Aurum Major: Chapter Two

Godwyn

The Erdtree Sanctuary bustled with activity, the chamber alive with scholars and knights of the Golden Order engaged in heated discussions and meticulous rituals. As Godwyn and Kristoff made their way through the crowded communion, Godwyn's golden gaze scanned the familiar faces around him. Among them, Shabiri stormed past in a whirlwind of energy, his sharp voice barking orders while his loyal followers scrambled in his wake. Godwyn's attention, however, was drawn to three unfamiliar figures moving hastily behind the fervent scholar.

The first was an elderly man clad in tarnished black garb, his weathered hands cradling a young, grievously injured boy. The second was a blindfolded swordsman dressed in faded blue robes, a curved blade resting at his hip as he navigated with uncanny precision despite his lack of sight. The child let out a faint, pained whimper, drawing the attention of those around them, but none dared block their path as Shabiri waved his arms and demanded passage.

Godwyn raised a questioning eyebrow at Kristoff, seeking an explanation. The knight beside him, clad in his gleaming armor, let out a deep grunt of acknowledgment.

"Outsiders," Kristoff said gruffly, his voice low enough to avoid attracting unwanted ears. "They were found on horseback outside the capital gates this morning. The boy's injuries are grave—likely inflicted during an attack. Is that what you wished to know, Prince Godwyn?"

"Thank you, Kristoff." Godwyn nodded thoughtfully, his eyes trailing after the strangers as they disappeared into the sanctuary's inner chambers. He said nothing more, his curiosity piqued but tempered by his royal composure.

The pair continued their route, stepping through the golden-lit halls until they emerged onto the sanctuary's grand balcony. The fresh air carried the faint hum of the city below, and as they moved toward the edge, a flight of golden brick stairs awaited them, spiraling gracefully upward to the next level. Godwyn lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the expanse of Leyndell before him, the Erdtree's shimmering branches behind him casting an otherworldly glow across the city.

They began their ascent up the marble stairs, their footsteps echoing faintly in the vast sanctum. Godwyn had tread this path countless times before—it led to his mother's grand quarters, the heart of her dominion within the capital. Beyond that, at the end of the golden-lit corridor, was the Elden Throne itself, the revered seat where only the most exalted could stand before the towering majesty of the Erdtree.

Yet Godwyn's thoughts drifted elsewhere, to a different place tied to the great tree. Deep beneath the city, hidden in the shadows of Leyndell's subterranean depths, lay another place where the Erdtree's presence could be felt. His mother had taken him there once, guiding him down the labyrinthine passages to its roots.

Even now, the memory of that journey made his golden blood run cold. The roots were ancient, massive things, twisting and coiling in ways that seemed unnatural. They emanated a silent power that had pressed against his very soul, and for a fleeting moment, Godwyn had felt an inexplicable fear—like something unseen, something unknowable, had stared back at him from the abyss beneath the Erdtree. It was a feeling he had never spoken of, not to his father, nor to his loyal knights, and certainly not to his mother. Whatever it was that dwelled in those roots, he had no desire to confront it again.

With that, they stepped out onto the grand overlook of Leyndell, the sprawling city that stretched beneath them like a masterpiece carved into the very earth. The golden rooftops shimmered in the midday light, and the streets bustled with life. Merchants lined the market squares, their voices carrying over the hum of the crowd as they peddled wares. Knights stood vigilant at the gates, their armor gleaming in the light of the Erdtree. Civilians walked freely, their lives undisturbed by the dangers that lurked beyond the city's protective walls.

Godwyn couldn't help but smile, pride swelling in his chest. The capital had flourished in his lifetime, growing stronger and more beautiful. All seemed to be at peace.

As they moved closer to Marika's quarters, a hint of auburn hair peeked out from one of the stone chambers. Godwyn's eyes caught the familiar color, and without hesitation, he broke into a jog, leaving Kristoff behind. His boots barely touched the ground as his broad smile widened, the sight of his younger sister pulling at his heart.

He skidded to a stop in front of the figure sitting on a stone bench. She had her knees curled to her chest, a book nestled in her hands. Startled by his sudden appearance, she let out a yelp, the book slipping from her grasp and landing on the ground with a dull thud.

"Melina!" Godwyn exclaimed, his grin as bright as the Erdtree's golden glow above them. "Hiding away with your books again, I see."

Melina, his younger sister of two years recomposed herself as she lowered her legs, she was a Melina, his younger sister by two years, recomposed herself with quiet grace as she lowered her legs from the bench. She was a small child, barely half of Godwyn's height, her presence delicate yet striking. Her pale gold eyes met his without a trace of surprise or emotion, steady and unreadable as always.

"Morning, brother," she said in her high-pitched yet even voice, her tone as measured as her gaze. "Indeed, I was immersed in my studies, as you should be." She stood with a fluid motion, closing her book with a soft thud and holding it at her side.

Godwyn tilted his head, his grin unwavering. "Always so serious, little sister. Can't a prince take a moment to greet his favorite sibling?"

Melina blinked slowly, her expression unchanged. "I am your only sibling, and If such moments do not interfere with your responsibilities, then I suppose it is permissible." She looked past him briefly, her gaze scanning the distant balcony where Kristoff lingered. "But I assume you were summoned, not wandering idly."

Godwyn chuckled, ruffling his hair. "As sharp as ever, Melina. Yes, I'm on my way to Mother. I thought I'd check on you first."

Melina gave the faintest nod, her posture poised as she turned to step past him. "Then you should not keep her waiting, brother. Mother values punctuality." She adjusted the book in her hands, her movements precise, before pausing to glance over her shoulder. "I shall see you later."

With that, she walked toward the chamber doors, her small frame disappearing into the grand halls without so much as a backward glance. Godwyn watched her go, his grin fading slightly as his thoughts lingered on the enigma that was his younger sister. Melina had always been peculiar—so different from himself, from anyone he knew. She never smiled, never laughed, never seemed to share the emotions that tied others together, he wanted one day for her to smile with him, to play in the sun with other children, yet she was always reading in her own world.

She was always within sight of their mother, ever since the day she was born. It wasn't a warmth that tethered Melina to Marika, not the kind of love that Godwyn had felt when he was a child and sought comfort in his mother's arms. No, it was something else—an invisible thread, a strange bond that seemed as distant as it was unbreakable.

Godwyn frowned, his golden brows furrowing. What was it that drew Marika to Melina? Was it her quiet nature? Her obedience? Or something deeper, something hidden? Whatever it was, it made Godwyn uneasy, though he couldn't place why. He felt a pang of guilt for even questioning it—Melina was his sister, after all—but there was no denying the feeling that there was more to her than met the eye.

Godwyn sighed, releasing the tension that had built in his chest, and turned to Kristoff, who stood rigidly at attention. The knight gave a subtle nod, signaling the prince forward into Marika's chambers, the sacred space where even Kristoff could not follow. Godwyn acknowledged him with a brief glance before turning his focus to the imposing golden doors ahead.

They loomed tall and heavy, intricately carved with symbols of the Golden Order, glowing faintly in the light of the Erdtree that spilled through the nearby windows. The weight of the doors was said to rival that of the strongest fortifications in Leyndell, a testament to their sanctity. Yet, as Godwyn pressed his hands against the cool metal, he found them yielding under his touch, swinging open as if they weighed nothing.

It wasn't strength that moved them. Godwyn knew that much. It was his blood—his lineage. The power of the Golden Lineage coursed through him, granting him access to places no ordinary person could enter. The doors creaked slightly as they revealed the chamber beyond, their gilded surfaces catching the light like a beacon.

He stepped through, the echo of his boots against the polished stone floor ringing out in the vast silence of the room. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of incense and earth, and the walls glimmered with murals of the Erdtree and its branches, each detail painstakingly etched by the hands of ancient artisans. As the doors closed softly behind him, Godwyn paused, taking in the weight of the space he had entered.

Godwyn stepped forward cautiously, his eyes scanning the chamber. The warm light from above cascaded down in a beam of light, illuminating the center of the vast room. Draped in heavy, golden fabrics that shimmered with the light of the Erdtree, the chamber exuded an overwhelming sense of sacredness. The air itself felt heavier, infused with an ancient energy that Godwyn could feel in his very bones.

His gaze was drawn to the massive bed at the heart of the room, surrounded by towering stone tablets that formed a semicircle around it. Each slab bore inscriptions of wisdom and law, the knowledge of the ages that his mother, Queen Marika, had gathered to guide her rule. Godwyn knew that each one held secrets and insights that could change the course of the Golden Order, yet he dared not approach them. The idea of touching what was so clearly sacred was both tempting and terrifying.

He hesitated, his hand twitching at his side as the urge to reach for one of the scriptures grew within him. But he swallowed hard, forcing himself to step back from the towering slabs. His mother's presence lingered here, even in her absence, a constant reminder of her authority and power. The golden drapes seemed to sway gently, as though moved by an unseen wind, and the light filtering through gave the room an almost ethereal glow.

Godwyn exhaled softly, shaking his head. No, he thought. I must not touch what is not mine. He tore his eyes away from the tablets and instead looked around the room, taking in its grandiosity. Every inch of it spoke of Marika's divine nature, her role as both a mother and a monarch. Yet, there was an undeniable coldness here, a sterility that made the chamber feel less like a home and more like a shrine.

His footsteps echoed lightly as he stepped closer to the bed, its golden sheets undisturbed. It was as though no one had rested here for years, the perfection of the scene unnerving in its stillness. Godwyn's chest tightened as a pang of longing struck him. This room—so grand, so filled with the history of their family—felt distant, disconnected from the warmth he associated with the idea of "home."

He sighed, stepping back into the golden light as he allowed his eyes to trail upwards, following the beam to the domed ceiling above. The Erdtree's brilliance seemed closer than ever here, its golden aura filling the room with an almost suffocating reverence. Godwyn lingered in the glow, feeling both comforted and burdened by the enormity of what it represented.

Godwyn turned, his golden locks catching the soft glow of the room as he took one final look at the sacred space of his mother's chambers. There was an emptiness here that lingered in his chest, a feeling he couldn't quite name. But there was no time to dwell. His steps echoed lightly against the polished stone floor as he passed through the grand golden doors, closing them behind him with a quiet thud.

His gaze lifted as he walked, the familiar path guiding him up the stairs toward the Erdtree itself and the Elden Throne. The faint sound of his boots on the steps was his only company, the vast halls of Leyndell eerily silent in their grandeur. His thoughts lingered on the throne he was heading toward—a sight he had only seen once before, when Marika had shown it to him. Even now, the memory made his chest tighten with a mixture of awe and uncertainty.

The great chair loomed in his mind, molded not from the Erdtree itself but from the ancient wood of the Great Crucible, the world tree that had once dominated the Lands Between before the Erdtree's rise. Godwyn had often wondered about his mother's choice in crafting her throne from that ancient relic. Perhaps it was an act of spite against the old world, a declaration of her triumph over it. Or perhaps it was a reminder, a tether to what had come before. He didn't know, and the answers weren't his to have.

What he did know, however, was that his throne—the one meant for the future ruler of the Golden Lineage—stood smaller and humbler beside his mother's. Unlike hers, his had been shaped from the Erdtree itself, its golden wood gleaming with the blessings of the Greater Will. And beside his, smaller still, was his sister Melina's throne, equally crafted from the Erdtree but adorned with intricate carvings that represented her unique place within their family.

The massive stone archway towered above Godwyn as he approached, its intricate carvings worn but still imposing. The walls on either side of the door bore the scars of age and time, with cracks weaving through the stone like veins. The arch was adorned with the symbol of the Greater Will, its roots and branches intertwining to reflect the Erdtree's dominance. Vines crept along the sides, golden leaves littering the base of the threshold as if bowing to the sanctity of the space beyond.

He stepped through the crumbling doorway, his boots echoing faintly against the stone floor, and entered the sanctum where the Elden Throne resided. The air shifted—heavier, laden with an unseen weight that bore down on his young shoulders. His gaze immediately locked onto the figure that defined this holy place.

Marika, the Eternal, lounged on the throne that was not merely a seat but a symbol of divine authority. The massive chair, crafted from the ancient wood of the Great Crucible, stood as a testament to the old world's subjugation under her reign. Yet, Marika seemed utterly unbothered by the gravitas of her surroundings. Her legs draped lazily over one armrest, her golden hair spilling like molten sunlight against the other. She leaned back, her slender fingers tracing her nails as if inspecting them for flaws.

Godwyn halted, his throat tightening as he took in the image. This was his mother, yet she appeared almost alien to him in her demeanor. Her golden eyes, which had been idly focused on her nails, slowly lifted to meet his. The gaze was neither warm nor harsh—it was something lukewarm, as though seeing her son was merely a passing distraction. However, as her eyes lingered, a flicker of interest sparked within them, faint yet noticeable.

"My son, it's taken you quite a while to arrive, hasn't it?" Marika mused, her voice calm yet cutting as she swung her legs off the throne, shifting from her languid position to standing with an elegance that seemed almost unnatural. Her golden locks cascaded down her back as she straightened, the light of the Erdtree shimmering faintly behind her, making her appear as though she were carved from divine light itself. She towered over Godwyn now, her presence suffocating yet mesmerizing.

"Mother, I—" Godwyn began, his voice hesitant as he tried to find the words.

"You were watching Lord Radagon and his forces leave for the Carian Empire, correct?" Marika interrupted smoothly, her tone making it clear she wasn't asking but stating an irrefutable fact. Her golden eyes bore into him, seeming to read not just his expression but his very thoughts. She stepped closer, her movements slow yet deliberate, and Godwyn's attempt to speak died in his throat.

Reaching him, Marika placed her hand firmly on his head. The gesture might have seemed motherly, but her grip was not gentle. It was calculated, deliberate. Her fingers curled slightly into his golden hair, not enough to cause pain but enough to make her authority unmistakable. She crouched to meet his gaze, the movement fluid and precise, her face now level with his. The firelight from the great hall behind her cast long shadows across her sharp features, making her expression unreadable.

"You wear your thoughts plainly, my son," Marika murmured, her voice low. "It seems I do not need to ask where your mind has wandered—it is written all over you. You admire him, don't you?" There was a faint edge to her words, an undercurrent of something Godwyn couldn't place—resentment, perhaps? Or was it disdain?

Godwyn swallowed hard, the weight of her gaze and the pressure of her hand rooting him in place. "He is... impressive," he admitted, his voice small beneath her scrutiny. "I watched him lead, and—"

"And you see in him something you wish to emulate?" Marika's grip tightened slightly, her eyes narrowing as her lips pressed into a thin line. "Do not let your admiration cloud your purpose, Godwyn. Radagon is bound to me, and by extension, to you. But you are of the Golden Lineage, my true heir. You are not to follow—you are to lead."

Her words, though commanding, carried a chilling detachment. Godwyn felt both the sting of her disappointment and the weight of her expectations. He had always known that Marika's love—if it could be called that—was conditional, tied to her ambitions for him. Yet, as she looked into his eyes now, it felt as though she were searching for something within him, something he wasn't sure he possessed.

"I understand, Mother," he said softly, though the words felt hollow even as they left his lips.

Marika released her grip on his head, her long, golden braid swinging slightly as she rose to her full height. Her piercing gaze lingered on him, assessing, calculating, yet softened just slightly as she looked down at her son. "See that you do," she said, her voice quieter now but still carrying the weight of authority. "You are a good child, Godwyn. Let it stay that way."

Godwyn nodded, his breath steadying as he looked up at her. For a fleeting moment, he caught the faintest curve of her lips—a grin, almost mischievous in its subtlety—before she turned away from him. Her braid swayed with the motion, catching the light of the Erdtree that poured in from the grand archway ahead. The golden glow wrapped around her, making her seem untouchable, divine.

"Ah, yes," she mused aloud, her voice as distant as her figure now seemed. "Find thine father. Tell him I search for him." She did not glance back, her steps measured and deliberate as she moved toward the light of the Erdtree.

"Yes, Mother," Godwyn replied, his tone steady as he bowed deeply. "I will do as you say."

Marika paused, her silhouette framed against the radiant light. "I thank thee, my child," she said, her voice softer, yet carrying an unspoken finality. "Know that you are loved, Godwyn, by me... and by your father."

Godwyn hesitated for a moment, surprised by the rare tenderness in her tone, but before he could respond, she continued walking, her face still turned away from him. "Go forth, bring him to me."

Without another word, Godwyn straightened, turned, and exited the chamber, his mother's parting words lingering in his mind. The quiet, almost wistful tone in her final statement stayed with him, leaving him both comforted and unsettled.