That night, when the castle had gone quiet and lanterns burned low, Shirzan slipped silently through the gates. Her paws made no sound on the stone, but the children stirred. Mira nudged Eli awake, and soon Heavenly too was on her feet. They crept after her, bare steps quickening to keep up with the lioness’s shadow.
At first they thought she hadn’t noticed. But after a while Shirzan’s ears flicked, and her tail lashed once. “You follow poorly,” she said at last, her voice carrying softly through the trees. “If you meant to stay hidden, you should have turned back at the first gate.”
The children froze, caught—until Shirzan gave a low rumble that might have been a chuckle. “Since you have come this far, you may as well see what I came to see.”
She led them deeper into the forest. The air grew cooler, the trees older. Moonlight wove through the branches, and every step felt heavier, as though the ground itself remembered what had passed here.
At last, the woods opened onto a glade where ruins rose like broken teeth against the sky. They had seen them before, but this time was different. The place was more peaceful, more sacred.
“What is this place?” Mira whispered.
Shirzan lowered her great head, her golden eyes glowing in the moonlight. “This place was my home,” she said at last, her voice low and steady. “It is called the Hinge, for when a door stood here, it could swing both ways. We were always safe so long as the other side was hidden. I was its guardian. But long ago, an enemy came not from across the lake, but from beyond the world. They poured through this arch. The line held, but at a terrible cost. My castle was laid waste, and all I loved was lost.”
Eli pointed to the lintel. “And the letters? What do they mean?”
Moonlight traced faint lines carved into the stone. Shirzan’s voice deepened: “These marks were cut when this world was born, in a language long forgotten. Few living know their meaning, fewer still are willing to learn it. Yet the truth they carry endures.”
She let the silence stretch until the children leaned closer. Then she spoke the words aloud: “The unexamined life is not worth living.”
Some of the children nodded solemnly, as though they had always known. Others shifted uncomfortably, as though the letters had turned into mirrors.
Heavenly’s voice trembled. “So it shows us ourselves?”
Shirzan inclined her head. “Do not mistake this for judgment or regret. The Hinge does not condemn you. It teaches you. Reflection is not for regret but for wisdom. Mercy for yourself is strength. Scars will come, but scars can be turned to strength.”
Mira frowned. “But scars hurt.”
“Aye,” Shirzan rumbled. “Scars remain for both victor and vanquished alike. But scars are not shame. They are the mark that we endured. Better wisdom in diplomacy than rashness in war, for once a sword is drawn, blood will spill. Whose blood, no one can say until it is done. But this much is certain: no one truly wins in war. Some lose more than others, but all lose something.”
Eli’s voice was small. “So what do we do?”
Shirzan’s eyes softened. “You seek truth. You weigh words carefully. You learn to guard mercy for yourself and others. A trusted word rightly weighed can end a war before it begins.”
For a moment the air shimmered. The children gasped. Through the arch they glimpsed another figure—an old man with kind eyes, his hand resting against the stones as if he too were guarding the door from the other side. Though they could not hear his voice, they felt his presence: a guardian who had long ago hidden the door, and whose last words echoed through ages.
The vision faded, and the ruins were still once more.
Later, when the tale was told in the Great Hall, the King’s words echoed: “The Realm is not saved by steel, but by wisdom, mercy, and truth.”
Bramble muttered with a grin: “Trust but verify, eh? Trust keeps your friends close, and verify keeps your enemies from walking off with your chickens.”
The children laughed softly, though their eyes stayed on the arch.
Royal Motto: Reflection before judgment. Mercy before regret. Diplomacy before war. Truth endures.
“The Realm is not saved by steel, but by wisdom, mercy, and truth.”
Royal Motto:
Reflection before judgment.
Mercy before regret.
Diplomacy before war.
Truth endures.