Author's Preface
Auberon Vaelorian
Auberon finished the strange, tubular food and leaned back against the sofa cushions, a sharp throb echoing from his shoulder. In the royal palace of House Vaelorian, an injury like this would have been cleared in minutes by Gaelon, his chief court healer. Here, in this strange, mana-drained realm, he simply had to endure the raw, stinging ache.
Evelyn excused herself to bathe, leaving him alone in the quiet apartment.
The silence gave his mind space to wander—and with space came the crushing weight of everything that had transpired.
Elden .
Auberon closed his eyes, a spike of agony piercing his chest that had nothing to do with his injury. His most trusted friend. His brother in arms. Betrayed him—for what? The high throne?
Auberon had been a strong ruler. He was fair, and when necessary, he ruled with an iron fist, but under his reign, the High Elven realms had enjoyed an era of prosperity and peace unseen for a millennium. To think that the man who stood beside him through a dozen campaigns had plunged a blade into his back...
He let out a heavy, ragged sigh. What was happening back home right now? It must be an absolute nightmare. The noble houses scrambling, the court in chaos. And his sister, Linrel... he had to pray that Elden hadn't harmed her. He could only count on the hope that Alden and Jeonran had remained loyal to the crown.
A sharp, metallic clatter from the street three floors below made him wince, and he rubbed the tip of his left ear in sharp annoyance.
His sensitive elven hearing was proving to be an absolute headache in this world. The strange metal carriages roaring on the dark stone outside, the rhythmic hum of the cold food-box, the buzz of invisible currents behind the walls—everything in this realm was impossibly loud. Auberon was almost annoyed at how mana-starved this realm felt, nothing like the richness he could feel back home.
Unable to sit still, Auberon stood up, slowly pacing around her small living room. He examined her world with quiet curiosity—fingering the smooth spine of a leather-bound book, marveling at the unnatural clarity of the glass in her windows.
He was standing near the hallway when he heard the sharp click of a lock turning.
Auberon turned around just as Evelyn walked out of the small room, a soft towel wrapped tightly around her body, ending well above her knees, and a second towel twisted around her wet hair.
Auberon's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.
A shock of pure, unadulterated scandal shot through him. He spun on his heel in an instant, turning his back to her so fast he almost pulled his shoulder wound. A deep, burning crimson flush instantly bloomed at the tips of his pointed ears.
"Do you have no shame?!" he blurted out, his deep voice cracking slightly with formal outrage.
Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks, looking at his rigid, back-turned posture in utter confusion. Blushing slightly at his dramatic reaction, she quickly turned and hurried into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
Left alone once more, Auberon cleared his throat loudly, trying desperately to regain his royal composure. His ears still burning bright pink, he reached out and grabbed a random book off her shelf, opening it in front of his face to forcibly distract his mind from what he had just seen.
Evelyn emerged from her bedroom a few minutes later, now fully dressed in a cozy oversized sweater and sweatpants. She looked over at the king of High Elves, who was currently holding a copy of Pride and Prejudice upside down and staring at it with intense, unnatural focus.
"You know," Evelyn said, crossing her arms and fighting back a grin, "for a guy who's been walking around my apartment completely shirtless for twelve hours, you've got a lot of nerve judging my towel etiquette."
Auberon stiffened. He slowly lowered the book, his cheeks still carrying a faint, stubborn flush, though his ears had mercifully returned to their normal pale hue. He set the volume back on the shelf with deliberate, measured precision.
"In House Vaelorian, modesty is a matter of royal decorum," he said stiffly, clearing his throat. "I am... recovering from battle. You were merely flaunting wet cotton."
"Right. Obviously," Evelyn muttered, rolling her eyes. Auberon glanced at her, taking in her newly covered state, before quickly averting his gaze back toward the bookshelf.
"I should bring you clothes," Evelyn said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I'll see if my brother left anything here that could... fit you."
Auberon held his head high, a look of quiet, aristocratic skepticism crossing his features. He knew how vastly different High Elves were from normal Solerion men—or whatever she claimed humans were. He was six-foot-four, with broad shoulders and an athletic frame carved from centuries of martial training. The idea of squeezing into a mortal tailor's simple rags felt almost absurd.
"Unless your brother is a giant among your people, human," Auberon said smoothly, leaning back against the sofa, "I highly doubt his garments will accommodate the shoulders of a Vaelorian warrior."
"Well, your choice is trying his sweatpants or wearing my floral bathrobe," Evelyn retorted over her shoulder as she walked toward her hall closet. "So let's see how much Vaelorian pride you really have."
Auberon watched her step into the narrow hallway, his brows knit in mild exasperation as she pulled open the closet door and began sifting through boxes on the top shelf.
"I have not yet agreed to wear the robes of a mortal gardener," he called after her, his deep voice carrying easily across the small apartment. He paused, realizing something fundamental had been overlooked amidst the chaos of blood, shadow magic, and microwave pasta.
He leaned against the doorway, resting his good shoulder against the frame.
"You know my name, human," Auberon said softly, the harsh edge dropping from his tone. "Yet you have not graced me with yours."
Evelyn stopped mid-reach, a soft grey hoodie in her hands. She turned around to look at him, her lips tilting up in a faint, amused smile.
"It's Evelyn Pierce," she said.
Auberon tested the word on his tongue, his deep voice lingering over the vowels with that smooth, deliberate elven accent. " Evelyn ." He gave a slight, formal tilt of his head. "It is... a soft name. Fitting for a keeper of stories."
"Thanks," Evelyn said, a slight warmth touching her cheeks as she tossed the hoodie and a pair of dark grey joggers at his chest. "And for the record, your highness, my name is a lot easier to say than 'human'."
Auberon caught the clothes effortlessly with his good hand, his dark eyes glittering with a subtle, amused spark as he looked down at the soft cotton garments. "We shall see, Evelyn."
As Auberon unrolled the strange, stretchable mortal trousers to figure out how they worked, his mind drifted to his home thousands of leagues away. Across the fractured boundaries of time, space, and wild mana, the world he left behind was tearing itself apart at the seams.
***
Aethyria: The White Spire of Vaelor
In the grand high-elven territory of Aundil, capital of the Vaelorian crown and the land of light in Aethyria, beneath a sky covered in a permanent, shimmering white and yellowish twilight that sparkled with lingering threads of raw mana, the White Spire stood in oppressive silence.
The air inside the tower was heavy with the scent of jasmine. Banners bearing the golden sun-crest of House Vaelorian hung limp along the soaring marble pillars, shadowed by the dark purple drapes of the newly declared Regency.
At the head of the royal court, atop the steps of the High Seat, sat Elden of House Sylvarin.
House Sylvarin had long stood second in power only to House Vaelorian, forever dwelling in the shadow of Auberon's royal bloodline. Now, Elden wore the dark obsidian armor of the Vanguard, his sharp, angular face bathed in the dim glow of floating mana-globes. His hands rested comfortably on the carved armrests of Auberon's throne.
Before him stood the High Council, along with dozens of terrified court nobles, whisperers, and lower lords.
"The King has fallen," Elden's voice echoed off the vaulted stone ceilings, smooth, heavy, and dripping with rehearsed sorrow. "Ambushed by the wild beasts of the Void Rim during his patrol. I fought by his side until the end, but the dark magic overwhelmed him. His body was lost to the rift."
A collective gasp rippled through the gathered nobility.
At the edge of the dais, standing tightly guarded by four elite Vanguard soldiers, was Linrel, Auberon's younger sister. Her pale silver hair fell around her shoulders in intricate braids. Her sharp, emerald-green eyes burned with a lethal, quietly blazing hatred as she stared up at her brother's former friend.
"Lies," Linrel whispered, her voice piercing through the hushed hall like a drawn blade.
Elden did not flinch. He turned his gaze down toward her, a subtle, cold glint dancing in his eyes.
"Princess Linrel is overcome with grief," Elden declared to the court, his voice smooth with rehearsed sympathy. "Grief has affected her mental state. In times like these, she needs someone to act as her guardian. She will be looked after in the Maiden's Tower, kept safe from herself, until she is... herself again."
"What? You cannot do that! I have a say in court!" Linrel protested, stepping sharply forward against the spear-shafts holding her back. "Auberon was the strongest ruler in Aethyria! He would not fall on the Rim! Where are Alden and Jeonran? Why are his true commanders not in this hall?!"
Elden did not flinch. He slowly turned his cold, calculating gaze down toward her.
"You see?" he said gently, spreading his hands toward the court, as if the outburst proved his point. "Grief speaks for her. Take her to the tower, where she can rest."
He stepped down the marble stairs and stopped just inches from her. Leaning down, he whispered in a voice so low only she could hear:
" Your brother is dead, little princess. House Sylvarin takes the seat today. Be quiet, or you will join him in whatever void he crawled into ."
***
Outside the grand gates of the White Spire, beneath the violet glow of the twilight sky, two figures clad in intricate silver-and-steel armor stood on high patrol along the palace walls.
Alden and Jeonran, Auberon's most trusted commanders, kept their eyes fixed on the horizon, though neither could focus on their duty. Somewhere below, deep within the Spire, the great court bells tolled once—slow, mournful, marking the Regency's first hour.
Jeonran sighed heavily, resting his gauntleted hand on the hilt of his broadsword. "It is a mess... how could Auberon..."
"Be dead?" Alden spoke the words absentmindedly, his sharp eyes scanning the swirling bands of auroral mana above the court. He shook his head, a cold, dangerous edge entering his tone. "Elden is lying. For sure something happened, but not what he said. Auberon is not here. His presence... I couldn't find it."
Jeonran's heart sank. "There is no way."
"He is not dead, Jeonran," Alden muttered tightly, leaning in so the Vanguard guards patrolling the lower gates couldn't overhear. "If a King of Vaelorian line fell, the bond of Aundil's throne would have shattered completely. Elden is staging a silent coup, and he sent us out to these walls to keep us out of the hall."
Jeonran gripped his sword tighter, looking up at the high window of the Maiden's Tower where Princess Linrel was being taken. The bells tolled again below, and this time neither of them mistook the sound for mourning.
"Then we don't stand down. We find out what the hell happened to Auberon... and we tear down anyone standing in the way of the crown."
"Then let's move now," Jeonran said, already turning toward the gate. "Before they double the guard on that tower."
Alden's hand closed over his arm. "Not yet — moving now will draw Elden's attention. I do not want him to suspect that we suspect him."
Jeonran's jaw tightened, but he didn't pull away. "So we wait. While she sits in there."
"If I am right about him, he will let her out soon, so nobody suspects his motives. We will seize the opportunity when he does." Alden's eyes hadn't left the tower window. "Elden is careful. We will have to be more careful than he is."