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CHAPTER 38
– A Child’s Name
The Emperor’s audience was over.
I stepped out of the throne room, my heartbeat still uneven.
He hadn’t denied it.
He didn’t dismiss me.
That was enough for now.
The palace air felt clearer than usual, as if even the walls recognized the shift.
As if the wind itself had stopped holding its breath.
“…You really did it,” the Chancellor muttered behind me.
I turned to him.
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. I thought you’d be broken when you returned.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
He let out a low chuckle, but there was something heavier in his eyes.
“Your next battle won’t be with swords.”
“I know.”
“The council won’t be pleased. You’ve shaken too many things.”
“They’ll get over it.”
I took a deep breath and looked up at the blue banners fluttering above the marble pillars.
“They always do.”
Later that evening, I sat alone in my chamber.
I had sent away the attendants.
Even Cecil had gone to her quarters, saying she’d “hit someone” if she stayed too long in the palace.
The room was quiet.
Moonlight spilled across the stone floor, pale and cold.
I sat by the window and opened the small velvet pouch I had hidden in my cloak.
Inside, it gleamed softly.
The mineral.
Still warm.
Still… alive.
I placed it on the table and just stared at it.
“Jay.”
I whispered his name.
It sounded strange in this place.
Too soft.
Too far away.
I hadn’t seen his face in years.
I didn’t even have a portrait.
No painting, no image—just scattered memories.
The way he’d hug me without warning.
The way he called me “Mama” when he was scared.
The way his little hands shook the first time he held a wand.
The way he smiled when he got something right.
Tears slid down before I realized.
I pressed my lips together and wiped them away.
Not yet.
I still had things to do.
I took a pen and parchment from the drawer.
My hand trembled slightly.
Not from fear.
From something deeper.
I began to write.
To His Majesty, the Emperor of Estie:
I hereby submit my formal petition to reinstate my son’s rightful name,
lineage, and station.His name is Jayster d’Arvenia.
He is my son.
And I will not let the world forget him again.
At that same moment, far away—
A boy sat alone on a rooftop, his legs swinging over the edge.
He had a small satchel in his lap and ink-stained fingers.
In his hands, he turned over a shard of failed crystal.
Another failure.
He sighed.
Then, someone called from inside.
“Jay!”
“Coming!”
He jumped down from the roof, wiping his hands on his trousers.
The night sky stretched endlessly above him.
He didn’t know it yet—
But the world had just begun to turn toward him.
