Morning in Solmire arrived like a festival that had never ended.
Sunlight poured across white towers and turned their windows into sheets of gold.
Banners streamed from rooftops in long ribbons of crimson, ivory, and shining yellow.
The streets below were already alive.
Market bells rang from every district.
Fresh bread cooled on wooden stalls.
Smiths hammered bright steel in open workshops.
Children chased tiny orbs of harmless light aether through fountains shaped like lions and birds.
Travelers from distant lands bartered beneath painted awnings.
Musicians played near the bridges where clear water flowed beneath marble arches.
Where Varkhast had moved with order—
Solmire moved with pride.
Not silence.
Not fear.
But motion.
Laughter.
Noise.
Ambition.
At the center of it all rose Sunspire Palace.
Its highest tower pierced the clouds like a spear of white stone.
From there, the royal crest—a blazing sun crowned by seven rays—could be seen from nearly every road in the kingdom.
Six rays shone in gold.
The seventh remained dark.
An old symbol few understood.
A sudden roar of cheers erupted from the avenue below.
Citizens moved aside at once.
Some bowed.
Others waved eagerly.
Through the street marched knights clad in polished armor trimmed with gold.
Lion mantles flowed behind them.
Their boots struck the road in perfect rhythm.
At their front walked a broad-shouldered man with flame-colored hair and a smile too confident to be humble.
Leonhart Valecor.
Captain of the Golden Lions.
A small sun burned above his open palm as casually as a coin.
Children ran beside the formation shouting his name.
He laughed and tossed sparks into the air, shaping them into leaping lions that dissolved into harmless glitter.
The crowd adored him.
Behind him walked Vice-Captain Mira Dane.
Sharp eyes.
Silver hair tied high.
A spear of condensed light rested across her shoulder.
Where Leonhart accepted praise—
she watched rooftops, alleys, exits.
A warrior inside a parade.
"Captain," she said without looking at him, "you missed morning briefing."
Leonhart grinned.
"I'm here now."
"Late."
"Heroically late."
She sighed the sigh of someone who had suffered this for years.
A shadow crossed the avenue.
Then another.
Then six more.
People looked up and cheered louder.
Knights descended from the clouds with wings of spinning wind and radiant feathers.
They landed atop towers, balconies, and statues with impossible grace.
The Sun Talons.
At their center stood a man balanced on the edge of a clocktower as if gravity were optional.
Long coat fluttering.
Hands in pockets.
Smiling at the city below.
Aeron Skyvale.
Captain of the Sun Talons.
Without warning, he stepped off the tower.
Gasps rose from the crowd.
He fell three stories—
then turned into a streak of wind and landed beside a fruit cart without disturbing a single apple.
"Morning."
The merchant nearly fainted.
Nearby, Vice-Captain Lyra Ventis laughed from above and dove headfirst through a narrow alley before rising again in a spiral of sound and feathers.
Children immediately began pretending they could fly.
At the lower district gate, a different reaction spread.
Less cheering.
More distance.
A group of chained smugglers were dragged through the road by knights wearing dark silver coats marked with wolf fangs.
Their armor carried scratches instead of polish.
Their boots were muddy.
Their expressions unimpressed by celebration.
The Silver Fang.
At their lead strode Darius Fenroth.
Tall.
Scarred.
One gauntlet shaped like sharpened claws.
He stopped before a frightened shopkeeper whose stolen goods were being returned.
"Count it."
The man blinked.
"…What?"
"Count it now. If anything's missing, tell me who touched it."
No speech.
No charm.
Only results.
From the rooftop above, Vice-Captain Selene Voss crouched in silence.
Her pale eyes tracked the crowd like moonlight searching water.
Nothing escaped her notice.
Near the central fountain, a child fell and scraped his knee on stone.
Before the mother could reach him—
soft white petals drifted through the air.
The wound closed.
The tears stopped.
Standing nearby was a woman in elegant white robes lined with silver feathers.
Warm smile.
Steady gaze.
Power hidden beneath kindness.
Seraphine Liora.
Captain of the Ivory Veil.
Citizens bowed not from fear—
but gratitude.
Beside her, Vice-Captain Noel Harten repaired a cracked fountain wall using threads of glowing barrier aether while simultaneously calming three arguing merchants.
From the western road came the thunder of wheels.
Massive supply wagons rolled into the city escorted by knights in heavy iron armor.
Some carried entire ballista parts over one shoulder.
Others laughed while pushing a stuck cart free with bare hands.
The Iron Horn.
At the front marched Brakus Dorn, whose armor looked more like fortress walls than plate.
He slapped a gate pillar affectionately as he passed.
The pillar cracked.
"Solid work!"
Workers stared in horror.
Vice-Captain Talia Forge followed behind, hammer resting on one shoulder.
"You owe them repairs again."
"Put it on the kingdom tab."
"There is no kingdom tab."
At the highest library balcony, cloaked figures watched the city in silence.
Their uniforms bore stars stitched in silver thread.
Pages turned on their own around them.
Runes drifted through the air like constellations.
The Star Scribes.
Captain Orion Valecrest stood with hands behind his back, gaze on the horizon rather than the city below.
As if reading something no one else could see.
Vice-Captain Elise Rowan sealed a stack of ancient scrolls with glowing sigils before speaking quietly.
"The eastern readings changed again."
Orion's eyes narrowed.
"…I know."
In a crowded restaurant below all banners and titles—
a hooded traveler ate another bowl in silence.
Steam rose around him.
Laughter filled the room.
Outside, the kingdom displayed its strength.
Inside, he watched reflections in the window.
Knights passing.
Crowds cheering.
Patterns of movement.
Escape routes.
Habit older than peace.
The owner returned with more food and placed it down.
"You planning to stay long?"
The traveler paused.
Then looked toward the palace tower.
Toward the six golden rays.
Toward the dark seventh.
No answer came.
High above the city, King Rein stood beside Rose and watched Solmire breathe.
"They love the squads more than the crown," Rein said lightly.
Rose folded her hands.
"Then be a king worth comparing."
He smiled.
But before he could answer—
one of his glowing cards formed on its own.
A black edge spread across its surface.
Then it crumbled into ash.
The wind changed.
Far beyond Solmire's walls—
something had begun moving.
And though the city still celebrated—
the light no longer felt alone.