Han'a Khoraz shifted uncomfortably as the room erupted in forced laughter at another one of Prince Rami's mean-spirited jokes. His parents, hosting the royal family tonight, had spared no expense—gold-plated utensils, crystal plates studded with precious stones, every detail screaming excess.

"Ava Nori, Marcellius is a smug son of a bitch," said Rami, chewing on a mouthful of duck. "Don't you agree, Mother?"

The prince arrived late to dinner. He had stopped at the Humri estate tower, where a dinner was being held for the new Chancellor. Since his arrival, Rami had done nothing but speak ill of the Chancellor and his family.

Han'a didn't like it. He took a deep breath to maintain his composure.

Queen Ishtara glared at her son, her displeasure cold and pointed, though she said nothing. Instead, she turned to her older sister, Han'a's mother. "Belina, who prepared the duck? It's divine."

Ishtara, formally known as Queen Consort Ishtara Murani Hinzi Nori of Atlantis, was a striking woman in her late fifties. Her long, flowing brown hair caught the soft light of the chandelier, while her green eyes—warm yet sharp—held an allure that suggested a youthful spirit beneath the grace of her years. It was clear why King Erilim, a few years her senior, had chosen her as his bride.

"We have a famous Bahyan chef visiting the islands for the events," Belina replied, her warm smile unwavering. She was a short, round woman with graying curly brown hair and a disarmingly kind face. "Han'a mentioned the chef's very popular with Bayhan City celebrities right now." She also happened to be the Murani family's second-generation kalasaar—something Han'a's parents never brought up near the royal family.

"Is that so?" Ishtara studied her plate, her voice honeyed but detached.

"I thought you might enjoy it, Ishu," Belina said, her tone hopeful.

"Speak for yourself, Aunt. I'm not interested in food made by vermin," Rami sneered, spitting his mouthful into a napkin before slamming it onto his plate.

Han'a had tolerated enough of Rami's arrogance. "It would be extraordinary," Han'a said, deliberately taking another bite of the duck, "to experience the Continent. Bayhan City is a highly advanced city, as it is known globally. The best education in Atlantis—perhaps the entire world," he added, firmly.

"Education is for the poor," Rami shot back, scanning the lavish dining room. He leaned forward, and added with scorn: "You're a waste of noble blood, cousin Han'a."

"Enough, Rami. I think it would be best if you retired for the night." Ishtara pursed her thin lips and glanced at her husband for support. Erilim grunted, casting a disapproving look at his son.

Rami huffed and drained the rest of his ambrosia in a single gulp. "I suppose it is time for me to retire," he said, insolent, before brazenly floating out of the room.

The silence that followed was heavy, the Prince's behavior—once again—left unaddressed. Han'a clenched his jaw, his shame at being related to Rami burning like fire in his chest.

It was Belina who finally broke the tension. "Did you men know," she began, a sly smile playing on her lips, "when Ishtara and I were little girls, we used to sneak into the kitchens?"

Han'a raised an eyebrow, surprised. He had never heard of his mother breaking rules. The kitchen was no place for noblewomen, least of all for his mother, the family kalasaar. "Really, Mother?"

Belina nodded with mischief. "Oh, yes. We both wanted to learn to cook, though it was terribly unseemly, of course. 'The kitchen is for the walkers,' our mother would say." She chuckled, and even Ishtara's lips curled into a faint, fond smile.

"We secretly learned to prepare duck from a mouse halfbreed woman who worked in the kitchens," Belina continued, leaning forward conspiratorially. "What was her name, Ishtara?"

Ishtara tilted her head, as she reached into the distant memory. "Ah, yes," she said after a pause. "Her name was Erya. She was extraordinary with her use of herbs and exotic spices."

Han'a's father, Unas, placed a steadying hand on his wife's shoulder, noticing how the mention of a halfbreed had unsettled the King. To ease the tension, he quickly spoke. "That Bahyan City chef will only be on the floating islands for a week. He's the one preparing meals at the palace for the ambassadors from the twelve provinces next week."

"Is that so?" Erilim interjected, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Speaking of walkers, aren't you collaborating with Marcus Sumeri on some agricultural project?"

Unas sighed heavily. "Oh, your highness, I asked him to help us with farming salmon faster. He proposed an ingenious way to triple our yield."

Erilim raised an eyebrow. "Triple?"

"Yes," Unas muttered, shaking his head. "The damn man can find an answer to any problem." He paused before adding, almost without thinking, "Did you know he named his latest military ship design after your wife? He's calling it the Ishtar's Veil."

The words left Unas' mouth, and he immediately regretted them.

Han'a's green eyes widened as he held back a laugh. With Marcus's reputation with women, this was anything but a compliment to the King.

Belina pressed a hand to her forehead in exasperation, while Ishtara's cheeks flushed a deep crimson.

"Hm," Erilim grunted, his lips curling in faint disapproval. The room grew tense as his gaze flicked toward Unas, his expression unreadable, though he said nothing more.

Unas caught himself. "I can award the next contract for farming salmon to another industrialist, if you have one in mind."

Erilim nodded, though his expression remained guarded.

Erilim and Unas were distant relatives, as many Atlantean noblemen were. Unas, a second-generation kalasaar of the once-impoverished Khoraz family, had salvaged his family's name and position through his marriage to Belina, a fellow second-generation kalasaar of the powerful and wealthy Murani lineage. His ambitions, however, extended far beyond merely restoring the Khoraz noble status on the islands.

Despite his brother Khuri's opposition to Erilim's claim to the throne, Unas had always recognized Erilim's potential, especially given that their wives were sisters. Acting on Belina's advice, he had stood against his father and brother's wishes to support the Nori Queen during the Civil War, some fifteen years ago. He had supported Erilim's rebellion, and in the end, his loyalty earned him significant favor when Erilim claimed the crown.

"Belina, this meal was excellent," Erilim said, his tone measured. "Thank you for your hospitality, as always." His gaze shifted to Unas. "I'd like to discuss a few matters of state with you in private."

The King stood, and the others at the table followed suit, as was customary decorum.

"Come, Your Highness." Unas gestured to a hallway, bowing, as he escorted the King.

"Men are so serious," Belina said with a light laugh.

Ishtara sat back down, her regal demeanor softening slightly.

Belina followed suit.

Han'a hesitated before sitting as well. He wanted to excuse himself, but decorum dictated that he remain until a royal permitted his departure.

Han'a shifted uncomfortably as the conversation drifted to Ishtara's dress.

Ishtara turned her attention to him, well aware of his hobby in fashion design—one that had recently gained enough popularity to be considered a rising brand in the new streams. Smiling, she asked, "Han'a, what colors do you think will trend this season?"

"Given that maroon dyes have become increasingly expensive out of Alemuria, my guess is it'll be shades of maroon this fall and winter, Your Grace," he said.

"I hear you designed the inaugural gowns for the iconic Inanna Sumeri," the queen added, her tone more curious than complimentary.

"I did," Han'a replied, keeping his answers short. He desperately wanted to leave the table, his thoughts wandering to Manik. 

"They were exquisite," Ishtara said smoothly, her tone measured. "But next time, you will design mine—and ensure that no one in the room outshines me."

"Of course." Han'a toyed with the fruit salad in front of him, barely registering the conversation. His mind wandered. Why hasn't Manik called me today?

Ishtara noticed his disinterest, her face softening. "Rami's gone home. You don't have to sit with us ladies, if you've finished your meal."

"I have, thank you, Your Highness." He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, stood, and bowed.

Ishtara's expression softened as she rose and kissed his cheek. "Han'a, you're my little nephew. I will always be your aunt first. Please, call me Aunty."

Han'a smiled faintly, kissing both Ishtara and his mother on their cheeks before floating out of the room.

As he walked away, he heard them shift the conversation.

"Where is Horus today?" Belina asked, inquiring about her younger nephew.

"He's in bed with a cold," Ishtara replied. She sighed before adding dismissively, "Might have caught something from a halfbreed at one of these parties..."

As Han'a made his way down the hall, voices from the slightly ajar door of the red drawing room caught his attention. His father's voice carried through, sharp and bitter. "He's a useless bastard with his highfalutin speeches and idiotic political legislation."

Han'a froze, glancing up and down the empty hallway. Then, he floated closer to the door, pressing his back against one panel, listening through the crack of the other.

"It's telling that our system is broken if foreign scum like Marcellius can make it to the high office of Chancellor," Unas spat.

Han'a's chest tightened as he absorbed their words. He knew his father could be ruthless, but hearing such venom was a different matter entirely.

"Without the system, we have chaos," Erilim replied sternly, his gaze fixed on the fire roaring at the far end of the room.

"Even his brother hates him," Unas added with a sneer.

"Oh?" Erilim examined his drink, almost detached.

"That's what they say—the Sumeri brothers have tension," Unas said cautiously.

"I expect little in the way of familial bonds from foreign scum," Erilim replied coldly.

"The troops you've ordered to Western Kemp—he's sent a man in with them under the guise of being a translator, Zack Adar. The son of that industrialist, Ayub Adar," Unas said, leaning in, his tone lowering. "We have to deal with him, or it could be disastrous. If he discovers what we intend to do there or the technology we're about to test, he could cause significant trouble for us."

Erilim raised an eyebrow, then nodded slowly. "He could. I give you full permission to handle the matter—and the generals, for that matter. They are"—he paused, choosing his words carefully—"war-hungry dogs, and I want to ensure their power, especially with this new technology, doesn't spiral out of control."

"Of course, My King," Unas said, inclining his head slightly. "I'll make arrangements to visit the continent soon."

"Marcellius has always done too much, too fast," Erilim said, taking a measured sip of his drink. "Haste blinds men to the details that matter. This war with Alemuria must become imminent, and we must secure this technology before it does."

"You are wise, Your Majesty," Unas said with deference.

"I wish your brother hadn't botched that attempt to secure the sentient android. That kind of technology would be invaluable right now," Erilim said, his tone cold with frustration. "What troubles me more is its silence. It's been out there somewhere for five years, yet not a word, not a trace. That unsettles me, Unas."

Unas bowed his head in shame. "If Khuri were alive, I'd throw him into the dungeons myself, Your Highness," he replied quietly.

Erilim grunted approvingly.

After a brief pause in the conversation, Unas stepped closer to Erilim, lowering his voice. "My men did as you asked with—"

"Ah, yes. The Patar girl." The King took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, his expression unreadable.

Unas nodded, affirming the King's intent. "The girl was the perfect opportunity to set things into motion," he said, a flicker of calculation in his eyes. "It's now just a matter of days—that foreign scum will be thrown out as Chancellor, and Parliament will hold an emergency election for his replacement."

"Have you made arrangements for our candidate?" Erilim asked.

Han'a peeked into the room as his father's expression darkened, his words laced with quiet intent.

"Oh, yes, Your Majesty," Unas nodded eagerly. "We have been working on them for months."

"Good, good," the King said, satisfied. He paused, then added, "I hear rumors that your kid is chummy with the Sumeris," Erilim said, sharply. "Put an end to that. If you want to keep him safe, get him far away from Manik Sumeri and his family."

Han'a clenched his fists, barely containing his anger.

"Isn't it time he gets married?" Erilim continued, casual but curt.

"Yes," Unas replied, more measured. "Belina and I are in conversations with several noble families. Han'a is to be sworn as kalasaar in a few months' time."

"That soon, huh?" Erilim mused, taking another drink.

"He is ready. He'll visit the Grand Citadel for his initiation in late fall," Unas said, with pride. "We're planning to announce his marriage then."

Marriage? Noble families? Han'a's heart raced. His father's words felt like a punch to the gut—this was the first he'd heard of it. His hands trembled as anger swelled inside him.

"You will do it much sooner." Erilim's voice cut through the room. "Roxana has a daughter."

Han'a's stomach churned, the weight of the conversation settling heavily over him. Once again, his life was being decided without him.

"Angelia?"

"No, the younger—Margia," Erilim corrected.

"Your Highness, I mean no disrespect, but Margia is not her family's kalasaar," Unas said, with unease.

"What does that matter?" The King shot him a sharp look. "Your family's noble claim is secure—unless, of course, you're vying for a royal bloodline."

Han'a, like most noble children, learned early that Atlantean royalty was not determined by bloodline but by a form of genetic and spiritual meritocracy. The throne passed from one noble family to another, depending on who possessed the right breeding and spiritual prowess in a given generation.

Specifically, it was third-generation kalasaars who were initiated and vetted for potential royal claims—a practice rooted in centuries, if not millennia, of tradition. This process involved intricate spiritual rites and the alignment of celestial bodies, ensuring that rulership remained in harmony with the divine order.

A kalasaar was the firstborn of any two Atlantean nobles who possessed the gift, while a second-generation kalasaar was born to parents who were both initiated kalasaars of their respective bloodlines. The third generation kalasaars were, therefore, the first borns of two initiated second-generation kalasaars. This third generation, after initiation, represented the pinnacle of the Atlantean nobility—a rare and revered status, symbolizing the height of spiritual refinement and divine favor.

Historically, when an Atlantean king or queen died, the next monarch was chosen through sacred rituals. These rites, guided by the alignment of the stars and conducted with utmost precision by the High Priestess, or Ummani, and Head Priest, or Ummanu, of the Grand Citadel, selected the new ruler from among third-generation kalasaars under the age of thirty-three, ensuring the throne remained aligned with divine will and spiritual merit.

Not many families had third-generation kalasaars of the appropriate age, of course. Yet, many nobles meticulously arranged marriages and bred children with this purpose in mind, seeking to align their bloodlines with the spiritual requirements for ascension.

"The kalasaar tradition is outdated superstition," Erilim declared, dismissively, pulling Han'a from his thoughts. "It will mean nothing soon."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Unas bowed his head, visibly nervous.

Everyone knew—though none dared speak of it—that King Erilim was not an initiated kalasaar of the Hinzi family. Upon usurping the throne, he took the title Nori anyway, claiming his right to divine rule. Thus, Erilim Hinzi became King Erilim Hinzi Nori of Atlantis, though whispers of his unearned claim lingered. He had seized the title from his cousin, Queen Helena Hinzi Nori, better known as the Great Nori Queen.

It was no surprise that Erilim had been pushing Parliament to abolish the kalasaar rites, aiming to reshape the monarchy into one based solely on patriarchal bloodline, as in Alemuria and Mutapu. Despite resistance, he named his eldest son, Rami, an uninitiated first-generation kalasaar, as the Crown Prince of Atlantis and demanded that their younger son, Horus, barely seven, be declared next in line.

Erilim's next of kin were the Murani family—Ishtara's lineage—as she was both his wife and first cousin. By tradition, the mantle would pass to the next Murani firstborn. Ishtara had only one elder sister, Belina, who had one son, Han'a—a true third-generation kalasaar and a living reminder of the ancient order Erilim sought to erase.

People feared another civil war might erupt if the matter was not resolved before the King's death.

A shiver ran down Han'a's back as he considered the implications of the King's word.

Only two potential true third-generation kalasaars remained: Han'a Khoraz and Manik Sumeri, both still uninitiated. Neither of them, Han'a knew, had any desire to claim the throne. But Han'a also understood that their disinterest wouldn't be enough for the King—Erilim would never leave loose ends...

The King's horse voice pulled Han'a from his thought again.

"Roxana is my late brother's wife. Any child of hers is good breeding and good enough for your son." Erilim smirked faintly, his words laced with an edge. Han'a had heard the rumors—Duchess Roxana's children were not fathered by her late husband but by the King himself.

Unas hesitated but then stepped back and nodded. "Very well, Your Highness. I will speak to Belina."

How can you just agree to my marriage without even talking to me? Han'a wanted to punch through the wall, and his chest tightened as he struggled to control his breathing.

Unas, attempting to change the subject, asked, "I was informed this evening that the royal guard will move against the Sumeri within twenty-four hours."

"It'll be much sooner than that." The King paused for a moment. "Like I said, keep Han'a away from them."

Erilim turned towards the door, just as Han'a removed his eye from the opening.

Han'a's heart sank at the King's words. He floated away from the red drawing room as quickly as he could, turning a corner just as the King emerged. He continued down the hall, his thoughts a whirl of frustration and disbelief. As he neared his chambers, he was stopped by his mother.

"Oh, dear, you scared me! I thought you had retired for the night," Belina said with a warm smile.

"I'm on my way now," Han'a replied, shaking, breath unsteady.

"Are you alright, dear?" Belina asked, concern etching her features as she floated higher, placed a hand on his forehead.

"I'm fine, Mother. Just tired. Good night." Han'a forced a smile and floated past her, desperate for solitude.

"Your aunt left," Belina said gently behind him. "She said your robes were just exquisite. Maybe you can help her design hers for—"

Han'a floated away before she could finish.

As soon as Han'a shut the doors to his chamber, his composure broke. His hands trembled as he pressed his cerebral bridge to his temple, gesturing to call Manik. Pick up, Manik!

Manik answered after a few moments, grinning widely. He was lying in bed, dressed in a light blue silk nightgown, his dark hair tousled. "Han'a! I love you so much. I know I haven't called all day—don't be mad. My father and mother have me stuck at all these boring events." His words slurred slightly.

Han'a frowned. "How many glasses of ambrosia have you had tonight?"

Manik laughed, his eyes half-lidded. "I dare not say."

Han'a, who never drank, felt his frustration mounting. "I need to talk to you about something important," he whispered, trembling.

"Is this an excuse to see me tonight?" Manik teased, he reclined further into his pillows.

"Manik, this is serious," Han'a snapped.

Just then, the sounds of lasers and screams erupted on Manik's side. His eyes widened in panic. "I have to go," he said quickly, before gesturing his cerebral bridge off.

Han'a sat frozen in his bed, knees pulled tightly to his chest, his heart pounding. His pulse thundered in his ears, his mind racing—what could he do? How could he help his beloved Sumeri family?