High above the mortal skies, cradled in the embrace of the winds, there floated a kingdom built of light, stone, and stardust. Aetheria, the Kingdom in the Clouds, stood untouched by time. Its towers gleamed like polished ivory beneath the shifting hues of the dawn, and its streets whispered with ancient magic carried on currents of air.
Aetheria was ruled not by power alone, but by balance—Light and Dark magic, harmoniously intertwined since the dawn of its crown. Light for healing, growth, and hope. Dark for protection, defense, and truth in shadow. The people, gifted with one or the other, had lived in peace under the reign of King Alarion Solarius and Queen Lysera Noctivar—a union that itself had once ended a thousand years of civil war.
Now, the realm waited with held breath for another miracle.
Within the royal palace—arched with moon-glass and woven with floating gardens—the Queen's chambers were quiet no longer. The royal physicians, midwives, and seers moved swiftly as cries of labor echoed through the halls. At the heart of it all, Queen Lysera gripped the edge of her bed, silver sweat on her brow and defiance in her glowing eyes.
"Hold on, my Queen," whispered Lady Althira, her younger sister, brushing back Lysera's damp hair. "You are strong. You are nearly there."
The Queen gasped and then released a scream that seemed to tremble the very spires of the palace.
At the foot of the bed, the royal midwife finally gasped, "The first child is here!"
A pause. A cry—soft and golden and full of warmth.
"A boy," she announced. "Radiant. His skin glows with light."
Light magic. The child's aura shimmered like dawn, soft and healing. In the corridor outside, the guards and nobles broke into cheers.
But then—the Queen cried out again.
Another push. Another wail.
A second cry rose through the chamber, this one lower, rawer—like a thunderclap in the hush of twilight.
The midwife stared, then looked up in disbelief.
"Another boy."
Silence settled like frost.
This child did not glow. Instead, the shadows around him curled protectively, like velvet. The room dimmed for a breath. His eyes opened—deep gray and endless.
"Twins," whispered the Seer, who had stood silently near the window. Her blindfold shimmered with runes.
The King stepped forward now, having waited with disciplined stillness all through the labor. His gaze moved between the twins—one wrapped in light, the other in shade.
"They are both mine," he murmured.
"And yet," the Seer finally spoke, her voice echoing beyond sound. "They are not the same. One born under sun, the other under storm. Together, they will change the fate of Aetheria… or destroy it."
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Hours later, the King stood on the balcony with both children in his arms. The people below filled the floating courtyard, a sea of joy.
"Citizens of Aetheria," he declared, "behold the twin heirs of our blood—Prince Auren and Prince Kael. Light and Dark. Sun and Moon. Together, they will protect this realm."
A cheer rose up, thunderous and pure.
But far above, where no one looked, a dark cloud curled at the edge of the horizon—silent, watching.
And somewhere deep in the Queen's heart, an unease settled… like a prophecy half-forgotten.