Chapter 8 before the fall of light
1168 Words
Back in time, in those days, Alvidon stood untouched by grief.
Its palace, carved of pale stone and silver-veined marble, rose like a monument to serenity. Rain often visited its lands, as though the heavens themselves favored it with gentle mourning for things yet to come.
On one such morning, after a night of heavy rain, the palace walls glistened beneath the soft light of dawn.
Within those walls, she sat.
Princess Aurora.
It was said that her presence alone could soften even the most troubled hearts. Her beauty was not merely seen, it was felt, like a calm that settled over restless souls.
Her golden hair fell in loose waves to her waist, catching the morning light like threads of sun woven into mortal form. Jewels adorned her lightly, never to outshine her, only to honor what already existed.
She rose from her seat and walked toward a tall mirror framed in ancient silver. For a moment, she simply looked upon her reflection. Not with vanity but with quiet awareness.
The gown she wore, a soft peach hue that rested delicately upon her shoulders, seemed almost alive against her skin.
A faint smile touched her lips.
“Good work, Lilian,” she said, her voice gentle as morning rain. “I would not have believed such skill possible from hands so new to this palace.”
Behind her stood the maiden Lilian, newly appointed, and wholly unprepared for such praise.
Her eyes lit with joy.
“Your Highness is too kind,” she replied, bowing slightly. “It is my greatest honor.”
Aurora turned, her gaze warm, her presence effortless.
Those who served her often spoke, in later years, of how she never ruled through fear. Only through grace.
Then came the knock. A palace maid entered upon permission, bowing low.
“Your Highness, the King requests your presence. The Ceremony of Jubilee is about to begin.”
Aurora inclined her head. “I will attend shortly.”
The maid withdrew, leaving the chamber once more in stillness.
Aurora turned back to the mirror. This time she lingered. As though something unseen brushed against the edges of her thoughts. A feeling unfamiliar, like a whisper carried from somewhere far beyond Alvidon. But she did not yet understand it. How could she?
For in those days, she was still only a princess. And the gods had not yet touched her life.
She turned from the mirror at last and made her way toward the door. Unaware that before many moons would pass, she would meet a being not bound by mortal law.
And in loving him, she would cease to belong to the world of men.
In those days, the people of Alvidon still gathered in light.
The Ceremony of Jubilee was not merely a celebration. It was remembrance. It was gratitude. It was devotion to a past that had saved them.
And on that morning, the great hall of Alvidon was filled. Nobles in flowing robes. Witches adorned in quiet power. Citizens gathered in reverence. All waiting.
Then she appeared.
Princess Aurora descended the grand staircase with a grace that seemed untouched by the world below. Each step was measured, effortless, as though even the air made way for her.
Voices softened. Eyes turned. And at the far end of the hall, King Julian saw her.
A wide smile broke across his aged face. He rose from his seat and extended his hands.
Aurora reached him, placing her hands gently into his.
“Your beauty,” he said, his voice filled with quiet pride, “makes me a very proud father.”
Aurora smiled. “Thank you, Father.”
Together, they took their seats—Aurora at his left, as tradition and honor demanded.
The hall settled.
Then King Julian lifted his silver cup and struck it lightly with his spoon. The sound rang clear. All attention turned to him.
“Great nation of Alvidon,” he began, his voice steady despite the years upon him. “Today, we gather as one, to celebrate the sacred Jubilee, the remembrance of our ancient mother, Juby.”
A murmur of reverence passed through the hall.
“We all know her story,” he continued. “Passed from generation to generation. The story of a queen… and a protector. She who gave every ounce of her magic, her blood, her life to shield this land.”
The air grew heavier.
“She stood when the gods turned their backs on Riverdale.”
Silence followed.
“And in that great purge… not one soul of Alvidon was lost. Not one child. Not one family. Not one thread of magic faded into the void.”
Heads bowed.
Gratitude.
Reverence.
“So today,” King Julian said, lifting his cup slightly, “we honor her. That every dale of Alvidon stands here—alive, whole, and unbroken. Let the ceremony begin!”
The hall erupted.
Cheers.
Music.
Movement.
The solemn turned to celebration. Dancers filled the floor. Laughter echoed against the walls.
Life. Aurora watched it all. Her smile remained, her posture composed.
A princess.
A future queen.
Beside her, King Julian leaned closer.
“My dear,” he said quietly, “we cannot remain long. The sacrifice of thanksgiving awaits.”
Aurora turned, surprised.
“But Father… that duty belongs to you and the Crown Prince.”
His expression dimmed slightly.
“Yes,” he said. “It does. But Perez is only five.”
Aurora’s brows softened.
“He is not just a prince,” Julian continued. “He is still a child… barely more than a babe.”
Aurora shook her head gently.
“That is why his mother may stand in his place. The law permits it.”
A shadow crossed the king’s face.
“You know I will not allow that,” he said firmly. “I do not trust Alicia.”
Aurora sighed softly.
“She is not what you think,” she replied. “Her only fault was loving my brother too deeply. And eeven the rumors of her infidelity, no accusation of betrayal was ever proven.”
Julian’s gaze hardened.
“Suspicion does not rise from nothing,” he said. “There is no smoke without fire.”
Silence lingered between them.
“I have lost my son,” he continued, quieter now. “Too soon. Too cruelly.”
Aurora’s expression softened.
“And now,” he said, “I have only you and the boy. I grow old, Aurora. My time in this world draws closer to its end than its beginning.”
Aurora’s breath stilled.
“When I leave,” he continued, “I will leave this throne to you. You will rule until Perez comes of age. I must ensure that what I leave behind is secure.”
A long silence followed, Aurora understood even if she did not agree. Without further argument, she rose and followed her father. Leaving behind the music, the laughter, the light. Walking instead toward duty.
- Writer
