Chapter 10: The Crown Bows Back
He had arrived.
King Lucien Solmere entered the ballroom like a tide rolling in—calm, inevitable, and dragging gravity with him. His black hair streaked with silver gleamed under the chandelier light. His cloak rippled behind him, deep indigo embroidered with fine silver threads. His heterochromatic gaze—one gold, one black—swept across the room, and everyone fell silent.
At his side, Queen Seraphine Solmere floated more than walked. Her presence was less forceful but no less commanding. Lavender eyes, serene and unreadable, passed over the nobility like a quiet judgment.
The nobles bowed as one.
"Your Majesty. Your Grace."
The King raised a single hand, and the crowd rose in unison. No one dared speak out of turn.
He took a few steps forward, voice calm and resonant.
"We stand today not only to celebrate the beginning of a new tradition—but to honor twelve children whose deeds have already shaped the realm."
A pause. The eyes of the crowd turned to us. Some in awe. Some with veiled suspicion. A few with outright envy.
"The Royal Nursery begins this day—a place where noble bloodlines gather, not just for privilege, but for preparation. Here, you will be taught not only the blade and the book—but the burden of legacy."
He turned slightly, his golden eye catching the light.
"But before that—let the realm recognize the twelve children who, at only three years of age, have gifted us a miracle. A discovery that may change the fate of this world."
He motioned gently toward us.
"Step forward, children."
And so we did.
One by one, we stood, guided by invisible formation lines drawn in the marble itself.
I felt every noble gaze digging into my soul like they were trying to see through us.
Kael mumbled, "I swear if they ask me to dance, I'm starting a revolution."
Brannor rolled his shoulders. "Good. I brought the fire."
Queen Seraphine stepped forward now, her voice as soft as drifting snow—but every word rang clearly.
"These twelve children—each born of noble blood—have uncovered fragments of a cultivation system thought lost for millennia. Their efforts, though aided by fate, were not handed to them. They worked. They learned. They taught. They gave—selflessly."
She turned her gaze toward us. Her expression, for the first time, warmed. Just a little.
"And in doing so… they gave humanity a second chance."
The nobles clapped. Polite. Respectful. But behind many faces, I saw calculation. Ambition. Fear.
They were trying to guess what we were.
Children? Prodigies? Monsters?
We were all three.
The King raised his voice once more.
"In the name of House Solmere, and under the crown of the Human Realm, we thank you."
And then—he did something unexpected.
He bowed.
Just slightly. Just for a breath. But to the nobility gathered behind him, it was like lightning striking water.
Gasps. Shuffling. Shocked glances.
A king bowing… to children.
To us.
I caught Liora looking at me, lips parted in awe.
Kyoto, ever calm, blinked once. "That… was unexpected."
The royal bow lingered in the air like thunder refusing to fade.
And then, slowly, the nobles began to approach.
One by one, they crossed the ballroom to greet us—the twelve so-called "miracle children." And behind those practiced smiles and courteous words, I could already feel it: the chessboard shifting. Alliances forming. Power recalculating.
The first to reach us was a familiar figure: Duke Garron Thornefell, the man built like a mountain with the soul of a teddy bear and the voice of a battlefield.
He crouched (well, sort of—it was more like the floor bent beneath him), grinning down at Kael with the pride of a man who would punch the stars if they ever insulted his son.
"That's my boy!" Garron bellowed, his voice echoing through the marble. "Did you all see that? Thornefell blood runs strong. Strong enough to make even the King into bowing, huh?"
Kael sighed and tugged at his sleeve. "Father, you're—uh—louder than usual."
"Louder? I'm just speaking with conviction!" He patted Kael's head, nearly knocking the poor kid over. "You've made your father proud, boy. Now try not to start any wars in the nursery, alright? Unless you win them, of course. Haha"
Next came Duke Meriatus, father of Vireya—a tall, thin man dressed in opalescent robes that shimmered with runic script. He looked like he'd just stepped out of a magical thesis paper.
He adjusted his monocle, eyes sharp and analytical, then gave us all a brief nod before addressing Vireya.
"You broke three magical laws I believed to be absolute before you were two. I'm proud. And mildly terrified."
Vireya smiled brightly. "Thanks, Father. I've already started breaking a fourth."
He blinked once. Then slowly smiled.
"That's my girl."
Behind him trailed Miren Meriatus, Vireya's mother, her robes marked with ink stains, herb dust, and faint glowing sigils. She gave a sleepy but warm wave to the rest of us.
"If any of you want bedtime stories based on metaphysical theorem, my door is always open."
"That sounds horrifying," murmured Brannor, deadpan.
"I want two," Vireya whispered happily.
From the other side, Duke Raelan Valeblume—father of Lysandra—approached, his silver-lavender hair perfectly styled and his smirk sharper than most blades. The kind of man who could charm a room and rob its vault at the same time.
"My dear Lysandra," he said, bowing ever-so-slightly. "Remind me to increase your monthly allowance. After all, you've elevated the family's status to borderline divinity. A little gold is the least I can do."
Lysandra smiled sweetly. "Make it platinum. Gold's too common."
He laughed. "Even your greed is elegant. Just like your mother."
Duke Boran Pyraethos stomped in next like a walking forge, still wearing his smith's apron over formal wear, much to the dismay of the surrounding nobles.
"Brannor, I heard you found a way to strengthen your bones without using hammer or steel. That's cheating, boy. But I'll allow it."
Brannor crossed his arms. "I'm still gonna forge better weapons than you by ten, old man."
"That's the spirit! But you better start practicing now if you want a chance."
They bumped fists. Sparks literally flew.
Even Duke Ardyn Caerwyn arrived, silent as a drifting tree, his silver hair braided like antlers, his eyes deep green and calm.
He only gave Thalor a nod. No words. But Thalor nodded back, and in that quiet exchange, somehow, a full conversation had passed.
Lady Naeva Mireveil—Baroness and healer, gentle as snowfall—offered us all handmade herbal sweets that shimmered with energy.
"For your efforts," she said softly. "You've healed a world far more wounded than you know."
Even Tyran and Lianya Arashi, parents of Kyoto, appeared, drifting in like a passing thunderstorm and still lake. Tyran ruffled Kyoto's hair with a grin. Lianya simply smiled and said:
"Your storm is awakening soon. Be kind to the breeze before you fly into the sky."
Kyoto blinked. "Yes, Mother."
As all the noble families mingled and offered their own greetings—whether genuine, political, or performative—I noticed the King watching us. Not as a ruler.
As a father.
And behind him, Queen Seraphine stood with her eyes closed, but her senses clearly open. Her hand lightly brushed her chest—over her heart. Over me.
Then she opened her eyes.
And smiled.
Just a little.
The crown had bowed. The families had spoken.
Now, everything was set.
The Royal Nursery had begun.