"The Thrones are Polus's most distinguished warriors, the knights whose unrivaled strength protect all that we hold dear and whose compassion represents the very heart of our nation. Once, there were many who served the King, but after the tragedies of the war there remain only three: Heaven, Nature, and Steel."

  —A passage from A Knight's Guidebook to the Ranks of Polus

  ———

  The atrium roars to life in celebration as both officials and knights alike rush to Lorelai’s side. Their eyes blur with tears and their throats clench in muffled sobs. Though the King desires to descend his throne and thrust himself into her arms more than anyone else, he knows just how much the court has missed their guardian’s presence. He can wait. For now, let the people have their moment of festivity.

  “Pray forgive my sudden entrance,” Lorelai laughs as she’s overrun by an onslaught of loving embraces. “I didn’t intend to cause such a commotion.”

  “Perish the thought, my lady,” Gadreel says, wiping his misty eyes with a handkerchief. “Your company is the greatest gift this old man could have received.”

  “Still ever the charmer, chancellor,” she teases. Her voice carries a slight husk, tone gruff from countless years directing the frontline, and every word is pushed by a powerful, deep timbre. “I’ve missed you all. Truly, it has felt like an eternity this past year away from the capital.”

  Lorelai turns to face Ascalon, and, for a moment, their gazes connect in a shared moment of tender reunion. She drops down onto one knee and addresses him with an immaculate air of formality.

  “Blessings upon you, o’ King Ascalon of the Highest Seat. Your devoted servant, Lorelai of the Three Thrones, has returned.”

  It is a good thing his face is hidden, for the wide grin spread across his lips would be unsightly to show his subjects. “You may rise, Dame Lorelai. Welcome back, and thank you. For all you’ve done to thwart the Caelum advance, Polus owes you a debt of gratitude.”

  “No need for that, your majesty,” she says. “It is my duty, one I shall always be eager to fulfill.”

  Gadreel swiftly brings out a seat and beckons Lorelai to his side. “Come, come my dear. We were just discussing matters on how best to respond to those foul villains. Your perspective would no doubt be a boon as the one most privy to the Grand General’s nature.”

  “I… would love to, Gadreel. But I must request to have a private audience with the King. Alone. I apologize.”

  “Oh. Yes, yes, I understand,” the chancellor says with a disheartened look. “No doubt there needs much to be reported. Very well, we shall adjourn the meeting for a later date.”

  He turns around and barks at the crowd of crestfallen officials to leave. “Let us be off, everyone! And do not be mistaken: Just because the meeting shall end early does not mean your work does as well. Come, the day is still yet young!”

  The others slowly trickle out of the chamber until the only souls left are Lorelai and the king. The two wait for a brief moment, lingering in silence until they are absolutely sure there are none left around, before breaking out into a casual fit.

  “If I had to put up with that stuffy act any second longer… oh, gosh. I’m really not suited for this kind of thing,” she giggles.

  “But you did it, and with quite the impeccable etiquette as well. I’m impressed. It was, um, a rather surprising sight to put it lightly,” Ascalon says, leaving his throne and greeting her with a warm hug.

  “It makes them happy. Stars know everyone needs a little joy in these times, no matter how small it may be.”

  Ascalon wants to stay in this moment forever, to feel her presence right next to his and hear their hearts thumping side-by-side in a synchronized beat. Alas, he does not want his selfish desires to smother her. Any further would mean to confess his love. That is the one curse he will never burden her with, and so he extinguishes the ember in his heart and breaks away, deceiving himself to be content with their scarce relationship.

  Lorelai sighs, a faint hint of disappointment echoing in her voice, and then takes off her helm. Long, golden hair flows out while she leers at him with her platinum-tinted eyes, provoking the King to free himself from his hesitation. But it is not her ire that alerts his attention. No, it is the wounds that cover every surface of her skin. They are sunken, dark in color, and blot out what once resembled a light complexion. Long gashes curve through her cheek, severing the middle of her lips into two coarse wholes, and a giant scorch mark covers the right side of her face. Even so, Lorelai carries not a hint of regret. She smiles with the same beauty as when they first met.

  “Your scars have grown,” he whispers, running his finger along the jagged lines. “Do you still refuse to see our healers? While they might not succeed in removing them entirely, these blemishes would at least not be so apparent.”

  “But I do not see them as blemishes, Ascalon,” she says, clasping his hand within her own. “Tell me, what do you think it is that defines our people?”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Pitiful, is the first thought that comes to his mind.

  “I don’t know,” he gives in. “All I see are the wishes of those who hope to see the sky unburdened of worry.”

  “Hm, not quite.” Lorelai guides him to the panel of glass and waves her hand out to the sea of people roaming below. Tradesmen dressed in oil-stained garments are hard at work, pounding on lofty brick buildings of red and yellow with a steady, rhythmic hand. Shopkeepers and vendors shout with bustling fervor, selling scantily begotten produce after a bitter winter along the busy streets lined with cobblestone, and children play about in the city square. Some come from the orphanage, erected to take in the victims of the ever-growing war, while others hail from empty houses — their occupants gone to protect those left behind. And yet, the children smile. They hum fables of old, of legends and heroes who brought forth an era of peace, whilst raising their heads proudly high.

  “Struggle,” Lorelai declares. “We fight, Ascalon. And no matter how deeply we suffer, how much we lose, or how terrible the days are when despair comes creeping in from the shadows of our hearts, we rise back up. Dirty, ugly, and changed, but we rise nonetheless. For the future that speaks of promise; and the morrow far in the horizon.”

  She takes her finger and caresses the scars across her face, as if recounting the memories of each one and engraving them directly onto her soul. “What we do isn’t dignified, but that’s okay. I want to be a symbol for everyone, a reminder that it’s natural to struggle. For that is what I think makes us truly beautiful: the courage to take another step forward.”

  The courage to take another step forward…

  Ascalon laughs. All it takes is a few words to remind him of how truly strong his subjects are, and their stalwart will which so radiantly triumphs his own.

  “I wonder if I’m able to take that step myself,” he murmurs. “Whenever I teeter over that perilous ravine, I feel fear. I worry if this truly is the right decision, and if not, whether I have the strength to bear the consequences that follow. Cycle after cycle of self-pity and excuses, just to retreat from the edge. To never commit. Hah, I must appear rather repulsive in your eyes, Lorelai.”

  “Ascalon—”

  “Even so, I want to change. I want to find the courage to voice my true desires and to take hold of what I believe is right.”

  He turns his eyes to the glistening blue sky above. It stretches on for eternity, leading to far-away lands and covering the world with its boundless veil. The sky is indifferent to the plight of those below the earth; it simply exists, confident and free in its identity.

  “Sometimes, I wish the world would give me a sign,” he says, more to himself than any other. “A push to help myself find that step forward. A call to adventure in which I may finally have the chance to fulfill my dearest wish.”

  To be a hero.

  He pauses, as if expecting for a sign from the heavens to truly descend, but all he’s met with is silence and a concerned look from the true hero by his side.

  “Oh, you stubborn fool…” she begins. “You know you’re not alone. We—”

  But the King only shakes his head. “Forget my ramblings. I didn’t intend for this to be the start of our reunion. Let’s begin anew. How—”

  A sudden explosion sends the two toppling onto the ground. The glass pane shatters into thousands of little pieces, and the earth rumbles with furious quakes that causes the entire city to be consumed with violent, jittering tremors and confused screams. Dust and debris fall from above, filling the room in a layer of hazy mist as Ascalon scrambles back to his feet, dazed, ears ringing from the impact. He attempts to speak, but the ashy soot covers his throat, leaving only grunts to be coughed out.

  A hand pierces through the cloud and helps him up to his feet. “Ascalon! Are you alright?”

  “Y-Yes,” he rasps. “Just what in Cosmos’s name… is the city under invasion?”

  “No,” Lorelai responds, looking at the towering white walls that surround the capital. “The barrier and gates appear untouched. I don’t think—”

  Lorelai’s eyes widen. She freezes in place as a mixture of disbelief and pure awe soon envelops her entirety.

  “Lorelai? Is something the matter!?” Ascalon asks, shaking the statue-like woman in front of him. Her mouth opens and closes with nary a sound, struggling to find the right sounds as if her entire brain has been consumed by stupefying wonder. But eventually, she utters only a single word and then points with her finger.

  “Look.”

  Ascalon turns his head, and is met with an impossible, breathtaking sight: the sky. It is no longer blue. The clouds have vanished. The sun has disappeared. Replacing the earthly dome is an ever-shifting aurora of space and color all mixing as one in a mismatched, chaotic jumble. The land is bathed in a rainbow of volatile rays and blinding light, the turbulent canvas above fighting over the countless varying pigments for dominion over the sky, only to be replaced a second later by a new batch of paint. A new hue. A new whimsical shade.

  As the people of the capital’s streets stare dumbfounded at the chaos, a voice manifests into existence. It speaks to everyone with the excitement of a starry-eyed child, of an excited parent welcoming a new life into its arms.

  It is the voice of the sky, jubilant and merry.

  It is the voice of the earth, rejoicing in glee.

  It is the voice of Creation, beckoning all to join its choir.

  “Said the Mother to the people everywhere,

  Do you hear what I hear? Do you hear what I hear?

  Way down in the earth, spread afar

  Do you hear what I hear? Do you hear what I hear?

  A song, a tear, begging to be free

  With a voice as deep as the sea

  With a cry o’ weep and a plea.”

  It is the hymn of Cosmos and the celestial rite of birth. It is the summoning of humanity’s savior: the one who shall lead them to the astral galaxies above.

  “Do you see what I see? Do you see what I see?

  In the darkness cold, a still air

  Do you see what I see? Do you see what I see?

  A child, a child, innocent and bright

  Let them lead you to glory and might

  Let them lead us to the gentle light.”

  A flash darts across the sky, leaving behind a trail of stardust and newfound dreams. The world has answered Ascalon’s call. The time is finally now.

  For the Comet has come, shining ever so bright.