8 years have passed and the war was over. The empire of Lychnis won the people were anticipated witnessing the hero.
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As Ermis rode into the capital of Lychnis, the crowd erupted in murmurs of astonishment. His transformation over the past eight years was striking, a testament to the trials he had endured during the war.
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Ermis, now a man of imposing stature, had grown into a figure of quiet strength and elegance. His once boyish features were now sharp and defined, framed by long, jet-black hair that fell loosely over his shoulders. A streak of silver ran through the strands—a mark of the burdens he had carried. His golden eyes, intense and piercing, seemed to glow faintly under the sunlight, exuding both wisdom and power.
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He wore a high-collared black coat, trimmed with gold and emerald embroidery that depicted swirling leaves and flames, symbolizing his mastery over the elements. His armor, light but ornate, glinted with an otherworldly sheen, the intricate carvings of mythical beasts whispering of victories on distant battlefields. A scar cut diagonally across his left eyebrow, lending an edge of danger to his otherwise noble appearance. Despite his regal bearing, there was a haunting melancholy in his gaze, as if the ghosts of war still lingered in his soul.
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Beside him rode Aeron, the crown prince of Lychnis and the radiant sun of the empire. Aeron was the very embodiment of charisma and vitality, his presence commanding attention without effort. His golden hair shimmered like molten sunlight, cascading in loose waves to his shoulders. His eyes were a striking shade of azure, as deep and clear as the summer skies, brimming with both warmth and ambition.
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Draped in a pristine white cape with gold accents, Aeron's attire was regal yet practical, tailored to emphasize his lean, athletic build. The pauldrons of his armor bore the imperial sigil—a phoenix rising from the flames—etched with meticulous detail. A gleaming sword hung at his hip, its hilt adorned with gemstones that seemed to capture the light and hold it captive.
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The contrast between the two men was stark yet complementary. Ermis, the shadowed warrior, tempered by pain and perseverance; and Aeron, the shining leader, carrying the hope of a prosperous future. Together, they embodied the duality of Lychnis—strength forged in darkness and light born from hope.
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As they approached the palace gates, the crowd’s cheers grew deafening. To the people, these two figures were not merely men—they were legends, the guardians of a peace hard-won and a future yet to be written.
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As the grand procession reached the palace gates, the crowd’s cheers echoed through the capital of Lychnis. The anticipation in the air was palpable as Aeron and Ermis dismounted their horses and ascended the marble steps of the imperial palace.
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Inside the grand hall, the emperor awaited them, seated on the golden throne of Lychnis, draped in regal robes that symbolized the empire’s prosperity. His piercing gaze softened as his son, Aeron, and his most trusted ally, Ermis, knelt before him.
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“Rise,” the emperor commanded, his voice carrying the weight of authority and pride. “Today, we honor the two pillars who have upheld the glory of Lychnis.”
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A herald stepped forward, unfurling a scroll. The hall fell silent, save for the faint rustle of parchment.
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“Aeron Velis Lychnis, crown prince of this great empire,” the emperor began, his voice filled with solemnity. “For your unyielding courage, wisdom, and unwavering dedication, I bestow upon you the title Guardian of the Sun. You are the beacon of hope and strength, destined to guide this empire to an even brighter future.”
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The crowd erupted in applause as Aeron rose, bowing deeply. The emperor handed him a ceremonial sword, its blade gleaming with an iridescent glow. The hilt was crafted to resemble a rising sun, symbolizing his role as the empire’s guiding light.
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“And Ermis,” the emperor continued, turning his attention to the dark-haired warrior. “Your loyalty and sacrifice have not gone unnoticed. You are the shield that protected this empire, the shadow that ensured its light could shine. For your invaluable service, I name you the Duke of the South, and I grant you the lands of Altaria and the Cristal Mansion as your seat.”
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Gasps rippled through the hall. The Cristal Mansion was a legendary estate, renowned for its beauty and historical significance, nestled within the lush lands of the southern provinces.
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Ermis rose slowly, his golden eyes fixed on the emperor. “Your Majesty,” he said, his voice steady but low. “I am honored beyond words. I vow to serve Lychnis with the same loyalty I have shown on the battlefield.”
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The emperor stepped down from his throne, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Aeron, Ermis, you are not just my son's and my ally. You are the hope of this empire. Together, you will shape its future.”
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The room erupted in cheers as the emperor raised their hands, sealing the moment in history. But even amidst the celebration, a flicker of uncertainty lingered in both Aeron’s azure eyes and Ermis’s golden gaze. The war was over, but peace came with its own battles, and the roles they had been given carried burdens they could not yet foresee.
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At night, Ermis stayed in the Evigheden mansion, its towering spires and shimmering stained-glass windows casting long shadows under the pale moonlight. The air inside was filled with a tranquil silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the hearth in the grand hall. He spent the evening poring over maps and letters, his thoughts drifting between duty and the weight of the empire's expectations.
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Tomorrow, he would journey south to visit the palace and lands that His Majesty had graciously gifted him—a token of honor for his unwavering loyalty and valor. The estate, nestled near the southern border, was said to be rich in fertile plains and bordered by ancient forests steeped in myth. It was a symbol of his rising stature, yet it felt like an anchor tying him to responsibilities he had yet to fully grasp.
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Meanwhile, in the capital of Lychnis, the streets were alive with the vibrant energy of the festival celebrating the empire’s new heroes. Lanterns of every hue illuminated the cobblestone streets, and the joyous laughter of citizens echoed through the city. Merchants hawked their wares, musicians filled the air with lively tunes, and the aroma of spiced meats and sweet pastries wafted from every corner.
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Ermis, however, remained distant from the revelry, choosing solitude over celebration. Despite the accolades and titles bestowed upon him, he felt the stirrings of unease—a quiet storm brewing within. The night stretched on as he gazed out of the mansion's arched windows, watching the stars. "A hero’s tale," he muttered under his breath, "is often written with ink of sacrifice."
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His thoughts lingered on the journey ahead, the allies and enemies he had yet to encounter, and the destiny that awaited him in the lands of the south.
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