The First Contact
1110 Words
Chapter 10
After the victory feast, the palace lingered with the scent of roasted game, spiced fruits, and laughter that echoed through the marbled halls like fading music. Servants bustled between the tables, carrying polished platters and golden trays, while the nobles, cloaked in silk and velvet, reveled in the spoils of triumph. Courtiers raised crystal goblets high, toasting the end of the war with slurred songs and exaggerated tales. Musicians played a lilting tune from the gallery above, their fingers dancing across harp strings and flutes like the wind brushing through tall grass. Golden goblets clinked under the flicker of torchlight, their contents swirling with aged wine and celebration.
Yet, amid the warmth and revelry, Elion sat still.
His eyes, ocean-blue and steady, did not join in the revelry. He stared past the dancers, past the silk banners and banquet spreads, past the warmth that should have comforted him. His heart had already slipped away from celebration and wandered somewhere far beyond reach—into the realm of forbidden thoughts and echoing dreams. He could still hear her voice from the dreamscape that had haunted him since his youth. Could almost feel the soft pull of her presence just behind the veil of reality.
He rose quietly from the long banquet table, his movements graceful, composed. Around him, his siblings remained caught in the din—Taron boasting about a battlefield victory to anyone who would listen, Lile already whispering scandalous gossip to a visiting lady-in-waiting with one hand lazily curled around a wine goblet.
Only the Queen noticed his departure.
Ever watchful, her eyes—sharp as polished steel—tracked him with faint curiosity as he stepped back from the festivities.
“I’d like to stay with Grandmother tonight,” he said, voice calm, almost casual. “There’s something I wish to learn… about the defeated kingdom.”
The words were deliberately vague. A hint of truth, wrapped in enough ambiguity to avoid suspicion.
The Queen raised one perfectly arched brow. For a moment, Elion feared she might question him. But then she simply nodded, lips drawn in a small line. His father, drunk on the warmth of victory, gave a distracted grunt of acknowledgment. No one pressed him. No one followed.
It was just as he had hoped.
As the stars blinked into the velvet sky, Elion walked side by side with his grandmother through the palace garden. The chill of night settled on their cloaks, and the air carried the faint scent of moonlilies and wet moss. Her cane tapped softly against the cobblestones with each step, steady and deliberate. Though age had bent her back slightly, she walked with the dignity of a woman who once advised kings.
Her home lay nestled at the edge of the palace grounds—a modest stone cottage surrounded by overgrown ivy, wild herbs, and ancient statues worn smooth by time. The cottage was a world apart from the palace: quiet, old, and pulsing with a gentler kind of magic.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of incense and aged parchment. Books lined every surface—scrolls, star charts, glass jars filled with glittering powders and preserved leaves. A single candle flickered atop a carved wooden table, casting golden light over the room in shifting patterns. The glow reflected in Elion’s eyes as he stepped inside, heart beating fast with anticipation.
He turned toward his grandmother. “Is it time?”
Her eyes met his. Old as stardust, soft as worn velvet. And behind them, something unspoken stirred.
She gave a single nod. “Come.”
She led him past the main room and through a curtain of heavy midnight-blue velvet. Beyond it lay a chamber he had only heard of in stories—the inner sanctum. It smelled of old magic, of lavender and ash, of moonlight trapped in stone. The floor was engraved with a map of celestial gates—etched by hand and polished smooth by reverent footsteps over centuries.
Moonlight poured through a narrow window cut into the stone wall, illuminating the runes with a pale silver sheen. The breeze stirred the long curtains, making the space feel alive, as though it were holding its breath. The air shifted around them, charged with quiet power.
She reached into a velvet-lined box on the altar and pulled out two pieces of crystal technology—an elegant earpiece shaped like a crescent moon and a voicepiece adorned with delicate glyphs. The other was a pair of lens-glasses enchanted with runic symbols that shimmered faintly with violet energy.
She handed the earpiece to Elion and carefully adjusted her own.
“You must never reveal who you are,” she said softly, but her words were iron. “No talk of war. No kingdoms. And never use your thunder voice. It could shatter her mind.”
Elion swallowed, the weight of the moment pressing into his chest.
“So what do I say?”
She stepped closer, touched the side of his face with a palm both soft and worn. “Tell her what’s true. That you admire her. That she matters. Let her hear your heart—not your name.”
He hesitated.
The fear wasn’t of danger, or rejection—it was of ruining something sacred. What if she didn’t answer? What if she heard the truth and turned away?
“And if she doesn’t answer?” he asked.
His grandmother smiled, the kind of smile that only the very old can wear—one that had seen the rise and fall of dreams, yet still believed in them.
“She will,” she said. “She needs someone to listen. Just like you do.”
Her words found their place deep in his soul.
She gestured toward the window and its view of the celestial gates. “When she speaks, ask something simple. Human. Something that invites her to open her world to you. You must walk slowly into her heart.”
Elion nodded. His breath came shallow now.
“Okay,” he whispered. “I’m ready.”
She took a step back.
The room’s energy shifted, as though awakening. The air shimmered faintly, and soft threads of magic twisted through the candlelight. The lens-glasses glowed, the earpiece vibrated gently in his hand.
Elion placed it into his ear.
The crystal warmed instantly. It hummed against his skin.
From the altar, the signal surged—an invisible thread launched across the veil between worlds, cutting through space and time.
Somewhere far away—on Earth, in a small bedroom cluttered with worn books and a flickering lamp—Aria’s phone began to ring.
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