Ressas’s residence was a small, shabby castle in the southernmost part of the palace—by far the most humble dwelling within the royal grounds. Traditionally, this southern castle had only ever been assigned to royal guests of low status; it had never once served as a residence for royalty. The place was essentially abandoned, barely functional beyond a few rooms for three or four attendants, chambers for a nursemaid and a prince, a modest kitchen, and a stable.
The castle, too insignificant to even be named, stood hidden in the shadow of the palace’s tall, resplendent towers. Only those who already knew of it could ever find their way there. This reflected precisely how the royal family treated Ressas.
In a royal bloodline where only those born as Guides had the right to exist, Ressas’s very presence was a blemish to be erased. The power of purification was the foundation of the royal family’s legitimacy—it was as intrinsic as the sun in the sky.
In such a system, Ressas posed a threat to privilege. If the royal family could lose the power to control the Tither, it would herald the monarchy’s collapse.
Above all, to Queen Leana, the child was a walking disgrace. Ressas was her failure incarnate. Once she became convinced the child would never awaken as a Guide, she treated him as though he did not exist. And no one wished to care for a child the King and Queen had chosen to erase.
Ressas was a child they couldn’t kill, so they simply let him live.
Even after returning from the palace, Seiyad couldn’t get the image of Ressas—standing apart and quietly watching the banquet—from his mind. That night had left him with an odd, uncomfortable sensation that he couldn’t shake. His mother’s words echoed in his head: that the weak must be protected.
“You want to meet Prince Ressas?”
His mother had burst into laughter at his words. Amused, she unexpectedly gave him permission.
“I’d love to see the King’s face when he hears. Very well, Eid. Do as you please. Just don’t forget to make an appearance before Aster—you’ll need an excuse to visit the palace, after all.”
As a qualified Tither, Seiyad could come and go from the palace at will, so once he had his mother’s approval, the rest was easy.
Ressas didn’t know what to do with the attention—it was the first time in his life anyone had shown him any. On Seiyad’s second visit, the boy had been so startled he hid behind the door, peeking out at him repeatedly, then vanishing again. It was clear that Ressas didn’t know how to handle the overwhelming joy he was feeling, and that awkward sweetness struck Seiyad as oddly endearing.
“…Did you really come just to see me?”
“Why else would I be here?”
Though he continued to doubt why Seiyad had come all the way to his wretched castle, it was obvious on his small face that this bizarre, dazzling situation was nearly too much to bear. Seiyad had to stand there watching for thirty minutes before Ressas finally let him into the room.
“When the sun sets, the castle roof looks like the night sky. The dark blue base and the gold flecks in the paint—it’s like stars twinkling.”
Spending time with Ressas was more enjoyable than expected. It was hard to believe he was the same age as Cecilia—he was clever and mature beyond his years. He required no looking after and was content just to sit quietly nearby.
Despite having so little, Ressas was always trying to give Seiyad something. Cherries plucked from a grove deep within the royal forest, nameless wildflowers, little wooden carvings he had whittled himself—bit by bit, these began to accumulate in Seiyad’s bedroom.
Though they were trinkets no one would guess a prince had given him, Seiyad enjoyed setting them by the window and looking at them. Whenever he did, that bright, beaming face calling, “Eid!” would float to mind without fail.
At first, he’d gone to the palace to care for a pitiful child. But before long, those visits became something he eagerly anticipated. Eventually, Seiyad found himself carrying little gifts on his way to see Ressas. The boy cherished even a single blade of grass Seiyad handed him, but the thing he loved most was books.
“Do you think… one day, I could be someone useful? Do you think I could be strong and brave like you, Eid?”
Ressas would often imagine different versions of himself while reading. It was the only way the prince, locked away in his tiny castle, could connect with the world.
“Just existing makes someone meaningful.”
“But I don’t think that’s true for me.”
From a young age, Ressas had been all too aware of his circumstances and had gotten used to swallowing his sorrow. But the day the Queen gave birth to her second child—the royal family’s third prince—he couldn’t keep the melancholy at bay. Not even new presents could cheer him up then.
It was the year they had spent six springs together.
At sixteen, Ressas had become remarkable in an entirely new way. Despite receiving no care, he had grown like a tree stretching toward the sun—what was once a small, unimpressive child had transformed into a breathtakingly beautiful boy.
His tall frame made it clear he was male, yet his pale, delicate features were so striking it felt pointless to categorize him by gender. The rumor that the second prince in the southern tower was stunningly beautiful began to circulate quietly within the palace. Before long, it had spread among the Tithers as well.
That year, many things overlapped. Around the time Queen Leana was due to give birth, Ressas met Zion Shildras. The eldest son of the Shildras family, who had just awakened his powers, had requested to meet the boy his age. Perhaps the faint trace of Shildras blood in Ressas had caught his attention. From that point forward, Zion became a regular visitor to Ressas’s quarters, almost as frequently as Seiyad.
Traces of Zion began to appear in what had once been a space filled only with Seiyad’s presence. But Seiyad didn’t think much of it. He had hoped Ressas would have friends his own age, and the Zion he remembered from their childhood had been a thoughtful, kind boy—he figured they’d get along well.
Still, there were things even a new friend couldn’t fix. After word spread throughout the palace that Queen Leana had given birth to a prince marked with the royal sigil, Ressas stopped smiling for a long time.
“If I had been born a Guide… everyone would’ve been happy, right?”
That almost-whisper from Ressas burrowed into Seiyad’s heart and refused to leave. Rather than making an empty promise that the Queen would miraculously change her mind, he chose a different path.
Creating The Story of the Little Star took quite a bit of time. The small, slender book was a collaboration between Seiyad’s writing and illustrations drawn by Cecilia. When she sketched a star that resembled Ressas, Cecilia had teased that the title was childish, but when Seiyad gently brushed her cheek with his fingers, she giggled and let it go.
The little book that had taken a full month to complete now awaited only the day it would find its owner. Having paid close attention to each passing day, Seiyad finally found the perfect moment—Ressas’s birthday was drawing near.
The month of Ressas’s birth, like him, was April—when tender green leaves began to bloom with quiet charm. On a day when the flower buds swelled, rich and full, Seiyad intended to gift Ressas the book he had made.
But pinning down the date proved more difficult than expected. During the brief period Seiyad had been too busy finishing the book to visit, Zion had already made prior plans with Ressas, pushing their meeting back. Not wanting to interfere with time spent between peers, Seiyad chose to wait in silence.
“I missed you, Eid.”
The day they finally met was three days before Ressas’s birthday. Ressas, already standing by the apple tree outside the palace before Seiyad had even arrived, ran forward the moment he saw Seiyad’s shadow and threw himself into his arms. The sweet scent of apple blossoms clung to his soft black hair.
“I want to see you every day, but… I think Zion feels awkward when it’s the three of us. I’m sorry I made you wait, Eid.”
Although Seiyad had said nothing, Ressas seemed to be weighed down by guilt over not responding to his visit due to Zion’s prior invitation. Curled into Seiyad’s arms, he whispered into his chest as if frightened. Only after Seiyad gently and repeatedly assured him it was okay did Ressas finally lift his face.
The memory remained vivid—those pale, slender fingers gently clutching the back of Seiyad’s hand, those desperate eyes looking up at him, as though begging him to believe.
For a moment, he had been fooled—deceived by the look in his eyes alone. He had believed this blind, wholehearted affection would always be on his side. That no matter what happened, no matter the circumstances, Ressas would never do anything that Seiyad wouldn’t like.
And then, the world shattered that foolish belief in the most absolute way.
Seiyad never got to celebrate Ressas’s birthday. That sixth spring they shared, during the annual Spring Gratitude Festival prepared by the Queen, a disaster occurred.
A serious one.
Serena Brosius—Duchess of Axid and bearer of the name Brosius—went berserk during the ceremony.
