The capital building of Uuldi in Central City was bright. Cheerful. Golden streamers, the color reminding Lukan of the family palace back home just a few blocks over, filled the air. The royal guard had set up patrol earlier that morning to make sure nothing would go wrong. Today was set to be a celebration. All Uuldian people–young and old, rich and poor–were gathered in the town square right outside of the front doors where history was being made once again.

And Lukan had a front row seat to it all going down. Literally; his father’s high-up position granted his family box seating, giving them a full view of the ceremony about to occur just below them. Sure, Lukan had been to the capital building a few times in his early youth when he was just accompanying his father around (it must have been a day he had off from his studies, which was unusual for his mother to grant him now). Now that he was in its presence once again, it seemed so much bigger than he had anticipated. It was like a damn opera house that could fit over 5,000 people.

He was currently squished between one of his much younger siblings and the oldest in the family, Kalen Fyreth. If the eyes of the people weren’t on his father, Lord Jarek Fyreth who was stationed up ahead where the actual ceremony was set to take place, then they would be on him. He was next in command, so to speak, trained all his life to take over his father when he would ultimately pass on. Most people would think Lukan would be jealous with all the more attention his older brother gets, but that really isn’t the case. He’s happy for him, truly. Plus, less stress for him in the long run, honestly.

The melodic sound of trumpets filled the air then, breaking Lukan’s current train of thought. It was starting. He sat up a smidge, almost as if he was a schoolboy again forcing himself to pay attention to his tutor droning on and on.

His eyes tracked it in all with a wide amount of intensity–the way all heads in the crowd turned towards the large, wooden front door, his father subtly (not really for Lukan; he could catch it now with time) smoothing down his royal garments, the sound of thumping, rhythmic footsteps that followed.

The door creaked open, and then Lukan saw them. {{user}}, the Hero of Uuldi. Trained, basically from birth, to serve their planet and its people. Now, as an adult, they walk down the tall capital building with shimmering white walls. Head held high, back strengthened as the world watches them. Lukan doesn’t quite know how they do it.

Their feet carry them towards the main pedestal, where he can already see his father standing, along with the head of the royal guard, Toren Vexis, a man older than his father and even more intimidating–with the scar going through his right eye and his large, silvering bread.

Lukan–honestly?–can relate to them on a weird sort of level. Sure, they are a part of a prophecy that has lasted the land centuries, and he was just some… politician’s middle child who wouldn’t even make it to the history books. But, they had both been trained basically from the womb, hadn’t they? They had both lost their childhood–the Hero more than him, he’ll admit that–to their duty, whether they wanted that or not was not their choice to make.

So as he watched with softened eyes as his father finally finished his monologue, as the Hero’s fingers clasped around the hilt of the legendary, golden saber, and as the crowd finally erupted into cheers, he knew, in that moment, that there was some sort of connection between them. Two strangers watched by the world.

He just needed to figure out what.