Twenty-five years had passed since the long war ended, and the capital had transformed into a magnificent jewel of peace and prosperity. The palace gardens were a masterpiece of blooming beauty — roses climbing ancient trellises in vibrant shades of crimson and white, jasmine vines heavy with fragrant flowers winding around marble columns, and fruit trees laden with ripe cherries, plums, and golden apples. The air carried the sweet, heady scent of summer in full bloom, mingling with the distant sounds of the city: merchants calling out their wares, children laughing in the streets, and the steady rhythm of a realm that had finally found lasting harmony.In the grand throne room, sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, illuminating the silver and black banners of the Draven wolf that hung proudly from the rafters. Prince Aether Draven, now twenty-five years old, stood tall beside the dual thrones, his dark curls neatly styled, his golden eyes — flecked with delicate silver — ste
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