Chapter 6 - Chapter 5: A Letter to You

EndlessReverie

Chapter 5: A Letter to You

𝚉𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗

05/21/2025

A/N: A letter for Dae in the form of a novel. tho, not accurate, but it fits the tone, longing for attention >:D —— anyhow guys, enjoy this read.

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Days had passed since then

The winter hue had come.

The frost, the snowflakes, and the blizzards of ice had knocked to the doorsteps of the Sovereignty.

Then, at the study chambers — there was a beautiful lady dressed in blue.

Aidelie sat bathed in the morning light, her quill gliding across the parchment. Her dress, a cataract of midnight silk and starlit embroidery. Shimmered with each movement — threads of silver weaving constellations across the table. The sleeves draped like twilight mist, cinched at the wrist with bands of sapphire.

Regal is the one word that anyone can describe towards her presence, even Asareth would melt immediately in her arms. She's a dream carved from moonlight.

The essence bled slowly into the parchment, the essence itself serving as the ink — waving the quill around like magic as she wrote some astonishing words. Curling around each letter with the weight of memory.

⊱⋘ ──────────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──────────── ⋙⊰

Dearest Lysaria,

To my dearest sister beneath the stars, I greet you. It's snowing again. The soft kind — the one that folds and clings to you, the one that's brushing against the edges of your cloak. It reminds me of our winters in Luminark, back when you and I would race through the eastern gardens, pretending we were phoenixes reborn—

∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗

Aidelie's quill paused, her breath visible in the cold air of her chamber. Though the warmers, lanterns, and the flowing essence glowed from the corners of the room. The frost beyond the glass was relentless.

She glanced at the cradle nestled near the hearth, where her son slept—silent, still, as he often was.

My Zairon does not cry, she thought. He simply watches. That thought alone made her smile before looking out the window once more.

∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗

I have another son, Lysaria.

He was born two weeks ago. With hair as white as the peak of Navalia and eyes like dusk-glass—the august colour of the rulers before them, the violet heritage of responsibility. He was born beneath the moon, wrapped in the soft rainfall and the affection of the embers. It's a bit adorable to think that the stars may have paused to watch me give birth, but it feels as if it was that way.

We named him Zairon — after the old word in northern weave-lore: zaerion, "the one who walks beyond threads." Although, I may have gathered thoughts from filial meanings of wealth and emotions, hihi.

The elders say he has no visible thread-line. The Seers called it a void. I call it a beginning.

Zairon—he didn't wail, he didn't cry, not even sudden kicks. Just open eyes—it's the first time I have ever seen someone with the eyes of an amethyst, staring with the calm of someone far older than I could understand. Maybe it's just me, but it seems like he already recognizes me as his mother.

For my husband, Asareth, as usual—he tries to act unaffected. That man pretends to scoel, but I see now he lingers. He watches our son like a question he's too deeply afraid to ask. Asareth doesn't sleep himself anymore, only sharpens his blade in the dark as if he's expecting the world terrors to knock on our door again. Perhaps it will. The land is beautiful, yes, but it remembers staggered pain too well.

∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗

She set her quill down and slowly stood, walking to the tall window that overlooked the northern terraces. Beyond them stretched the winter breeze — rolling frost-laced fields bordered by glimmering threadlines: remnants of ancient essence flows, pulsing faintly under the snow.

This region had always been a land of convergence. Nestled between Luminark's radian spires and Synthara's silent tech-forges. Neither light nor dark, just something in between. Independent. Fierce.

Forgotten by deities and sacred guardians, remembered only by those who knew to fear it.

The Sovereignty stood at the heart of it all. A stronghold of warriors and hunters, of guardians who threaded the open field and assassins who spoke in silence—moving through essence like water. Their legacy was not gilded in stories, but etched in scars and shadowed glories. Aidelie, once princess of Luminark, had traded all her light for it.

And Asareth—her husband—had given everything to keep it.

∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗

They call our son an anomaly. Some whisper of divinity, some spoke of terror and depression. I even believe that Asareth is believing such sayings, but it's all just sayings. I do not trust prophets who speak of the future, sure, there maybe some that have the threads to look into time. But, my son? I don't want to hear such words, he'll be at home in my arms.

I do not fear him. I fear what the world might do to a boy that doesn't understand.

∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗

She paused. The snow drifted slowly against the grand banners of House Navalia, each bearing the sigil of the Everwake Frostern Fox, tails coiled in a sleeping spiral. The same Fox that once guarded the region against the Frostmourne kin that dared plague the northern fields—before vanishing into legend.

But for now, quiet and the soft crackling of fire embraced the interiors of the chamber. Just the steady breath of a newborn child, the newest pride of the Household.

∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗

Perhaps, he will never understand how many lives were broken or even taken—and I intend it that he won't. But if the threads of this world had tied him to do so, if time will give miracles or mercy — then shall this world be his home.

I thank you for reading this letter, Lysaria. This is a letter to you, I dear of you to visit once a while.

Your ever-loving sister,

Aidelie 'Ether' vonNavalia.

⊱⋘ ──────────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──────────── ⋙⊰

Aidelie signed the letter and sealed it with wax, pressing the crest of Navalia into its center before marking it with the sigil of her symbol, an eternal rose.

She turned back to Zairon. He had opened his eyes.

"Oh? Did mommy wake you up?" she slowly approached her infant child, picking him before cradling him. "Don't worry, I will be your guardian angel. Let's make those bad people disappear," she chuckled softly.

Zairon was still and silent, amethyst eyes gazing into hers, listening to the soft hum of his mother.

Then he fell asleep.

∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗

A few floors up, there stood a man.

Asareth von Navalia stood at the balcony just outside the war chamber, one hand resting against the railing, the other inspecting a crystal that he felt neaby. He couldn't decipher the contents during the moments he felt sacred essence, he merely gave up afterwards before placing the crystal on a small chest.

Snow drifted past him in slow spirals, setting on his pauldron and cloak like dust on forgotten stone.

He had not returned to the chamber since birth.

Not because he was not ready—

But because he was afraid.

What could he do? He hasn't even become a good father to his heir and daughters, much less his newborn son.

He sighed as he checked his antique watch, holding it close like a rosary from which he prayed for guidance and strength. He was about to turn around before hearing a warm voice.

"Congratulations, My Lord."

The voice belonged to Cael—his longtime right hand and childhood friend. A sharp hunter who brought large terrors and foes beneath his knees, whose words were as rare as his mistakes.

Asareth didn't look at him and returned to staring at the horizon. Soldiers on foot moving supplies, kids playing and racing around, the frostbite colouring the warm houses with white snow. "... I wasn't there."

Cael stood beside him, silent for a moment before replying. "Your blade has been, your blood. It's enough."

"No," he responded immediately. "It's not."

Asareth's gaze was distraught. Even with swords clashing, kids playing, music flooding the streets. He couldn't be bothered to look or notice it. Asareth saw none of it.

His mind was with the child downstairs — the child who hadn't cried.

"Do you think something's wrong with him?" he finally asked.

Cael hesitated. "... If the madame heard that, you would be eight feet underground."

Asareth's glance was an intense glare which Cael used the chance to fix himself, he cleared his throat before responding properly. "He's quiet, sure. But he's warm and comforting, that shouldn't be an anomaly."

Asareth's grip on the watch faltered slightly. "He looked at me. I've stared down terrors, demons, warriors, and kings. But that boy—"

"He didn't flinch?"

"No," Asareth sighed. "I did."

Cael almost smiled. "He's yours then."

He finally turned around, walking through the cold floor before merging with the warmth of the embers of the hearth. He stood in front of the table before placing the watch within his pockets.

"Aidelie named him Zairon."

"An elegant name."

"Too gentle for the weight he'll carry," Asareth moved his hands at the table, moving pieces and flags of a map of the continent.

As Cael was about to leave, he called out to him. "Hold him close, I believe Madame will spoil him away from you."

Asareth paused.

"I'll try."

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𝙰𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚡

Luminark, a name based on a play on words. Lumine for light and ark for archons. An empire that embraces the spirit of the world, an Empire that strengthened the usage of essence.

Synthara, likewise to Luminark, it is a play on words. Synthetic for creation and ara (latin) meaning altar and sanctuary. A society that reveres science and technology as the ultimate form of evolution.