The halls of memory are not built of stone or gold — they are woven in moments, in glances, in words left unspoken.
And for Kayden Fross, those moments always led back to one name.
Kirti Shruk.
It was twelve years ago, on the day the world first called him Crown Prince. The grand hall of Kishorio shone brighter than ever before — banners of white and blue hung from the ceilings, the air filled with the hum of celebration. The entire empire had gathered to see the young prince take his first step toward destiny.
Among the crowd stood a girl — graceful, wide-eyed, with hair the color of soft chestnut and eyes that shimmered like quiet dawn. She wasn't dressed in noble extravagance; instead, she wore a simple silk gown of pale silver. She didn't stand near the front, nor did she bow with exaggerated formality. She just watched — calm, curious, unafraid.
Kayden noticed her long before he should have. Amidst hundreds of faces, his gaze had fallen upon hers as if drawn by a hidden thread.
Later, after the ceremony, his father — King Arvyn Fross — had introduced them.
"Kayden," he had said, resting a proud hand on his shoulder, "meet Kirti Shruk. Daughter of General Darven Shruk — the man who saved my life more times than I can count."
The two children bowed politely, words few, eyes curious.
But something lingered.
"Congratulations, Your Highness," Kirti had said with a shy but steady smile. "You looked… happy up there."
Kayden had blinked, unsure how to respond. Everyone had said brilliant, strong, destined. But happy? Only she had noticed that he hadn't smiled once during the entire ceremony.
That was the beginning.
Years passed. The world changed around them, but their paths kept crossing.
When Kayden studied at the World Academy, Kirti was often found there too — not as a student of the higher arts, but as a volunteer in the healing halls. She preferred simplicity: tending to mana-burned students, repairing the cracked conduits of magical equipment, laughing softly when young mages made their mistakes.
Kayden, buried in study, would often catch glimpses of her — sleeves rolled up, hair tied loosely, face glowing with quiet focus.
"You always find calm in the noise," he'd once told her.
"And you always find answers in chaos," she'd replied. "That's why you're going to be king… and I'll be the one reminding you to rest sometimes."
He had smiled then — genuinely. She had a way of breaking through the walls no one else could touch.
When Kayden became king at eighteen, the empire rejoiced. But for him, the throne felt colder than he expected. Too much silence, too many expectations.
It was Kirti who warmed that silence.
Their friendship, once gentle, grew deeper in those years — unhurried, sincere. She was there when his first great experiment succeeded, when the fusion of magic and science reached its peak. She was there when he worked nights that stretched into dawn, bringing him food she cooked herself despite the servants' protests.
One evening, when exhaustion had nearly stolen his strength, she'd found him asleep on his desk. She didn't wake him. She simply draped her shawl over his shoulders and whispered,
"You don't have to be the light of the world alone."
He'd never forgotten those words.
At twenty-two, standing beneath the shimmering glow of the twin moons, Kayden had asked her to marry him.
Not with a crown, not with spectacle — but beneath the floating gardens, surrounded by blooming mana-lilies.
He had held out a ring — forged from crystal metal and pure energy — the first and only piece he'd ever crafted with his own hands not for invention, but for love.
"Kirti Shruk," he'd said softly, "the world calls me King… but before you, I am just a man. Will you stay beside me, no matter where this path leads?"
She had smiled through quiet tears and nodded.
"I already promised that the first day I met you."
Their engagement had filled the empire with joy.
The Shruk family — loyal allies of the royal house for generations — hosted a grand celebration. General Darven stood beside Kayden's late father's statue and declared proudly, "Our families have fought, built, and dreamed together. Now they will live together as one."
That night, Kayden and Kirti stood at the balcony of her family's estate, watching the stars.
"You always said you wanted to touch them one day," she whispered.
"I still do," he answered. "But only if you're there beside me."
Her hand found his, fingers intertwined, steady as the promise between them.
But time, ever cruel, carried its own design.
As the days of peace waned, subtle ripples began to stir — whispers from the outer observatories, strange signals beyond the stars.
Kayden would sometimes pause mid-sentence, gaze lost beyond the horizon, as if listening to something she could not hear.
"Kayden," she'd say softly, "you're thinking too far again."
He'd smile, distant but kind. "Perhaps. But sometimes the stars whisper, and I must listen."
She would lean her head against his shoulder, eyes closing. "Then let me be the quiet beside your storm."
And though neither of them knew it, those words would soon become her vow — and his last anchor — in the chaos that was to come.
TO BE CONTINUE…