The Stellate Vortex

"My lord Aldric," the nanny said with a gentle bow, "dost thou not think it time to consider the matter of marriage?"

"Hm?" Aldric turned to glance at her, his fingers deftly fastening his tie.

"I merely speak of thy years, my lord. Surely, thou art now of suitable age."

Aldric exhaled lightly, returning his focus to the mirror. "That may be so, but age alone doth not compel me to wed, Nanny. I shall seek a woman whom I truly love, and no station or wealth shall alter my resolve. She shall have my heart entirely, and mine alone."

The nanny's eyes glistened as she dabbed at a tear. "Such noble sentiment, my lord. Truly, thou art a man of great honor."

Aldric allowed himself a faint chuckle. "Honor or not, I am yet a man with much to learn from Father."

Straightening his collar one final time, he turned toward the door. "I shall take my leave now, Nanny."

"As thou commandest, my lord," she replied, bowing deeply as Aldric strode from the room.

The grand hall stretched before him, sunlight filtering through ornate windows and illuminating tapestries of battles long past. As Aldric walked, he cast a glance to his left, where the estate's gardens flourished. Vibrant flowers adorned the grounds—a beauty he seldom approached, wary as he was of certain blooms that provoked his allergies.

At last, Aldric reached his father's study. He knocked twice before entering.

"Good morrow, Father," Aldric greeted with a formal bow.

"Good morrow," his father replied curtly, his pen scratching against parchment. He did not look up.

After a pause, the Duke spoke again, his tone measured but firm. "Aldric, thou hast received the names of noblewomen of proper rank. Hast thou yet chosen one to take as thy wife?"

Aldric lowered his gaze momentarily. "Nay, Father, I have not."

The Duke sighed, setting his quill aside and finally meeting Aldric's eyes. "Then I suggest thou makest haste in thy decision. If thou wouldst assume my title as Duke, thou must needs secure an alliance through marriage. Such is thy duty."

Aldric inclined his head slightly but said nothing.

The Duke leaned back in his chair, dismissing the subject with a wave of his hand. "The matter can wait for now. The banquet shall commence at noon. The royal family will arrive, and thou art to greet them in proper form. Thy personal guard will inform thee when the hour is nigh."

"As thou wishest, Father," Aldric replied, bowing again before taking his leave.

Outside the study, Aldric sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The royal family... truly, must they come?"

"It would appear so, my lord," came the voice of Darius, his loyal guard, who stood waiting just beyond the door.

"And what, pray, dost thou suggest I do until then?" Aldric asked, his tone light yet edged with weariness.

Darius folded his arms and smiled faintly. "My lord, thy schedule is mercifully free for the morning. I would counsel thee to enjoy the day, for thou art seldom afforded rest."

Aldric chuckled softly. "Very well, Darius. For once, I shall heed thy advice."

The manor was as vast and grand as a castle. Its ceilings rose high, adorned with intricate designs in shades of gold and blue, proudly displaying the family's colors. To the Duskbanes, these colors symbolized honor and respect, though Aldric often wondered how such ideals could exist in his father's domain.

Aldric moved through the halls, lending a hand wherever he could. Though born a noble, he refused to let his status become a barrier between himself and the people. To him, a true ruler was one who served those in need, not one who ruled from a gilded perch.

It was this humility that earned him the love and loyalty of the manor's servants. Aldric, young yet determined, was a beacon of hope in a household ruled by fear. Being the only child of the family, he had no competition for his father's legacy—but neither had he ever known his mother.

From a young age, he was told she had abandoned him, fleeing shortly after his birth. His father, Malric Duskbane, shared little about her except to paint her as a coward. But Aldric, in time, learned the truth.

His nanny, in hushed whispers, revealed the dark history hidden behind the golden facade of their family. Malric Duskbane, once the right hand of the Emperor, had been a celebrated commander. During the war against the kingdom of Orynthar, Malric turned the tides of battle in a desperate moment, leading a final assault when all seemed lost. His victory was so decisive that Orynthar sued for peace, offering terms to the Emperor.

The Emperor accepted their treaty and ordered Malric's return. But Malric, ever ambitious and cruel, took more than glory from the battlefield. He abducted the daughter of a powerful mage—a prize he deemed his trophy. Upon returning, he wed her, but not out of love. To Malric, she was nothing more than a tool, a vessel to bear him a child.

For years, she endured his cruelty. Three failed attempts to conceive left her battered and scarred, for Malric was not a man to forgive failure. After the third, he severed her hand in a fit of rage. When a fourth attempt failed, he took her remaining arm. By the fifth, broken and mutilated, she bore him a son.

But on the night of Aldric's birth, she fled. Unable to endure the shame of bearing a child to a man she considered a demon, she disappeared into the night. Malric made no effort to pursue her, deeming her worthless and no longer useful.

Soon after, Malric was awarded the title of Duke for his service to the Emperor. With it, he became a tyrant over his lands, ruling with an iron fist. Though a monster in the eyes of many, he remained loyal to the Emperor, and that loyalty was all that mattered.

Aldric grew up without his mother, assuming she had perished in her escape. Orynthar was a kingdom of mages, and without arms to cast spells, she would have been deemed useless—a fate as cruel as any his father might have inflicted.

Yet, despite his father's shadow, Aldric harbored a dream of his own: to destroy Malric and end his tyranny. Quietly, he dedicated himself to the arts of combat and magic. Through relentless practice, he discovered his affinity for magic—not just any magic, but something ancient and feared.

Aldric was a wielder of Oblivion Magic.

This magic, whispered of in ancient tomes, was the essence of destruction itself. Nothing it touched could withstand its might. When his father learned of Aldric's power, he was elated. For a man like Malric, nothing was more fitting than a son destined to destroy.

Aldric had decided to learn his magic not for destroying but to protect his people knowing the fact that he might have to clash against his father in the near future he quietly prepared himself

"My lord?" Darius spoke, his tone steady yet reverent. "You seem lost in thought."

Aldric turned his gaze to his loyal guard, offering a faint smile. "Ah, forgive me, Darius. My mind had wandered. What news dost thou bring?"

"The royal family draws near, my lord. Their arrival is imminent. It would be prudent for thee to make haste to greet them."

"Indeed, thou art right. My thanks, Darius."

Aldric straightened his tunic, adorned in the golden and azure hues of House Duskbane, and made his way through the sprawling gardens. The vast expanse stretched beyond sight, its carefully tended hedges and vibrant blooms swaying gently in the evening breeze. The air was crisp and carried the subtle fragrance of roses, a calm before the splendor of the evening's grand event.

Soon, a carriage emerged in the distance. Its gilded frame sparkled under the fading sunlight, the sigil of Thelaria etched boldly upon its door. As it drew closer, Aldric's posture stiffened, and with practiced precision, he descended into a deep bow, his head inclined in deference.

The carriage door opened, revealing Queen Isolode, resplendent in a gown of rich crimson embroidered with golden filigree. Her every step exuded grace and authority, her crown glinting as the last rays of sunlight kissed its surface. Following her was the Princess Raphenia, youthful and fair, her cheeks tinged with a blush that seemed to deepen at the sight of Aldric.

"Rise, young Duskbane," Isolode commanded, her voice regal yet warm. "The pleasure is ours to attend thy banquet."

Aldric straightened, his features alight with a courtly smile. "Your Majesty honors us with thy presence. It is our greatest joy to receive thee and Her Highness on this fine evening."

Raphenia averted her gaze, her blush betraying her shyness. Aldric, ever courteous, guided the Queen and Princess towards the grand hall, where the festivities awaited.

As more guests arrived—lords and ladies from distant provinces and even emissaries from foreign kingdoms—the manor swelled with the clamor of voices, laughter, and music. The air inside the banquet hall was alive with energy, nobles twirling their partners in dance, the rhythm of their steps perfectly attuned to the melodies played by the court musicians.

Yet Aldric, feeling the weight of his thoughts, slipped away from the revelry. He stood beyond the hall, watching through the arched windows as the nobles danced beneath the shimmering chandeliers. Their movements were precise and graceful, a mesmerizing display of wealth and status. The melodies that drifted from within grew ever more intricate, weaving a tapestry of sound that filled the night with splendor.

Aldric stood amidst the gentle murmur of the evening wind, the distant strains of music and laughter reaching him from the grand hall. From behind, the sound of delicate footsteps upon the stone pathway approached. He turned slightly, and there she was—Princess Raphenia, her cheeks tinged with a soft blush, eyes shimmering like starlit pools.

"My lord Aldric," she began, her voice melodic yet faltering, "might I trouble thee for a dance?"

Aldric's smile remained fixed, courteous and distant, yet he found his thoughts wandering. He had heard countless tales of Raphenia's cruelty, stories whispered among servants and nobles alike—executions ordered for trifles, her judgment as sharp as the blade that carried it out. Her beauty was unmatched, true enough; many called her the fairest maiden in all Thelaria. But to Aldric, such beauty was marred by a heart hardened to suffering.

"Forgive me?" he asked, feigning distraction, only now acknowledging her words.

Raphenia smiled, though it wavered. "I asked if thou wouldst grant me the honor of a dance, my lord."

Aldric looked into her expectant eyes and bowed his head slightly. "A thousand pardons, Your Highness, but my stomach is ill at ease. It is for this reason I sought the solace of fresh air."

Her smile stiffened, the rejection piercing her composure, yet she curtsied gracefully. "I see. May thy health improve swiftly," she said, turning away with an awkward yet dignified retreat.

Aldric watched her disappear into the hall, her departure bringing no sense of guilt or concern. He cared little for what the princess might think, for he had no desire to court one whose heart harbored such darkness.

He wandered deeper into the garden, where flowers stretched out in carefully arranged beds. Despite the risk of his allergies, he craved the solitude it provided. The fragrances mingled in the cool air, a brief escape from the banquets and their hollow pleasantries.

Suddenly, he heard rustling from beyond a flowering archway. He stilled, peering through the intricate vines, and saw a girl with flowing black hair that cascaded like silk, her blue eyes bright even in the dim light. She was gathering flowers, plucking them delicately as if they were rare treasures.

"Hey," he called out softly, stepping closer. "I fear it is unwise to pluck those flowers."

She jumped slightly, startled by his presence, and turned to face him. Her blue eyes narrowed as she studied him, her expression unbothered.

"And who the hell are you?" she asked bluntly, her tone sharp and unapologetic.

Aldric blinked, caught off guard by her shameless lack of formality. Though he prided himself on kindness, he was accustomed to being addressed with respect. Yet, instead of being offended, he found himself intrigued.

"Amazing," he said with a light chuckle. "What's your name?"

She raised a brow, regarding him as if he were the strange one here. For a moment, Aldric thought she might refuse to answer, but eventually, she sighed.

"Evelyn," she said. "Evelyn Nightsoar."

The name carried a mysterious weight, but it didn't deter Aldric's smile. "Evelyn Nightsoar," he repeated, as though testing how it sounded. "A pleasure to meet you, Evelyn."

-----------------------------------------------