Chapter 9 in Solitude
1288 Words
By midday, the Jubilee had entered its second phase. The Ritual of Thanksgiving had been completed. Offerings given, words spoken, ancient powers acknowledged and life returned once more to celebration.
Princess Aurora had changed her attire. Gone were the soft morning tones. Now she wore something sharper.
A deep purple-silver gown, simple in design yet striking in presence—its color shifting subtly with the light, like dusk caught between worlds.
She moved through the palace halls with effortless grace.
“Your Highness—”
“You look radiant—”
“Thank you…”
“You are kind…”
Her voice was gentle, her smile unwavering as she acknowledged each greeting.
The celebration continued. Music filled the halls. Dancers moved in practiced elegance. Laughter rose and fell like waves.
Aurora returned to her seat and watched. Not the performances but the people.
Her gaze lingered on couples seated together, hands brushing, eyes meeting, quiet understanding shared without words.
Something she had long imagined. Something she had never truly known. To love and be loved in return. The thought stayed with her longer than she expected.
After a moment, she rose. “Excuse my absence, Father.”
King Julian glanced at her briefly then nodded.
Aurora slipped away without drawing attention. Out of the hall, out of the noise into silence.
The palace gardens welcomed her like an old friend. The air was cooler there. Gentler.
She walked without direction. Past trimmed hedges, quiet fountains, statues that had watched generations come and go.
Her thoughts wandered with her steps unfocused. Restless. Until she stopped. Only then realizing how far she had gone.
Before her, the spring stream. Her favorite place.
It wound through the land like a ribbon of liquid glass, its surface catching what little light passed through the silver-grey haze that hung low in the air.
Mist clung to everything, softening edges. Blurring the world into something almost unreal. Slender trees rose from the damp earth, pale and still, like silent witnesses to something ancient.
And at the water’s edge, life bloomed. Wild. Untouched. Aurora exhaled softly. Peace at last.
She stepped closer, then she saw it. A sudden shape against the earth. She froze.
A Pyre. Fear struck instantly.
Every child in Riverdale knew of them. Creatures not merely dangerous but forbidden.
Its body shimmered faintly, covered in iridescent fur that caught the light unnaturally. Its head bore no eyes, only two wide, dish-like ears that seemed far too large, too sensitive.
Even in stillness, it was wrong. Aurora’s breath slowed. The memory of its nature flashed through her mind, the silent thrum. The invisible vibration.
A force that could shatter bone, disrupt the heart, end life without a sound.
No one approached a Pyre. No one touched one. Yet, this one did not move. It lay still. Too still.
Something softened in her gaze.
Carefully, she stepped closer, avoiding contact. She knelt at a safe distance, her hand hovering in the air.
A quiet spell formed on her lips. Soft, controlled. Magic flowed gently. Restorative.
The air shifted and life returned. The creature stirred. A faint tremor ran through its body. Aurora immediately stepped back.
Quick.
“Here you go, little one,” she said softly.
The Pyre did not attack. It did not rise in fury. Instead it moved. Not away in panic but deliberately. It slipped into the mist. Out of sight.
Aurora remained still. Something about it felt wrong. A faint chill ran down her spine.
He had been watching her. Long before she ever noticed. From the veil between worlds, from the shadows where gods were not meant to be seen.
Astraios stood at a distance, unseen, untouched and he had watched.
A mortal girl, a princess stand before a creature feared across all of Riverdale and choose mercy. Not fear, not destruction but life.
For any other person, that creature would have met its end. But not today, because of her.
He stepped forward, out of shadow into her world.
“So,” his voice came suddenly, smooth and unannounced, “what should I call this?”
Aurora startled. A soft gasp escaped her as she turned quickly and saw him.
For a moment she forgot to breathe. He stood before her like something carved from a different reality.
Silver hair. Eyes like the deepest parts of the ocean, calm, endless. Too perfect, too unreal.
She took him in slowly, every detail. Unaware that he was doing the same.
“Brave, or stupid?”
Aurora blinked. “What?”
“No dale,” he said, stepping slightly closer, “would be foolish enough to save that creature. Yet you restored its life.”
Her expression steadied.
“It wasn’t foolish,” she replied calmly. “It was necessary.”
Astraios’ gaze sharpened slightly.
“Necessary?” he echoed. “The next person it meets may not be as fortunate as you. They could die… because of your kindness.”
Aurora held his gaze.
“Might,” she corrected. “Not will.”
Silence lingered.
“So it is worth the risk?” he asked.
Aurora did not hesitate. “Not all dangerous creatures are evil.”
For a moment nothing moved. Then Astraios let out a quiet sound. A low, brief laugh. Amused, truly amused. It had been a long time since anything a mortal said had surprised him.
He stepped closer. Closer until only inches separated them.
Aurora’s breath slowed. Her gaze faltered for just a moment, drifting downward, then back to his face. There was something about him. Something she could not explain.
“What is your name?” she asked.
A pause followed. Astraios studied her as though deciding something.
“Astraios.”
The name settled between them. Aurora’s eyes widened slightly.
“Astraios?” she repeated. “As in… Astraios, the demon god of lost memories and unseen depths?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No embellishment. “That god.”
Aurora stared at him. Then she shook her head slightly.
“I don’t believe you.”
Astraios did not argue. Did not prove himself. He simply looked at her and smiled.
“So, Astraios,” Aurora continued after a moment, her tone shifting slightly, “since you refuse to give me your real name… what brings you here?”
He tilted his head slightly. “Nothing.”
She frowned. “That cannot be true.”
“It is true,” he replied simply. “Just like here alone. And note that I am not here for the ceremony of Jubilee. I do not belong to Alvidon.”
Aurora studied him more carefully now.
“Oh,” she said softly. “So you prefer solitude?”
“Yes.” A simple answer. “It is in my nature.”
A beat passed. Then he looked at her more intently.
“And you?” he asked. “Why leave a hall that celebrates. You are dressed too beautifully not to be behold?”
Aurora smiled faintly.
“You should have seen my first outfit,” she said lightly. “This one is nothing.”
Something flickered in his gaze. Something softer. He nodded once, then stepped back.
“I must go.” He turned, then paused. “Princess Aurora.”
She blinked. A soft scoff escaped her. “I never told you my name.”
Astraios glanced back slightly. “I know many things,” he said quietly. “My darling.”
And then he was gone.
Aurora stood still. Her heart strangely unsteady. Her mind searching for reason. He must know me because I am the Princess… yes.
That had to be it. And yet something about him lingered. Something she could not name.
- Writer
