Within the archives, Roran's mind thrived.

Surrounded by rows and rows of bookshelves containing various texts, novels, and manuscripts, the boy's concentration couldn't be severed. He sat at a wooden table cluttered with documents and opened books. His focus, solid and unwavering, permanently lingered on the tome resting in front of him. Everything else was merely an afterthought. A buzzing distraction. What only noise to be heard was the silent humming of the orbital security droids steadily hovering down the aisles. Keen, illuminated eyes forever on the watch for trouble.

Despite being a royal, at least, in the technical sense, there still remained a vast amount of knowledge about his home planet he remained ignorant. What intrigued him most, however, was his family's past. Or, to be more specific, the legacies of kings and queens.

Darius Stormlight. Now there was a warrior to be feared. He maintained order in his sector for more than seventy years, defending the innocent and casting out those who sought to incite chaos. One story described how the man had taken on an entire army of outlanders. Armed with only a broken null ax, War God Darius gutted each and every last one of them in an event that eventually became heralded as the "Crimson Ax Massacre". 

Then there was another tale of how he survived on an estranged planet for a grand total of three months. His ship, The Siege, had been struck by an asteroid, over half of his men had perished in the crash, and they'd barely any supplies to rely on. Yet not even nature could best him in a war for survival. Once the rescue ships discovered the distant planet, they found the king, along with only four of his original crew members, sitting around a blistering campfire in the middle of a forest clearing. There they feasted on a large, carnivorous beast, biting into alien flesh without discrimination. Not only had Darius survived, but he had also tamed the wilds themselves. 

Darius knew what it meant to be a leader, as did his father. Every ruler of House Stormlight, may they be strong or brave or wise or foolish, had accomplished much in their lives, immortalizing themselves in history as the legends they were. Soon, it would be Roran's turn. Gulping a ball of saliva, the prince flipped the page of the aging book. There was an image of a golden figure looking over a balcony and at a grandiose sea of identical subjects below him. 

Roran closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then reopened them. Trapped on the paper, standing tall and proud, the boy envisioned himself addressing the faces of thousands. Or rather, he pictured an ideal version of himself that could lead and inspire the next generation of his kingdom into a brave, new future. Oh, what a sight it would be . . .

"There you are!" a familiar voice exclaimed. Roran shot his glance from the book and at Gareth. The soldier rushed to him without a moment's delay. His face was damp with sweat. "Looks like I won't be needing to sign my letter of resignation just yet."

"Gareth? How did you find me?" Roran inquired, his tongue dripping with curiosity.

"How?" Gareth spat, covering his stomach as he hungrily gulped for air. "You weren't in the royal library. Where else could you've gone?"

Roran dropped his head. "Fair enough, I suppose . . ."

Gareth was a member of his family's royal guard. A solarian soldier hand-picked from the Astral Legion and entrusted to assume command of the palace's security. To that end, he was quite effective. Gareth Greywind was a man of average height and build though, after seeing him in action, Roran didn't doubt his combative capabilities. 

He had a fiery azure vision, slicked-back brown hair, and an almost perfectly symmetrical face. Traveling from the top of his scalp, over his nose, and to the bottom of his chin, however, was a distinguishing scar. A crimson, serrated railroad he'd obtained from a battle the man had lost. Per usual, he was wearing his security armor. A valiant black-themed mechanical suit fit for soldiers of his design. And then there was, of course, his standard issued light rifle, the white-colored plasma-class firearm strapped firmly to his back.

Gareth was a man of few words, as in, he only spoke when absolutely necessary. Additionally, he was a rather knowledgeable and vigilant individual in his own right. He rarely showed signs of weakness or concern, even during the heat of a deadly mission. So for this accomplished former astral to look so worried, why, it was enough to ensnare most of Roran's attention.

"Now then, Prince Roran, I suggest we be on our way." Gareth grabbed the young prince by the arm and tugged him along. A pair of eye security droids, rightfully bewildered at the sight they were witnessing, hovered in place exchanging electrified phrases only they could comprehend. "It won't do us any good if you're late!"

"Late? What are you talking about?" Roran gasped. "And let go of me already, will you?! You're gonna tear my arm out of its socket!" Gareth complied. He relinquished the prince's arm, although, he did it so suddenly it resulted in Roran stumbling backward and landing on his behind. "A little warning would have sufficed," he groaned.

"Apologies, Prince Roran, but I'm afraid we haven't the privilege to procrastinate. We must hurry!"

"Is that so? And what, may I ask, is so cardinal you deemed it necessary to interrupt my studies?"

Gareth raised his eyebrows in shock. "Has your majesty forgotten? A Royal Convention is to be held between House Stormlight and the Cedeno Family?"

"Believe me, I'm aware. It's all Father's been talking about for the past month and a half," Roran grumbled under his breath. "Look, there's no reason to be so concerned. I'll be there long before those gold-bloods even reach our system. The Convention isn't until this afternoon anyways. We've got plenty of-"

"Actually, your highness," Gareth interrupted. "There's been a change in schedule. The Cedano Family, they entered Neithea's atmosphere approximately twenty minutes ago. They're currently conversing with the king and queen as we speak. His majesty, King Orion, sent me to fetch you himself."

Roran's body petrified, the royal barely managing to formulate a single, uttering inquiry, "W-Wait...wait, they're already here..?"

"Yes, my prince," Gareth confirmed, nodding his head. "Now if it's all the same with you, I suggest we get going."

Admittedly, Roran hadn't heard the final portion of the soldier's sentence. In a burst of speed, he bounced off of the floor and rushed through the aisle without bothering to wait for Gareth. He could just barely detect the astonished soldier's distant yelling in his ears as he swiftly and efficiently navigated his way across a labyrinth of knowledge. Weaving, turning, and pivoting around countless corners and pathways until, in a total period of five minutes, he'd reached the building's exit doors. His dark, unkempt hair was kidnapped by the morning currents of wind, as was the tail of his black coat, as the prince leaped outside.

Omitting the confused and judgemental stares of those around him, he spotted the royal racer parked at the bottom of a flight of concrete stairs. A large, navy-colored elongated hovercraft patiently floating in the air as its driver, a valstarian gentleman in a navy suit, stood in front of it. Roran sped towards it, skipping two to three steps at a time, and landed directly in front of his chauffeur, a cloud of dust discharging from underneath his boots. It didn't take long for Gareth to catch up with them. Upon doing so, the commander immediately started aggressively spouting a series of orders at the now flustered chauffeur. After another dreaded handful of minutes bled away, the racer purred to life and hovered off into lanes of oncoming traffic.

The grandiose capital city of Qulas was composed of many sectors, districts, roads, and avenues. Buildings and skyscrapers of glass and steel reached from the pavement and to the heavens, practically kissing the clouds. Rocketing hoverails blitzed over the festooning tracks kept suspended by a series of massive support pillars. Ricocheting, ductile shadows traced the planet's surface as ships and aerocraft populated the upper realms. Racers of every model possible crowded the rambunctious streets, drivers honking their horns in eager anticipation to get wherever it was they needed to be. Fortunately for Roran, the citizens of Qulas recognized royalty when they saw it. His driver only needed to press a single button on the dashboard to trigger a screeching siren that belched its cries throughout the area. In accordance with the deafening signal, the racers ahead of them drove to the sides of the street, forming a singular pathway meant for the prince and the prince only. Meanwhile, onlookers trampling up and down busy sidewalks stopped where they were, curiously gawking at the source of the erupting commotion.

Even yet, Roran reckoned it'd take them a while before they reached their destination. Quite a few districts separated them from the royal palace itself. Earlier, Roran had chartered a personal traveler-type racer to take him to the Public Archives. There wasn't as much traffic then as there was now. Were the spirits of trickery toying with him, or was he just naturally this unlucky? Roran deduced it'd be nearly half an hour before they arrived at the palace. He slumped in his seat hanging his head, half-open eyes staring defeatedly at his lap.

"Father won't be pleased about this. Not one bit."

"You think?" Gareth muttered next to him. "I honestly can't understand you sometimes. I mean, sneaking out is one thing but today's important. How do you imagine this will make your parents look? King Rize and his Cedano Family aren't the only attendees of today's convention, mind you."

Roran tugged at his earlobe. "Let me guess, another change of plans?"

"I'd no control of the matter, and neither did our king. But the fact that he will be in attendance as well, why, it means this convention might be more important than I originally suspected."

"Is my father in trouble?"

"After his recent victories? No, no I doubt it."

"That's a relief," Roran sighed.

"No matter," Gareth continued. "We shouldn't lower our guards in the presence of our enemies."

"They aren't our enemies," Roran countered. "Are they . . ?"

"All I'm saying is be prepared, my young prince. And try not to make a fool of yourself."

Roran grinned. "Noted."

"By the stars, King Orion should be explaining this to you, not me," Gareth snickered, pinching the unsuspecting prince on his cheek. "I swear, you're gonna send me to an early grave one of these days. If I hadn't my sweet Lisanna to take care of, I'd more than likely already be a skeleton buried in the dirt."

"Oh, no need to be so dramatic, Commander Gareth." Roran stared at his smiling reflection in the glass of the window, watching as it slowly transitioned to a soggy frown. "Besides, depending on how this meeting goes, I might be the one joining my grandfather in the Mythril Planes."

* * *

It would be inaccurate to describe the Stormlight Royal Palace as a castle, per se.

From Roran's perspective, it always seemed more like a fortress, if anything. It was a massive construction stretching over eight hundred meters into the sky. The titanic structure was located at the city's hearth, sitting atop an artificial island at the eye of a massive pocket of water. Several bridges extended to this island, granting racers safe passage. This "castle" was composed of a cluster of buildings, towers, and platforms. 

Together, they created a complex amalgamation of metal. Roran had lived there for most of his life and even he had yet to visit every nook and cranny his amazing household had to offer. The Stormlight's black flags lodged into the roofs of towers bore the house crest, a golden ax trapped inside the perimeter of a silver, hexagonal shape. There were four separate security checkpoints leading to the castle's base, squadrons of guards brandishing light rifles stationed at each one. It was mandatory for any visitor who set foot on the royal grounds to be thoroughly searched. When the lives of the king and queen were at stake guards couldn't take any chances.

On the ground level of the island, there were a variety of smaller office buildings, towers, and warehouses meant for workers, guardsmen, and security droids. The castle's abdomen, however, consisted of the dining hall, ballroom, library, kitchen, and various other convenient rooms, each serving the purpose of making Roran's life just a little bit easier. As his racer arrived and Roran stepped outside the vehicle, there was already a squadron of four soldiers waiting for him. They led both him and Gareth down a road towards the main entrance doors.

As a child, his tutors taught him that, should an especially daring soul attempt to climb to the very top of the castle using only the stair, it would require half a day's worth of effort. As such, most depended on the numerous telepads found on every floor. Circular platforms built into the flooring with the ability to teleport matter. 

The throne room, the location of the Royal Convention, sat at the very peak of the iron-forged mountain. And it was thanks to these telepads, Roran's ascension of the castle was relatively brief. Of course, this also meant that he would have to confront his father far sooner than he would've liked, which was, unfortunate, to say the least. The throne could be found at the very peak of the castle, a final tower elevated above everyone and everything else in the entire city. Fitting for the most powerful people on the planet. Standing in front of two red doors, Roran fought the urge to turn around and retreat to the safety of his quarters. However, he wouldn't get to make a decision as Gareth, urgently marching passed him, opened them and loudly announced to all that was inside, "Now presenting, Prince Roran Stormlight!", much to the royal's frustration. 

And as their heads turned in his direction, Roran found himself getting ambushed by silenced whispers and judgemental frowns. Though, he didn't care nearly as much about his guests as he did the man sitting on a golden throne hovering mere inches off an elevation of marble.

Orion Stormlight, the forty-third king of Planet Neithea and ruler of the entire Quadros Sector. A legend dressed in a scarlet robe and wearing a silver crown atop his head. He would gaze at his son and without a word, leaving poor Roran to fend for himself in a court of aggravated wolves. Thinking of nothing else, the prince formed a malleable smile, dipped his upper body forward, and presented his royal majesty with an unstable bow of respect.

"My King," Roran said in a cluttered tone. "What an honor it is to be in your presence."

King Orion smiled. Perhaps he was amused by his obvious nervousness? Or maybe he was trying to remain professional despite the abrupt appearance of his tardy son? Regardless, Orion raised his right hand, motioning to a similar empty throne chair hovering beside him. 

"Come, Prince Roran," said the king, his voice demanding the respect and attention of everyone present. "Our much-anticipated Convention is about to begin."