Hundreds of flowers decorated the streets, giving the city a festive appearance. The smell of roses mixed with the sweet scent of pastries coming from the market stalls. Music filled the streets as musicians played instruments, their melodies carrying through the crowded squares. People gathered to watch, clap, and dance along, while others joined in the celebrations. The entire city seemed to be in high spirits, with everyone taking part in the festivities.
It was a day of celebration throughout the Empire of Luvitania.
The people had gathered to welcome home their monarch and hero, a man who had once again returned victorious from war.
Aemilius Leontis Dilwyn Leivaditis Armonye Klenhauszen.
The man who brought prosperity to the land, who had built the great empire of Luvitania.
As he paraded with his troops, returning from his latest victory, he was greeted by thunderous excitement. The air filled with cheers, and flowers of every color rained down, some thrown from the crowd, others fluttering from the windows above. Pride radiated from the people as they gazed at their emperor.
His pink hair streaked with gold gleamed under the sun. He looked even more imposing astride his majestic white steed. His perfectly tailored white ensemble accentuated his beauty and elegance, while his red cloak, embroidered with gold, flowed with the rhythm of his horse's stride.
A line of knights stood along the street, holding their swords high. As the emperor passed between them, they lowered their blades in a sign of respect. It was their way of marking the end of the war and remembering those who had fought and lost their lives.
In the crowd, some children sat on their parents' shoulders, while others tried to make their way to the front. Among them was a little boy holding a single rose. He had pushed through the crowd, ignoring his mother's words in his excitement. She had told him to simply throw the flower toward the emperor, but he wanted to give it to him himself. He wanted to place it in the emperor's hands.
So here he was, eyes squeezed shut, straining forward.
But then, the flower slipped from his grasp.
Panicked, he opened his eyes, only to see the emperor bending down in front of him, gently holding the rose. Aemilius's gray eyes, flecked with gold, met his. For the briefest moment, it felt like the whole world stilled. Then the emperor straightened, gave the boy a faint, warm smile, and rode on.
The boy clasped his hands together, still amazed, as the emperor disappeared behind the long line of knights. The boy watched until he could no longer see them. One day, he thought, I will be one of those knights.
The procession finally reached the palace gates. Knights stood in two lines, holding their swords high as the emperor passed.
At the end of the line, the Knight commander stood at attention, beside him were the head butler and head maid, their posture equally formal.
As Aemilius passed, the knights raised their swords skyward, forming a canopy of steel above him. When he reached the head butler, he shrugged off his cloak and tossed it into the man's waiting arms without breaking stride.
His boots echoed through the palace as he walked along the wide marble corridors. The sound carried through the halls, passing beneath high ceilings and between rows of tall columns. Large windows allowed sunlight to fall across the polished floors, while grand paintings and statues lined the walls. Servants and guards stepped aside as he passed, bowing their heads in respect. He crossed one hall after another, each as grand as the last, until he finally reached a pair of enormous white doors decorated with gold.
He placed his hand on the door handle and slowly pushed it open. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, filling the room with a warm, golden light. A crib stood in the centre. Four maids were waiting inside. They bowed deeply when he entered, but he simply raised his hand and dismissed them. Once they had left, the room fell silent.
He stood still, taking in his surroundings. The room felt strangely different from the rest of the palace. Some corners were warm from the sunlight, while others remained cool and shaded. There was a heaviness in the air, something that weighed on his chest.
For a moment, he did nothing. He simply stood there, listening to the sound of his own breathing.
He took a moment to gather himself before approaching the crib. As he drew closer, a small figure came into view. He stopped and drew in a sharp breath.
A baby girl lay sleeping peacefully, her golden hair shining in the sunlight. He stood looking down at her, overwhelmed by emotions he could hardly put into words. Awe, disbelief, tenderness, and a hint of fear all came over him at once. He had faced countless dangers on the battlefield, yet nothing had ever made him feel quite like this.
Slowly, he reached out and gently brushed his forefinger against her cheek. Her skin was warm and incredibly soft. He watched her for a moment before carefully placing the rose beside her.
What a beautiful child you have given me, Róise, he thought, remembering his late wife and the life she had given to bring their daughter into the world. A quiet sadness settled over him as he looked at the sleeping infant. He wished more than anything that Róise could have been there to see her.
A strand of golden hair had fallen across her forehead. He gently brushed it aside, revealing a tiny, gold star-shaped mark beneath. His fingers paused for the briefest moment. His gaze lingered on it, and something flickered across his expression. As he continued to stare at it, a faint gentle presence drew his attention. When he looked closer, he noticed four small lights twinkling around her.
His gaze returned to his daughter. Her eyes were now open, and she was looking straight at him. Bright golden eyes met his, filled with curiosity. Aemilius froze, his breath catching in his throat.
And then, she smiled.
A warmth spread through him, so sudden and overwhelming that it almost hurt. His chest tightened, and a lump formed in his throat.
Slowly, a small smile formed on his lips. She wrapped her tiny fingers around his, holding on with surprising strength, as though she could somehow feel the joy filling his heart. But what he felt was more than joy. It was something deeper, something he could hardly put into words. An overwhelming warmth, tender and almost sacred.
"Hello," he whispered. "I'm your father. It's nice to meet you, Órfhlaith, my little princess."
And at that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.