Morning arrived gently over the Tri-Crown Isle, as if the sun itself were reluctant to disturb the fragile peace resting across the sea. The horizon glowed amber and rose, the light spilling slowly over the waters like honey poured from a tilted jar. Gulls wheeled through the air above the harbor, their cries cutting through the quiet as the capital city of San Cordellion stirred awake beneath the warm touch of dawn.
The city had the strange beauty of two eras shaking hands.
Stone towers and medieval ramparts climbed above tiled rooftops, their ancient masonry etched with elegant rune circuits that shimmered faintly in the early light. The runes hummed softly—barely audible—like the distant purring of some massive sleeping beast. These enchanted carvings powered the conveniences that modern minds had come to expect.
Across the cobbled avenues, lacrima-powered trams slid along glowing rails, their rune-engines crackling softly with blue energy as they carried early commuters through the city. Shopkeepers rolled up wooden shutters while sweeping their storefronts with worn brooms. The smell of roasted beans drifted from small corner cafés where the first customers gathered for their morning cups.
"Morning edition! Morning edition!" a paper boy shouted as he ran down the street waving freshly printed broadsheets, the ink still sharp with the scent of hot press metal.
Bakers opened their ovens, releasing clouds of steam scented with sweet bread and honey pastries. A pair of merchants argued over shipment costs while dockworkers hauled crates toward the harbor district.
San Cordellion woke like a great organism stretching its limbs after sleep—slow at first, then gathering rhythm as life flowed into its streets.
Above all of it stood the Royal Palace of Colorada'Sierra.
The structure loomed over the city from a raised marble terrace like a crown carved from stone itself. Ivory spires pierced the sky while stained-glass windows caught the sunrise and scattered shards of color across the palace walls. Ornamental balconies curved outward like petals, and rune-lit lanterns dimmed gradually as daylight replaced their glow.
Inside the palace grounds, the routine of the morning guard shift had already begun.
Two lines of armored soldiers stood near the inner courtyard gates as the night watch handed over responsibility to the day patrol. Steel boots clinked against marble floors, and the soft rustle of banners drifted through the corridor as a mild breeze wandered in from the gardens.
"Anything unusual?" one guard asked, adjusting the strap of his breastplate.
"Quiet night," another replied with a shrug. "Not even a drunk noble trying to sneak back in."
A few of them chuckled.
Routine had a way of dulling vigilance.
And routine had blind spots.
Just beyond the patrol route, in the palace's sprawling flower gardens, one of the many stone panels embedded within the ground shifted ever so slightly.
It lifted only a finger's width.
Enough for a pair of glowing amber eyes to peek through.
The eyes scanned carefully—left, then right—like a fox checking for hunters before leaving its den.
Satisfied, the stone panel lifted higher.
A hooded figure emerged silently from beneath the hidden entrance. The cloak he wore was black and loose, designed to swallow his shape in shadow. Only one thing betrayed him.
A long, slender red tail slipped out from beneath the cloak, flicking lazily behind him.
The figure stretched quietly before glancing around again.
"Hmph," he muttered. "I guess Stephanie was right about the lack of security in the garden at this time."
His voice carried the casual tone of someone who had done this far too many times.
Oscar crouched down and carefully lowered the stone panel back into place, aligning it exactly the way it had been described to him. Once the seam vanished back into the pattern of garden tiles, he stood and brushed a stray petal from his cloak.
Princess Stephanie had told him about the tunnels during one of their smoke sessions weeks ago.
Oscar had been complaining—loudly—about how difficult it was sneaking into the palace every time she wanted more weed.
Stephanie had simply shrugged.
"Oh, there are secret tunnels everywhere," she'd said casually while blowing a lazy cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "Old royal escape routes and spy corridors. One opens right into the garden."
She had said it like someone casually revealing where the kitchen snacks were stored.
Oscar had stared at her.
"You just hand out palace secrets like that?"
"If it means getting my weed faster? Absolutely."
Being the middle child of the royal family meant Stephanie Goldenleaf had grown up perfecting the art of mischief.
Oscar couldn't complain.
He slipped across the garden quietly and entered the palace through an open corridor connecting the courtyard to the interior halls. His boots transitioned from soft grass to polished marble floor.
Immediately the palace swallowed him.
Corridors stretched in every direction, lined with tall pillars and identical doors. Decorative tapestries hung along the walls, each depicting heroic moments from the history of the Goldenleaf dynasty.
Oscar frowned.
Whoever designed this place had apparently loved mazes.
After several turns and far too much wandering, irritation began creeping into his thoughts.
"Seriously," he whispered under his breath. "Every hallway looks the same."
He stopped in front of a random door.
"Guess we're playing the guessing game."
He opened it slowly.
Then froze.
Inside the room stood two palace servants locked in a very heated embrace. Their eyes widened instantly as they noticed the red-skinned tiefling standing in the doorway like an awkward statue.
Time seemed to slow to an uncomfortable crawl.
They stared at him.
He stared at them.
Oscar lifted a finger to his lips.
"Let's pretend like this didn't happen," he whispered.
Both servants nodded rapidly.
Oscar slowly closed the door again.
Click.
He stood there for a moment in silence.
"Wrong room," he muttered.
The tiefling exhaled and rubbed his temples.
"I gotta be a bit more careful."
Getting spotted by palace guards would turn this entire visit into a disaster.
A few minutes later he finally reached a door that looked far more familiar.
The wood around the handle was scuffed—badly.
As if someone had kicked it open more times than anyone bothered counting.
Oscar smirked.
"Yep. That's the one."
He turned the handle and slipped inside.
Princess Stephanie's room looked exactly like it always did—luxurious chaos.
The chamber was large, draped with velvet curtains that glowed softly in the morning sunlight filtering through tall windows. Fine carpets covered the floor and elegant furniture filled the space.
Yet clothing lay tossed across chairs, books were stacked haphazardly on a desk, and a half-finished painting leaned against the wall.
In the center of it all stood a massive bed fit for royalty.
As Oscar quietly shut the door behind him, a groggy voice drifted across the room.
"Oscar… is that you?"
He turned.
Princess Stephanie Goldenleaf sat upright in bed, stretching her arms lazily as she rubbed sleep from her eyes.
She was undeniably beautiful—fair skin glowing in the soft light, emerald-green eyes blinking awake, and long golden hair spilling down her back like a cascade of sunlight.
Oscar pulled back his hood.
His red skin caught the morning glow while his amber eyes glimmered with amusement. Black dreadlocks were tied neatly behind his head, and two curved horns rose from his forehead, giving him a devilish charm that matched his grin.
"Well look at that," he said with a scoff. "You're actually awake this early. Usually I have to drag you out of bed."
Stephanie yawned loudly.
"I know… I know…" she mumbled. "I hate being up this early."
She stretched again like a cat refusing responsibility.
Oscar chuckled as he walked toward the lounge area of the room.
"But at least I make it worth your while."
Stephanie fought another yawn.
"That is… true…"
Oscar sat in a plush chair and slipped a bag of holding from his shoulder. He set it on the small table and reached inside.
One by one he pulled out supplies.
A lighter.
Cheap rolling papers.
A battered wooden grinder that had clearly lived a long and difficult life.
Finally, he produced a pouch of deep purple weed streaked with red and orange veins.
Stephanie's eyes brightened instantly.
"Ooooh," she said, now very awake. "New strain?"
Oscar grinned.
"The Thornveil Syndicate's been circulating something new on the black market."
He opened the pouch.
The aroma filled the room—sweet, earthy, and strangely electric.
"They call it Emberblossom Haze."
Stephanie leaned forward curiously.
"How do they even make their stuff this strong?"
Oscar began grinding the buds carefully.
"Trade secrets," he replied. "And a little alchemical potion work."
Stephanie disappeared briefly to wash her face and brush her teeth before returning to the lounge area. She dropped onto the couch across from him, her hair still slightly messy from sleep.
Oscar finished rolling the blunt with practiced ease.
He held it up like a craftsman admiring his work.
Then he smiled.
"Alright, princess," he said while lighting the tip.
"Time to wake and bake."
He took the first slow pull as the ember glowed bright orange.
Smoke curled through the air like a drifting ribbon of fog.
And the day had only just begun.