It was diplomacy wrapped in celebration; fragile, but powerful.
However, during the long months that followed, the commoners languished – thin, weary, and forgotten. Hunger gnawed at their bellies, and thirst cracked their lips, while the fruits of their labor –harvests they had planted, watered, and protected with their last ounce of strength– were carted away to fill royal feasts. The monarchs dined beneath golden chandeliers, their tables overflowing with wine and delicacies, never once glancing toward the villages that fed them. And yet, the people did not rise, did not rebel. Instead, they bowed their heads in gratitude, clinging to the memory of that single night of celebration. One night of music, of laughter, of dancing under lantern light, offered like a crumb from a banquet. It was enough, they told themselves. Enough to forget the cold, the hunger, the silence of their suffering. Enough to believe, if only for a moment, that they were seen.
For many years, the system worked. This delicate equilibrium endured: trade flourished, economies grew, and the people of both kingdoms, North and South, found a rhythm of coexistence. The annual summer gathering, bathed in the rare warmth of May's sun, offered a fleeting illusion of unity. Beneath lantern light and shared laughter, the scars of war seemed to fade, if only for a night.
