The Endless Keep was never quiet,
Even years after its first walls had risen, the sound of hammers still echoed through its vast courtyards,
Stonecutters shaped marble blocks,
Carpenters carried beams across the palace grounds,
Gardeners planted trees that would one day grow tall enough to shade the royal paths,
The fortress meant to protect the prince was still growing,
And the prince himself had found his favorite place to watch it,
Arvail Aurelen sat on the edge of a high marble balcony, his legs hanging freely over the side,
A small leather notebook rested on his knees,
The wind moved gently through his dark hair as he stared out across the valley beyond the walls,
Fields stretched endlessly into the distance
,
Rivers glittered under the morning sun,
And above everything—
the sky,
Arvail dipped his pen into a small ink bottle and wrote slowly,
The sky is strange,
It belongs to everyone…
yet no one can hold it,
He paused, tapping the pen thoughtfully against the page,
A voice behind him broke the silence,
"Writing again, Little Majesty?"
Arvail turned,
One of the palace guards stood near the balcony door, arms crossed casually,
The man had watched over this tower for years,
Arvail smiled,
"Good morning, Bren,"
The guard chuckled,
"You still remember my name,"
"Of course I do,"
"Most nobles don't,"
Arvail glanced back at the page in his notebook,
"I don't think I'd like to forget people,"
Bren walked closer, leaning slightly over the balcony railing,
"What are you writing today?"
"A poem,"
"Another one?"
Arvail nodded proudly,
The guard scratched his beard,
"You write a lot of those,"
"Only when I see something interesting,"
"And today it's the sky again?"
Arvail held up the notebook,
"Listen,"
He read aloud,
"The sky is strange,
It belongs to everyone…
yet no one can hold it,"
Bren blinked,
"…I don't understand it,"
Arvail grinned,
"Neither do I,"
The guard laughed loudly,
"That's the most honest poetry I've ever heard,"
Arvail closed the notebook and stood,
From the balcony they could see workers building a new outer tower,
Dozens of men lifted heavy stones while overseers shouted instructions,
Arvail leaned over the railing again,
"They've been building that tower for months,"
"Construction takes time,"
"Do you think the walls will ever stop growing?"
Bren shrugged,
"As long as the king wants them higher,"
Arvail watched the workers for a moment,
Then he suddenly turned,
"I'm going down there,"
The guard frowned,
"Little Majesty"
But Arvail was already heading for the stairs,
The construction yard smelled like dust and wet stone,
Workers paused briefly when the prince approached,
Some bowed politely,
Others smiled warmly,
"Careful, Little Majesty," one of the masons called,
"That rock could flatten a horse,"
Arvail laughed,
"I'll try not to stand under it,"
He walked between the workers, watching them carefully shape stone blocks,
"How do you make the edges so smooth?" he asked one man,
The mason wiped sweat from his forehead,
"Practice,"
He handed the prince a small chisel,
"Try,"
Arvail tapped the stone once,
The sound rang sharply,
Everyone laughed,
"Maybe I should stick to poetry," Arvail said,
The workers chuckled,
"Probably safer, Little Majesty,"
Arvail looked around at the massive walls rising toward the sky,
"Do you ever wish you could leave the walls once they're finished?"
One of the workers shrugged,
"Walls are good for keeping danger out,"
Arvail nodded slowly,
"…and keeping people in,"
The men exchanged amused glances,
Kids say strange things, one of them whispered,
Later that afternoon Arvail returned to the western tower,
He opened his notebook again,
The wind moved softly across the page,
He added another line beneath the poem,
Maybe the sky is free,
because it refuses to belong to anyone,
He stared at the words for a long time,
Then a familiar voice called from the doorway,
"Arvail,"
He turned immediately,
Queen Lysara stood there, sunlight glowing behind her,
"You disappeared again,"
Arvail closed the notebook sheepishly,
"I was writing,"
"Instead of eating,"
His mother crossed her arms with a playful smile,
"You promised you would come to lunch today,"
"I forgot,"
"I noticed,"
Arvail walked toward her,
"What are we eating?"
"Bread, honey, and the fruit you like,"
His eyes brightened,
"The red ones?"
"Yes,"
Arvail slipped the notebook into his pocket,
"Then I suppose poetry can wait,"
Lysara took his hand gently,
As they walked down the tower stairs together, she glanced at him sideways,
"What were you writing about today?"
Arvail looked up toward the distant strip of blue sky visible through the tower window,
"The sky,"
His mother smiled softly,
"You always do,"
Arvail nodded,
"I think one day I'll understand it,"
Lysara squeezed his hand,
"Maybe you will,"
And together they walked toward the palace dining hall,
Outside, beyond the endless walls of the Keep, the sky stretched wide and silent,
Waiting....