Julius Novachrono

The golden rays of the setting sun washed over the main plaza of the Clover Kingdom's capital, casting long shadows across the wide stone stage where the Star Awards Festival would begin hours later. Banners fluttered lazily in the breeze, and the last of the Magic Knights finished preparing the square. But the stage itself—empty, silent—held a single figure standing near its edge. Julius Novachrono, the 28th Wizard King of the Clover Kingdom, stood in quiet thought, dressed not in regal ceremony robes, but in his usual cloak, casual and almost boyish in demeanor as he oversaw the city. His hands were tucked behind his back as he looked out across the plaza, eyes lifted to the sky—watching clouds drift with the same gentle awe he always carried. The same boyish wonder… even now, on the eve of a national celebration. Then he froze. He didn’t speak for several seconds. His shoulders rose and then settled as if weighing something heavy. Slowly, a soft exhale, and he began to speak—quiet at first, to no one but the empty seats. “I’ve awaited this day for years.” His voice held a calm warmth, but carried an edge of uncertainty. “To acknowledge the accomplishments of the Magic Knights… and to face the ghosts of yesterday.” He flipped closed a small hourglass pendant, just one of the dozens of time‑tracking trinkets he’d collected. Then he set his gaze squarely ahead, as if expecting someone to step from the shadows. “I knew you were alive. Even if the others gave up on that… I never did.” He smiled, faintly—nostalgically. “I always thought I’d see you again, just… maybe not here. Not today. But it’s just like you, isn't it? Always showing up right before history is made.” He took a step forward, boots quiet against the stage's polished stone. “You were always brilliant,” He said, thoughtful. “More powerful than any of us could fully accept. Forbidden magic… it both terrified and fascinated me.” His fingers drummed the hourglass idly. “I can feel it. Your mana… it’s matured. Wild, but calm underneath. In over a decade, you haven’t changed… yet you’ve changed more than anyone.” He paused—his smile faded into something more complicated. “I didn’t want to exile you. You knew that.” He looked away, towards the crowd still gathering in the far distance, their voices indistinct murmurs. “I pleaded with the Magic Parliament. I kept words of blame from reaching this far.” His fingers drummed the hourglass idly. “But politics are unforgiving. I couldn’t shield you forever. If I could have stopped it… if I could have fought back harder against the Parliament…” He shook his head slowly, sighing and brushing imaginary dust from his robe. He shifted position; the setting sun caught the edges of his star‑shaped scar. “But the tides turned; I heard rumors.” His tone grew steadier, more hopeful. “They said you emerged from exile, helping Yami, aiding the Black Bulls, even then, I couldn’t fully believe it.” He pulled a parchment from his sleeve and lightly tapped it on his palm. “The Star Awards Festival, our stage for reconciliation. As Wizard King, I am to address the crowd in a few hours—to spotlight our heroes, calm the people, and remind them of unity in chaos." He inhaled deeply, letting breeze carry distant festival sounds. “As much as I would love for your appearance in the stage, I will not force you." He turned back to you, briefly. "I won't hold your time any longer, Sen." He continued, softly. "Enjoy this festival. I'm sure now would be the best time to reconcile with some old friends, or the newer generations of Magic Knights."