The herald stepped back.
And then he appeared.
Caelmir, tall and proud, descended the grand staircase with measured grace. His platinum-gray hair shimmered beneath the soft chandelier light, falling just past his shoulders in silken waves. His eyes, radiant and golden like the heart of the sun, swept across the crowd, calm and unblinking.
He wore a white coat adorned with layered gold embroidery that curled in beautiful patterns. A deep red cloak flowed behind him, fastened at the shoulders. His white boots moved through the podium until he stood before the crowd beneath him. He was illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the roof windows.
Caelmir took a moment as he stood before the crowd, a soft smile on his lips, his golden eyes warm and steady. He didn't raise his voice, yet somehow, the entire ballroom quieted for him.
"Thank you all for being here tonight. It truly means more than I can put into words."
He glanced around, meeting the eyes of those gathered: nobles, elves, dwarves, mages, and warriors from every corner of the realm.
"I was told that a coronation is about tradition. About legacy. About being ready."
A light chuckle followed, quiet but genuine.
"And yet, standing here now, I don't feel ready in the way I imagined. But maybe that's the point. Maybe leadership isn't about knowing everything. Maybe it's about listening, learning, and choosing to carry the weight anyway."
His gaze softened, the smile returning.
"This city, this kingdom… it's more than banners and marble. It's all of you. And I hope, truly hope, that I can be someone worthy of it. Someone who doesn't just wear the crown but understands the lives beneath it."
He inhaled gently, composing himself as emotion brushed his words.
"So tonight, let's not just celebrate what's to come. Let's celebrate who we are and everything we've made together. Thank you for believing in me."
He gave a light, respectful bow.
"Let the night begin."
Then, with a slight bow of the head and a glint of mischief in his golden eyes:
"Oh, and please, someone save me a slice of cake before the dwarves eat it all."
Laughter and applause erupted around the hall light, relieved, genuine.
Velessa blinked, the smile on her face fading ever so slightly.
Something about Caelmir felt… off. Not overtly wrong, he spoke well, smiled at the right moments, and said all the right words. And yet, it was precisely that perfection that made her uneasy. As if it were a performance, crafted and refined over countless rehearsals.
'Not completely fake… but not completely honest, either.'
Her gaze lingered on him as he mingled with the nobles. He laughed softly at a comment and nodded graciously at a toast, but in between the moments, when he thought no one was looking, his eyes flickered. Sharp. Calculating. Almost predatory.
'He has something in mind...'
Velessa thought, lifting her wine glass slowly.
'And whatever it is… he's already ten steps ahead.'
She took a small sip, her expression calm, masking the sudden surge of curiosity and caution that stirred inside her.
The festivities flowed on around her: music swelled, laughter echoed, and dancers twirled across the floor in practiced elegance. Servants weaved through the crowd with trays of sparkling wine and delicate desserts. Politics and pleasantries danced just as gracefully as the guests.
Velessa leaned back in her chair, eyes still subtly following Caelmir as he disappeared into a new circle of nobles.
Time flew. One moment the ballroom was alive with conversation and clinking glasses, the next, a quiet expectancy settled over the grand hall.
The music softened into a slow, nice melody.
Golden curtains were drawn back to reveal a raised ceremonial platform bathed in the warm glow of the chandeliers. At its center stood a pedestal of carved marble, and atop it, the crown - made of silver and gold, set with a single radiant gem pulsing with soft inner light.
A hush fell over the crowd.
It was time. The final ceremony had come.
It was time for Caelmir to be crowned.
The soft melody faded into silence.
All eyes turned toward the platform as Caelmir emerged once more, ascending the steps with a slow, deliberate stride. The rich crimson of his cloak trailed behind him like a river of flame, his white and gold attire catching the light with every motion.
Velessa watched, her expression unreadable. A murmur of admiration rippled through the crowd.
The herald who welcomed the prince stepped forward, carrying the crown with both hands, his voice rising in a ritualistic song.
Caelmir knelt.
The crown was lowered onto his head with practiced reverence. A hush. Then-
"Long live the Prince!"
A wave of cheers erupted, polite at first, then growing with warmth and energy. The hall filled with applause and raised glasses.
Velessa's hands met in a quiet, composed clap. Her gaze remained on Caelmir, thoughtful.
Something about him still felt... off.
She clapped along with the others, but her eyes never left Caelmir.
He stood there, smiling graciously, his expression one of humble acceptance. But to Velessa, it looked too perfect. There was a stillness in his eyes that didn't quite match the joy on his face.
'He's hiding something.' She thought, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass of orange juice.
Caelmir stood up with a smile.
He opened his lips.
And was going to finish the night with a final speech.
Can you hear me?
I can see what you are.
You're more interesting than I expected.
Just as he opened his lips.
The stained glass above shattered with a thunderous crack.
Five figures dropped from the ceiling , cloaked in armor. They landed soundlessly, surrounding the prince in perfect synchronicity.
Gasps rippled through the crowd, but before anyone could scream-
A flicker of motion. A shift in the air.
Several among the guests moved. The Archmages have made their move.
But it wasn't fast enough.
The air turned sharp with tension.
Velessa stood up instinctively, eyes wide, her hand already moving toward her shadow.
Magic pulsed in the room like a heartbeat. But the moment had already slipped.
And Caelmir… just smiled.
A blade of ice formed into existence in one of the attackers' hands-cold, pristine, and cruel. It drove cleanly into the prince's chest, right where the heart was. The motion was so fluid, so sudden, that even the archmages barely had time to react.
Gasps filled the ballroom. Spells sparked to life too late.
Caelmir's body lurched forward, cloak billowing like the wings of a falling phoenix.
Just before he hit the marble floor, his lips parted once more.
"A third time," he whispered.
And so, beneath golden chandeliers and horrified stares...
The Prince of Dawn met his end.