Page 18 of A Reign of Chromes & Shadows

A queer man in his fifties, always impeccably poised and professional, he had offered Rain something no one else in the palace had: steady companionship without fear or judgement. He never flinched, never recoiled, never treated Rain like a burden. Whatever Rain’s power draggedhim into; the emotional storms, the psychic spillover, the accidental projections, Neel handled it with grace.

He loved his position on the royal staff. It was the first role that had ever felt like a calling rather than a job. Before serving the prince, he had drifted between healthcare and private service, tending to wealthy elders; both Aetherial and mortal, many of whom treated him like an inconvenience rather than a person. Applying to work with the young prince had been a risk. He had never worked with teenagers, let alone one with such volatile abilities. But his life had grown stagnant, trapped in the routines of grumpy old men—including his partner, who was twenty years his senior.

When rumours spread about the prince’s uncontrolled emotional surges and the chaos they caused–including the orgies, Neel found himself intrigued rather than afraid. He had lived a colourful, adventurous youth; he was no stranger to sexual exploration. Rain, in all his unpredictability, felt less like a threat and more like a thrilling opportunity to do something meaningful—even extraordinary.

His commitment to the role was strengthened by the unwavering support of his husband. Their relationship, built on understanding and openness, gave Neel the confidence to take on the position without fear of judgement. Whatever challenges arose in the prince’s service, he knew he had someone at home who would encourage his loyalty rather than question it. That stability allowed Neel to embrace his responsibilities fully, even amidst palace politics and the unpredictable demands of Rain’s abilities.

The hardest part of the job had never been Rain’s power, it was Rain’s age. At thirteen, he had already endured experiences no child should ever have to face. Neel had been dragged into taboo moments with the minor and witnessed the aftermath of the emotionally driven episodes that left the boy shaken, frightened, or ashamed. He had been the one to pick upthe pieces, to steady him, to remind him he wasn’t alone. It was not a role for the faint-hearted.

Having seen the toll it took on Rain, Neel developed a deep, abiding compassion for him. Over the years, they built a bond defined by mutual respect and quiet trust. To Rain, Neel was more than a servant, he was family. And Neel felt honoured by that in a way he struggled to put into words.

“What time is it?” Rain grumbled from beneath the sheets.

“It is 4:57 PM, Velday, Sir” He responded dutifully, a bite of hope in his voice. “If you are feeling up to it, there is a Chicken Dratah here with your name on it. Or perhaps a drink of Oj, to get some Vitamin C into you.”

Rain’s body was wracked with exhaustion, he had just slept for thirty-eight hours straight, and it had to have been more than forty-five hours since he’d last eaten. This cycle wasn’t out of the ordinary for him; after an episode, it was routine. The first steps of his recovery always began with rest, but once he woke, it was vital to replenish his energy with a meal and his regular supplements. Only after meeting these needs would he return to his exercise regimen, using physical activity to help rebuild his mental strength.

Over time, this recovery process had become an essential part of his life. Maintaining a structured routine through these difficult periods was fundamental, not only for his health but also for his ability to maintain control over his powers. It had taken years of trial and error to figure out what strategies worked best for him.

As Rain stirred from his long rest, Neel approached, gently encouraging him to begin the next stage of his recovery. “Please, your highness,” Neel urged with warmth, holding out a glass of orange juice in hope that Rain would accept and start to refuel.

"Ok, thank you Neel,” Rain conceded, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes to rid himself of the brain fog that lingered. Neel waited patiently for him to sit upright, before handing over the drink. Rain took a long swig and let Neel press a damp washcloth to his skin, the cooling sensation against his neck and forehead helped to sober him into the present.

“How bad is the situation?” Rain asked solemnly after chugging down the juice. Though he still felt uncomfortably vulnerable, he wanted to brace himself for the consequences of what he'd done.

“From what I can gather Sir, the Red Kingdom has declared war against us as of Cyrday morning, but they are yet to take action. Your Father on the other hand doesn’t appear to be angry with you, it seems he is rather fond of the idea of a conflict with the Red King and has been in good spirits. He awaits your visit as soon as you are able.”

Rain processed Neel’s words in silence, the news weighing heavily on his shoulders. The thought of another war unsettled him, especially knowing that his father seemed to relish in the prospect of conflict. He wished things could be different, that the cycle of violence could be broken, but this was not the time for wishful thinking. He needed to gather his strength and prepare to face whatever came next, knowing that his actions—intended or not—had already set events into motion. The realisation left him feeling both responsible and powerless, an uncomfortable blend that lingered as he forced himself to sit up straighter in bed.

What unsettled him most was the news that his father was in high spirits; Rain found that far more unnerving than anger. He had grown accustomed to being a disappointment, and it always felt safer to irritate the King than to earn his approval. They were salt and snow, sharing nothing but blood and duty. Rain opposed his father’s politics with every fibre of his being. The King ruled mortals and Blue aetherials alike as ifthey were disposable chess pieces, his reign defined by vindictive displays of dominance. Rain believed the opposite: that mortals deserved a voice, and that aetherials should act as guardians rather than tyrants—partners to the people, building alliances through integrity, consistency, and collaboration. A strong trade union mattered far more to him than petty demonstrations of power.

Power, however, was the only thing his father ever craved. He possessed little natural ability; an unfortunate truth he concealed with manipulation and intimidation. Many aetherials of his generation hid their gifts out of embarrassment, careful not to let the public see how the royal bloodline had thinned, leaving some of them scarcely more capable than humans.

The King’s true ability was Whispering: planting suggestions in a person’s mind to influence their actions. It was a subtle power, and a fragile one. It failed entirely on those with empathic abilities like Rain. Not only was the King too weak to overpower an empath, but an empath could sense the intrusion instantly, shattering the spell before it took hold. This meant the King could not control his only son and that was something he could never forgive.

As Rain contemplated, Neel set a tray across his lap, offering him both food and supplements. Rain’s stomach tightened as the aroma of curry captivated his senses, drawing him away from his brooding thoughts. Eagerly snatching up the cutlery he began to devour the dish, casting an appreciative glance at Neel between mouthfuls. Neel chuckled to himself, as he continued to clear away the untouched dishes from lunch, delighted that the prince was finally eating. He had laid out every meal since Rain had returned, ready for when he awoke; it was important Rain woke up to a meal, otherwise he tended to fall into patterns of avoidance, unwittingly starving himself as punishment.

“Thanks Neel, that was delicious.” Rain said appreciatively as he set the cutlery down on the plate, his mood felt lighter now that his tummy had its fill. Light enough that he felt ready to clean up and jump back into recovery. Placing the tray to the side, he climbed out of bed, nude as the day he was born and strode into the bathroom to freshen up.

Chapter 7

Phaeday morning came around quickly; Rain had spent the night training hard until his muscles fatigued. He loved the feeling of tired muscles after hours of working out, it made him feel alive and gave him a sense of accomplishment. He had beaten his dark thoughts into submission as he punched and kicked at targets, used his self–loathing to push extra reps, and ran from the tortuous grief that haunted him. It was therapy, and it worked for him. Pushing his body as he combated his mind was excellent for his emotional wellbeing.

After pushing his body to its limits, Rain surrendered to exhaustion, allowing sleep to claim him swiftly. Yet, his rest was anything but peaceful. Throughout the night, he was plagued by recurring visions of the Aetherchromes—inky, black shadows crept into his subconscious, extinguishing the radiant crystals he so often saw in his dreams. These ominous vines weren’t content to simply blot out the light; instead, their tendrils slithered towards him, coiling tightly around his throat and robbing him of breath.

The nightmare’s intensity jolted him awake, leaving Rain gasping for air as if the grip of those spectral shadows lingered long after he’d opened his eyes. The vividness of the dream unsettled him deeply, and it took considerable effort for his heartbeat to return to a steady rhythm.

Rain’s gaze settled on the bright hues of dawn that crept through a gap in the heavy drapes, grateful to see daybreak and with no desire to fall back into dreams, he reluctantly rolled out of bed.

Breakfast would be served on the terrace, where he was scheduled to meet with Elder Isarion—another step in the path of his recovery.

Isarion Vaelwyn, revered throughout the White Kingdom and an Elder of the Order of the Aurora, had become the prince’s personal mentor. As a member of the Order, it was his sacred duty to guide fellow Aetherials in mastering their unique gifts.

The Order of the Aurora was composed of those born with an innate ability to attune to higher planes, granting them access to ancient channels of wisdom. Such individuals often became seers, counsellors, or spiritual guides. With Elder Isarion’s help, Rain had finally broken free of the destructive cycle that once consumed him. He hated to imagine where he might have ended up had his father not succeeded in finding the Elder.

It had been no simple task. Isarion had spent fifteen years on a sacred pilgrimage through the snowbound mountains, seeking divine clarity through stillness, hardship, and prayer. By sheer serendipity, the royal guards, who were on their own gruelling journey north toward the icy White capital, in seek of guidance for the burnt-out prince, had come upon him trekking across the icy dunes. Isarion later told Rain that a whisper from beyond had urged him southward. When he learned what the Blue Guards had been sent to accomplish, he insisted they take him to Nilantra without delay.

Rain came to find the Elder already seated as he walked out onto the sunlit terrace.