In a grand chamber at the heart of the floating island of Swargalis, a young adjutant named Elara stood rigid behind her master's chair.
The air was cold and thin; silence so dense she could hear the frantic rhythm of her own heartbeat.
Ten figures sat around a colossal round table made of polished blackwood—nine of them members of the Republic Council of Karvanta, the highest powers beneath the President himself.
Elara had never felt pressure this suffocating. One of the other aides had already collapsed from it, unconscious against the wall.
"At last, we gather again," said a man in a wide-brimmed hat, his sardonic smile cutting through the quiet like a blade.
"Was it really that urgent, that all nine councils had to be summoned?" replied another—Raka Elvaran, the curly-haired governor of the great island of Arunika. He didn't even look at the speaker. "Let's make this quick. I've got work waiting."
"Watch your tone before the President, sir," the hat-wearer's adjutant snapped, his voice sharp with mockery. "You sound awfully cocky for someone whose people can barely stand."
Elara held her breath. Her eyes flicked to Raka's aide—still unconscious, slumped by the wall.
"You got a death wish?" Raka growled.
He didn't move an inch, yet a crimson aura flared from his body, thick and oppressive. The glasses on the table rattled; Elara's knees nearly gave out beneath the crushing weight.
"Withdraw your killing intent, Raka Elvaran!"
A calm but commanding voice sliced through the tension like steel. His authority equaled Raka's, yet the weight of his presence dwarfed it.
Raka froze. The red aura ebbed away.
From the grandest seat, the President of the Republic finally spoke. His steady eyes swept across the room, cool and unblinking.
"If we're calm now, let's begin. Today's meeting concerns the conflict erupting in the Seventh Council's territory."
He paused, letting the words hang in the cold air.
"Tell me—does this have anything to do with Arvandras?"
The name lingered—cold, heavy, foreboding.
Elara felt goosebumps rise along her arms.
Arvandras.
A name that was supposed to exist only in whispers—in legends no one dared to recall.
---
Year 3007, Month of Janira — Arkan Calendar
Far from the politics of Swargalis, on a quiet island called Orundal, the laughter of a seven-year-old boy split the calm of morning.
He swung a wooden sword with fierce determination, sweat trickling down his temple.
"Dad, isn't that too much Arkanum for a basic stance?" asked Kael Arda Tirta, his long hair tied neatly behind him. His breath was short, but his eyes gleamed with focus.
"That's the bare minimum, son! Any less and you'll fail," replied Arda Surya Karta, his father.
He watched proudly, the strength in his frame tempered by gentleness.
"Focus on the flow in your legs," he said, ruffling Kael's hair. "Feel the ground beneath you. A sword isn't just held in your hand—it's the will that moves through you."
"Kael, sweetheaaart! Come inside!"
Selaphine's voice rang from the house, warm and threatening at once.
"I made the soup you begged for! If you don't eat, I swear I'll sell all your training gear to old man Rindam!"
Father and son traded a panicked glance—then bolted for the house, laughter chasing their footsteps.
---
The dining room was filled with warmth and the comforting chaos of a small family.
"Kael, finish your soup, sweetheart—and remember to say thanks," Selaphine said as she placed a steaming bowl before him.
"And stop training with your father all day. You need real friends."
"I don't need friends, Mom. You and Dad are enough," Kael said matter-of-factly, cheeks full.
"Oh, this boy…" Selaphine sighed, rubbing her forehead—her irritation softened by affection.
Arda chuckled. "Let him be, dear. He's still a kid."
"That's exactly why I'm saying it!" she groaned. "Ugh, father and son—two of a kind."
Arda just smiled awkwardly, as though surrendering was safer for his peace of mind.
Then Selaphine's tone shifted—soft, but serious.
"But remember, Kael… never show your Arkanum abilities in public."
She reached for a glass of water before continuing. "That's against Republic law."
"For once, I'm with your mom, kiddo," Arda said, half-grinning.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Kael mumbled, setting down his spoon. "You tell me that every day."
"And we'll keep reminding you until you're twelve," Arda said firmly. "Rules exist for a reason, son. Don't test them—accidentally or not."
---
Night settled gently over the island.
The chorus of crickets hummed beneath the window, and fireflies danced beneath the glow of three pale moons hanging behind the clouds.
Peace filled the little house. Kael lay across his mother's lap as Selaphine turned the pages of a weathered book.
"Kael," she said softly, "read this line for me."
Her finger guided him to an illustration.
"When the three moons of Arka shine full together, beware—
for the great wave may come."
Kael's eyes followed the words carefully.
Selaphine smiled. "What do you think that great wave means?"
Kael stared at the ceiling, thinking hard. "Is it something bad?"
"Not necessarily." She sat up a little. "Turn the page."
Rustle.
"Whoa… is that the floating island of Swargalis, Mom?"
"Yes." Her smile carried a quiet mystery. "And maybe that 'wave' has something to do with it."
Kael tilted his head. Selaphine pointed again at the page.
"See, Kael? Doesn't Swargalis look like a fourth moon? A land floating among the stars. That's where the heart of the Republic beats."
Her finger moved lower. "And below it—look—that's the capital, Aerwyna. See the towers? The artist painted them like rivers of light piercing through the clouds."
Her voice turned wistful, as though she could see it herself.
"Beautiful, isn't it? Up there, the great ones make decisions that shape the world. And below, millions live their lives."
"Why do they live up there, not down here with everyone else?" Kael asked.
"Because that's where all the power gathers, honey—the very heart of the Republic."
She paused, her gaze softening. "But sometimes, the highest places can also be the loneliest."
She hugged him from behind, then rose from the bed.
"Wait, Mom!" Kael caught her sleeve.
"Do the floating islands—like Swargalis—have something to do with Arkanum too?"
Selaphine froze, then sat down again.
"Maybe they do… or maybe not."
Her smile was beautiful, but uncertain.
"Why's that?" Kael asked, curious.
"Do you know this world holds a kind of raw energy stronger than anything else?"
"Yeah! It's from when the Sun's energy collides with the three moons!"
"Exactly," she nodded. "That's what we call Arkanum, the world's life energy. But do you know why it's called raw?"
"Because people can't use it directly!" Kael said quickly.
"Nature absorbs it first—mountains, oceans, forests, soil—and the energy they release is what we can use."
Selaphine chuckled, brushing his hair aside. "That's half-right."
"What? How can it be half-right? That's what the book says!"
"In theory, yes. But in my research…" she leaned closer, whispering, "humans can absorb raw energy directly—if certain impossible conditions are met."
"Whoa! Then how do I do it? Just imagine how strong I'd be!"
Selaphine closed the book and sighed.
"Lesson's over for tonight, little genius. Time for bed."
"Aw, come on, Mom—tell me!"
"In theory it's possible," she said, tucking him in. "In practice? Not a chance."
"Now sleep. Tomorrow we'll read about Arka's ancient kingdoms—maybe one of them was my home."
Her soft laughter faded as she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Kael stared out the window, his thoughts circling like ripples on still water.
Outside, the three moons hung high, and that night he felt a strange vibration inside him—
as if the moons themselves sought to intimidate him with their energy.
---
In the living room, the low hum of a news broadcast filled the silence.
> "The President of the Republic has announced that recent events in the Seventh Council's territory bear strong ties to Arvandras.
After summoning all nine councils to Swargalis, the nation faces one of its most critical moments in decades. What do you make of this, sir?"
The voice came from a small family television showing a talk show on Karvanta's politics.
"Every channel keeps spewing the same nonsense," Arda muttered, jaw tight.
"What's wrong, love?" Selaphine asked, settling beside him. She wasn't watching the screen—only him.
He exhaled slowly. "Nonsense," he said again, quieter this time.
"Does this… have anything to do with them?" she asked softly. "You promised it was over."
Arda shut his eyes for a moment. "It is over," he said flatly. "I just hate that they're dragging that name out again."
Without a word, Selaphine took the remote, turned off the TV, and tugged at his hand.
"What are you doing?" he asked, startled.
"Then let it go," she said, voice gentle but firm. "If it's really over, stop feeding it."
Her lips curled into a teasing smile. "Besides… isn't tonight perfect for watching the moons without a blanket?"
Arda blinked, his frown giving way to a shy grin. "Didn't Kael say he doesn't want a little brother?"
Selaphine giggled, pulling him toward their room. "Oh, don't act innocent—you know exactly how that works."
The door clicked shut behind them.
Outside, the three moons shone bright—
each one carrying the same energy, yet felt differently by every soul below.
They trembled, they glowed, they intertwined—
symbols not only of nature's rhythm,
but of harmony, and the fragile love humans build beneath their light.
—To be continued—