The soft cooing of birds drifted through the open window, carrying the scent of fresh gardens and baked bread.

  Lucius leaned lightly against the frame, silver hair catching the morning sun.

  Beyond the marble walls of House Caelum, Eden sparkled.

  Children laughed in the courtyards.

  Vendors hawked sweet pastries along pristine cobbled streets.

  Banners fluttered from crystal towers, rippling under the blue sky.

  It was a perfect day.

  Just like every other perfect day.

  Lucius's hands rested lightly on the window’s carved sill.

  His reflection shimmered in the glass — flawless, as always.

  And yet behind his bright, polished eyes, a restless ache stirred.

  Another day of the same routines, he thought.

  Training, etiquette lessons, empty victories in polished halls.

  A life sewn together with golden thread, but still stitched too tight to breathe.

  His fingers drummed against the window once — an impatient heartbeat.

  "Young master," came a familiar voice, smooth and easy.

  Lucius turned, blinking the thought away.

  Master Orien stood at the doorway, his usual lazy smirk in place, arms crossed casually over his chest.

  "I hope you’ve been focusing," Orien said, voice light but edged with warning.

  "Dreamers are no easy task."

  Lucius offered a flawless bow, schooling his face into the proper mask of attentiveness.

  "Yes, sire. Of course."

  He moved from the window, stepping back toward the heavy oak desk in the center of the room.

  Only one book lay open there:

  The History of Dreamers by Dr. Arbor.

  An old, well-worn volume, its gold-leafed edges dulled from generations of use.

  Lucius recited smoothly, without hesitation:

  "Dreamers are manifestations of one's desires. Their fears, and their joy."

  Orien raised an eyebrow.

  "...Is that it?"

  Lucius paused.

  He dipped his head, feigning modesty.

  "Pardon. Dreamers, although not a threat to Eden, have destroyed the outer world."

  "Correct," Orien said, nodding lazily.

  "And the Heroes of the past, when the world first cracked, did everything in their power to save the people."

  Lucius's eyes lit up — real, unguarded for a moment.

  "Yes, sire. They were true Heroes who saved humanity."

  Orien's smirk twitched.

  "Enough about them," he said, waving a hand. "Let’s move on to the important part: how to become a Hero."

  At that, Lucius straightened like a blade drawn from its sheath, every fiber of him attentive.

  "Let me ask you, Lucius."

  Orien’s voice softened slightly, a teacher baiting a student toward something sharp.

  "How are Heroes created?"

  Lucius answered at once, the words bursting out:

  "Through helping others!"

  Orien laughed once — not unkindly.

  "Not exactly."

  Lucius blinked, frowning.

  "But sir, I thought—"

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  "Dreams, boy," Orion cut in, stepping closer.

  "Dreams create Dreamers... and Heroes."

  Lucius’s brow furrowed.

  "That contradicts itself though, doesn’t it? Dreams make monsters. How can they make heroes too?"

  Orien smiled, an old tired smile — the kind worn by men who had seen too much to still believe in clean answers.

  "No, young lord Lucius. Dreams are far more complex than that."

  Silence stretched between them, heavy.

  Before Lucius could press further, there was a soft knock at the door.

  A maid entered — her face hidden mostly behind long bangs, head bowed low.

  "Master Orien. Young lord Lucius," she said, voice practiced and soft.

  "The Dreamer is prepared."

  Lucius straightened instinctively.

  "The Dreamer?" he repeated.

  "Aye, young lord," Orien said, smiling softly

  "Have you forgotten? Today is your festival."

  Lucius’s stomach twisted once in sudden memory.

  'Right.'

  'my Coming of Age Festival...'

  Orien chuckled, seeing the realization flicker across his student's face.

  "You're officially an adult, lad," he said, clapping a hand lightly against Lucius’s shoulder.

  "Well... assuming you defeat the Dreamer first."

  Lucius drew in a breath, his nerves sharpening into focus.

  This wasn’t a sparring match.

  Not some staged duel among the nobility.

  This was real.

  A Dreamer.

  A monster birthed from twisted dreams.

  And he would prove himself.

  Not just to the House Caelum.

  Not just to Eden.

  But to the world.

  Lucius’s hand fell instinctively to the slender rapier sheathed at his belt — a weapon of beauty and deadly precision.

  He smiled, calm and certain.

  "Lead the way, Master Orien" he said.

  His heart hammered in his chest, but his steps were steady as marble as he followed Orien from the study, into the bright, waiting world.

  ****

  In the upper chambers of House Caelum, sunlight spilled in through sheer white drapes, turning the polished floors to rivers of gold.

  Lady Eve Caelum sat at the center of it all —

  a vision of cold, breathtaking beauty.

  Her silver hair cascaded like spun starlight down her back, pinned delicately at the crown with sapphire-studded combs.

  Her gown was a masterpiece of deep blue silk, stitched with threads so fine they caught the light in shifting patterns — a sky of falling stars.

  Around her, a small army of maids moved with silent efficiency — adjusting hems, smoothing folds, perfecting what was already flawless.

  Lady Eve sat unmoving in her tall-backed chair, hands resting lightly in her lap, a serene smile resting on her lips.

  To look upon her was to glimpse something untouchable — a living painting, perfect and distant.

  Nearby, lounging with easy grace, were two other noblewomen.

  On the left, Lady Miriam Clearwater — wife of Duke Hudson — sprawled comfortably against a velvet sofa, her gown of bright sky-blue clinging to a figure that would have scandalized stricter courts.

  Her golden hair tumbled over one shoulder, and her ample curves pressed proudly against the fabric, her wide, mischievous blue eyes full of restless energy.

  Opposite her, seated with a more modest elegance, was Lady Selene Tartarus.

  Selene’s dress was a muted gray, simple but refined, her frame slender, posture quietly reserved.

  Her black hair was pinned up with a few loose strands framing a thoughtful face, and her pale gray eyes carried a softness tinged with perpetual concern.

  The three women spoke lightly, the hum of their conversation weaving through the quiet sounds of the maids at work.

  They laughed, teased, and traded gossip — as noblewomen always had —

  but beneath the laughter was a common thread of expectation, an undercurrent that inevitably led to today’s event.

  Lucius Caelum’s coming of age.

  "A handsome boy you’ve raised, Eve," Miriam said, swirling a glass of chilled wine between gloved fingers, a playful grin tugging at her lips.

  "Smart, strong, handsome... makes me want to lock up my daughters before he starts looking for a wife."

  Eve’s smile didn’t waver — perfectly polite, perfectly polished.

  Miriam leaned closer, mock-conspiratorial.

  "Or maybe I should just marry one of ‘em off to him right now," she said with a wink.

  "Snag a Caelum before he gets too pretty to touch."

  Selene chuckled softly, setting down her own untouched glass of wine.

  "Be careful what you wish for," she said, voice low, tinged with a hint of genuine worry.

  "The boy carries a heavy weight already. A bright flame draws more than just admirers."

  Lady Eve tilted her head slightly, considering Miriam's teasing words — and Selene’s more cautious ones — with the same cool, amused detachment.

  Then she spoke, her tone as gentle and bright as a bell.

  "As if my boy would settle for one of your wrenches" she said lightly.

  The room paused for a heartbeat.

  Then Miriam exploded into laughter — loud and wild, tossing her head back, her golden hair flaring behind her like a banner.

  "HA! Damn, Eve, you don’t miss!" she howled, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.

  Even Selene laughed softly, covering her mouth with her gloved hand.

  Not mocking — just amused by Eve’s sharpness, the effortless cruelty that was somehow part of her charm.

  Eve herself did not laugh.

  Her smile remained — serene, untouched, as if she hadn’t said anything cruel at all.

  There was no apology.

  There never was.

  The conversation drifted naturally from there — about dresses for the ceremony, which Ventors would be attending, whose sons and daughters might catch Lucius’s eye.

  They spoke easily, the bond of old friendship and mutual respect softening the sharpness that might have broken lesser gatherings.

  Yet beneath it all, Selene's gaze lingered a little longer at the garden visible through the wide arched windows.

  Where Lucius would soon step into the blinding light of his destiny.

  Where boys became legends — or were broken trying.

  She set her wine aside without drinking.

  And for just a moment, her smile faltered.

  and feared for the boy who wore a crown of glass and didn’t even know it.

  END OF CHAPTER 4