The celestial canvas of Osiris' twin moons hurled an ethereal silvery gloss upon the megastructures, setting the cosmic skyline aflame.
The luminous auroras shimmered across the horizon, a mesmerizing spectacle of indigo, scarlet, gold, and emerald hues dancing and morphing like softly blowing curtains.
The rooftops of the megastructures and skyscrapers of Lunarfrost, a marvel of ancient engineering, stretched toward the heavens like a Titan's fist, their peaks shrouded in the misty veil.
The city, a tapestry of glittering spires and grand architecture, blanketed with snowflakes, delicate and intricate as the icing on a celestial cake.
Amidst this breathtaking backdrop, Cervantes, the Lunar Prince, stood gallantly atop the flat surface of the Citadel.
His gaze entranced by the silvery spectacle of the twin moons.
His hooded cape fluttered in the blistering winter winds, its sky-blue hue glistening like the stars on a clear night.
His long, silky platinum-gold hair cascaded down his back, a river of moonlight, shimmering and glowing with an otherworldly essence.
Cervantes' eyes sparkled like diamonds, their blue depths rivaling the radiance of the morning sky.
His nose, tiny and delicate, was overshadowed by his rose-pink lips, which curved into a perpetual, enigmatic smile.
His porcelain skin, smooth and unblemished as alabaster, glowed with a soft, ethereal light, as if the essence of the moon had been distilled within him.
The ambiance surrounding Cervantes was one of gracious delicacy, a subtle blend of refinement and wild, untamed beauty.
His countenance, brighter than the sun, framed a face that was at once magnificently gorgeous and hauntingly vulnerable.
A carbon copy of his mother, the heir to the throne of the Empire of Light, had inherited her ethereal facial features, a legacy of breathtaking gorgeousness that seemed almost otherworldly.
As a child, Cervantes had been a bit too effeminate, his soft, baby jawline and delicate cheeks, an attestation to his tender years.
But as he had grown, his features had hardened, like granite tempered in the fires of adversity.
Yet, despite the passage of time, his skin remained smooth, its porcelain perfection, a testament to his lineage.
Through thousands of hours of rigorous training, Cervantes had honed his physique into a powerful, athletic machine, one that seemed almost invulnerable to the ravages of time and fate.
His glossy, jet-black boots gleamed with a subtle, inner light, forged from the "shadows" themselves.
Cervantes' attire was a masterful blend of intricate, silky fabrics, dark as the night and shot through with subtle, shimmering threads that caught the light.
He looked stunning, a prince o' light, forged from the essence of the night and the radiance of the moon.
But despite his breathtaking handsomeness, Cervantes was not a man to be underestimated.
He was a warrior, a feared warlock of the Empire of Light, and the Reagent of the Northern Terrains.
He had graduated from the warlocks' fort at the tender age of six, after taming his first varmint, and had joined the royal navy in the same year.
By the age of nine, Cervantes had mastered the arcane arts of quantum kinetics, swordsmanship, archery, military stratagem, astrology, tech wizardry, science and Hypo Kinesis.
He had drawn the attention of all the warlords in Osiris, who saw in him a potential ally, or a formidable foe.
At the age of ten, Cervantes had become the Reagent of the Quantum warlocks of Lunarfrost, a prestigious appointment that no one under thirty had ever received.
And soon after, his father, the monarch of the Empire of Light, had bestowed upon him the Mantle of "Beta" – the Prime Minister of the Northern capital.
Often described as "one in a billion" and "the light of the generation," Prince Cervantes was more modest than he was gallant.
Compassionate and kind-hearted, he was loved by many, but feared by the adversaries of his father, who branded him pseudonyms – the "Blood Prince," the "Lunar Prince," and the "Prince o' Specters."
It was safe to say that the prince of Lunarfrost had inherited the best parts of his parents – his mother's charms and grace, his father's skillset and brains.
As he stood atop the Citadel, scanning the endless city in search of his baby sister, Cervantes seemed a man apart.
Abruptly, a soothing voice caught his attention, a melody that resonated deep within his soul.
"Will you be coming to bed, Vantes?" Morava's words were a gentle breeze that carried the promise of warmth and comfort.
The enchantress of the Northern Terrains and heir to the throne of Gemrain emerged from the shadows, her presence announced by the soft rust.
Morava's long auburn hair cascaded in the mildly frosty winds like an endless river, its russet hues dancing in the moonlight.
Her ethereal beauty, rivaling those of celestial beings, was mesmerizing.
Her charming turquoise eyes sparkled like stars, and her scarlet lips curved into a perpetual, enigmatic smile.
Her rose-beige complexion glowed with a soft, inner light, kissed by starlight.
Slender and delicately ravishing, the daughter of the Vicar possessed a thin, fragile waist, bridging her enormous bustiness with her thick, strong thighs and jiggly bottom.
Gorgeously dazzling in her violet nightgown, she ambled gracefully toward her lover, her every step an attestation to her elegance and refinement.
"Not anytime soon," Cervantes replied, in a failed attempt to conceal his anxiety.
"Something wrong?" Morava inquired, a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"It's Polaris," Cervantes confided, his brow furrowed with concern.
"She isn't home yet. I worry for her safety."
Morava's words, meant to reassure him, only seemed to heighten his anxiety.
"She's probably with a friend, I hear the little prince of Cedarlake has stolen her heart away."
Cervantes smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Have a seat," he gestured, as they both sat atop the flat, roofed surface.
"I understand she means the world to you, yet nothing could possibly go wrong in the South."
"Can't be so sure," Cervantes countered, his voice low and urgent.
"A sparrow whispered in my ear, the South is more dangerous than a cobra pit.
The Glazier Ball is upon us — she needs rest."
He sighed, his eyes clouding over with worry.
"Sometimes, you act more like a father than her actual father," Morava teased, a hint of envy creeping into her voice.
For they had been betrothed at birth, a great alliance between both kingdoms, the Empire of Light and the Realm of Shadows, Lunarfrost and Gemrain.
And although fixed marriages were never fruitful, this one bore so much potential, sixteen years later.
Serving as the Enchantress and advisor to the Northern Terrains, Morava was Cervantes' councilor, confidante, and better half.
Her outstanding journey in Graviton Kinesis had transformed her into a paragon in the realm of Quantum Gravity.
Of course, no less was expected from the daughter of the Vicar of Gemrain.
"Are you hyped for the carnival tomorrow?" Morava asked, her palm in his, their fingers clasping.
"Not at all," Cervantes replied, his voice, soft and husky.
"Never had fancy feet like yours."
"Like me?" Morava laughed, her voice, a melodious whisper.
"You leap megastructures with a single bounce. Talk about fancy feet?"
Cervantes chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
"With you leading the way, I might just rekindle my happy feet, again," he said, looking into her eyes, deeply.
Their faces were lit up by the stunning light display, a kaleidoscope of colors that danced and swirled around them.
He shared her every thought, deciphered her agitations, understood her mood-swings.
Observing her fallen countenance, the Lunar Prince sensed something was wrong.
"You alright?" he inquired, his voice gentle yet, concerned.
"Not really," Morava replied, shaking her head.
"Can't sleep, I keep having these reoccurring visions, these nightmares."
Cervantes raised a brow, his curiosity piqued.
"What have you seen?"
"A comet, a mysterious meteor shower," Morava explained, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It descends, wreaking havoc. An army of shadows, looming on the horizon, unleashing an untamable evil."
Her words, though severe, did not make the Lunar Prince flinch.
For he was more fearless than he was gallant.
"Are you certain?" he asked, his voice urgent.
Morava nodded, her eyes clouding over with worry.
"I am. These dreams come, over and over again.
As much as I hate to be a prophet of doom, I can feel something looming.
Something immense, an unstoppable force."
Cervantes' face set in a determined expression.
"Then we must prepare for the worst," he said, his voice firm and resolute.
"We shall not let this darkness consume us."
Morava's head found his firm shoulders, and Cervantes wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
His affectionate embrace was a calming refuge from the storm within the enchantress.
For a moment, the couple savored the passionate fragrance of love and after a while, Cervantes let her go, his arms sliding away, gently as he shrouded his luminary countenance with his hood.
"I shall find Polaris," he said, his voice laced with heroism.
He stood tip-toed atop the sharp edge of the megastructure, facing Morava.
Normally, this would make a regular lass scream atop her voice, but the young kinetic was already accustomed to the prince's graceful daredevil stunts.
With arms stretched widely apart, Cervantes fell backward, weightless as a leaf.
His hair fluttered rigorously, moonsaulting effortlessly with hands clasped behind his head and eyes shut.
Descending from a thousandth foot altitude, nearing the ground, Cervantes teleported in a blinding haze of golden light, ferocious sparks flashing randomly, the crackling sounds like lightning.
In a split second, the Blood Prince had covered a thousand kilometers, harnessing his godlike speed and leaving a trail of shimmering hues behind.
They faded into the atmosphere like rays of golden dust.
With a final glance at Morava, Cervantes vanished into the night, his heart pounding with anticipation, his senses on high alert.
The night air whispered secrets in his ear, the wind carrying the hushing shrills of the ancients, their wisdom and knowledge guiding him on his perilous quest.
The stars twinkled above, a celestial map, shepherding him through the treacherous landscape of the night.
And Cervantes, the Lunar Prince, the Blood Prince, the hero of the Empire of Light, walked into the darkness, his heart ablaze with courage, his spirit unbreakable, his will unshakeable.
Armed with nothing but his courage, his wits, and fearlessness.