[Imperial Records 7705]

  The sun peaks over Olympia, casting warm, golden light across the once-thriving lands. Fields of wheat stretch endlessly toward the distant hills, where the Olympian capital city of Ardekia rests. Glorious. Proud. Crafted from smooth marble stone. The white columns, cobblestone streets and grand temples shine brilliantly beneath the midday sun, a final quiet salute to the glory of their fading home.

  But the streets of Olympia now lie empty. Soldiers walk steadily, guiding the last of their people towards horses and carts that will take them to their new home, New Olympia, deep within the Empire’s walls. No man, woman or child will be left behind—that is not their way. All Olympians are equal, from the humblest farmer to the greatest leader. Even King Orion himself sees no difference—a race freed from their old God. They are all born of glory, and they are all worthy to carry the title of Olympian.

  Beyond the capital walls, the peaceful wheat fields sway gently, gold waves dancing softly in the breeze. Nestled among these fields is a small farm, modest and quiet, distinguished only by the royal guards who stand watch at its edges. These soldiers, handpicked by King Orion himself, remain alert, gold helmets shining brightly, their distinctive red plumes fluttering with the breeze.

  Within the farmyard, Aurelia moves quietly among the animals, tending to each one with delicate care. Her slender fingers gently brush wool and fur, her touch lingering longer than needed—a subtle, unspoken goodbye. Kneeling down, she strokes the head of a young lamb. The animal pushes affectionately against her palm, sensing her sadness. “Don’t worry,” she whispers softly, a faint tremble in her voice. “I’ll see you again soon.”

  The lamb bleats softly, and Aurelia smiles quietly to herself, though the sadness stays in her unique eyes—one warm brown and the other, a striking pale blue. Eyes that carry a quiet heaviness, reflecting a sadness she rarely shows.

  Hoofbeats gently echo from the road nearby, interrupting her thoughts. Aurelia raises her head, alert. She recognises the steady rhythm of the approaching horse. She does not yet turn, though her pulse quickens. She fixes her hairline with a hiding nervousness. The royal guards bend to look, gripping their spears instinctively. They are not expecting visitors. But they relax when they recognise the rider.

  Prince Julius dismounts gracefully, his arrival unmistakable. Each step confident and controlled, he pauses briefly at the yard’s edge, observing Aurelia silently. He hides his smile, though something flickers in his eyes—a quiet warmth, a deep affection. But he does not show it. Olympian composure masks his expression.

  Aurelia senses him approaching behind her; her breath quickens slightly. She rises gracefully, quickly brushing bits of straw from her simple white dress—its hem delicately embroidered in gold, humble yet distinctly Olympian.

  Turning swiftly, her eyes instantly meet his, and a gentle warmth softens her expression. Julius holds her gaze, and Aurelia’s lips curl gently into a soft smile. “You came,” she says quietly, her voice gentle and sincere. Julius smiles back faintly, stepping closer but maintaining a respectful distance. “Of course,” he replies with surety. “I told you I would. I wanted to be sure you were ready.”

  Aurelia’s eyes drift away, looking west, beyond the quiet farm. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. “How does anyone truly become ready for moments like this?” Julius doesn’t answer. Instead, he follows her gaze out to the vast fields. To the setting sun. “We are Olympian,” he says softly after taking a moment. He breathes in the view, the distant sight of the old capital. “We go knowing we will always be there for each other.”

  She meets his gaze again, grateful for the comfort in his words. But when he looks back into her eyes, he sees her sadness. He hesitates, glancing briefly toward the royal guards who watch silently from a distance. “Don’t worry. I’ll be with you when we travel,” he says quietly, reassuringly. Aurelia nods softly, her gentle smile returning, warmth filling her chest despite the uncertainty ahead.

  "Would you walk with me?" his glance gesturing toward the guards nearby. A silent request for privacy. Aurelia understands. Her eyes meet his, then dart briefly to the watchful soldiers. "Of course," she murmurs. One of King Orion's personal guards—Decimus, his helmet gleaming—steps forward. "Prince Julius, I'm not certain your father would—" But Julius cuts him off with a look. Not harsh, but absolute. "I understand your concern, Decimus. You’re a loyal soldier.” He says with a knowing smile to a soldier who has served his family since Julius’s childhood. “I'll explain this to my father directly," his voice carrying a quiet authority that holds no argument. Decimus hesitates, then lowers his head, stepping aside.

  The wheat fields welcome them, golden waves parting around their steps. Silence stretches between them, soft as the evening breeze. Aurelia's shoulders relax, the tension of watched moments dissolving with each step. "My dad’s Royal Guard have been here for months," Julius remarks, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "Do you know why?"

  Aurelia shakes her head, a familiar pain pressing against her temple. "They say they're protecting the farm, but even they know that's a lie," she replies, the words hanging between them. Her hand rises involuntarily, fingers pressing against her head as the aches return. She tries to hide it, to move subtly, but Julius watches with concern in his eyes.

  "Headaches still bothering you?" he prompts softly. "Yes," Aurelia confirms. "The dreams too. They're... difficult."

  He stops walking, turning to face her fully. His hand reaches out, strong but a gentle anchor against her arm. "Tell me," he says—not a request, but not quite a command. Aurelia's mismatched eyes meet his. "They’re nothing.” She says, gaze turning toward the ground. “Silly dreams of being left behind," she whispers. "Of Olympia forgetting me. The world moving on, and me... lost."

  Julius's grip tightens slightly. "Aurelia,” his voice softens, “We are Olympian. And Olympians don't abandon each other," he says, the words sounding like both a promise and a prayer. "We stand together. Always." She repeats the words—"We are Olympian"—but the meaning is lost quickly. "My parents were Olympian," she whispers, the pain of old wounds sharp in her voice.

  The wind catches her hair, carrying the scent of wheat and approaching night. Julius understands the weight of her words. He knows her history, it’s how they met—the loss, the ridicule, the broken promises. But he feels different toward her. He always returns. He always has her in his thoughts.

  His hand finds hers, fingers intertwining. He grips gently but deliberately—as if in this small, private gesture he entrusts her with everything he cannot openly say. A reminder. A promise. "I am here for you," Julius says quietly. "I will always be here." Her breath catches. Her fingers tighten around his, drawing strength from his warmth, his certainty. A fragile smile touches her lips. "I know," Aurelia whispers.

  The wheat fields whisper their secrets around them, golden waves catching the setting light. Aurelia stands perfectly still, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the sun falls over her home. She reminds herself that she’s leaving, and it should be something that she should be used to by now.

  Her life has been a trail of goodbyes—first her parents, then her friends. They called her “cursed.” Almost discarded at birth. Almost killed her. A lifetime of goodbyes always makes her think that Julius will leave too. But Julius remains beside her. She longs for these moments with him to last, but Olympian pride to her is both a shield and a prison.

  Her fingers brush a nearby stem, nervousness finding a way out. Julius watches her, seeing the tension in her shoulders. He knows her thoughts before she speaks them. "I don't want to leave," Aurelia says quietly, finally admitting. The words pulled from her nightmares, the fear of leaving Olympia. Of Olympia leaving her. But her mismatched eyes remain fixed on the horizon. "This is the only home I've ever truly known."

  Julius remains silent for a long moment, the muscles in his jaw visibly tense. His eyes drift out over the vast, golden horizon, clouded with doubt. "If it helps,” He starts, as if seeking to conquer a hidden bravery. “I too feel…lost," he whispers softly, voice tight. "My father demands I become someone I'm not sure I can—or even want to be." The words sound like a confession, like something he has never allowed himself to say aloud before. "He demands I rule.” His body softens, eyes distant, “But I know, my heart seeks a different path."

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  Aurelia’s breath catches, her heartbeat loud in her ears. To hear Julius, proud prince of Olympia, admit doubt feels as profound as watching their city crumble. Her hand moves, almost touching his, but then stops. They are too exposed, even here in the quiet fields. "And what path is that?" she asks.

  Julius looks away. The evening wind catches his cape, its red fabric rippling through the breeze. "I’m not entirely sure. But something beyond the borders. Beyond our maps. Beyond the expectations that were written for me.” The words are rare. Olympians do not show uncertainty. They do not reveal inner struggles. And yet, here he is—conquering a fear. Revealing himself to her, and her alone.

  Aurelia understands the risk he takes. To show this side of himself. To be seen as something other than the strong prince Olympia demands. She recites a quote that has been with her for as long as she can remember: “Sometimes, we don't choose our paths," she whispers, eyes shimmering. "Sometimes the path chooses us." Julius turns back to her, the words shifting him subtly.

  "And what has your path chosen for you?" he asks. The question waits between them, weighted with all they cannot say. All they cannot do. The impossibility of them. But she continues, “I don’t know.” she says, standing beside him. “But, it has led me to this moment—here with you."

  In the distance, torches begin to light along Olympia's walls, echoing the last calls for departure. The final moments approach. Their moment—like all their moments—is borrowed time.

  Aurelia softly clears her throat, breaking the silence, making the most of their time together. She nudges Julius playfully with her elbow, forcing a small, nervous smile onto her lips. "You know," she says lightly, though her voice wavers slightly, betraying lingering tension, "I've never even seen an elf before. And I hear there are many in the Empire.” Her eyes widening. “What if they don't like me?"

  Julius chuckles gently, glancing sideways at her, eyes dancing with quiet amusement. "Not like you? Impossible," he teases. "Though if you're worried, maybe avoid staring too long at their ears." Aurelia smiles in interest. “Are they really that long? Like a rabbit?” Julius laughs aloud.

  Aurelia laughs with him, grateful for the humour, feeling warmth spread through her chest. Julius's presence makes the impossible feel manageable. "Elven rabbit ears," Julius repeats, teasing. "Tell me, what else do farm folk say about the elves?"

  Aurelia's cheeks flush slightly. "We do know other true things.” She says with another smile. “That they're impossibly beautiful. And that they live for thousands of years. That they know secrets older than Olympia itself."

  The moment softens between them, humor giving way to distraction. Contemplating. "Speaking of secrets," Aurelia continues, her smile gradually fading, eyes drifting from Julius to the setting sun, "Do you think... the elves might know something about the recent Eclipse?" Julius stills. The playfulness slowly disappears. "They might.” He says, joining her gaze to the horizon. “Lysander says that some politicians fear it's an omen," he continues quietly. "A sign we're not meant to remain in Olympia. That the world will need us."

  Aurelia's look grows distant. "My mother spoke of it once," she whispers. Julius shifts slightly closer. Protective. "It’s one of the few memories I still have of her.” She pauses. “She said it would bring the end of all things. A wickedness we're not ready to face.”

  The wheat around them seems to hold its breath. Julius reaches out, almost touching her, then stops. Their connection exists in these near-touches, these almost-moments. They stand together quietly, the deepening silence filled with shared, unspoken fears. Their future is unknown, but in these moments—together—they are ready to face anything.

  "Aurelia."

  The deep voice drifts across the field, breaking their shared silence. Both turn to see Lysander approaching, his royal advisor's uniform gleaming in the fading light. His pace is unhurried but purposeful, his expression of an elder is carefully neutral. "The escort is waiting," he continues, stopping at a respectful distance. His eyes flick briefly to Julius, nodding, acknowledging him, then turning back to Aurelia. "We must depart before nightfall."

  Julius watches this exchange with growing unease. Royal guards escorting a farm girl. Personal attention from his father's men. The pieces don't fit, and the warrior in him—trained to see patterns, to anticipate threats—can't dismiss the strangeness of it.

  "Lysander," Julius acknowledges with a slight nod. "I didn't realise you'd been assigned to overlook civilian transport?" A stillness claims Lysander's face—he is a wise man, and affection is easily spotted in his eyes. He wouldn’t have disturbed otherwise. "Special assignments, my prince. By order of your father."

  The air between them thickens, filled with unspoken questions. Aurelia's fingers gently rub the side of her head. The ache returning. The moment of departure has arrived, bringing back all her familiar fears. Her eyes drift downward as anxiety tightens her chest, and she is unable to look at either man. Fears that if she leaves, Olympia will abandon her.

  Julius steps closer, watching her fears rise. He wants to touch her. His heart is raw and exposed, but Olympian restraint holds him back. His fellow man can not see him vulnerable. Weak. So his voice is hushed, "Wherever you go," words carrying easily to her ears alone, "you won't be alone." His eyes hold hers, intense and unwavering. "I will be there, waiting to hear more stories about elves."

  The simple words contain multitudes. A promise. A lifeline. A declaration carefully coded to protect them both. Aurelia softly smiles, but her breath catches. Her mismatched eyes widen slightly, understanding all he cannot openly say. The corner of her mouth trembles, covering something precious—hope, carefully guarded.

  No further words pass between them. None are needed. Years of shared moments, of careful glances and hidden conversations, have given them a language of silence. Lysander clears his throat softly. "Come. We must go," he reminds them, his tone gentler than before.

  Aurelia nods, stepping back from Julius. Their distance between each other returns. Prince and farm girl once more, their brief moment of connection tucked away like a treasure. "Yes," she murmurs, voice steady despite her emotion threatening to break through. "I'm ready."

  They walk slowly, feet crunching softly against dry earth, wheat brushing gently against Aurelia’s dress. Her eyes remain thoughtful, cautious optimism lifting her voice. "I just hope the other kingdoms accept us well," Aurelia says softly. "I've heard stories… Not all pleasant."

  Lysander's smile is warm, reassuring. His posture is calm, friendly, and steady. "The first us Olympians arrived three years ago. And we were welcomed warmly.” He says clasping his old hands together behind his back, walking relaxed, tranquil. “It may surprise you, but our people are known far and wide for bringing strength, for bringing honour and hope. Olympia's arrival is anticipated with excitement, Aurelia, not dread."

  Julius watches quietly as Aurelia takes in Lysander's words, uncertainty still evident in the gentle crease between her brows. "In fact," Lysander continues, his voice measured, confident, "King Orion is soon due for his official summit with all the monarchs and rulers of the Empire. He will secure our alliance and friendships. New Olympia will thrive."

  Aurelia glances curiously at him, her gaze brightening slightly. "And you won't join him for this meeting?" Lysander smiles softly, a subtle pride warming his expression. "I have already met most of them in my travels. The king prefers I remain here. I'll receive his briefing upon his return."

  A small, teasing smile touches Aurelia's lips, her thoughts come aloud. "Poor monarches.” She says. “They have no idea what they're in for with King Orion, do they?" The jest—bold from someone of her station—quiets the moment for a heartbeat before Julius chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. Even Lysander's stern face softens briefly. "They've been officially warned," Julius replies, his eyes softening with a smile.

  One of the guards steps forward, opening the carriage door. The moment of departure has arrived. Aurelia hesitates, her gaze finding Julius's one last time. Words fail them both. They stand, separated by mere inches and an entire world of code, honour and expectation. Everything unsaid passes between them in their look—longing, fear, hope, promise.

  "Safe journey," Julius finally manages, the formal words entirely inadequate. Aurelia nods once, “Goodbye,” she whispers softly. Julius hears all she cannot say. There is no room for softness. Weakness. It is not the Olympian way. She then turns and boards the carriage. The door closes behind her with a sound of finality. A soft farewell. Aurelia presses her palm against her chest, feeling the lingering warmth of his promise. She closes her eyes, already longing for their next meeting.

  Julius remains perfectly still as the carriages begin to move, dust rising in their wake. Horses and spears, swords and leather begin to move. He wonders again about Aurelia—what exactly had his father discovered in her that he hasn’t shared? What secret did she carry?

  "You'll see her again soon, my prince," Lysander says quietly, having served Julius his whole life, he knows what remains unspoken. Julius nods, silently praying Lysander is right. "You know, Lysander," Julius murmurs, as though confessing a secret, "it's not my father Aurelia should be worried their leaders meet." Lysander’s expression shifts with a smile. He knows the words that are soon to follow. The truth in them.

  "It's my mother."

  :)