The flickering lanterns painted the cold stone walls of the Royal Palace of Eldoria in trembling, elongated shadows. The hushed corridors whispered of solitude as the kingdom slumbered beneath the cloak of night.
Yet, in one particular chamber, where candlelight burned bright and defiant, a lone figure sat hunched over a desk. Books weathered by time, brittle scrolls, and meticulously aligned quills surrounded her—a fortress of knowledge untouched by her restless gaze. Her attention was not on the arcane inscriptions sprawling across the pages before her—it wandered elsewhere, far away.
Sixteen, teetering on the edge of womanhood, Evelyn's beauty was almost otherworldly. Fiery red hair tumbled like molten lava down her back, an unruly cascade that framed sharp, determined red eyes, smoldering with ambition. A princess, carved of grace and defiance.
Her fingers drummed against the timeworn oak desk, the rhythm betraying her restless thoughts. One month. That was all the time left before she'd leave for Orvale.
Drawing a deliberate breath, she conjured a small, flickering flame, letting it dance across her fingertips. Its warmth both comforted and teased the raw power simmering beneath her skin.
This was her moment. After years of grueling patience, sleepless nights, and a sea of doubts, she finally held the key—access to the Arcane Archive, the sacred reservoir of power for all beings in the world.
The memory of her victory tugged at her lips—a rare smile of satisfaction. A decade of relentless effort, bruises, and sacrifices had led her here. The raw vitality coursing through her veins proved it had all been worth it. But she grounded herself, the smile fading as she clutched the flame tighter.
"I still have a long way to go," she reminded herself, soft but resolute.
After all, she was still only a Novice Sigil.
Watching the flames coil and twist around her fingers, her heart surged with an intoxicating blend of awe and pride.
For years she had studied mana manipulation with relentless focus. Coming from a family of mages, her path had been pre-determined, but the uncertainty of her affinity had loomed over her, casting doubts on her ambitions.
In the end, her worries were unfounded.
According to the Archive, she possessed a rare high affinity for both fire and light magic—and it had given her a choice.
She had chosen fire without hesitation.
Light magic, as formidable as it was, excelled in support but lacked the offensive capabilities she craved. It didn't align with her vision—raw, untamed, and destructive. Fire was her calling.
And now, the real challenge began.
The battle for the throne.
For years, she had immersed herself not only in magic but in diplomacy, governance, and etiquette. Every lesson, no matter how tedious, became a stepping stone in her strategy to shine where others faltered. She excelled in every area of study, yet her father remained blind to her potential, his vision clouded by the blinding adoration he reserved for her elder brother, Crown Prince Dorian.
Bitterness twisted Evelyn's features.
Dorian—a figure she despised. Arrogant, indulgent, cloaked in an undeserved reputation of nobility. In public, he painted himself as righteous and virtuous. The people adored him, oblivious to the scandals, hedonistic revelries, and glaring incompetence that Evelyn knew all too well.
Yet, her father clung to him, tethered by tradition and the outdated belief that the throne was a man's birthright.
Her fists tightened. Why should antiquated conventions outweigh true leadership, strength, and wisdom?
No one else dared challenge him—not her elder sister, Seraphina, who had long relinquished her claim to the throne.
Unlike Dorian, Seraphina was fierce and revered—a skilled warrior and talented mage. Her sister had once been everything Evelyn aspired to become.
But Seraphina had walked away from the throne, choosing the battlefield over royal politics.
Though Evelyn admired the nobility of her sister's choice, she could never understand it.
A gentle knock on the door pulled her from her reverie. She sighed, glancing at the entrance.
"Come in," she called softly.
The door creaked open, revealing a small figure wrapped in a light blanket. Golden curls framed a childlike face, and sleepy blue eyes blinked up at her.
Aria shuffled into the room, dragging the blanket along.
"Eve," Aria mumbled, her voice laced with drowsiness, "why are you still awake?"
A smile found its way to Evelyn's lips. She motioned for her younger sister to come closer, lifting her into her lap. "I could ask you the same thing, little one."
"I had a bad dream," Aria whispered, snuggling into Evelyn's warmth.
Evelyn wrapped her arms around her, letting her magic provide a comforting heat. "What was it about?"
Aria fidgeted with Evelyn's sleeve. "You… Sera… Father. You were all gone, and I was left alone in the castle."
Evelyn's heart softened.
Though Aria was young, she was no fool. She knew their family was not one filled with warmth and affection. Their father was distant, their mother long gone, and their elder brother cared for nothing but his own pleasures. The only people who truly looked after her were Sera and Evelyn.
Evelyn cupped Aria's cheek gently, lifting her chin so their eyes met. "You will never be alone, Aria. I'll always be there for you."
Aria sniffled, burying her face into Evelyn's shoulder. "Promise?"
"I promise," Evelyn murmured, placing a tender kiss on the crown of her head.
Silence enveloped them, broken only by the soothing crackle of the fireplace. Evelyn allowed herself this fleeting moment of tranquility, cradling the fragile peace she shared with Aria.
But soon, her journey would begin anew. The stakes were high, and the trials ahead teemed with uncertainty. For now, she held her sister close, cherishing this quiet reprieve before the storms to come.