By the time Elara turned eight, the palace tutors had run out of lessons.
She mastered arithmetic before breakfast, debated philosophy with visiting scholars by noon, and spent her evenings sketching business models on the backs of royal scrolls. The court called her precocious. The nobles called her peculiar. But Ana, watching from the shadows, called her ready.
Elara's brilliance wasn't loud. It was quiet, deliberate, and sharp as a blade. She asked questions no one else dared to ask—about the kingdom's failing trade routes, about the inefficiencies in palace spending, about why the royal archives hadn't been digitized.
"She's too curious," one advisor muttered.
"She's too much like her mother," another whispered.
But Elara didn't care. She had Mira.
Every week, in the crowded palace market, she met the mysterious merchant woman who smelled of jasmine and ink. Mira never revealed her identity, but Elara felt a strange, unspoken bond with her. Mira taught her how to read between the lines of contracts, how to spot opportunity in chaos, how to lead without shouting.
One day, Mira handed her a worn leather notebook.
"The Flame Ledger," it read.
Inside were pages filled with puzzles, case studies, and handwritten notes. Elara devoured it. She began solving problems the royal council couldn't. She predicted a grain shortage weeks before it happened. She proposed a new tax model that increased revenue without burdening the poor.
At nine, she built a mock trading company using palace servants as "employees" and turned a profit in three weeks.
At ten, she submitted a paper—under a pseudonym—to the Global Youth Business Forum. It was titled "Legacy vs. Innovation: Reimagining Royal Economies." It won first place.
The judges were stunned when they discovered the author was a child.
Soon after, a letter arrived. Embossed with gold. Sealed with the crest of Columbia Business School.
"Elara of Velmora, you are hereby awarded the Global Young Innovator's Scholarship. Full tuition. Early admission. Mentorship by the world's leading economists."
The palace erupted in disbelief. The nobles who once dismissed her now scrambled to claim her as their own. But Elara knew the truth.
That night, she returned to the market. Mira was waiting.
"I got in," Elara whispered, holding up the letter.
Mira smiled, her eyes glistening. "I never doubted you."
Elara hesitated. "Who are you, really?"
Mira touched her cheek gently. "Someone who believes in you more than the world ever will."
And then she disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind only the scent of jasmine and the echo of a promise.