Within Aiona's flowing memories, I learned so much fascinating detail about the Kingdom of Heinnas—its history, its culture, its very soul. It was a genuinely proud kingdom with a rich heritage that was originally founded by a visionary man named Joqual and his loyal followers. Before they migrated here to establish their new home, they had been wandering refugees from the far south, desperately searching for better land. They discovered an unexpected oasis in the north, a place of water and life in an otherwise harsh landscape. They came here to this unclaimed territory and settled permanently on these fertile lands. Joqual became the first King of Heinnas, establishing the royal line. That momentous founding had occurred eight hundred and thirty-seven years ago.
Heinnas as a kingdom was actually even older than Aiona herself, which was a humbling thought. The settlement had been much smaller back in those early days—just a few dozen hardy people occupying simple homes built from clay bricks and wood. But the combination of genuinely fertile lands and much-needed human resilience and determination grew the settlement bit by bit, year by year, generation by generation.
By the time leadership had passed down to the sixteenth King, a man named Jorban, the kingdom had already expanded to cover a much wider radius than it had occupied in those founding days. The population had grown from dozens to thousands.
But after King Jorban had personally asked for Aiona's protection because there was a serious foreign invasion threatening from the west, the kingdom had grown even more dramatically—doubling in size within just a few decades. People migrated to Heinnas from everywhere—from the south, from the north, even from the distant east and west, all seeking the safety and prosperity it offered. They brought with them their diverse cultures and accumulated wisdom. That diversity only made the kingdom much more powerful and resilient.
And by now, in the present day, Heinnas had become the dream destination of everyone who heard of it. A prosperous, safe haven anchored and protected by a living dragon goddess's constant presence. It was heaven on earth—something people would only describe with reverence as an oasis in the desert, a miracle.
The original occupants of the lands had grown intensely proud of the fact that they and their ancestors had made this most sought-after land a reality. So they had established a full week to celebrate their achievement and history. The celebration occurred after the first season of harvest was complete, when all the hard work was done and a period of rest followed for the next three months until the next planting season began.
The foundation festival was also commonly called the harvest festival because of that timing. And the center of all the celebration had always been Fulpa—the bustling port city of Heinnas. Although the kingdom's official capital had long since been moved to Serpa, the impressive giant hill city positioned in the middle of Heinnas's territory, the celebration of the Foundation always remained centered on Fulpa. It had been the first capital of Heinnas in those early days, and people felt strongly that this was the day they should return to visit the old capital and celebrate their ancestors properly.
So even the King of Heinnas himself traveled south according to tradition, making the journey to Fulpa every year to celebrate the foundation festival with the common people. Which was why Jarun was here in Fulpa in the first place right now.
As Aiona walked the crowded, lively streets with Yana following quietly behind her, she could see clearly how the city had already begun its early preparations for the upcoming festival. There were groups of women gathered together in small clusters making beautiful cloth flowers in red and yellow—the traditional Heinnas colors that represented the sun and prosperity. They would hang those handmade flowers in long lines overhead, decorating the streets beautifully.
Some enterprising people had already conjured up outdoor cooking fires to begin making traditional Heinnas sweets—delicacies made from rice flour and honey, deep fried in hot oils until golden and crispy. Even more people were hard at work dying yards and yards of cloth to the festival colors of red and yellow, creating banners and decorations.
Most households were busy cleaning out their houses thoroughly, either letting go of old useless things or carefully repairing them—as this was a long-standing tradition associated with the foundation festival. Out with the old, in with the new.
The atmosphere was incredibly lively and joyful. Young children roamed the streets excitedly, dressed up in costume as King Jorban and his six legendary leaders, enthusiastically playing out folk dramas and singing traditional folk songs and poems they'd learned. And occasionally they would stop to test and eat the sugar-coated rice cakes their indulgent parents had given them. These simpler sweets were made early on specifically to distract the children from the main festival sweet, the highly anticipated Golu—the deep fried and honeyed rice sweets that were considered the highlight. It was said that Golu should be eaten only during the foundation week for better luck in the coming year.
This was all Aiona had known for years and years, decades upon decades. The festival never bored her in the slightest, even though she had honestly forgotten the count of how many foundation festivals she had personally attended over the centuries. She loved it all so much—the traditions, the joy, the sense of community.
Yana, who had been following her quietly and obediently after Aiona had broken the devastating news of her departure, suddenly reached out and grabbed Aiona's arm, stopping her in the street.
The young servant had tears gathered in her eyes, threatening to spill over, but she was putting on a brave face in front of her mistress, trying to be strong.
"Do you really have to leave us, mistress?" she asked in a shaky, emotional voice. "If you leave, Heinnas will..." She couldn't finish the thought, swallowing her own words as she desperately gulped down a sob that wanted to escape.
Aiona, who had been carefully hiding her distinctive face under the concealing cover of a dark hood to avoid being recognized and worshipped in the streets, reached out her hand gently toward the crying girl. She patted Yana's head quietly and soothingly, a maternal gesture.
"Nothing terrible will happen to Heinnas," Aiona said reassuringly, keeping her voice calm and confident. "Heinnas is actually older than me, older than my presence here. It has lasted for eight hundred years, and it will last for eight hundred more. That fundamental strength will not change. I'm not the foundation of Heinnas—I never was. The kingdom itself is the foundation. The people, the land, the culture. So don't worry about the kingdom's future."
They were currently on their way to meet with Garam, Aiona's adopted son. Aiona felt strongly that she should say goodbye to him face to face, not through a message or letter. She had so many vivid memories of him—how he had looked when he was just a tiny baby she'd found abandoned, then as a curious toddler, then as a young boy full of energy, and now as a respected royal servant. After he had completed his Academy education at age sixteen, he had started addressing her as 'mother' in the more formal way that nobility in Heinnas did. Before that transition, he had called her 'Mama' softly and full of innocent love.
That word—Mama—brought Aiona's thoughts sharply back to the prophetic vision she'd experienced in her dream. The child she'd seen, the beautiful boy with those distinctive golden dragon eyes. Calling out to her, "Mama." The memory felt so fresh and vivid in her head, making her heart physically ache with longing. Her own child. Her own offspring. Her precious little hatchling that didn't exist yet but would.
'I can't wait to meet you,' she thought privately in her head, already loving this child who hadn't been conceived yet.
As that thought passed through her mind, they had finally reached their destination—a somewhat run-down but charming cafe, owned by an old acquaintance of Aiona's. This modest establishment was her favorite meeting place in all of Fulpa because it was the one place she felt most comfortable outside her palace. Her friend who owned it didn't worship her like virtually all other folks did. He treated her as a genuine friend and equal. That authentic relationship made her feel like she didn't need to conceal her identity or maintain her goddess persona.
The owner had already closed the cafe early to make private room for her meeting, as she'd requested. The cafe remained shut, with a simple "CLOSED" board hanging on the front door.
Aiona walked up and banged on the door unceremoniously, without any of the dignity expected of a goddess. As a reply, a rough male voice could be heard from inside, speaking the first line of their traditional greeting.
"When a dragon dies," he said clearly.
"They turn to stone," Aiona replied, completing the coded phrase that proved her identity.
The door swung open immediately.