The first sound of morning in Stoneheart was always the same: the low, steady hum of wind moving through the canyon pillars.

  It was a sound that belonged to Reggad alone—a deep, resonant breath shaped by stone and silence.

  Manomi Itsuki stood barefoot on the training terrace behind his family’s home, the canyon air cool against his skin. The stone beneath him was smooth from generations of footsteps, polished by discipline rather than time.

  Above him, Em’Pelo hung pale in the early sky, the faint outline of the colossal dragon curled around the moon like a guardian carved from light.

  Manomi didn’t stare. Reggadians rarely did. The Day Bearer had watched them since before Reggad had a name.

  “Again,” Pol Earm said.

  His voice was gravel—rough, steady, unyielding.

  Manomi lifted the practice staff. It was heavier than it looked, carved from Reggadian ironwood, dense enough to bruise stone. He shifted his stance, feet grounded, breath controlled.

  Pol circled him like a slow-moving boulder.

  “Your weight is too far forward,” he said. “You’re leaning into the strike. Stone does not lean. Stone stands.”

  Manomi adjusted without argument.

  He rarely argued.He rarely needed to.

  At ten years old, he moved with a discipline most adults struggled to maintain. His dark green dreadlocks brushed his shoulders as he pivoted, eyes steady, expression calm.

  He struck.

  The staff cracked against Pol’s with a sharp, ringing note that echoed through the canyon.

  “Better,” Pol said, though his tone made it clear he expected more.

  Manomi reset his stance.

  He always reset.He always tried again.

  That was the Reggadian way.

  Someone was watching.

  Manomi felt it before he saw it—the faint prickle of attention, the shift in the air behind him. He didn’t turn. Pol had taught him not to break focus.

  But he knew.

  Hiram.

  His older brother stood at the edge of the terrace, half-hidden in the shadow of the canyon wall. Silver-tinted hair catching the morning light. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable.

  He resembled their mother more than their father—lighter build, sharper features, eyes that revealed too much when he wasn’t careful.

  This morning, they revealed nothing.

  Pol noticed him too. His stance shifted, just slightly, becoming more formal.

  “Hiram,” Pol said without looking. “You’re awake early.”

  Hiram didn’t answer.

  He rarely did when Manomi was present.

  Pol’s jaw tightened. “You’re welcome to join.”

  Still no response.

  Manomi kept his eyes forward, but he felt the weight of Hiram’s gaze like a stone pressing between his shoulder blades.

  Jealousy was not a Reggadian trait .But Hiram carried it like a second spine.

  Pol exhaled through his nose. “Again, Manomi.”

  Manomi struck.

  The staff met Pol’s with a crack that sent a tremor up his arms. He absorbed it, grounded it, reset.

  Hiram watched a moment longer, then turned and walked away, footsteps silent on the stone.

  Pol didn’t comment .Manomi didn’t ask.

  In Reggad, silence often said more than words.

  By the time training ended, the canyon had warmed with the first touch of sunlight. Stoneheart was waking—slowly, deliberately, as all things in Reggad did.

  Manomi entered the house through the side door, wiping sweat from his brow. The interior was carved directly into the canyon wall: smooth stone floors, reinforced pillars, shelves etched into the walls. Functional. Durable. Built to last.

  His mother, Nomi Itsuki, stood near the central hearth, her silver hair catching the morning light like threads of molten metal. She moved with a quiet grace, her half-elven heritage softening the sharp lines of Reggadian architecture around her.

  “Good morning, Manomi,” she said, voice warm.

  “Morning, Mother.”

  She touched his cheek briefly—a gesture she reserved only for him. Hiram always pulled away from it.

  “You trained early,” she said.

  “Pol wanted to start before the sun rose.”

  Nomi smiled. “Pol always wants to start before the sun rises.”

  From the far side of the room, Relia—Nomi’s attendant—looked up from a stack of correspondence. Calm, efficient, quietly authoritative. She managed the household with the precision of a stoneworker and the intuition of someone who understood politics better than most council members.

  “The council will expect your father soon,” Relia said. “The Day Bearer is already high.”

  Manomi glanced toward the window.

  Em’Pelo glowed pale against the brightening sky, the dragon’s fossilized wings faintly visible around the moon.

  Nomi followed his gaze. “A clear day,” she murmured. “Reggad will be busy.”

  Reggad was always disciplined by day—but lively by night.

  Respectfully so, of course.

  The door to the inner chamber opened, and Mano Itsuki stepped out.

  He filled the doorway.

  Broad-shouldered, powerful, dark green dreadlocks tied back. His presence was like standing near a cliff—solid, immovable, carved from the same stone Reggad revered.

  “Manomi,” he said with a nod. “Training?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Good.”

  Mano’s approval was rare. Manomi felt it like warmth in his chest.

  Hiram entered a moment later, silent, eyes down. Mano’s expression shifted—stern, expectant.

  “Hiram,” he said. “You missed morning drills.”

  Hiram’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  A lie.Everyone knew it.

  Mano’s gaze hardened, but Nomi stepped in gently.

  “He can train later,” she said. “Let him eat first.”

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  Mano exhaled, conceding. “Later, then.”

  Hiram didn’t look at Manomi.He didn’t look at anyone.

  He simply moved to the table and sat, shoulders tight.

  Relia watched him with quiet concern.

  Pol Earm entered through the side door, bowing his head to Mano. “My lord.”

  “Pol,” Mano said. “How was he?”

  Pol glanced at Manomi. “Disciplined. Focused. As always.”

  Hiram’s spoon paused mid-air.

  Manomi felt the shift in the room like a crack forming in stone.

  The knock came mid-meal.

  Three sharp strikes—the pattern used only by lake-ship envoys.

  Mano rose immediately.

  Relia moved to the door, opening it with practiced caution.

  A man stood outside, wrapped in a travel cloak still damp from lake mist. Behind him, the Northern Lakes shimmered through the canyon opening—cold, deep, the only passage between Reggad and the rest of the world.

  The envoy bowed deeply.

  “Lord Itsuki,” he said. “I bring summons from O’Sai.”

  The room stilled.

  Even Hiram looked up.

  O’Sai did not summon lightly.Reggad did not answer lightly.

  Mano took the sealed scroll, breaking the wax with his thumb. His eyes moved across the page, expression tightening with each line.

  Nomi stepped closer. “What is it?”

  Mano lowered the scroll.

  “Kidnappings,” he said. “Across multiple nations. Children. Vanishing without trace.”

  A silence heavier than stone filled the room.

  Pol’s hand drifted toward the hilt of the training blade at his side.

  Relia’s breath caught.

  Hiram’s eyes flicked toward Manomi—a flash of something sharp, unreadable.

  Mano continued.

  “O’Sai requests my presence at a council of nations. Immediately.”

  Nomi’s hand found her mouth.

  Pol straightened. “You intend to go?”

  Mano nodded once. “I must.”

  Manomi felt something shift inside him—a quiet, steady tremor.

  The world beyond Reggad had always been distant. Now it was reaching in.

  And it was reaching for his father.

  The envoy departed with the same quiet efficiency with which he had arrived, his stone?reinforced vessel gliding back toward the Northern Lakes like a dark shape swallowed by mist. The Itsuki household remained still long after the door closed, as if the canyon itself were holding its breath.

  Mano folded the summons and set it on the table.

  “We will speak tonight,” he said.

  It was not a dismissal. It was a verdict.

  Pol Earm bowed his head and excused himself, though his eyes lingered on Manomi with a flicker of concern. Relia gathered the dishes with practiced calm, but her movements were sharper than usual, her mind clearly racing through implications and logistics.

  Nomi touched Mano’s arm. “We’ll prepare.”

  Mano nodded once, the gesture heavy with unspoken weight.

  Hiram rose without a word and left the room.

  Manomi watched him go, a knot forming in his chest. He wanted to follow, to say something—anything—but the words stayed trapped behind his teeth. Reggadians did not chase after silence. They waited for it to return.

  And sometimes, it didn’t.

  By the time the sun dipped behind the canyon walls, Stoneheart had transformed.

  Lanterns flickered to life along the terraces, casting warm gold across the stone. Families gathered in the open squares carved into the canyon’s natural shelves. Musicians tuned stringed instruments whose notes echoed like soft chimes through the narrow passages. Vendors set out trays of roasted herbs, spiced grain cakes, and mountain fruits preserved in honey.

  Reggad was disciplined by day—but at night, it breathed.

  Respectfully. Steadily. Like a nation that understood joy was another form of endurance.

  Manomi walked beside his mother through the evening bustle, the canyon alive with voices and laughter. Nomi greeted neighbors with gentle nods, her silver hair catching lantern light like threads of starlight.

  Relia followed a step behind, carrying a small ledger even now. “The council will expect a statement from Lord Itsuki before he departs,” she murmured to Nomi. “And the northern districts will want reassurance.”

  “They’ll have it,” Nomi said softly. “Mano will speak to them before dawn.”

  Manomi listened, absorbing every word. He always listened. In Reggad, children learned by watching, not asking.

  They passed a group of stoneworkers sharing a meal on a wide terrace. One of them raised a hand in greeting.

  “Lady Itsuki! Will Lord Mano be joining us tonight?”

  Nomi smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not tonight. He has matters to attend.”

  The stoneworker nodded, understanding more than she said.

  Reggadians always did.

  Manomi spotted Hiram standing alone near the edge of a high overlook, the lantern light painting his silver?tinted hair in pale gold. He wasn’t watching the festivities. He was staring south—toward the frozen wasteland no one crossed.

  Toward the dark.

  Manomi hesitated.

  Nomi noticed. “Go to him,” she said gently.

  Manomi approached slowly, footsteps soft on the stone. Hiram didn’t turn.

  “You left quickly this morning,” Manomi said.

  Hiram’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t feel like watching you train.”

  Manomi swallowed. “You could have joined.”

  “I didn’t want to.”

  The words were sharp, but the voice behind them trembled—just slightly.

  Manomi stepped beside him, looking out over the canyon. Em’Pelo was beginning to fade from the sky, its pale form dissolving into the deepening blue. Soon, the Day Bearer’s silhouette would become a constellation, its fossilized wings outlined by stars.

  “You heard what Father said,” Manomi murmured.

  Hiram’s fingers curled against the stone railing. “Everyone heard.”

  “It sounds dangerous.”

  “It is dangerous,” Hiram snapped. “That’s why he’s going. That’s why he always goes.”

  Manomi blinked. “Father doesn’t leave Reggad often.”

  “He doesn’t leave you,” Hiram said, voice low. “That’s the difference.”

  Manomi opened his mouth—then closed it.

  There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make it worse.

  Hiram turned away, disappearing into the crowd before Manomi could follow.

  Night settled fully over Stoneheart.

  The canyon lights glowed like embers scattered across the stone. Music drifted upward, soft and steady. The air carried the scent of roasted herbs and warm grain.

  Above it all, the sky transformed.

  Em’Pelo’s pale moon dimmed, and the colossal dragon’s silhouette sharpened into a constellation—wings, spine, horns outlined in slow?pulsing stars. The moon nestled in its chest glowed faintly, as if held in a cosmic cradle.

  To the south, Dre’Mora rose—a rigid, fossil?like constellation of stone and endurance.

  The Stone Sleeper.

  Manomi tilted his head back, watching both celestial dragons. They felt closer tonight, as if the sky itself were leaning in.

  As if the world were waiting.

  When Manomi returned home, the house was quieter than usual. The hearth glowed softly, casting warm light across the stone walls. Nomi sat at the table, hands folded, expression calm but distant.

  Relia stood beside her, speaking in low tones. “The northern districts will want to know who will oversee the harvest routes. And the council will need clarity on the border patrol rotations.”

  “Mano will decide,” Nomi said. “But we should prepare options.”

  Relia nodded.

  Manomi approached. “Where’s Father?”

  “In his chamber,” Nomi said. “He’s preparing.”

  Preparing.The word felt heavy.

  Manomi hesitated. “May I speak with him?”

  Nomi studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Go.”

  Mano’s chamber was carved deep into the canyon wall, lit by a single lantern and the faint glow of Em’Pelo’s moonlight through a narrow window. He stood at a stone table, reviewing maps and sealed documents.

  He looked up as Manomi entered.

  “Father,” Manomi said quietly.

  Mano set down the scroll. “Come.”

  Manomi stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back the way Pol had taught him.

  “Are you leaving tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Will you be gone long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Manomi nodded, absorbing the uncertainty without flinching. Reggadians did not fear the unknown. They prepared for it.

  Mano watched him for a long moment. “You’re calm.”

  “I’m trying to be.”

  A faint smile touched Mano’s lips. “Your mother’s influence.”

  Manomi hesitated. “I want to go with you.”

  The words left him before he could second?guess them.

  Mano’s expression didn’t change—but something in the air did. A shift. A weight.

  “Manomi,” he said slowly, “the world beyond Reggad is not like this. It is not stone. It is not steady.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t.”

  Manomi lifted his chin. “Then let me learn.”

  Mano exhaled, a sound like stone settling. He turned toward the window, where Em’Pelo’s constellation pulsed faintly.

  “When I was your age,” he said, “I believed strength meant standing still. Holding everything together. Never bending.”

  Manomi listened, heart steady.

  “But the world shifts,” Mano continued. “Even stone must learn to bend.”

  He turned back to his son.

  “You wish to come?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Manomi swallowed. “Because you shouldn’t face danger alone. Because I want to understand the world. Because…”He hesitated.“Because I feel like I should.”

  Mano studied him—really studied him.

  Then he nodded.

  “Very well.”

  Manomi’s breath caught.

  “You will come with me,” Mano said. “But you will listen. You will learn. And you will not act without my command.”

  “I won’t.”

  Mano placed a hand on his shoulder—heavy, warm, grounding.

  “Then prepare yourself. We leave at dawn.”

  Manomi stepped out of the chamber, heart pounding with a mixture of fear and purpose. Nomi looked up from the table, eyes widening slightly when she saw his expression.

  “You spoke with him,” she said.

  Manomi nodded.

  “And?”

  “I’m going.”

  Nomi closed her eyes for a moment, then rose and pulled him into a gentle embrace. “Then I will trust the stone to guide you.”

  Relia bowed her head. “I will prepare supplies.”

  Pol Earm, who had returned quietly, stared at Manomi with a mixture of pride and worry. “I’ll be at your side,” he said. “Wherever you go.”

  From the hallway, unseen, Hiram watched—eyes burning with something sharp and wounded.

  Above Stoneheart, Em’Pelo and Dre’Mora shone together—the Day Bearer and the Stone Sleeper, one holding the world, one anchoring it.

  And beneath their silent gaze, a boy of ten took his first step toward a destiny that would crack the world open.