Chapter One: Ashes of the Throne
The Kingdom of Elarion – Ten Years Ago
She wore sapphire silk the night her world ended.
The palace was lit with gold and music. Lanterns swung like tiny suns above the grand hall, and laughter spilled down the carved marble stairways like water. Virelle, just nine, ran barefoot through the corridors with a crown of wildflowers in her dark hair, unaware that beneath the celebration, blades were being drawn.
She was the daughter of King Alreus and Queen Thalira—the beloved rulers of Elarion. And though her small fingers had never gripped a sword, a gift pulsed quietly in her blood. Something hidden. Something ancient.
That night, she felt it stir.
A flicker of cold along her spine. A whisper in a tongue she did not yet understand. The shadows seemed to curl toward her feet, and in her heart bloomed a single word she could not explain: Run.
By the time the music fell silent, it was already too late.
Fire licked the velvet banners in the throne room. Her mother's scream cut through the corridors. Steel clashed. Voices shouted words like traitor, coup, long live the true bloodline. Virelle did not see her parents fall—but she saw their blood on the tiles. She saw the crest of the House of Maeric—the family they once called allies—carved into the banners that now replaced her family's sigil.
And standing above the dying king, with crown already in hand, was Lord Varyon Maeric.
He smiled.
That was the night the last rose of Elarion went int
Chapter One: Ashes of the Throne
The Kingdom of Elarion – Ten Years Ago
She wore sapphire silk the night her world ended.
The palace was lit with gold and music. Lanterns swung like tiny suns above the grand hall, and laughter spilled down the carved marble stairways like water. Virelle, just nine, ran barefoot through the corridors with a crown of wildflowers in her dark hair, unaware that beneath the celebration, blades were being drawn.
She was the daughter of King Alreus and Queen Thalira—the beloved rulers of Elarion. And though her small fingers had never gripped a sword, a gift pulsed quietly in her blood. Something hidden. Something ancient.
That night, she felt it stir.
A flicker of cold along her spine. A whisper in a tongue she did not yet understand. The shadows seemed to curl toward her feet, and in her heart bloomed a single word she could not explain: Run.
By the time the music fell silent, it was already too late.
Fire licked the velvet banners in the throne room. Her mother's scream cut through the corridors. Steel clashed. Voices shouted words like traitor, coup, long live the true bloodline. Virelle did not see her parents fall—but she saw their blood on the tiles. She saw the crest of the House of Maeric—the family they once called allies—carved into the banners that now replaced her family's sigil.
And standing above the dying king, with crown already in hand, was Lord Varyon Maeric.
He smiled.
That was the night the last rose of Elarion went into the dark.
And the kingdom would not hear her name again for ten years.