Lives Unveiled

"How was the presentation, Althea?" The voice seemed to care for nothing except the results it sought that resonated through the vast, magnificent hall constructed mostly from massive, weathered stones. The room's simple yet historically rich carvings bore testament to its venerable age.

The woman, Althea, sat there, her slothful consumption of the meal momentarily interrupted as she took a drink from a crystal-clear crown glass. Only after this unhurried action did she respond with casual assurance, "No issues."

Her father's voice, however, shifted several octaves higher, causing the once lively dinner banquet, with its clinking sips and chatter, to fall into an abrupt, uncomfortable silence. "I've told you countless times not to avert your face from me when I'm speaking to you!" he scolded. "Where is your manners, huh?"

Althea's reaction was immediate, a sudden jolt of surprise rippling through her. She had little choice but to focus her attention on her father, who had risen from his seat, his stern expression casting a shadow of fear over his daughter. He continued his reprimand, his words echoing through the room, "The longer this continues, the less you resemble a queen. How will you manage this empire in the future? A shameless kid!"

"Brother, please, let us maintain etiquette in the presence of our esteemed ministers," Clade, seated right beside him, inserted with a temperate tone, seeking to soothe the man—none other than Ulric Emperor himself. "Althea has shown her talents by speaking confidently in public; there's no need for concern."

The Emperor's stoic demeanor remained unbroken, and not a trace of satisfaction crossed his face. His horror focus on Althea sent shivers down her spine, intensifying the eerie atmosphere in the room. "It is only fitting that you behave this way, for otherwise, you shall find yourself confined to that room for an entire day."

Althea understood her father's intentions all too well, and the memories of past ordeals she had endured in that isolated chamber were still vivid in her mind. Her father's discipline involved locking her to a room in isolation, with no company except for him, and he came with a specific purpose—not to comfort her, but to subject her to physical torture.

Within the confines of the castle, she had no freedom; every command of her father's had to be obeyed without question, lest she face his formidable wrath. The Emperor's volatile temperament was notorious, spreading fear throughout the realms and earning him the reputation of a fearsome and dangerous ruler.

His iron-fisted reign had lasted for years, but now, it was slowly crumbling under the quiet influence of Caeloria, which had garnered considerable public support.

"Let us resume this dinner," Ulric declared, settling back into his ornate chair, decorated with a superb carved dragon's head at the top. He spared another glance at his motionless daughter, her head bowed in submission. "What now? Eat it!"

"Father... have you ever cared about me at all?" Althea's voice trembled, barely audible, and filled with emotion. She still sat on the edge of a plush, ivory-colored chair, her gaze fixed on the detailed blue carpet that covered the floor. It was a stark contrast to the grandeur of the palace's hall.

Ulric remained cold and unresponsive, showing no reaction to his daughter's plea. The dining table, wrapped with exquisite silk tablecloths and garnished with delicate porcelain dinnerware, stood as a symbol of the opulence that surrounded them. Yet, at that moment, the room seemed colder and more distant than ever. "I said eat!"

"No!" Althea cried, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stood. Her slender fingers clenched the white dress she wore. The crystal chandelier above them cast a soft, shimmering light on her distraught face. "Has Father ever asked how I'm doing, even for a moment? Has Father ever supported me when I have a hard situation?"

Ulric rose from his seat once more, shouting even louder, drowning out Althea's words, "How dare you raise your voice in front of me, you insolent child!" The room's walls, ornamented with priceless tapestries depicting epic battles and heroic figures, seemed to close in as the tension escalated.

"It's because you're not like Mother, who was always there when I was down!" The girl was already sobbing, her sweet voice turning into a heart-wrenching lament. Her tearful eyes glistened as she glanced at the Emperor. "I hate you, Father!"

With haste, she fled from the once-festive feast gathering. The grand double doors leading to the corridor were adorned with intricate carvings, adding an air of magnificence to the scene. Despite the tempting spread of food on the elaborately decorated table, Althea felt nothing but anguish.

Ulric and all the attendees fell into stunned silence, the Emperor's expression a tumultuous mix of anger and blame. No one dared to interrupt this time, not even Clade, who chose to remain silent and uninvolved.

Althea rushed down the hallway festooned with exquisite lanterns, bewildering the passing servants with her tearful state. Her footsteps echoed on the polished marble floor, resonating through the long corridor. With a strong push, she closed a large, imposing door, producing a loud sound that could startle anyone nearby if they weren't paying attention.

The room she entered was none other than her own. It had a predominantly silver theme, meticulously arranged and exuding an elegant and captivating ambiance. The blend of silver and gold in various patterns reflected the light from the large ceiling lamp, trimming the walls with depictions of distant worlds and other decorations that made the chamber feel simultaneously "full" and enchanting.

Althea leaped onto her disheveled silver silk-covered bed with a heart torn asunder, the pent-up emotions finally bursting forth. She had suppressed her feelings for so long that she couldn't hold back from speaking to Ulric earlier.

Curling up on her bed, which was now in disarray and dampened by her tears, she buried her head in the silken sheets, alone and without anyone to comfort her.

Amidst her sorrow, she raised her head, realizing that there was something that might soothe her troubled heart. She reached for a framed picture on the nightstand right beside her plush bed, settling herself on its edge.

The solitary photograph featured her mother, a woman with the same white, smooth, straight, and flowing hair as Althea. She possessed a strikingly beautiful face at the age of twenties, a beauty that had been passed down to Althea. Even their hazel eyes shared the same color.

"Mother... I miss you so much." Her eyes welled up once more as memories of their time together flashed before her. She bowed her head so deeply that her teardrops fell onto the photograph, protected by the glass frame.

The moonlight streaming through Althea's bedroom window bore witness to her sorrow, while on the other side, Alorian remained in the existence of Master Vedana with tranquility.

The night was accompanied by the sounds of communicating insects, their chirps serving as the background to Master Vedana's whispered guidance. The moonlight, so brilliantly clear, cast a soft, silvery glow on the wooden floor adorned with ancient scrolls and intricate tapestries.

"Breathe in," the old man instructed, drawing a deep breath into his own body. The air was filled with the gentle scent of blooming flowers from a nearby garden. "Breathe out."

Alorian mirrored the action, his chest rising and falling as he followed the fundamental steps of Prana's reception. The area's single candle flickered, radiating dancing shadows on them. A faint breeze rustled their black robes as if the very air itself responded to their meditation.

It was a component of energy from nature, not as simple as they initially thought. It took most people months just to sense it, even though it was all around them. Alorian's keen interest in this element had driven him to learn it extensively, recognizing its crucial role in strengthening his abilities.

"What do you feel, my child?" Master Vedana checked on Alorian beside him, opening his eyes.

The young man furrowed his brow, as if uncertain about the sensations coursing through his body. "I feel nothing but calmness," Alorian said, adjusting his breath to the rhythm. "Like a calm that makes my worries vanish, if only for a moment."

"That is more than enough," the old master redirected his gaze from Alorian, briefly observing the perfectly shaped moon, its beauty mirrored in the pavilion stillness. "Because oxygen is the essence of Prana itself."

Alorian opened his eyes, realizing that what he was learning was slowly coming together. He turned to Master Vedana, allowing the old man to elaborate further. "Most of us, humans, are unaware that almost every second, we allow the components of Prana to enter our bodies."

"Therefore, breathing out of essential and breathing through meditation feels different," the master continued, wearing a smile in the cold night. "What we are doing now is trying to interact with them, to connect our souls so we can feel their existence."

"And when we successfully connect with them, we call it cultivation," Master Vedana turned to Alorian, who was attentive as well, his eyes wide open, gaining a new insight that had once perplexed him.

The area, with its timeless artifacts and the relaxing presence of his mentor, seemed like the perfect place for such profound revelations. "But, my child, if you want to delve deeper into Prana, you cannot do it in the metropolis or within the palace."

Alorian's confusion deepened, and he asked, "Why, Master?"

"The overwhelming pollution there gradually erodes Prana itself; you will be hard to cultivate in such a place," the old sage emphasized. "Always remember that Prana is abundant in the unpolluted natural world."