The New Year festival brought a lively glow to the small kingdom of Oriaet, tucked snugly within the embrace of towering, snow-capped mountains. Though neither the wealthiest nor the most expansive realm in central Ibbariea, Oriaet held its charm in the sheer impenetrability of its natural defenses—a fortress formed by nature's own hand. The mountains cradled the kingdom, their high peaks casting shadows over the capital as it buzzed with life.

While threats could still make it through the maze-like passes and mountains to the north and east, there was no reason to risk such a trek. King Gaberil was a powerful mage-warrior who managed to keep his small nation independent or vassalized from other nations simply by being far too annoying for other nations to bother conquering. The cost to take them would simply be too much.

Every year, a comet would streak across the sky, signaling the new year—the Pantheon of the Gods blessing a new year in the realm of Ibbariea. All races and nations celebrated it, even monsters.

King Gaberil's gaze lingered on his son, Eston, who stood near one of the noble daughters, their laughter mingling with the music of the festival. He glanced over at his wife, her eyes gleaming with hope, the kind of gleam that only came when thoughts of future grandchildren filled her mind. Her fingers absentmindedly toyed with her wine glass, a sure sign she was growing impatient with their empty nest.

"Orria might bless our nation with a grand-princeling soon enough, darling. Eston seems to have taken quite a liking to Duke Leo's daughter," King Gaberil remarked, a playful edge to his tone. His eyes, sharp and observant, caught the subtle glances exchanged between his son and the young noblewoman. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched Eston, his usually confident son, shift slightly, clearly more nervous than he would ever admit.

He turned to his wife, noting how her eyes sparkled, the lines around them soft with contentment. Her lips curved into a smile, full of hope, as though imagining future grandchildren already.

She glanced up at him, her expression a blend of amusement and mild reproach. "Don't tease me like that, Gabe! You know how it's been with the children. Ever since our youngest grew up, I've had no one left to dote on. They barely tolerate a kiss on the cheek, let alone the cuddling I crave!" Her voice softened, a hint of wistfulness creeping in, as her hand absently traced the rim of her wine glass.

"Or," Gaberil leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we could always have another. Maybe tonight, my love?" He raised an eyebrow, teasing but sincere. "I'm sure Orria wouldn't mind blessing the kingdom with a little princess."

The suggestion hung in the air, playful yet deliberate. His hand brushed against hers, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. He saw the blush creep up her neck as she tried to mask her amusement with a scolding look.

"Gabe!" she gasped, feigning shock, though her cheeks had already flushed a soft pink. "Not in public...!" Her eyes darted around, checking to see if anyone had overheard, though there was a flicker of playfulness dancing behind her embarrassment. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as her hand slid to rest on his arm. "But if Orria is fine with it..." She paused, her gaze drifting to the comet streaking across the sky. "Maybe you'll get lucky on this New Year's evening."

She glanced back at him, mischief flickering in her eyes, then raised her glass again. "But I'm going to need more wine before I start praying for another," she added with a soft chuckle, taking a sip and letting the warmth of the drink soothe her nerves.

A hearty chuckle escaped his lips as he looked at his mature vixen of a Queen. "I can toast to that," he said, raising his glass and smiling as she raised hers, looking him up and down while taking a sip.

King Gaberil looked up at the sky. The comet cut a brilliant streak through the night sky, a spectacle that never failed to stir awe in him. From the vantage of the city's central plaza, it illuminated the night like a celestial beacon, the blue-white tail painting a serene contrast to the fire-lit streets below. As they looked up, King Gaberil's eyebrows furrowed as he saw something unusual. While the comet was blue and white, a streak of fire seemed to be plummeting towards the ground as if it had broken off from the comet itself.

Standing up, he walked forward as the festive cheers and celebration seemed to slow around him, his gaze fixed upon the anomaly streaking through the sky. It appeared foreign against the backdrop of the familiar celestial event they witnessed every year. The king's sharp eyes tracked the fiery object's descent, his mind racing to make sense of this. Was this an Omen from Orria? Did they do something wrong?

In the midst of courtship, Eston noticed the change in his father's demeanor. "Father, what is it?" Eston's voice carried a mix of curiosity and concern, mirroring the expressions of those gathered.

Ignoring the sudden hush that fell over the festivities, King Gaberil, known for his swift and decisive actions, motioned for his guards and advisors discreetly. His gaze remained fixed on the descending flame, now growing closer to the ground with alarming speed.

The once distant, ethereal streak had transformed into something menacing, a fiery mass plunging toward the earth with terrifying speed. Panic clung to the air as gasps and whispers of dread spread like a fever among the festival-goers. Even the festive music seemed to die away, replaced by the collective intake of breath from those witnessing the sky-born threat.

Gaberil's instincts kicked in; he hadn't ruled the Kingdom this long by being a slouch or indecisive. "Clear the square! Move everyone to safety!" His voice cut through the rising murmur of the crowd, sharp and commanding. His words reverberated with an authority that left no room for hesitation. The guards sprang into action at once, their disciplined movements in stark contrast to the slowly building panic around them.

Gaberil's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, a reflex born of countless battles, though he knew steel would be of no use against whatever this was. His gaze remained locked on the falling streak of fire, his mind calculating distances, possible impact zones. The comet's usual serene passage now twisted into something ominous. His instincts screamed danger, though his face remained calm, a practiced mask he had perfected over years of rule.

As the crowd began to disperse, their murmurs of excitement now replaced by uncertainty, Gaberil took a steadying breath. His pulse quickened, but outwardly, he was the king—steady, unshakable, decisive. The guards swiftly moved to usher the crowd away from the square. It was essential that panic not settle into the populace by any decision he made.

As the fiery object drew nearer, King Gaberil could discern its trajectory, predicting its potential landing spot. It appeared to be heading beyond the city outskirts, in the direction of the northern territories.

"Which noble is in charge of the northern territories?" Gaberil said out loud. Several of his advisors scrambled to discuss.

"We believe it belongs to the Garet family. A minor noble family who are under the Braun family."

The Braun family was one of the three major houses in Oriaet alongside his own.

"Get me Duke Braun immediately," Gaberil snapped, turning to his advisors with a sharp, pointed gaze that brooked no argument. His tone was all business now, the playfulness of the earlier evening utterly gone. "We will prepare a caravan at once. I will ride to the northern territories with the Prince."

His eyes swept over the advisors, many of them pale, their faces betraying the growing unease that had begun to settle like a fog over the festival. Gaberil felt the weight of their fear but did not allow it to show on his face. He was the anchor in the storm, the one they looked to in moments of crisis. He nodded curtly, the matter settled. Turning, he met his wife's concerned gaze, her earlier playfulness replaced with worry.

"Damn," Gaberil muttered under his breath, just low enough that no one else could hear. "I was going to have such a nice evening, too."