In the heart of Swargalis—the floating island that crowned the Republic—a grand chamber lay draped in silence. The air was thin and cold, heavy enough that Elara, a young adjutant standing behind her master's chair, could hear the frantic beat of her own heart. Ten figures surrounded a massive round table carved from polished blackwood; nine of them were the highest council of the Republic of Karvanta.
Elara had never known pressure like this. Even one of the other adjutants had fainted earlier, unable to withstand the sheer weight of those gathered powers.
"At long last, we meet again," said a man in a wide-brimmed hat, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade, a crooked smile playing on his lips.
"Was it really so urgent you had to summon all nine councils?" replied another man lazily—Raka Elvaran, leader of the great island Arunika. He didn't even bother to look at the first speaker. "Can we make this quick? I've got things to do."
"Mind your tone before the President, sir," snapped the adjutant of the man in the hat, his words laced with mockery. "You sound awfully arrogant for someone ruling over such feeble people."
Elara held her breath. Her eyes flicked toward Raka's own adjutant, still unconscious against the wall.
"You got a death wish?" Raka growled. Without moving an inch, a thin red aura burst from his body, pressing against the air. The glasses on the table rattled. Elara's knees nearly gave out beneath her.
"Suppress that killing intent, RAKA ELVARAN!"
The voice came calm yet commanding, slicing through the tension like a knife. The man's authority was equal to Raka's—but his presence was on another level entirely.
Raka fell silent, the crimson energy ebbing away.
At last, the figure in the grandest chair—the President of the Republic—spoke. His wise eyes glinted with steel as they swept across the table.
"If everyone's quite finished," he said evenly, "let's begin. The matter at hand concerns the great conflict breaking out in the Seventh Council's region." He paused, letting the words settle. "Tell me—does this have anything to do with Arvandras?"
The name hung in the air like frost.
Elara felt her skin crawl. Arvandras.
A name that should've remained in whispers and forbidden legends.
---
Year 3007, Month of Janira — Arka Calendar.
Far from the political storms of Swargalis, on a quiet island called Orundal, a boy's laughter rang out across the morning air. Seven-year-old Kael swung his wooden sword with all the fervor of a young warrior, sweat gleaming along his temples.
"Father, isn't this too much arkanum just for basic moves?" asked Kael Arda Tirta, his long hair tied neatly back. His breath came short, but his eyes burned with focus.
"That's the bare minimum, son! Cut it down even a little, and you'll fail," replied Arda Surya Karta, his father, watching with a proud smile. His solid frame carried the quiet strength of someone who'd long mastered his craft. He ruffled Kael's hair gently. "Focus on the flow in your feet. Feel the ground beneath you. The sword isn't just your hand—it's your will made real."
"Kaeeel, my dear—get inside already! I made that soup you both wanted so badly!" Selaphine's voice called from the house, full of warmth and threat in equal measure. "If you don't eat now, I'm selling your training gear to old man Rindam!"
Father and son exchanged a look of panic before sprinting toward the house, laughter following them in their wake.
At the dining table, the small home buzzed with the kind of warmth only a mother could command.
"Kael, finish what's on your plate. And remember to be thankful," Selaphine scolded affectionately, placing a steaming bowl of soup in front of him. "Also, stop spending all your time training with your father. You need friends."
"I don't need friends, Mom. You and Dad are enough," Kael said through a mouthful of food.
"This child, honestly…" Selaphine sighed, rubbing her temples—but her eyes glowed with tenderness.
Arda chuckled softly. "Let him be, love. He's still a kid."
"That's why I'm saying it," she retorted. "Aargh, fine. Father and son—two of a kind."
Arda smiled, as though surrendering was safer for his peace of mind.
"But remember this, Kael," Selaphine said at last, her tone softening into gravity. "Never show your arkanum abilities to ordinary people." She reached for a glass, pausing before continuing. "That would break the Republic's law."
"For once, I agree with your mother," Arda added, grinning.
"Yeah, Mom, you've said that like… a hundred times." Kael set down his spoon, his tone that of a boy bored of hearing the same warning.
"And we'll keep saying it until you turn twelve," Arda said firmly, leaving no room for mischief—intentional or not.
---
As night fell, the forest around Orundal sang with the chirr of nocturnal creatures. Fireflies drifted near the window, their glow weaving through the soft light of three moons hanging behind thin clouds.
In that peaceful room, Kael lay on his mother's lap while Selaphine held an old book.
"Kael… try reading this line," she said, guiding his small finger over an illustration.
"When the three moons of Arka shine full together, beware—the great wave may come," Kael read carefully.
Selaphine smiled faintly. "What do you think the 'great wave' means?"
"Hmm…" Kael stared at the ceiling, thinking hard. "Is it something bad?"
"Not necessarily." Selaphine straightened slightly. "Turn the page."
The soft rustle of paper filled the room. Kael's eyes widened. "Whoa… is that the floating island—Swargalis?"
"Yes," Selaphine replied, her tone thoughtful. "And maybe that 'wave' has something to do with it."
Kael tilted his head, puzzled. His mother chuckled, pointing again at the illustration.
"See here? Swargalis looks like a fourth moon, doesn't it? A land adrift among the stars. That's where the heart of the Republic beats." Her finger traced downward. "And below it, the mainland—Aerwyna, the capital. The artist drew it like a river of light, its glass towers piercing the clouds."
Her voice softened, as if she were seeing that place not on paper but in memory. "Beautiful, isn't it? Up there, the great minds shape the world. And below, millions simply live their lives."
"Why do they live up there, Mom? Why not down here with everyone else?" Kael asked, his gaze still fixed on the shining city.
"Because that's where all power gathers, my love—the beating heart of the Republic." She paused. "But sometimes, the highest places can also be the loneliest to live in."
Selaphine wrapped her arms around him gently. When she rose to leave, Kael caught her hand.
"Wait, Mom."
"Oh? Another question?" she teased, smiling as she sat again.
"Do the floating islands—like Swargalis—have something to do with arkanum too?"
Her eyes widened, then softened into a hesitant smile. "Maybe they do… or maybe they don't."
"How come?"
"Do you know that our world, Arka, holds an immense raw energy?"
"Yes! It's from the clash between the sun and the three moons," Kael said eagerly.
Selaphine chuckled. "You're a clever one. That's what we call arkanum—the world's energy. But do you know why it's considered raw?"
"Because humans and other thinking beings can't use it directly!" Kael's eyes gleamed with pride. "Nature absorbs it first—the mountains, the seas, the trees, even the soil—and releases it in a form we can harness."
"Half right," she said with a knowing smile.
"Half? That's cheating, Mom! That's what the books say!"
"Books tell the common theory," she explained, smoothing his hair. "But from my research, humans can absorb raw arkanum—under certain conditions. Though those conditions are… nearly impossible."
"Wow! Then how do I do it?" Kael sat up, excitement bursting in his eyes. "Imagine how strong I'd be!"
"That's enough studying for tonight," Selaphine interrupted gently, returning the book to his desk.
"Come on, Mom, tell me!"
"It may be possible in theory, Kael, but not in practice." She tucked him in, her voice calm but final. "Now sleep. Tomorrow we'll read about Arka's ancient kingdoms—and maybe you'll find where your mother came from."
She walked toward the door, chuckling softly as she closed it behind her.
Kael lay awake, staring at the moons beyond the window, his thoughts circling like ripples on still water. Outside, he felt a strange tremor run through him—as if the moons themselves were watching.
---
In the living room, Arda sat slumped on the sofa, remote clenched tight in his hand, his expression grim.
"What's got you frowning like that, love?" Selaphine asked softly, walking toward him.
"The President's making another statement," Arda muttered. The voice from the small TV droned on:
> "The President of the Republic confirms that the recent incidents in the Seventh Council's region are strongly linked to Arvandras. This marks the first full gathering of the Nine in decades. How serious is this situation, sir?"
Arda snorted. "Every channel's just spewing nonsense."
"Are you angry because of that?" Selaphine asked, sitting beside him. Her gaze wasn't on the screen—it was fixed on him.
He exhaled long and hard. "It's all lies."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Love… does this have anything to do with them? You promised it was over."
Arda's eyes closed briefly, his jaw tightening. "It is over," he said, tone flat but heavy. "I just hate that they're dragging that name out again."
Without another word, Selaphine took the remote, turned off the TV, and set it aside.
"What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.
"If it's really over, then let it be," she said softly, resting her hands on his shoulders. "Besides…" her lips curved into a playful smile, "isn't tonight perfect for watching the moons—without blankets?"
Arda blinked. "Didn't Kael say he doesn't want a little brother?"
Selaphine laughed. "Then maybe he should learn how these things work."
She tugged his hand, pulling him toward their room and closing the door behind them.
Outside, the three moons shone with the same light—received differently by each soul beneath them. They shimmered with power and tenderness alike, symbols not only of nature's rhythm, but of harmony, and the fragile love humanity builds beneath their light.
To be continued...