According to the many grimoires on the subject of alchemy, gold was described as the purest and noblest of all known and yet-to-discover metals, while silver was placed second on this subjective ranking. As such, it wasn’t rare –to avoid stating how evident it became- that most historical figures wore golden threads on their habit, a sign to showcase their wealth, power, and influence. In summary, their importance during their lifetime.

Notable heroes were adorned with a shoulder-cloth or short capes embroidered with thin yellow and glinting patterns, each symbolising their loyalty, affiliation or the specific mark from a fantastical victory. Kings were crowned with wondrous crafts, each of these symbols of sovereignty were unique in the world, a selfish attempt from the founders to distinguish themselves from one another, but also an unforeseen yet welcomed tradition by the historians to act as easily-matchable hint during their investigations in the past of their kingdom.

Of course, aristocratic folk also took a part in this golden-made hierarchy, however, they reduced it to only a game of balance between wearing sufficient gold to prove one’s apparent worth and to actually not outmatch one’s suzerain’s weight.

Thankfully, gold was a resource precious enough to not be wasted on meaningless adornment; anyone foolish enough to abuse it would either be scorned by its entourage or even punished for its irresponsible behaviour.

Putting aside the aesthetic value of gold, its usage was quickly extended as exchangeable coins to trade expansive items between influential merchants and members of the high nobility. As for the common populace, gold was too good for them and a fake material which looked very much authentic was instead spread between civilians and serfs, a way to invite them as another lower but larger circle of customers to the market.

In a short amount of time, fake gold became more widespread than true gold, raising even further its economic value and its place in society’s standings and ethics.

But being more widespread obviously meant landing on more hands. Some men tried to cheat their way by wearing armour with golden patterns, faking their feats behind a façade to deceive their potential employer.

Unfortunately for them, another widespread and extremely effective method was shared between said employers to prevent counterfeit heroes to profit from their indecent lie.

True gold was sensible to the fire of the Day Goddess, emitting a faint glow and slightly turning redder under the heat of a flame, while fake gold would merely turn warmer over time.

The chemical trick may have been the initial trigger to the idea of wearing gold while confronting the forces of darkness, the divine aura surrounding the leading warriors and the sight of them charging towards the black, depthless pits of jaws, teeth and crooked eyes, their immense stature acting as beacons of hope under the gazes of humanity.

Champions of the light, armed with the metal and the fire of their goddess, they stood brave in the face of adversary and the hopelessness born from darkness. Nowadays, those heroic figures were no more; they either disappeared for unknown reasons, were sadly and cowardly killed behind the curtains or were simply gone, done by the amount of years they spent on this world.

…

“And? Is that all there is to it?”

Facing not the forces of darkness, but a huge pile of scrolls and old books, a young man was currently looking for more clues in the middle of all this mess. The desk was a sorry mess while many copies were carelessly left open, the stack of knowledge kept gaining more heights as a couple of assistants went back and forth from the grand shelves of the library to bring more records of the old ages.

Scratching his head, the clerk tried to remember if he found anything else useful in his search or his notes. Alas, those charged to keep the knowledge intact in the past were either sophisticated poets or just really liked to tell stories about golden knights and epic epopees.

“Forgive us, we still need more time to find anything related to what you are seeking.”

On the other side of the mess stood a slightly older man, however, his presence alone brought both the serenity found in trustworthy personas and the anxiety from dealing with the ones standing above you. He felt impatient for his inquiry already lasted a few days with no relevant answers, yet couldn’t help but admire his retainers’ determination when looking at all the books they had withdrawn from their place.

His shape wasn’t large, yet one could feel a dominant aura emanating from him, a feeling rubbing against your hair which whispered to your ears that this person wasn’t merely important: he was truthfully crucial to the kingdom, for he was the prince who would inherit the throne.

Unlike his father, he had no crown to display his undisputed authority, instead he was covered with an ample cape, endorsing the emblem of royalty on his back and shoulders.

“How come we have yet to find any records? Are we not talking about one of the legacy of our predecessors?”

“Yes, Your Highness, but you must understand those topics were usually… Romanticized. During the old times of war, even safely keeping knowledge in written form required a lengthy elaboration and a steep price, and once all was over then only could records be stored without worry.”

“Then all of those are actually tales with no backing? Poems with no mystery or hidden meaning?”

“Yes, and no. I am afraid to admit, those are indeed stories from ancient times. However, none of them are hiding anything. They are simply what they were made of: stories, to prevent us from forgetting.”

“And yet, we cannot find even one metaphorical wording about it?”

“Forgive us, Your Highness. We are doing all we can to retrieve this knowledge from the Librarium.”

Considering pushing even further would prove to be fruitless, the prince gave them a word of encouragement before exiting the quiet environment, leaving the scholars to their duty with a short reminder that he would come back at a later date to check on their result. The clues he was looking for was that important for him to dispatch a small squad of bookworms and made them focus entirely on this specific searching.

After going through the door opened by his servants, the prince was escorted back to his quarters with the aid of a duo of loyal knights, each of them adorned not with the shining and glorious armour, but the heavy equipment of steel and longswords. The design appeared quite cumbersome when you took in account the existence of beasts capable of demolishing houses in one swoop, and it was the truth that the equipment wasn’t adequate to fight against monsters or creatures which could easily overpower you.

However, this war was already over. Humanity has won, and now the enemy has changed.

“How was it, Your Highness?” asked one of his escort, the voice belonging to a middle-aged man.

The prince shook his head in denial, “They still haven’t found anything, despite all the records they gathered so far…”

“Perhaps they need more time?”

“Of course they need more time”, retorted the royalty with a pinch of irritation, “And it will most probably take years before they provide me an inch of what I’m looking for.”

He rubbed his eyes, a habit he once adopted to help dissipate the stress in a brief period. Then, he stood by the bow window to contemplate the districts of the capitol, losing himself in his preoccupying thoughts. His eyes wandered towards the residential and mercantile areas who were brimming with life, potential and wealth with the ulterior thoughts, motives and worries of an upcoming suzerain.

Under this blue sky, he was born a ruler. In front of the whole population, he was acclaimed as the heir of the throne. His blood carried the feats and the duties of his predecessors, the heavy History of humankind alongside their victories, their defeats, their rise and their fall. Standing next to the peak of humanity’s greatest monarchy, one of the only nation with the capability to fight the darkness with the help of the goddess’s blessing and the fire-lances. As the sole king’s son, his name resounded across the country since the day of his birth.

Louis Rubimic Chartelle Primtus the heir prince, alas born with one less mark than his father.

“The blessing of the Day Goddess… But, your Highness, do you really need this proof? You are already about to inherit the crown, and your reputation isn’t worrisome at all. The people even appreciate your efforts for funding the construction of factories and giving them the chance to be hired for a job.”

“You’re right, if we judge the situation with the assets I already have. However, even if the citizens agree with my ruling, my influence can still be disputed among other nobles and our neighbours unless I show them an irrefutable proof of my worth as a human being.”

“I don’t think anyone would mind, considering you are the heir of this kingdom...”

Three knocks rang from the room’s entrance, a servant’s way to address the master with a news to share. The guard half-opened the door and discreetly inquired about the message’s content, before nodding to his colleague in acknowledgement and announcing to his liege the word of notice.

“Your Highness, his Majesty the king is asking for your presence in the gardens.”

“Speaking of the devil…” thought Louis, smiling inwardly at the amusing coincidence. Comparatively, his escorts seemed fazed by the king’s summoning his son for a meeting, more or less fore-guessing the reason for the unscheduled call.

Leaving the room with his guardsmen, the golden prince let himself be guided out of duty and etiquette by the servant. Their itinerary passed through the remarkable corridors adorned with paints of varied landscapes on the left side, with many scrolls of different size each containing the script for a heroic tale or a romantic poem.

On his right, large arcs allowed him to contemplate the gorgeous inner garden of the palace blooming with so many colours one would be at a loss to find which tint to start with. The royal greenhouse was an enclosed place where you couldn’t see the horizon nor feel the rain dropping from the sky, however, the sun shining through the glass roof sufficed to illuminate the verdancy of this closed off paradise.

It was the ideal location to refresh one’s mind thanks to the splendid aroma of the numerous flowers and the slightly chilly dew the gardener managed every day. And with that exact frame in mind, spending a little bit of one’s private time to drink tea here has become one’s favourite pastime.

Once his arrival announced and his feet close to the table, the prince kneeled in front of the man with the grey shaggy beard who, just like him, wore the very fabric which characterized his status as the legitimate suzerain of the kingdom.

“Did you call for me, father?”

The teacup was slammed against the plate in an annoyed manner, a clear sign the parent was met in a bad mood.

“Just because we are family doesn’t mean you can dispense yourself from your status. How many time do I have to educate you until you remember your manners?”

Louis smiled with amusement while reminiscing his younger days spent under the tutelage of dozens of tutors. Each lesson was deeply ingrained inside his head, be it history, etiquette, leadership, military, diplomacy, swordsmanship, astrology or theology. He remembered each words his teachers spoke to him, each knowledge they taught him. Everything was for the future of the kingdom he would one day rule.

Yet, despite all the effort put into his education, all the effort the prince put into his own betterment, he rarely received the just gratification from the old person himself, nor as a king or as a father.

Then perhaps looking for some paternal attention or because he felt he already was capable of accomplishing a few feats by himself, Louis started with a few business in the capital.

Then it grew into a faction.

Then it became a national industry.

With the power the prince gathered by himself, it wouldn’t be surprising if the king delayed no longer the day of succession. Alas, one factor remained incomplete, one far more important in the eyes of the elder than everything else.

“Look me in the eyes, Louis.”

Obliged to listen, the prince raised his head and stared directly at his father’s visage. Despite how old he appeared and the long wrinkles, the king showed no weakness at all, as a fiery blaze burned inside his eyes. A clear, undisputable fact that he was and is still loved by the Day Goddess. A trait that, unfortunately, the prince lacked.

“Mmh. I still see no cinders in your eyes, my son. How famished must be your faith if you keep allocating your time to those chimneys coughing this smoke that obscure my sky. I know the chaplain wouldn’t lie to me about your diligent visit to the church, and yet you show me this dull face.”

“My apologies father, however, I can assure you I offer every day a bit of my time to pray for the goddess and her benediction. Alas, I am afraid words and actions that speak of my loyalty and faithfulness hardly move her heart.”

“What is it that you are actually lacking?” asked the king, out of curiosity but also out of satire, “Loyalty? Faith? You serve the kingdom well, too well, that I am sometimes unable to understand what kind of ploy goes through your head. As for your faith, its foundation remains questionable to me.”

“My sincere apologies, my father. I guess my head is too thick to comprehend the delicate intricacies of our beloved goddess.

Then if I may ask, father” continued the prince with a solemn tone, “If my words can’t reach the Day Goddess, then I would like to know how yours did. How did you get her attention, and how did you receive so much love from her?”

The king himself stared at this son for a short while, maybe thinking how to admonish this ignorant fool. However, surprisingly, the old man was actually carefully looking for the correct sentence to describe the feeling, the state of mind and the devotion he channelled whenever he prayed to the goddess they cherished.

“’The Day Goddess smile to every people who wake up on the morning, and who smile back at her.’

Why is it so difficult for you to get it?”

Those words weren’t meant to be taken as a blame or an insult, Louis understood well. The texts were simple, the condition in reach, all that was needed was a little push from the prayer and the goddess would respond.

It was that simple, the king tried to blurt out but couldn’t do so easily. Not in the presence of so many witnesses.

Nodding his head, Louis acknowledged his father’s words before he was allowed to leave.