Aurora Silverlight

  Spring in the elven realm didn’t arrive all at once.

  It crept in slowly—through the warmer breeze, the soft hum in the trees, the way the earth seemed to breathe again after months of quiet.

  I moved through the palace corridors, greeted by many servants that rushed through with their important tasks for the day.

  I nodded at them with a graceful smile, reaching a high balcony where I looked just outside to the capital, where the entire town was decorated with beautiful decorations and festivities.

  The festival grounds were already alive, I could see the people moving like shadows from the balcony, the loud noises heard even from here. Strings of pale-green lanterns floated gently above the wide roads for tonight, swaying with the rhythm of the wind. Flowers lined the roads. Laughter and music carried through the air, light and warm like everything else today.

  Same was the inside of the palace, decorated to the best it could for this day.

  The Verdant Moon Festival had begun—technically it would on midnight.

  It always did something to the city—softened it. I took a breath, breathing in the air that felt fresher today, remembering about the festival last year.

  It was the day when even the guards relaxed. Children ran barefoot through the grass with flower paint on their cheeks. Shopkeepers handed out sweet fruit wrapped in fresh leaves. For a while, everything felt...simple.

  I opened my eyes, looking at the setting sun outside, the gold-orange hue cast across the capital seemed to add more charm to the display.

  And today, it was also my birthday.

  I’d never asked the people to celebrate it. I never reminded them. But I didn’t need to. I was born on the eve of this festival—so every year, when the festival came, so did the flowers. The songs. The smiles. All of it was tied to me, somehow.

  I should’ve felt happy. And maybe a part of me was.

  But another part of me felt distant, like I was watching from somewhere else.

  I looked across the clearing, past the crowd in the garden. There, under one of the larger trees, stood someone I knew too well.

  Shun. He was alone. He seemed like a statue who didn’t moved once, looking around listlessly.

  He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking slightly out of place in the middle of the decorations. No fancy clothes. No ribbon or sash like the rest of the servants or other high-ranking individuals. Just his usual dark robes and that quiet, unreadable expression.

  And yet, even doing nothing…he stood out.

  I could see many looking at him, some did it secretly, while others did it openly, giving him stares like he was some unique specimen in their eyes.

  I stifled a laugh back, keeping my gaze straight at him. He hadn’t caught on to me, yet. He just kept looking around silently.

  But it was true, word had spread faster than we had thought, about Shun and Beatrix’s duel. It was currently the hottest topic in the capital, about a guest from the human world, challenging war goddess Beatrix to a fight and almost winning against her—which ultimately ended in a draw.

  But, in the first place, what was he doing out there? He hadn’t left his room since the duel, he had fully recovered, but he seemed suspicious. He didn’t seem that interested in the festival when I asked.

  Did he even know it was going to be my birthday? But, did I ever take the initiative to tell him myself? I combed my bangs in thought, somehow I felt disappointed for some reason.

  I wondered if he noticed. I wondered what he thought of all this if I told him it will be my birthday on the eve of the festival?

  Shun suddenly moved, taking slow steps through the garden, following the path which led to the inside.

  But along the way, I saw a familiar face reach out to him. I focused on his features and made out his face.

  Vaerin E?rendil

  His lighter locks of long hair seemed to have turned more dull since I last saw him, his expression was just as solemn and graceful as I last remembered, tired obviously. But, honestly, he looked kind of feminine in his sharp features.

  He slightly bent his head, to the point of being respectful of the other party and placed a hand over his sternum as he greeted Shun.

  Shun did the same, greeting the elf with a respectful gait.

  He smiled looking at Shun, not sure what they were talking about, but Shun seemed pleased by whatever he said.

  If it was one thing this man liked, it was mind shaking politics and a good battlefield.

  I sighed as I saw a maid approach, my mother’s personal maid, she bowed respectfully and spoke. “Princess Aurora, Queen Anastasia is asking for your presence.”

  “Is she, Verma?” I said back. “Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.”

  She nodded and went her way as I took a breath, taking one final look outside at the decorations, then turned inside the palace.

  “It’s definitely going to get busy tonight.” I took a step back, a sigh left me as I made way to mother’s quarters.

  ***

  Seo Jiwoo

  The air smelled like rain that hadn’t fallen yet. Sweet, but heavy. Clean.

  The capital tower stood tall, like a crown above the elven city, carved from the same pale stone that shimmered with soft iridescence under the moonlight. From the balcony, the entire realm stretched out like a dream—a sea of glowing lanterns, laughter rising in waves, and petals riding the air like slow-falling snow.

  The elven festival wasn’t loud. It didn’t press in on me like the ones in human cities. Everything was calm here. Gentle. Even the music sounded like it was made for the trees more than the people.

  Mordian stood to my right, his arms loosely crossed. He wore his human form, tall and sharp and calm as ever. His golden eyes moved slowly over the festival like he was studying it.

  “It’s peaceful,” He said, not looking at me.

  I followed his gaze, looking at the big crowd around and below us. “Yeah, they sure know how to enjoy a festival peacefully.”

  I looked back at Mordian, taking a moment to consider my words. “If I think about it, Mordian, you have lived quite a long life, shouldn’t you have witnessed this festival before when your people used to secretly sneak into the different worlds?”

  He raised a brow slowly, not scrutiny, simple nonchalance. “No, even if some did, I was never one to visit such festivities. I dedicated most of my time in training with the pantheon and dragon warriors since a young age.”

  “Oh,” I replied back, feeling awkward over asking the question. This shut-in, unfriendly dragon. I had almost forgotten how he used to be like before he opened up to me.

  To be honest, Mordian was kind of insufferable to a point.

  I gave a small nod. “Well, guess your training paid off in many ways.”

  He glanced at me, unsure what his expression wanted to convey. “I suppose it did...,” there was the slightest pause in his tone. “Though sometimes I wonder what I missed while training.” He finished and I could already feel his heavy thoughts.

  I know what he was thinking, what he wanted to say, about the guilt he carried over his shoulders, never opening up to anyone completely.

  But, it was Mordian’s choice, he respected my mine, and I did his.

  “It’s just, I’m not used to this kind of peace and quiet.” I said, feeling guilty about thinking that way. “Not sure if I trust it.”

  Mordian didn’t push. He never did. He just watched with me in silence.

  He knew what I was talking about. Whenever I started to get too comfortable, there was always this nagging feeling at the back of my head, telling, reminding me that this was all just temporary. The war that was coming was eminent, and even if I wanted to stop it, I couldn’t do it...not alone.

  So I needed to get stronger, faster.

  I slightly turned, looking at the crowd below, they looked endless. We were only a few metres above them in the tower where they could perfectly see the royal family and the star of the night. Their princess.

  Every important elven family had gathered here, plus I recognised some dwarfs and orcs as well. From the highborn houses in their ceremonial robes to the children seated on rooftops, clutching flower bundles in small, eager hands. They weren’t here for a speech. They weren’t here for politics. They were here for her.

  Tonight was dedicated just for her alone.

  I could feel an ocean of gazes directed in my direction, I felt like they could burn holes through me. Many elders and lords of noble blood kept staring at me, but I didn’t give them much mind.

  News was something that wasn’t biased in anyway place. It travelled like the wind. And I wouldn’t be surprised if by now the entire elven race knew about my duel against Beatrix.

  From the side I recognised Vaerin E?rendil, he was walking closer to us, his looks were the same as ever, but his hair was tied back today, adorning his features further. He held a wine glass in one hand and there I saw another familiar face by his left flank.

  His wrinkles looked more prominent, beard longer but groomed since last time. He stood about as tall as Vaerin’s chest, but he still had that sharp grin plastered all over his face.

  Durin Stoutforge

  Both of them greeted Mordian and then moved over to me.

  The moment we met, he brought his hand out and I shook it firmly. “Still alive and kicking, kid.” He said, half shout, half laugh.

  I smirked. “Well, I was kind of looking forward to fulfilling our promise to drink until the other got knocked out.”

  Durin looked at me with his brows knitted, eyes narrowing. His grip loosened and he patted my back with his calloused hand. “I like the spirit, kid.” He smirked through it. “What did I tell you Vaerin, this boy is something else.”

  Vaerin looked at us with a thin smile. “Well, he might beat you if you’re not careful, Durin. You do know what he’s capable of.”

  “What?” He said, looking betrayed. “Since when did you start taking sides, you effeminate one?” Durin grunted, and Vaerin gave him a friendly look, possibly a glare.

  “Says the dunce dwarf who always ends up in some slump because of drinking too much.”

  “Say what?” During grunted back, voice laced with irk.

  “Oh, sure, last I remember, Grimnir was the one who had to deal with the aftermath of you wrecking a pub back in your world,” he taunted, looking down through his nose at the dwarf.

  Before either of them could escalate this further, a voice chimed in.

  “...They’re louder this year,” Elder Ramus said appearing beside me, a faint smile playing at his lips.

  Lady Ariem stood on his other side, her gloved hands resting gently on his other free hand, watching the people like a mother watching her children play. She didn’t say anything—but her eyes were glassy, a silent warmth in them I didn’t miss.

  Their presence felt like something permanent, like old trees that had seen centuries pass and still stood tall..

  And then there was gramps to the farther left, Camus, leaning on the railing with his usual lazy smirk.

  Vaerin and During immediately bowed in respect of the two.

  “Elder Ramus,” During said. “It’s an honour to meet you again. I was wondering when I would get to see you since I arrived.”

  Elder Ramus looked at him with the slightest curve of his lips. “Durin, I apologise for not coming to greet you and the other dwarf envoys. As you know, these festivities also bring a lot of work that needs to be taken care of.” He said, his chestnut eyes moved between the duo. “As a council man, it is one of my duties to assist Neil even during these events.”

  “Of course,” Durin acknowledged, his posture slightly straighter. But he brought his voice down to a whisper. “But, if you both wanna retire and loosen up a little, I know a few good spots in the dwarvan world.” He moved a little to the side and winked at Ramus.

  Ramus cleared his throat as I felt Lady Ariem’s calm and very nonthreatening gaze over him.

  “I believe even after all this time, retirement doesn’t fully suit me...yet. But, keeping myself engaged is also a way for me to be healthy.” Ramus said after a moment. He gently held Lady Ariem’s hand, bringing her closure. “And, I believe my wife would get mad if I got too comfortable in this age.”

  Hearing that, we all couldn’t do anything but laugh.

  After a moment of simple conversation between us, Ramus looked up at the front, at the platform where Aurora would arrive any moment now.

  “She’s late,” he muttered, not hiding his amusement. “As always. Can’t ever make a dramatic entrance without drawing it out.”

  “She learned from the best,” Lady Ariem said, her voice soft but knowing, gaze fixed on Ramus. “Remember how you and Camus used to pull of those shenanigans in your younger days? Making even the council men from the dwarvan and orcen world wait?”

  I stood slightly apart, but not distant. Not anymore.

  I could feel it in my chest, the way the moment settled over us like sunlight. Warm. Quiet. Whole.

  Everyone laughed around us, happy and in the moment. There was no threat looming over us right now, so I allowed myself to relax in the moment. Feeling some weight from over my shoulders to be pushed aside just for tonight.

  And then suddenly…the hush began.

  It started from the front of the crowd, like a ripple in still water. One by one, voices fell silent. Even the children stopped. Heads turned. Eyes lifted.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  And when I looked toward the archway upfront where King Neil and Queen Anastasia stood, and I understood why.

  She had arrived.

  Aurora stepped forward, framed by the golden light of the hall behind her. And for a moment—just a heartbeat—I forgot everything else.

  Her hair, usually braided or tied back in neat ceremonial fashion, was loose tonight with charming curls at the ends. It flowed behind her like a silken river, dark with a slight sheen of silver at the ends, as if the moon itself had kissed it. Tiny flowers were threaded into it—moonlilies and skybloom, glowing faintly with the magic of the realm.

  Her dress wasn’t grand. Not by court standards. It didn’t need to be. Pale green, flowing, with soft embroidery that shimmered when she moved. It draped over her shoulders and arms like it had been sewn by the forest itself. She stepped forward with the grace of someone who belonged to the earth and sky in equal measure.

  But it wasn’t just how she looked.

  It was the way she held herself.

  Calm. Steady. Maturity that made her look older. Like the night revolved around her without her trying. She didn’t try to command attention. She simply had it.

  My breath caught—just for a second.

  I’d seen her in battle. I’d seen her angry, injured, laughing, sleeping, even bleeding. But I had never seen her quite like this.

  Not fragile.

  Not powerful.

  Just herself.

  And something inside me…tightened. This feeling rose from my spine up to my chest, like my heart was being clenched.

  She came to stand between her parents, her hands lightly resting at her sides. The crowd, thousands of them, broke into applause and cheers that felt like wind shaking the leaves. She smiled—gently, but genuinely—and gave a small, graceful bow to her people.

  “She looks like a queen already,” Camus whispered under his breath.

  “She is,” Ramus replied, the warmth is his tone evident. He looked proud, the pride in his eyes looked almost fatherly, as if he were watching a star he’d quietly nurtured begin to shine on its own.

  A grandfather who’d watched her grow from clumsy steps to commanding strides

  And I said nothing.

  Because what could I say? That I’d seen beauty before but now couldn’t remember what it looked like? That the moment felt unfair somehow, because she had always been a step above the rest of the world and now everyone else was finally seeing it too?

  She turned slightly—and her eyes found mine.

  Not by accident. Not through the crowd. Not by chance.

  She looked straight at me.

  And she smiled again—so faintly I wasn’t sure anyone else noticed.

  But I did.

  And something in my chest shifted. Not broken. Not bruised. Just…moved.

  Like I was standing at the edge of something important—something I couldn’t quite reach, no matter how far I stepped forward.

  I didn’t smile back.

  But I stayed exactly where I was, and for once, I let the warmth stay. But there was a shadow of guilt looming in my heart as the thought kept growing.

  Then from behind me, a cheer rang out from the crowd below, distracting me from ahead.

  “Blessings to you, Princess,” an old elf said, his voice was toned and levelled but in the quiet that had followed, it was heard by everyone and soon applause and cheers could be heard throughout the capital.

  I saw an eleven woman move forward, handing Aurora a crown made of silvervine blossoms. She thanked her, placing the ornament gently in her hands instead of wearing it.

  After a short greeting to their people, King Neil and Queen Anastasia moved away, giving Aurora the entire stage to herself, joining us in the crowd.

  She stood there like a shinning star, everyone’s attention on her, everyone was quiet again, all eyes on her.

  Queen Anastasia was the first to break the silence. Her voice was calm and low, meant only for us on the balcony. “She’s grown more than I thought this year.”

  There was something wistful in her tone—not sadness, but the kind of quiet pride that only a mother could carry. She reached out, brushing her fingertips along Neil’s arm as if grounding herself in the moment, looking at her daughter grow out of reach.

  “She always had that look,” Elder Ramus said, his voice deep and rough like tree bark. “Even as a child, she stood like someone who knew who she was.”

  Lady Ariem smiled beside him. “But she never smiled like that before.” Her scrutinizing gaze was over me, I felt like it could drill a hole through me.

  I blinked, realizing what she meant now—when Aurora had looked at me.

  Camus turned slightly and eyed me. “You do have a strange effect on her.” His expression knowing.

  I didn’t answer right away. My eyes remained on the crowd, still cheering. Though Aurora hadn’t moved to speak yet.

  “I don’t try to,” I said quietly.

  Camus snorted. “Exactly the problem.”

  There was no malice in his tone. If anything, it sounded more like a sigh of someone too old to be surprised anymore. “You walk around like you don’t care, and yet you somehow manage to leave the deepest footprints on people.”

  King Neil finally spoke, arms still folded. “He’s not wrong, Jiwoo.” There was this note in his tone had hit me straight in the head, and I somehow couldn’t deny it.

  I turned my head slightly. “With respect, Your Majesty...that wasn’t my intention. Whatever you all are thinking, it’s not... true.” I felt hesitation touch my lips on my last words.

  He nodded. “That’s precisely why it worked. And Jiwoo, you don’t have to deny it so much. Even I have stepped down to a certain degree.”

  There was a long pause. No one spoke. The sound of music rose from below again—flutes and harps, soft and layered, as the next phase of the festival began.

  “I didn’t think you’d come tonight,” Queen Anastasia said after a moment. She was looking at me now, her expression not hard, but watchful, warm and gentle. “You don’t seem the type for crowds.”

  “I’m not,” I admitted. “But I wanted to be here.”

  “To see the festival?” She asked, almost teasingly.

  I hesitated, then looked toward Aurora.

  “To see her.”

  Aurora didn’t turn, but I saw her shift slightly—her gaze over me again.

  “Good,” the queen said softly, her tone approving. “Then maybe you’ll understand what she means to this realm. And what it means...that she lets you stand beside her.”

  I held her gaze for a moment. No challenge. Just a quiet understanding between two people who had seen more than they let on.

  “You’re not elven,” Neil added, his voice firmer. “But few have walked through our world the way you have. You’ve bled with our people and allies. Fought with us. And her choosing to let you this close...that matters. I trust you, Jiwoo.”

  Camus raised an eyebrow. “That’s the King’s way of saying: don’t mess it up.” Gramp’s said, his hand on my shoulder as he gave me a thumbs up.

  I couldn’t help it—a breath of amusement escaped me. A small, real smile.

  “I’ll do my best not to.” I held back a sigh, knowing where they were taking this conversation, and for some reason, I couldn’t deny it any further.

  Perhaps, as much as I had wanted to deny it, I had grown more fond of Aurora’s presence than I’d first thought.

  Even Mordian beside me had an amused look over his face.

  “You’d better,” Lady Ariem added gently. “She only ever lets her guard down around a handful of people. You being one of them isn’t something we take lightly. We trust you Jiwoo, more so Aurora.”

  Aurora turned again from the greeting crowd and looked at me again. And for a moment, everything else—the festival, the music, the thousands watching—fell away.

  She trusted me. That was what her eyes said.

  And I knew that trust wasn’t given easily.

  I gave her the faintest of nods.

  “I know.” Saying back to Lady Ariem.

  After a short pause, we let the moment pass on, neither of us rushing to fill the quiet.

  The cheering below slowly softened, like the festival itself had paused to listen. All eyes turned to Aurora as she stepped forward. She walked to the edge of the platform—not too far, but just enough to stand alone, and from where the projecting artifacts above her could make her appearance more visible.

  She didn’t raise her arms. She didn’t conjure magic or call for silence.

  She just stood still for a moment, finally put the crown over her head...and began to speak.

  “My people,” she said into the voice enhancing artifact in front of her, her voice carrying clear across the square despite how quietly she spoke. “Today is the first day of the verdant moon, and I know what it means to you. I know the songs you’ve taught your children, the stories you pass down, and the joy this day brings to our hearts.”

  A quiet murmur of agreement swept through the crowd below, gentle and warm. Their eyes looked proud, seeing their princess, the charming confident warrior she had grown in to.

  “I was born on the eve of this festival,” she continued. “And every year since, you’ve chosen to share this day with me—not as royalty, not as tradition, but as something deeper. You’ve made me feel not just celebrated…but seen.”

  A hush fell again. Even the trees seemed to still.

  “This year has not been easy for us,” she said, her voice steady. “We’ve faced danger, loss, and choices that have changed who we are. But we’re still here. Together. And spring has returned—not because it was promised, but because we held on.”

  She paused. And for the first time, her voice softened.

  “I don’t know what the next season will bring. But tonight, I want you to smile. To laugh. To dance like we used to. Because this moment—this breath—is ours.”

  Then, quietly, almost like a secret between her and the city, she finished.

  “Thank you. For carrying me all these years. For your love and care.”

  A heartbeat passed.

  Then, from somewhere near the front of the crowd, a voice called out—young, curious, and unfiltered.

  “Princess Aurora! Is it true you fought in the war that happened in the orcen world?”

  The air shifted again—not with tension, but curiosity. The crowd leaned in, not with doubt, but eagerness. Aurora blinked once, surprised, then smiled—not a court smile, but something genuine.

  I could see Queen Anastasia’s expression shift slightly, knowing how Aurora got excited over these kind of talks then anything else.

  “I did,” she said honestly, her gaze landing on the crowd below. “I stood on the battlefield, like many others did that day. I fought alongside warriors, healers, mages, and those who had nothing to give but still gave everything.”

  There was no boast in her voice. Just truth.

  The crowd of orcs, elves and dwarfs listened.

  “But victory wasn’t mine alone,” she continued. “It wasn’t even ours alone. The reason we made it home—” her voice grew just a little stronger, “—was because of the trust you placed in us. The faith you held when you had every reason to fear.

  She let the weight of that truth settle. “Those very brave warriors stand alongside us today, their sacrifices, strong wills and bravery that day made it possible for us to triumph.”

  Then, she glanced—just for a moment—toward the far end of the balcony.

  Toward me.

  A faint smirk touched her lips. The kind that said don’t you dare look away now. I sighed, knowing she was about to do.

  “And if I’m being truly honest…” she added, “our chances would’ve been hopeless if not for two very specific individuals.”

  A pause. Then, she held her hands out for more dramatic effect.

  “If not for Seo Jiwoo…” she said, her voice rising slightly—I think this was the first time she had called me by my name instead of Shun, well both are my names—, “…who did everything in his power to help guide the warriors. Despite being an outsider, he was shunned at first, they didn’t grant him their trust easily, but, he still chose to stand with us in our time of need.”

  The crowd listened with utmost seriousness, holding on to each word their princess said.

  “…and for Lord Mordian Astrionyx, a dragon—yes, among us tonight stands one from the very legends and folktales we grew up hearing. Stories of dragons, basilisks, and other ancient beings who have walked this world since the dawn of time.” She let her words settle, slow and deliberate. A ripple passed through the crowd as many of the nobles turned their heads toward Mordian—some in awe, others in disbelief. “If not for the two of them, the orcen lands would have been lost forever to the forces of the demons.”

  Then they turned to me, their eyes looked more favourable at us for some reason.

  ‘Things are gonna get messy for sure.’ I sent to Mordian and he simply stood there, ignoring all the gazes pointed at us.

  “…we would not have seen the end of that war. They didn’t just fight—they led. They endured. And they carried us forward when even we faltered.”

  Aurora’s voice grew quiet again, this time with something closer to pride.

  “They were the ones who turned the tide. And I will never forget that.”

  The crowd erupted into thunderous applause—not just polite, but real. Earned.

  Vaerin and Durin beside us nodded in approval over each word, giving me a smirk, like we had become a part of today’s celebration.

  I stood still, unsure if I should be humbled or embarrassed. Probably both. I turned to Ramus and he gave me a look that spoke: “I don’t know about any of this. She gave that speech. Deal with it.”

  Mordian muttered beside me, barely in a whisper, “I didn’t agree to being mentioned.”

  I murmured back, “I don’t think she asked.”

  And even with the applause ringing around us, and eyes turned our way, I couldn’t stop the small breath of laughter that escaped me.

  Because for once…this didn’t feel like weight on my shoulders.

  It felt like recognition.

  Like something I had never let myself want—finally reaching me, unannounced, and impossible to reject.

  The applause still echoed faintly as Aurora stepped down from the balcony, her dress catching the light with each graceful movement. Immediately, a tide of noble elves surged forward—sons and daughters of high-standing families, their smiles sharpened like cut glass, their words dripping with charm and intent.

  She greeted them all effortlessly, offering practiced thanks, polite nods, and the occasional fleeting smile. I knew some of them by only name—remembered some names for the sake of making conversation if needed—, and she probably did too—not because she liked them, but because she had to.

  A few of the boys, dressed in their finest embroidered robes and silver-lined sashes, looked particularly eager, leaning in just a little too much when speaking, their laughter too quick and loud. Their gazes weren’t subtle—greedy and childlike all at once. They looked at her like she was a prize. Not Aurora the person, but Aurora the title, the heir, the radiant figurehead they all hoped to stand beside.

  She didn’t flinch. Just kept her composure like she’d been born for this—because, well, she had. But I noticed how her eyes shifted, not toward them, but toward me.

  A calm, deep smile touched her lips—one that had nothing to do with the boys in front of her and everything to do with something else. With me.

  I wasn’t getting a good feeling from this. I looked at her with a half frown, wondering what she might pull of now. Honestly, she was becoming more and more unpredictable.

  Then, just like that, she gave them all a short, graceful nod.

  “Thank you all for your kind words,” she said, voice dipped in courtesy but already halfway detached. “But I think my family is waiting for me.”

  A few blinked in confusion. Some offered stammered goodbyes, but all of them awkwardly settled aside.

  She didn’t wait. She walked toward me, chin held high, poise untouched by their lingering stares. And when she stopped in front of me, that same knowing smile danced across her lips.

  “Play along,” she murmured.

  Before I could respond, she slipped her arm through mine, casually but deliberately. Like this had always been the plan.

  I blinked once.

  A dozen pairs of eyes turned our way.

  The confusion was instant. Then came the glares—sharp, stunned, and very, very silent.

  Why did she had to make me the target of so many adolescent boys? I thought, feeling what I’d experienced back in the academy during lectures.

  I leaned in slightly, voice flat. “Is this your way of keeping those kids away, by using me as a shield for tonight?”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “You should be honoured that I’m letting you escort me for the night, Shun.”

  She said it with such mock dignity I almost laughed, but her smirk betrayed her.

  “Sure, Your Highness,” I said dryly. “Shall I lay my cloak over puddles for you too? Maybe slay a demon or two along the way?”

  Aurora raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Only if you want to earn dessert later.”

  I laughed for a second, but then came the sigh, letting her lead me forward through the crowd. Her arm was light in mine, but her presence…carried weight.

  And for a moment, I didn’t feel like a bystander to this world.

  I felt like I belonged right there—with her.

  Even if I was being used as bait.

  ***

  The others had gone inside after the long greetings, political talks and very boring introductions that had followed after Aurora’s speech, slowly trailing back toward the hall to let the princess have her moment. Only I remained. And so did she.

  The crowd below was now gone, the capital looked majestic from all the lights that were flickering for almost every direction. I registered many guards along the way.

  Loud songs, poems, cheering voices, beaming smiles. I breathed, feeling the celebrations stir something inside me.

  Aurora stood with both hands resting lightly on the railing, watching the celebration unfold. The moonlight traced the line of her shoulders, catching the silver in her hair.

  “You said all that without notes,” I murmured beside her. “You speak better than I thought. I thought you would give in from all the stares.”

  She smiled faintly. “I speak better when it’s just them and me.”

  I nodded. “They believe in you.”

  “I know.” She turned to look at me. “But sometimes I wish I could forget I’m someone they look up to. Just for a night.”

  She looked tired—but not in a way that meant exhaustion. More like…she’d held a great weight in silence, and only now let a little of it slip.

  “You were beautiful,” I said.

  It wasn’t something I planned to say.

  But it left me anyway, soft and true. I didn’t say it all night, but after we were alone, I let it slip.

  Her eyes widened, just slightly, cheeks pink in realisation. “You don’t say things like that often.”

  “I know,” I said. “But tonight, I mean it more than ever.”

  Aurora looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable in her eyes—like the pull of gravity that hadn’t decided whether to keep you grounded or let you fall.

  “Do you regret coming here?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers firming over the railing.

  I looked down at the blinking lights. “No.”

  The answer left me instantly, and I surprised myself with how easily it came.

  At first, I was treated like an outsider, but soon, I found my place in this world.

  Her world.

  I stepped beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her shoulder near mine, but not touching.

  “Being here…” I said, looking down at the city again. “It doesn’t feel like something I expected. But it feels like something I needed for a change.”

  A breeze passed between us, soft and cool.

  “I’m glad,” she whispered. Then after a pause, almost like she wasn’t sure if she should say it, “Because I think I needed you here too.”

  I turned to look at her—but she was already watching the crowd again, her expression unreadable.

  Her lips were slightly pursed, eyes glimmering in the shades of many lanterns shining below, giving it an iridescent tone.

  So I stood with her in silence, no longer feeling like an outsider.

  Aurora’s eyes were fixed on the sight of her people. The warm light illuminated her features, yet there was something distant in her expression.

  “Under starlit silver skies, we dance, we sing, we rise...”

  She murmured the words softly, her voice carrying the weight of something old, something remembered.

  I glanced at her. “That song...it’s the one everyone is singing tonight, isn’t it?” I said, having heard parts of it by some people just moments ago.

  She nodded. “It’s called ‘the song of the verdant moon. It was written long ago, by an elven hero who fought in the ancient wars to protect our people.”

  Aurora continued, her gaze unwavering. “His name was Eliandor Vaelis. A warrior, a leader...but above all, a guardian of our people. He fought until the very end, standing against the tide of darkness when it seemed all hope had withered.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if picturing him. “And when the war was finally over, when the last of the demons had been driven out, he stood amidst the ruins of what once was home. Victory had come, but at what cost?”

  The streets below were alive with celebration, but I could hear the ghosts in her words.

  “Leaves that shimmer, roots run deep,” she whispered again, looking toward the ancient trees beyond the city. “Bound by oaths the ancients keep.”

  I exhaled. “He wrote this song…to help them heal.”

  “Yes.” Aurora smiled faintly. “Eliandor knew that after so many years of war, the hearts of his people would be weighed down by grief, by memories of all they had lost. So he created this festival—the verdant moon festival—a night not of mourning, but of renewal. A night of the first full moon, welcoming the spring, where elves could look up at the stars and remember that they were still here. Still standing. Still free.”

  I watched the city below, the warm glow of lanterns like fireflies in the darkness, laughter and song weaving through the air.

  “Blessed be the sacred grove,” Aurora sang softly, “Where the streams of magic flow.”

  I leaned slightly forward, feeling the breeze kiss my skin, and then, I felt warmth wrap around my hand. Aurora held my hand quietly, her cheeks were slightly pinkish, but she didn’t let go, so I held on firmly.

  There was something profoundly beautiful about it. A song that had been sung for centuries, a melody born from war, yet now carrying only peace.

  For a long moment, we stood in silence, listening to the distant echoes of the past blending into the joy of the present. And for the first time that night, I truly understood what Eliandor Vaelis had wanted for his people.

  Not to forget.

  But to live.