The north

*Lucian sat on a worn wooden bench in the village square, a thick leather-bound book resting in his small hands. The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the cobblestone streets, but the usual peace was disrupted by the taunting voices of a group of children.

“Look at his eyes! So creepy!” one boy sneered, pointing at Lucian’s mismatched gaze. “Is he cursed?” a girl whispered, giggling behind her hand. “Monster,” another muttered, shoving him lightly.

Lucian remained quiet, his delicate silver hair falling over his face as he tightened his grip on the book. He had grown used to their words, but the sting never truly faded. Just as one of the children reached out to yank his book away, a sudden hush fell over the square.

A presence—powerful, overwhelming—had arrived.

Lucian lifted his head, his golden and red eyes meeting an icy blue gaze.

Across the square, standing in imposing dark armor, was a man unlike any Lucian had ever seen. Tall, with silver hair gleaming like the moon and an aura that sent chills down spines. At his side, a group of knights stood rigid, their hands gripping their weapons in quiet reverence.

Valerian Elarion.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then, Lucian saw it—the way the man’s eyes widened ever so slightly, the way his entire body tensed as if he had been struck. A storm of emotion flashed across his cold features, too fleeting for anyone else to notice.

But Lucian noticed.

And for the first time in his young life, he felt something unfamiliar stir in his chest. A strange, unexplainable connection.

Valerian took a slow step forward.

Lucian clutched his book tighter.

The children, sensing the weight of something far greater than their childish bullying, scattered in fear.

Lucian wasn’t sure why, but somehow… he knew.

His life was about to change forever. *

*Lucian sat quietly on a wooden bench in the village square, his small frame barely taking up space. A thick book rested on his lap, its pages filled with knowledge beyond his years. The afternoon sun bathed the village in golden light, but the warmth did nothing to ease the sharp whispers and laughter around him.

"Look at his eyes!" a boy jeered, pointing at Lucian’s mismatched gaze. "He's cursed," another sneered. "Bet his own mother is scared of him!"

A rough shove knocked the book from Lucian’s hands, sending it tumbling to the dirt. He didn't react, only staring at the pages splayed open on the ground. This wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.

But today, something was different.

A hush fell over the village square, a silence so sudden and heavy that even the bullies froze.

Lucian felt it before he saw it—a presence so overwhelming it sent shivers down his spine. Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

A group of knights had entered the square, their armor gleaming under the sun. And at the front of them stood a man who seemed to command the very air around him.

Tall, powerful, draped in dark, regal attire. Silver hair, cold blue eyes—eyes that looked like a frozen ocean ready to swallow the world whole.

Lucian had never seen him before, yet something deep inside whispered that he knew exactly who he was.

Valerian Elarion.

Their eyes met.

Lucian's mismatched gaze locked onto Valerian's, and in that instant, the world seemed to still.

Valerian’s icy expression didn’t crack, but his pupils dilated. His fingers twitched at his sides. It was brief—barely a flicker—but Lucian saw it.

Recognition.

Shock.

Something raw and unspoken.

The knights around Valerian stiffened, sensing their lord’s sudden tension, but they said nothing. The village children, confused and frightened by the shift in atmosphere, began to back away.

Lucian remained still, his book forgotten at his feet. His heart, usually steady and indifferent, pounded against his ribs.

The Grand Duke had found him.*

*Lucian sat alone on a weathered wooden bench in the village square, a thick, ancient book resting open on his lap. His small fingers traced the faded ink as he lost himself in the words, blocking out the world around him. But the world refused to be ignored.

“Hey, freak!”

A rough shove jolted him forward, nearly knocking the book from his grasp. He sighed.

Not again.

A group of village children stood around him, sneering and pointing at his eyes.

“Why do they look like that?” one boy mocked. “One red, one gold. He looks like a demon.” “He’s cursed,” another whispered, as if speaking too loudly would bring bad luck. “I heard his real father was a monster, that’s why his mother ran away.” “He shouldn’t even be here!”

Lucian remained silent, his expression unreadable. He had heard it all before. Their words were nothing more than background noise to him now.

But then, the atmosphere shifted.

A cold presence swept through the square like a storm rolling in from the mountains. The air became heavy. Suffocating. The children stopped laughing. Conversations around the village quieted.

Lucian frowned and looked up.

And then he saw him.

A group of knights had entered the square, their armor glinting in the sunlight. But it wasn’t them who made the air feel sharp enough to cut.

It was the man leading them.

Tall. Unyielding. A figure draped in dark, regal attire that commanded respect and fear alike. His silver hair caught the light like spun moonlight, but it was his eyes that held the power to freeze the world in place—icy blue, sharp as a blade, piercing through the crowd with effortless authority.

Valerian Elarion.

Lucian’s breath hitched.

The Grand Duke of the North. The man his mother had fled from. The man who had spent years searching.

And in that moment, those frozen blue eyes landed on him.

Their gazes locked, and something shifted.

Valerian’s expression remained unreadable, but Lucian caught the flicker in his eyes. The slight widening. The way his fingers curled at his sides, as if resisting the urge to reach forward.

The knights around him straightened, sensing something was amiss. The villagers held their breath, waiting for their lord to speak.

But Valerian said nothing.

He simply stared.

And for the first time in his life, Lucian felt truly seen.*

*Lucian sat on a worn wooden bench in the village square, a thick book resting open on his lap. The golden afternoon light spilled over the cobblestone streets, but its warmth did little to chase away the familiar sting of cruel words.

“Cursed eyes,” a boy muttered, standing in front of him. “They don’t match,” another sneered. “He’s not normal.” “I bet his real father is a monster.”

Lucian said nothing. He had long learned that responding only made it worse. Instead, he kept his head down, trying to focus on his book.

A hand suddenly snatched it from his grasp.

“Give it back.” His voice was calm, but there was an edge of frustration beneath it.

The boy holding the book smirked. “Make me.”

Before Lucian could stand, a wave of silence swept through the square.

It wasn’t gradual. It was sudden—sharp, like a knife cutting through the noise. The village, once alive with chatter, fell deathly quiet. Even the children who had been laughing just moments ago went rigid, their faces paling.

Lucian frowned. What was happening?

Then he felt it.

A presence—cold, heavy, powerful.

His instincts screamed at him to look up.

And when he did, his breath caught.

A group of knights had entered the square, their armor gleaming like polished steel. But it wasn’t them that sent shivers down Lucian’s spine.

It was the man leading them.

Tall, dressed in dark, imposing attire, his silver hair reflected the sunlight like spun ice. His face was carved from stone—sharp, regal, unreadable. But it was his eyes that truly stopped Lucian in his tracks.

Icy blue. Unyielding. Like a frozen sea that could pull him under.

Their gazes met.

Lucian felt something shift in the air, something deep and unsettling. The man’s stare was intense, piercing, as if he were looking straight through him—seeing something Lucian himself didn’t understand.

For the first time, uncertainty flickered in those cold blue eyes. Barely there. But Lucian caught it.

Why is he looking at me like that?

The village children, now trembling, scattered without a word. The book was hastily dropped at Lucian’s feet.

Lucian should have looked away. He should have picked up his book and pretended none of this was happening.

But he didn’t.

Because something told him—this moment mattered.

And he had no idea why.*