Dawn broke over the plains like a hesitant promise.

  Mist clung to the low grasses, silver in the first light, and the sound of Velmoura’s bells still lingered faintly on the wind, like something keeping time with a heartbeat not its own.

  From the crest of the silver hills, Velmoura unfurled like a tapestry woven from gold and white silk, dazzling even beneath the veil of dawn. The city ascended in tiers, wrapped in curved ivory walls and lattices of flowering stone. The sun struck the opal-inlaid towers and danced down the cascading rooftops, illuminating banners embroidered with the royal house’s sigil: a silver sun flanked by three feathered wings trailing starlight.

  Velmoura, the Crowned Bastion. Where opulence met order. Where memory of the old magic was not whispered in firelight, but controlled.

  Lili squinted into the light, shading her eyes. “Ugh. I can already smell the arrogance.”

  Kegan smirked beside her. “You’ll get used to it. Eventually. Or you’ll throw someone off a balcony.”

  “Why not both?” she mused.

  Ymir said nothing, but he stood a bit straighter. His gaze remained fixed on the city, his brows furrowed. The capital meant something more to him, had meant something more, once. But time and Rift-choked memory made it feel like a dream revisited, the edges too sharp to be real.

  Aurora touched his arm gently. “You alright?”

  “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I think I used to belong here. I know that I used to live here; I remember my family. It’s all hazy.”

  The wind carried the distant hum of city bells, the scent of incense, and rain-polished stone.

  “Belong?” Lili asked softly. “That sounds like something people say before they start regretting it.”

  Ymir’s gaze stayed fixed on the city walls. “It’s strange. My heart knows this place, but my mind doesn’t. Every tower feels familiar and wrong at the same time.”

  Kegan gave a low hum. “That’s the Rift talking. It likes to twist memories, turn homes into mirrors.”

  Aurora’s fingers tightened slightly on Ymir’s sleeve. “You don’t have to remember it all. You just have to be here now.”

  He looked at her then, as though grounding himself in her presence. The flicker of unease in his eyes softened. “You make that sound easy.”

  “It’s not,” she admitted. “But it’s better than being lost.”

  Alora moved ahead, her silver hair catching the light like flowing steel. “This place is a nightmare. You could get lost just walking down the main road.”

  Aurora turned to the group, “I know it’s different than where you and Lili grew up. Big cities can seem overwhelming at first. Don’t worry, we won't be here long.”

  As they approached the outer gate, spice and smoke filled the air.

  The Market Ring wrapped around the city’s base tier in a great half-moon of noise and color. Stalls spilled over cobbled streets, hawking everything from dyed silks to fire fruit wine. The clatter of horseshoes, the crackle of oil frying batter, and the cry of seagulls and street musicians filled the air in a tangled cacophony of life.

  Aurora was overwhelmed by the scent of cardamom, cloves, and rosewater. Lili gagged theatrically beside a perfume shop.

  “Smells like a grandmother’s tomb in there.”

  They passed vendors selling animated illusion-scrolls, floating candles, glowing gems shaped like beasts, and bread that sang lullabies to children. Magic here was fashion. The highest of nobility cultivated the flashiest mundane spells. Simple trinkets and wards.

  Nothing like the wild and solemn rituals of the outerlands.

  “They forgot what magic feels like,” Alora whispered. “It’s just performance here.”

  “Certain magic is forbidden in the city. This is more of a convenience to life.” Kegan gestured to a stall selling amulets that would change a person's hair color or facial features.

  As they passed through the first checkpoint gate, separating the lower markets from the higher nobles. Two royal guards stood rigidly beside a wrought-iron gate, their armor shining with a blinding luster.

  One glanced at Aurora’s traveling cloak and wrinkled his nose.

  “Outlanders?”

  Kegan stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. “We seek an audience. With King Valerius.”

  The guards exchanged glances; one snorted.

  “And I seek a crown made of marsh berries. Good luck with that.”

  Alora’s eyes flared with restrained ire, but Aurora laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t. Not yet.”

  “We would like to be put on the list for an audience. We come from the Academy. Please.” Aurora spoke softly to the guard, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

  The guard grunted and moved to the side, granting them access through the gate.

  They moved into the inner ring, where streets widened into marble walkways, and the market’s noise gave way to murmured conversations and the clink of crystal goblets on silver trays.

  Nobles in floating carriages and walking-glass suits strolled past without glancing at them, talking amongst themselves in groups or pairings.

  A child pointed at Lili’s braid of wild ivy and giggled before being scolded by a pale-skinned attendant in blue velvet.

  They passed the tavern at the curve of the upper promenade, where the stone streets widened, and the lesser shops gave way to polished fa?ades and imported marble.

  Its exterior was all pale limestone and dark-veined columns, the architecture clean and deliberate, no gaudy banners, no hanging tankards carved into wood. Wealth is advertised like a child showing off a new toy. Lili stopped for a moment to look up at the establishment in awe.

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  A wide terrace spilled out onto the boulevard, elevated by three shallow steps of white marble. The railing was wrought iron shaped into curling vines tipped with gilded leaves. Silk awnings in deep burgundy stretched overhead, trimmed in gold thread that caught the afternoon sun.

  Tables were set outside despite the threat of rain.

  Not rough-hewn boards, but circular slabs of polished obsidian veined faintly with silver. Crystal decanters caught the light like captured stars. Silver platters gleamed beneath carefully arranged delicacies: thin-sliced cured meats draped like silk; wedges of imported cheeses marbled with blue and gold; sugared figs split open to reveal ruby interiors; oysters resting on beds of crushed ice that had not yet melted.

  Steam rose gently from porcelain bowls of saffron stew. Honeyed wine shimmered in tall glasses etched with family crests.

  Nobles reclined in tailored coats and embroidered gowns, gloved fingers lifting goblets with practiced elegance. Jewels flashed at throats and wrists. Conversation flowed in low, confident tones.

  A pair of attendants moved quietly between tables, dressed in charcoal and ivory, refilling glasses before they were emptied, clearing plates before crumbs could scatter.

  Even the scent was curated, roasted herbs, citrus peel, aged wine, and the faint sweetness of imported incense curling from brass braziers near the railing.

  Laughter drifted outward. As the group walked past, one noblewoman glanced up from beneath a wide-brimmed hat adorned with peacock feathers. Her eyes skimmed over them, assessing, dismissing, curious for only a heartbeat before returning to her wine.

  Behind the terrace, tall windows reflected the street like dark mirrors. Inside, chandeliers glittered through the high windows, adorned with thick purple curtains.

  The group continued to walk along the marble path, glancing at the similar buildings.

  “You really lived here, Aurora?” Lili asked in a small and impressed voice.

  “Yes, my family home is in the Northern district on the left. It’s not as impressive as it seems.” Aurora said, side-stepping a noble who couldn’t be bothered to step around the group, instead walking right through them. Aurora gave him a disapproving look and continued walking.

  At the center of Velmoura, rising above terraced gardens and moonstone fountains, stood the Royal Spire, the palace of King Valerius Vorn Halrixos. Its archways soared into the clouds, and its windows glowed with refracted starlight instead of torches. Its gates bore the sigils of every noble house, except those from the Outlands.

  “We’re not welcome here,” Ymir said, low and certain.

  “That’s never stopped us before,” Alora replied.

  They reached the palace courtyard just as another caravan of merchants was being waved through, ornate, jeweled, glittering.

  When they approached, a group of four guards stood there. The guards crossed their pikes and did not smile as the group approached.

  “State your name and petition,” the taller one barked.

  Kegan stepped forward.

  “We come from the fractured edge. The Veil has stirred. The Rift is bleeding. We bear word of the ancient threat.”

  The guards didn’t move.

  “Petitions from Outlands are submitted in written form to the Citadel Chamber. His Majesty does not receive non-endorsed visitors.”

  Lili stepped forward, arms crossed. “Is that before or after the world burns?”

  The main guard scowled.

  “Your threats mean nothing. Return to your land, witch. The capital is under no threat.”

  “Witch?! Good sir, I will have you know that witches are not a thing in the Deep woods. I am a druid, and I speak for the land.” Lili huffed in annoyance.

  “I don’t think he meant witch in the literal sense, Lili.” Kegan scowled at the guard.

  Ymir bristled, but Aurora caught his wrist before he could speak.

  Alora narrowed her eyes at the guards. “The last time a king ignored the Veil, a kingdom almost died.”

  “And yet the spire still stands,” another replied. “Your tales are old. We live now.”

  They turned away. The gates began to close as the guards stood in front of their posts.

  Aurora stepped forward, voice calm, but filled with authority that hadn’t been there before.

  “Then tell your king that Aurora of house Elaria stands at his gates. With the Seeker of Souls. Along with the Veil-borne Sovereign, with the man he left behind in the Rift, a high druid priestess of the grove. Surely he would not wish to insult customs older than his reign. By the Third Clause of the Accord of Elarion,” Aurora declared, her voice clear despite the wind, “we invoke the Right of Assembly, granted to emissaries of the outer provinces bearing grave tidings or omens.”

  The guards paused. Eyes narrowing. They looked again, truly annoyed, and something in their posture shifted.

  “Wait here.”

  One disappeared into the tower beyond the gate. The others kept their weapons ready.

  Aurora exhaled. “It’s a start.”

  Kegan folded his arms, watching the light climb the spire above.

  “He may not want to see us.”

  “Then we’ll make sure he has to,” Aurora stated flatly.

  The wait stretched like a blade between ribs. They watched the sun change positions in the sky, shadows forming around buildings, letting them know half a day had gone by.

  The guards didn’t speak again. One yawned. Another tapped his fingers on the haft of his spear. Their silence was dismissive. Half watching as the group paced around, waiting for word.

  That made it worse. Ymir paced at the edge of the courtyard, one hand wrapped around the hilt of his spear, the other twitching restlessly.

  “He won’t see us.” He grumbled.

  “He will,” Aurora said, voice low. “He has to. I stated the Accord, by the law, if he denies us a meeting, the council has the right to vote the next king.”

  Alora sat on the marble steps, flicking a piece of dirt off her cloak.

  “It’s not just him,” she muttered. “It’s all of them. The council. The scholars. The bloodlines. This city was built to ignore anything it doesn’t like.”

  Lili sprawled across a sun-warmed bench, arms folded behind her head.

  “Then we give them something they can’t ignore. I can call the animals in the city. Maybe an army of rats marching on that pretty gate.” She smirked. “Or set a tree on fire in the throne room. I have options.”

  Kegan stood near the fountain, his eyes fixed on the spire’s highest tower.

  “The king remembers me. That might be the only thing that gets us in.”

  “You know the King? How is that possible?” Lili looked over at Kegan.

  “When he first was crowned, I may have shown up and demanded some things. I warned him of the rift and what would happen should he ignore it. He didn’t take too kindly to it.”

  “You enjoy pissing people off bone man” Lili chuckled.

  “Not necessarily, but I did greatly enjoy watching him get red in the face while I flirted with his young wife.”

  “Kegan! You didn’t. " Aurora laughed.

  “The wine flowed like a river during the celebration. I hadn’t tasted royal wine in a long time. It tends to go to my head.”

  Just as Aurora was about to speak again, the gates opened.

  A tall, thin man in gold-thread robes stepped out, flanked by two guards in navy and silver. He walked with the rigid grace of someone used to giving orders that were never questioned.

  His gaze swept over them with a politician’s precision.

  “Aurora of house Elaria. Alora of Noctaire. Lili DeepVine of the Grove. And Kegan of the First Flame.” He hesitated. “We did not expect you.”

  “We weren’t planning to be expected,” Lili said brightly. “Just loud.”

  The man gave no reaction.

  “His Royal Majesty has agreed to grant you a temporary audience, under particular conditions. You are not to speak unless addressed. You are to stand beneath the dais, not atop it. And you will not use magic of any kind within the throne hall.” He paused. “For any reason, the courts determine you are a threat, you will be thrown into the dungeon and silenced.”

  “Understood,” Aurora said, her voice hardening. “We are not here for any other reason than to report to his Majesty on the Rift.”

  “We shall see,” the man replied. “Follow me.”