Coronation Night

Coronation Night is a mini-story in the Aeon of the Champion story series, taking place between the night of 9 November and 10 November 1 AGY, during the First Earth War between the human kingdoms of Avantia and Phoenixgarde and the the orcish Prarvian Expedition.

The story
''9 November 1 AGY. ''

''The human nations of Avantia and Phoenixgarde are at war with the orcs of planet Prarvis, who have been led to the planet by their treasonous leader Vez'nan on the orders of the demon lord Tiz'galath, who serves the Marching Horde. The hell and horrors they unleash upon the worlds they conquer, in their bad quest to end all creation, are unspeakable.''

''The Prince of Grevalon, the 25-year-old Kaarlo Atherton, has led the Knights of Magecrown to the front lines, having secured permission from the Council of Seven - in the absence of any official government support. Having been away for over a year now, with little-to-no word on how he is doing, fears have naturally begun to creep into the magocratic city and even the Palace itself is looking unstable. Having had over 12 monarchs in the space of 20 years, Grevalon is far from politically mature - and the people are in no apetite for another regime change.''

"Forty-six, forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-err, fifty...?"

Silana, having been unsuccessful in her pursuit of some quality sleep - she had managed just about to close both eyelids before having her rhythm unduly disturbed - had decided to stop forcing it and instead wait for a cue from her biological clock. As much as time ticked in the real word, her body clearly hadn't gotten the memo, and the minutes soon accrued into hours.

To pass the time, she had started counting raindrops, which were quitely forming on the crystal panel which was neatly slotted into the left side of her bedchamber, which, in-and-of-itself, was a decorative affair. Sophisticated and glamorous, even compared to the grand chambers of the Aeht Dom, it was fitted with a MagiTek-designed liquid arcanum cooling system and amethyst chandeliers. Indeed, perhaps the augmentations were excessive. As a member of the Atherton family, she was automatically entitled to luxury in every aspect of life - from education at the prestigious Magecrown Academy, where she studied magic, to the everyday business of getting some darn rest. Except while the peasants dozed in their haystacks, she was lying, fast awake, staring at...well, the walls of the bedchamber.

In that instant, she realised just how distracting the design was. Just moments ago, she had been counting raindrops on her window. Now, she was trying to decipher the meaning of the inscrutable squiggles - politically referred to as 'patterns' - enscribed on various objects within the decently-spacious room.

''Sigh. This is going to be a long night.''

Following on from that assessment, Silana commanded her arcanum-lamp on with a single finger snap - one of the most basic arcanum manipulation spells she had picked up during her studies at MA - and, beckoning one of the few reads on her bookshelf towards her, began gingerly flicking the pages. This particular old gem was a copy of The Origins of Magical Elements and their Subcompositions, Codified and Reassorted by Magnus Nivus, a legendary magologist and spellcaster who had risen to prominence as a 22-year-old - not much older than Silana herself - via his discovery that mana, arcana and time were linked quantities interdependent on one another, now referred to as Nivus Law - the foundation of modern magic. All MA alumni were given a copy of the book when signing up; Silana had long finished reading it, something unorthodox even among the word-crunching alumni of MA. She hoped that its wordiness would provide the lethargy her body needed to finally shut itself off, but after half and hour it had fallen flat, like an acolyte priming their first spell.

''The day is already old. Very soon, it shall be no more.''

Silana reorientated her head about 90 degrees. It was still raining, albeit less heavily now. Maybe this time counting raindrops would work. Returning to old plans, she began to - mentally - record each godly tear that fell from the sky.

"One. Two. Three-but that one slapped onto another one. Five?" Counting raindrops wasn't such a good use of time after all - even under light rain, there were just too many of them - falling too quickly - to take accurate note of. Sitting on the side of her honeywood-carved bed, which was adorned with a majestic magenta cover of exquisite and exotic fabric, she was just about to start counting sheep - until a gentle and steady knock at her door stopped her from sliding back into her sheets. Rather than answer immediately, she listened for the second attempt. If the person was genuine, they'd know the code. Two knocks for normal inquiries. Three knocks for an emergency. One knock if it was like, mail.

Make no mistake - Silana heard three rapid, yet distinct knocks. Same the third time round. This had to be of serious nature. Focusing her will, she unlocked the bedchamber door, preparing albeit in vain for the figure that emerged from outside. It was the familiar face of...Grand Archmage Lamont Spellthorne, leader of the Council of Seven and political ruler of Grevalon himself. He was dressed from head to toe in a hooded robe of black, the ceremonial colour of mourning, which surprised her even more than his actual appearance - it was unheard of for the Grand Magus to appear in the bedchamber of a member of the royal house, and even more peculiar of him to be dressed as if a funeral was on, when there clearly wasn't anything to dress like a funeral for-

"Salutations, Your Grace," spoke Magus Spellthorne in a sombre voice, the type reminiscent of a funeral MC performing a euology for his best friend and trying not to let the croaks in his voice - nor lumps in his throat - become too obvious. He made a gesture with his head, as if to indicate reverence.

Silana's countenance greeted him with caution. He was acting rather ontoward.

"Magus Spellthorne, what time of night do you call this?" she snapped. Admittedly, being interrupted so late in the day was irritating, especially when she was battling a bout of insomnia.

Spellthorne lowered his voice and became sterner. "With due respect, Your Grace, this is an urgent matter that demanded immediate addressal. The nature of the circumstances, and the responses they require, prevented me from delaying this appointment."

Silana was tempted to roll her eyes at him, but gave him the respect his position called for. "Save your words for the Council filibuster," she responded curtly. "Have you received word from the Campaign? How are matters over there?"

The elder Spellthorne left an awkward silence. He stared up and down at the walls of the bedchamber, his eyes also attempting to study the intricate patterns enscribed upon them, with no indication of greater success than Lady Atherton hours ago. Though his eyes crossed Silana's countenance several times he could not bring himself to open his mouth, let alone speak.

"Well?"

It was another unnerving two minutes until another word was said. Silana was preparing to repeat her demand for answers until Lamont pipped her to the post.

"Silana; tonight, a very heavy responsibility has fallen on your shoulders."

This is 'weird. Turning up in my room at near-midnight, dressed in a black robe, and now referring to me by my first name'.

"What is the meaning of this?"

More silence.

"You have been acting very, very strangely. First you show up in the Palace at midnight, wearing all-black, and then you use my forename when speaking to me. For Heaven's sake, delay your pronouncement no more. You used speed to get here, now use the same speed to bring an end to this insufferable suspense."

Magus Spellthorne nodded. "In the course of the Dinith campaign against the orcs, your brother, Prince Kaarlo, perished at the age of 25. The circumstances regarding his death are yet unknown, but forensic magi are working to determine this."

The girl could not react. She merely gazed in disbelief at the man talking to her. Yes, she'd had a go at him for stalling things - but no, no way in hell was she ready for that.

Spellthorne went on. "Due to the impracticality of a vacancy of the Violet Throne, the Council of Seven, superintended to by myself, has unanimously called upon you to succeed him as monarch of Grevalon - Head of State of our blessed nation - and lead our people in this time of crisis."

His voice was unnervingly flat, but Silana knew it was not because he didn't care. It was not because he was heartless. In fact, his heart was probably breaking at that point, just as hers was. He just wasn't prepared to show it.

"His body will be returned to Magecrown for a ceremonial burial, but this will take a number of weeks due to unforeseen events. In the meanwhile, your coronation has been scheduled for tomorrow. The royal procession has been planned out and will be revealed to you ahead of time. You will be crowned Princess of Grevalon, and the war effort will continue under your watch."

Magus Spellthorne did not expect a response from the 18-year-old Silana. The news was too much to take in, and he knew it. It'd destroyed her perception of reality. That's why he had tried to slow down, try to take it step by step...but her impatience had forced his hand, and now, she was regretting her impulsiveness.

"I assume there are no questions with regards to my above statements," he concluded. "This being the case, I offer on behalf of The Seven - Magnificus and Vermilius especially so - my sincere and heartfelt condolences in this distressing time. May your heart find peace, and may fate be with you."

He bowed his head, then hurriedly left Silana to absorb what had happened - just as the clock struck midnight.

''Yesterday, I was a Lady. Today, I am a Princess.''

This would normally be happy news. But it wasn't. Not like this. It wasn't and could never be. So many mixed emotions. So many unanswered questions. So much... inner chaos.

Indeed, this was going to be a long night - possibly the longest night of her entire life.

Her Coronation Night.