A proposal of peace

  Despite his predicament, Aaronn could not deny the beauty of the place. Shackled, he had been taken to the palace to stand trial before the king. At that moment, the soldier who had arrested him was escorting him along a golden path leading to vast gilded staircases.

  Yet the most impressive feature was the palace’s architecture. The mountainside on which it was built served almost entirely as walls and ceilings. Exterior vegetation crept through narrow cracks in the rock, while shrubs grew all along the central avenue, between white circular platforms edged with gold. These platforms served as stages for musicians, men and women alike, who played string instruments to animate the palace.

  They climbed some thirty steps before stopping before the throne. Behind it, a vast circular opening overlooked the outside world, allowing a sea of clouds to stretch all the way to the horizon.

  Aaronn’s attention shifted to the king. His brow furrowed briefly. At first glance, he knew he would not like this man. The king lounged nonchalantly on his throne, his face resting against his hand. His black beard blended into the dark mass of his thick hair. He wore the same armor as the soldier who had brought Aaronn here, though heavier, with a longer cape. Only his shimmering silver eyes truly caught Aaronn’s attention.

  According to the exploration team, irises of that color were a sign of superiority on this planet.

  “Magnus,” the king spoke in a deep voice. “So, who is this foreigner?”

  Magnus stepped forward and knelt.

  “I bring news, my king. This man claims to come from another planet. He says that he has come to establish a peaceful relationship with Eleusia.”

  The king’s disdainful gaze settled on Aaronn. That single gesture gave him the impression that nothing good would come of this confrontation. Still, he did not wish to prove Aaliyah right so easily.

  “First,” the king continued, his voice still grave, “if you truly come from another planet, how is it that you speak our language?”

  Aaronn knelt before him in a show of respect and replied:

  “Where I come from, technology allows such feats quite easily.”

  The king frowned and let out a faint, mocking smile.

  “If you say so. Second, I was told that our cannon fire struck you head-on. How are you still standing? Even our finest warriors would not emerge unscathed from such an attack.”

  “Where I come from, some men and women possess extraordinary abilities. I am one of them.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Magnus interjected. “I can’t imagine you standing against me for even a moment.”

  Aaronn lifted his gaze slightly.

  “I could certainly prove it during my stay on this planet.”

  “Your stay?” the king scoffed. “No one has authorized you to remain here. How did you breach our defensive shield? And without a ship, no less?”

  “With my bare hands. I came to your planet…”

  Aaronn hesitated, then decided to finish his sentence to gauge their reaction.

  “…by running.”

  Magnus let out a mocking laugh. The king burst into loud laughter. Aaronn had known this answer would be hard to swallow. Yet he was only telling the truth—save for one detail: it was not he who had run here, but his sister.

  “By running?” Magnus repeated. “And what next?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe, but where I come from, it’s possible.”

  Magnus exhaled contemptuously, not even bothering to reply.

  “Let us assume you are telling the truth,” the king continued. “I am certain you did not come merely to establish a peaceful relationship with us. What do you truly want?”

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  “That is correct. First, allow me to introduce myself more openly. My name is Aaronn Karselfeni, son of the King of Arthémis: Arthé?s Karselfeni.”

  Magnus rose abruptly, cutting him off.

  “You? A king’s son?”

  “Yes, that is correct. This king is also the founder of the Arcane—an interplanetary alliance system within the Milky Way. You were discovered by one of our exploration teams, which gathered data on your world. We know that vast, untapped reserves of amarite lie beneath your lands. It is the primary resource that allows us to develop our ships, our territories, and our technologies. Without it, supraluminal travel would not exist, and the standard of living across the Arcane would drastically decline. We wish to negotiate a sharing of these resources.”

  Aaronn was a user of the Will. As such, he could perceive the aura—or vital energy—normally invisible, that emanated from people: a thin, white, translucent glow of variable shape surrounding its source.

  When left uncontrolled, it could be read like an involuntary physical expression. The mention of amarite reserves had made the king tense; the mention of supraluminal speed had relaxed him once more.

  “What do we gain from this?” the king asked.

  “A sharing of knowledge. Connections. An expansion of the framework of your reality. We could begin by teaching you how to build ships capable of supraluminal speed. Despite your technological prowess, this invention still eludes you.”

  The king straightened on his throne, his disdainful expression shifting into one of interest.

  “I sense a certain arrogance in your answer, foreigner,” he said. “But I will overlook it this once. The problem is that your story doesn’t add up. You come to propose cooperation in exchange for resources. You offer us supraluminal technology—yet you arrive without a ship to demonstrate it? I will give you one last chance to be honest with me. What do you really want?”

  “I am convinced he comes from the world below,” Magnus intervened. “Even if he lacks the distinguishing traits of a warrior of Eilea, I see no other explanation.”

  Aaronn was testing the king, seeking to gauge the limits of his mind. The man did not seem foolish and displayed sound judgment. His response would reveal who the king truly was.

  “You are correct. A part of the story is missing. My father’s goal is to establish an era of peace throughout the galaxy. That means he cannot allow inequalities within the peoples of the Arcane themselves. If you wish to stand with us, there is one condition.”

  Magnus bristled once more.

  “A condition?” he protested. “You are the ones who came to us!”

  “Yes, I know. But my father does not tolerate inequality or domination. Whatever your answer may be, he will intervene.”

  Magnus angrily gripped the hilt of the sword at his belt, ready to draw.

  “Are those threats?” he growled.

  “No. A warning. There will be no war—we are peaceful. However, it is always unpleasant when someone interferes in one's affairs.”

  Magnus drew his sword.

  “I will rid us of you! How dare you speak such words within the palace and before the king!?”

  “Enough, Magnus,” the king interrupted calmly, yet with authority. “I appreciate your loyalty, but let him finish. What is this condition, foreigner?”

  “The world below, as you call it, must be freed. Stop oppressing them. Stop restricting their rights. And above all, tell them the truth. Let them awaken the same power that slumbers within you: freedom.”

  The king struggled to contain his laughter. He could not believe what he was hearing.

  “That’s exactly what I thought—you come from the world below. This is the first time you’ve attempted such a deceitful tactic. Give the people too much power and they no longer know what to do with it. If Eile?n acts this way, it is to put an end to wars and massacres. The world below has only what it deserves. In Eile?n, we are the descendants of a divine race with a transcendental destiny. Simple, inferior minds cannot grasp the weight of such a truth.”

  Aaronn rose abruptly. Was this truly the most important man on the planet? A man who considered himself superior to his brothers and sisters? Too blind to recognize the folly of his thinking? Magnus remained on guard, wary of his reaction.

  “Ending wars and massacres is the promise the Arcane offers you. I won’t lie to you—it isn’t imme—”

  “Enough!” the king cut him off. “I will not be told what to do by an inferior mind—and above all, by a foreigner.”

  The king raised his hand toward Aaronn. A translucent aura took the shape of a hand around him, then clenched tightly. Aaronn suddenly found himself unable to move.

  “And what proof do you have of all you’ve claimed? Why did you come alone, unarmed, before me?”

  Aaronn showed no sign of weakness and did not even attempt to free himself from the king’s grip. He stared back at him, a gleam of determination reflected in his emerald-green eyes.

  “You who claim to act in the name of peace—allow me to prove to you that the inhabitants of the world below, whom you reject, also possess a divine nature. That they are your equals. And that they can rise.”

  The king’s grip tightened further, bones cracking under the pressure. A faint expression of pain crossed Aaronn’s face.

  “I have had enough of your blasphemies,” the king replied. “You who claim to be among the extraordinary—prove it. In a duel against my finest warrior: Magnus Castus. If you win, I will grant you a little more of my attention.”

  Aaronn’s brow furrowed as his gaze shifted to the warrior who had brought him here. The aura surrounding Magnus was perfectly uniform—calm, disciplined. In his current state, Aaronn stood no chance against him. The king knew it perfectly well.

  Magnus sheathed his sword, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

  “You heard me, Magnus. Prepare yourself,” the king announced.

  “Yes, Father.”