As the Grand Duke's royal carriage approached the Grand Estate, the air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Back in the capital, hours earlier, when the carriage had first rolled past the gilded gates, the reaction had been instant and near reverent.
From the balconies stacked along the gold-veined walls of the capital, nobles had leaned forward like hungry cats at a window.
Feathered fans froze mid-wave. Goblets of wine trembled in pale, jeweled hands. Opera glasses snapped open like drawn blades, tracking its every motion with predatory grace.
The sound of the wheels had echoed through the marble roads—deep, deliberate, like the footsteps of a god returning home.
Each turn was smooth, carved with intent, heavy with the kind of engineering only an empire could afford… and only a kingdom like Velmoria could command.
———
There were many carriages in the Empire. Some were fast. Some were beautiful. Gold-tongued mages enchanted some. But only one was whispered about like it was a myth.
The Grand Duke's Royal Carriage.
They said it was not built, but forged from gold mined beneath ancient temples, and blackwood taken from trees that no longer existed. Every bolt, every hinge, every stitch held a story longer than a noble line's entire bloodline.
Some claimed it was a gift from the last Star Priest before his temple burned, and others says that it appeared on the palace steps after a skyquake that split the heavens.
No tools, no blueprints—just gleaming and warm. A holy relic dressed as transport.
But that was just the outside.
The inside… was something else entirely.
The air inside was thicker—not suffocating but heavy, like walking into a cathedral where even thoughts had to kneel.
The floor was smooth black stone, polished so clean it reflected everything. Thin veins of gold ran through it like frozen lightning.
The entire space smelled faintly of something impossible to describe—warm parchment, old forests, and starlight.
The room was large. Very large.
Ten people could sit with ease—not cramped, not brushing shoulders, not even close. There would still be enough space to walk, pace, kneel, or fall and be forgotten.
The seats were placed in a near-square. Three sides formed a soft U-shape—each with royal thrones and high-backed chairs, while the final quarter was left open: the entrance and exit.
The Grand Duke's seat rested at the center of the back line, just above the others by a single step. No crown. No emblem. But it didn't need one. The weight of the throne said everything.
Made from silver-black wood, the throne had soft edges and strong lines. It didn't shine. It didn't glow. It simply existed, like something that had always been there, long before kingdoms ever rose.
The seats beside his were all different.
One was wrapped in green silk, its arms shaped like twisting vines. One was made of white ash, with runes burnt into the grain. Another was leather-padded, darker than pitch, with gold buttons so small you'd miss them unless you looked too long.
No two chairs matched. Each one belonged to someone different, someone powerful. Someone chosen.
The walls weren't flat. They curved gently inward, creating a strange calm, almost like the room was hugging itself.
Soft curtains lined the sides—dark violet, thin as breath, enchanted to mute all sound from the outside.
Behind them were windows: tall, narrow, and nearly invisible unless the sun caught them just right.
They were made from spirit glass, a rare material that didn't just show the outside—it showed what was about to happen outside. A flicker of movement. A whisper of danger. A wave of people bowing.
You could see everything, but no one could see you.
A floating crystal in the center of the room, softly spinning. Not fast. Not slow. Just… balanced. It projected maps, letters, or news if the Grand Duke willed it.
Tiny silver lanterns hung from the ceiling—no fire, just a glow. Soft, like dusk. Gentle, but never flickering.
Hidden compartments under every seat. You wouldn't notice unless you knew where to press. Inside: wine bottles older than some empires, folded maps of forgotten lands, or a single dagger with no sheath.
And if you sat still—truly still—you could almost hear things. Not voices, not ghosts… just echoes. The sound of decisions made long ago, folded into the velvet silence like wrinkles in time.
The carpet was a deep crimson red, thick enough to silence every step. At its edges were runes in a language no longer spoken, woven in silver thread.
But it wasn't just the design. It was the feeling.
And the air…
The air always felt clean. No dust, no heat, no chill. It adjusted itself—not to comfort, but to command. When the Grand Duke was angry, the air felt sharper. When he was calm, it was like the whole world exhaled.
This wasn't a carriage.
It was a courtroom.
A sanctuary. A weapon.
It was Starborne.
From the balcony of a pale Ivory tower overlooking the estate's front drive, five nobles leaned forward, watching it roll by.
Lady Serelith of House Veyren stood with her arms crossed, her voice dry as frost.
"Still looks new. After all these years. That thing's older than any of us standing here."
Lord Casmir, Duke of Thorns, raised a single brow. His armor gleamed even in the shade.
"Centuries old, if the records are right. Been in the Veldrin family since before the Empire was whole. Before Velmoria even existed."
Baron Ruen, younger and barely interested, shrugged.
"Can't be the same one. Wood rots. Metal fades. Nothing lasts that long."
Serelith didn't argue. She just offered a slow shrug.
"Well, that's the thing, isn't it? They say it's been rebuilt, restored… but never replaced. Not once. Same frame. Same design.
It's called Starborne for a reason."
Duchess Halra, who hadn't said a word until now, fanned herself with slow grace. Her voice was soft, almost too soft.
"My father told me the wheels are trimmed in temple-forged iron. Not from any smith alive today. The gold details aren't just for show. They hold the structure together. And that blackwood? From a tree that only grew once every few centuries. Or… used to."
Casmir smirked. "Little dramatic, don't you think? Makes it sound more like a holy relic than a carriage."
Ruen chuckled, leaning lazily on the marble rail.
"I heard they treat it like one. Has its own guards. Its own mechanic.
There's a whole storage vault built just for it in the Royal Estate. Custom humidity, gold hooks, the works."
Halra nodded slowly.
"That part's true. My cousin's part of the Royal Service. Says no one—no one—no one—touches the thing without the Duke's clearance. They wipe it down with cloths soaked in moonwater. Every journey logged. Every bolt checked."
Serelith's voice dipped low. "There's even a rumor the throne inside's got a compartment. Locked since the last war. No one knows what's inside. Some say even the Duke hasn't opened it."
Serelith's tone shifted—lower again. Almost respectful.
"And yet it moves like it was built last week. No creaks. No squeaks. You saw how it rolled past the gates? Not a sound. Like it floats."
Casmir's smirk faded. "That's not magic. That's legacy. Interior work was done by artisans from four different Empires. Everything handmade. Every hinge personally tested."
Ruen turned to the others, brow raised.
"And the inside?"
Halra glanced sideways, almost conspiratorially.
"Spacious. Quiet. Supposed to hold ten without a shoulder brushing. Each seat custom-made. None the same. Each chosen… not just owned."
Serelith nodded. "It's a message. Not loud. Not flashy. Just deliberate. That's how the Veldrin line works. Quiet authority. You don't need banners when your carriage looks like that."
Casmir murmured, "They call it Starborne because no one knows how it's still around. Or why it still works."
And somewhere below, unnoticed, a stablehand stared from the shadows of a garden archway. "I cleaned it once," he whispered to no one. "Just dusted the rail. The air… it didn't feel like air. It felt like something watching me back."
Ruen, eyes on the carriage as it disappeared behind the estate gates, said simply—
"It works because the man inside makes it work."
They all fell silent.
Not from fear.
But from understanding.
The Grand Duke didn't ride in a legend.
He was the legend.
And the world… simply rolled around him.
Like the footsteps of a god… returning home.
TO BE CONTINUED...