The fires in the Hall of Cinders had long since cooled to gray ash, but the heat they ignited in the hearts of the people remained. In the week following the funeral, Antares found himself moving through a world that had fundamentally changed. He was no longer just a king; he was a beacon of hope for a grieving nation, a role that brought both a profound sense of purpose and a heavy, constant weight.
As he exited the Hall after the ceremony, offering his final condolences to the families of the fallen, he was nearly overwhelmed. The children of the deceased—small, wide-eyed youths—did not fear him. To them, he was the giant from their bedtime stories come to life, the savior who had finally woken up. They swarmed around his legs, their tiny hands grasping at his crimson cape, hugging his knees with a pure affection.
Eli and Levi, the ever-silent shadows of the Royal Guard, immediately stepped forward. Their massive, human frames tensed as they moved to push the crowd back, their hands ready to clear a path for the King's safety.
"Stand down," Antares commanded softly, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "Let them be. If I cannot handle the embrace of my own people, how can I handle the burdens of this throne?"
He spent hours in that twilight zone between the palace and the settlement, patting heads and listening to the high-pitched chatter of the children. It was a drain on his physical energy, but a replenishment for his soul.
A week passed in a blur of administrative labor and physical exertion. Antares knew that his divine "blessing" wouldn't be enough to survive the surface; he needed to be a warrior in his own right. He added intense combat training to his daily schedule, sparring with Eli and Levi in the palace's main courtyard .
The two guards did not hold back. Despite their human appearance, they possessed the strength of titans. They pushed Antares to his limits, teaching him how to move, how to strike, and how to harness the raw power that was now flowing through his veins. Under their tutelage, he learned to integrate his human tactical thinking with his new, explosive physical capabilities. He found himself growing faster, his reflexes sharpening until he could almost anticipate Eli's heavy strikes before they landed but they were still stronger because of the difference in rank and experience.
While Antares trained, the palace itself was a hive of activity, managed with iron-willed efficiency by Zarah. She was no longer just the woman he shared intimate nights with; she was the heartbeat of the royal household. With the King awake and the Council active, the logistics of the palace had tripled. Zarah was everywhere, overseeing the cleaning of long-neglected wings, managing the influx of servants, and ensuring that the high standards of the palace were not lowered.
Antares barely saw her during the day. When they did cross paths in the corridors, she would offer him a quick, respectful bow and a weary but supportive smile before rushing off to settle a dispute in the kitchens or organize the storage of new supplies. Her dedication allowed Antares to focus entirely on the coming expedition, knowing the home front was in the most capable hands.
Meanwhile, the gears of the kingdom turned. He had sent the ancient iron weapons and armor recovered from the restricted levels of the Ant King's Tower to Lord Kael. The Tharvok Patriarch had been stunned by the quality of the metal, promising to reforge them into the finest gear the tribe had seen.
But as the days bled into one another, boredom began to gnaw at him. Ian was buried in logistics, the mages were hidden in the Core, and Zarah was too busy to even share a midday meal. Antares felt like a caged predator. He wanted to test the deeper mysteries of the Tower, but he wasn't feeling like another delve into dusty archives. He needed to see the world he was supposed to save, not from a balcony, but from the ground.
Disguising himself in a heavy, tattered black cloak that hid the glint of his royal armor, Antares slipped past the sentries. He used his communicator abilities to subtly mask his presence, slipping through the palace shadows like a ghost.
Once he reached the outskirts of the palace, these past days, he had felt a strange, burning sensation in his shoulder blades. It was an itch he hadn't fully explored yet. With a focused surge of mana, he willed them to appear.
From his back, four massive, translucent wings unfurled. They were beautiful and majestic, laced with glowing red veins that pulsed with the rhythm of his heart. The "burning" intensified as the wings began to vibrate with incredible speed.
His first attempt at flight was nearly a disaster. He shot upward with too much force, nearly colliding with a stalactite, and tumbled through the air in a series of undignified loops. But his instincts quickly took over. Soon, he was gliding through the upper thermal currents of the cavern. He looked down at the settlement, the wind whistling through the gaps in his cloak.
He landed in a secluded alleyway on the far side of the settlement, tucking his wings back into his body with a sharp wince. He adjusted his cloak and stepped out into the streets.
The settlement was clean, immaculately so. He had to praise his people for their discipline; even in hardship, their public spaces were top-notch. However, the poverty was visible. The houses were simple clay huts, and the water supply tanks were old and rusted. The light crystals were scattered sparsely, leaving large patches of the city in a dim, depressing twilight.
I really have to do something about the condition of my people, Antares vowed silently.
He continued his walk until he reached a large, three-story building made of reinforced clay and polished stone. It was better maintained than the surrounding huts. He remembered a conversation with Eli, who had told him about this place. In the Ant Tribe, children who lost their parents were brought here. There was no "adoption" to outside families; instead, the tribe raised them together. Their survival for millennia had been built on this absolute unity.
Antares removed his cloak as he stepped through the heavy doors. The interior was warm and smelled of boiling grain. In the main hall, he saw children having their meals. They looked healthy, but their faces were heavy with the quiet sadness of those who had recently become parentless.
But his attention was immediately pulled to the far end of the room.
There, seated on a low stool surrounded by a rapt circle of toddlers, was a woman who didn't fit any description Antares had seen in the palace.
She was striking. She had a sun kissed skin. She had a warm, inviting look with soft, expressive eyes and a calm, confident smile. Her hair was a thick, curly mane of golden-blonde that framed her face in loose waves. Most notably, one of her arms was decorated with a detailed, beautiful floral tattoo sleeve that seemed to catch the light as she gestured.
She wore an outfit that resembled Zarah's maid attire but was distinct,the uniform of the women who worked here at the orphanage. She was singing to the children, her voice a low, melodic hum that seemed to soothe the very air in the room. The children leaned in, their faces brightening as they listened to her melody.
As Antares stepped further into the hall, a sharp, crystalline chime rang in his mind. The System interface flickered into existence, glowing with a golden hue.
[System Notification: Compatibility Protocol Active]
[Target Identified: Solara]
[Status: Queen Candidate Found]
Antares froze. He had found his third pillar of the Royal House. Solara looked up, her song trailing off as her eyes met his. She didn't recognize his face, but she felt the sudden shift in the room's energy—the overwhelming, regal presence of a King standing in a room full of orphans.
She stood up slowly, her golden curls bouncing as she moved. "You seem lost." she said, her voice like silk, carrying a strength that matched her beauty. "Or perhaps you've come to see a relative of yours here?"
Antares was momentarily speechless, caught between the gravity of the System's revelation and the sheer, humble grace of the woman standing before him.