Chapter Text
Vireon Glitchveil woke up upside-down. Not Metaphorically. Literally. His legs were tangled in silk sheets, one bare foot wedged between the headboard and mattress, his long body half-hanging off the massive bed. At 8’2, he had outgrown his room—and most mornings, his life. His blond hair, braided the night before, had loosened in his sleep, draping over his shoulder like a rebellious vine.
His head hit the cold stone floor. The morning light stabbed straight into his green eyes. He blinked. Then—
THWACK.
“Ow!”
He jerked upright too fast and slammed the side of his head into the carved wooden rail. Two plush companions fell onto his chest: a one-eyed rabbit and a tiny black bat missing a wing. Still loyal. Still judging.
Before he could recover, the door burst open.
“You’re awake! And upside down again!”
Alisha Dovetail stormed in like a miniature solar flare. Red hair bouncing, eyes glowing orange, she radiated chaos. She moved as if the palace belonged to her—which, technically, it didn’t.
“…What time is it?” Vireon groaned.
“Time for your life to fall apart!” she chirped, yanking open the curtains. “Also, tea.”
Sunlight poured in, golden and sharp, illuminating the strange blend of majesty and teenage chaos that was his room. Faded navy tapestries, embroidered with flame-winged serpents, hung on the walls. Shelves sagged under old scrolls, sketchbooks, and unpolished gemstones.
The ceiling glimmered faintly with crystal inlay, magitech from the Northern Sky Isles.
His floor was invisible beneath discarded boots, half-finished enchantments, and three swords, one humming softly—and probably cursed.
In the center stood a bed trying desperately to look regal. It failed spectacularly.
“I think I got taller again,” he muttered, untangling himself. “My foot fell asleep. The bat tried to eat my braid. And I hit my head.”
“Twice,” Alisha said, handing him a very cold cup of tea.
Outside, the kingdom of Vael’Raen stretched wide: mountains fumed with volcanic heat in the west, towers of white stone shimmered in the east. Luminarth, the capital, lay at the center, a city of spires, floating lanterns, and ruined vine-bridges. Magic hummed beneath the streets, old, unpredictable, and deeply tied to blood.
Around his neck, Vireon wore the one thing marking him as royal and keeping him alive: a blood-red choker, a Vardinel forged of dragonbone, ancient curses, and royal blood. It pulsed faintly with heat. Every Glitchveil wore one. They weren’t jewelry—they were protection.
“You think they’ll call me the Uncrowned Giant?” he asked, trying to force his hair into a ponytail. “Or the Braid-Beast?”
Alisha snorted. “Crownless Disaster is more accurate.”