The night was thick and silent, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves outside the castle walls. In her opulent chambers, Deamune Princess Victoria stirred from a restless dream. A flash of light had seared across her mind, startling her awake. Her chest rose and fell in rapid rhythm as she turned toward the window, where the star-strewn sky hung like an endless ocean.
One star pulsed unnaturally bright, its radiance cutting through the darkness as if it were alive. For a fleeting moment, Victoria smiled as though she recognized an old friend. Then the smile faded, replaced by a look of dread.
"No," she whispered. "It's happening."
She closed her eyes and raised her hands. A breeze swirled into the chamber, tugging at her red velvet gown, carrying her words like a prayer.
"You have to come and see me…"
The command repeated three times a potent magic, each time heavier, sharper, more urgent.
The air fell still. Victoria's eyes opened again, hard with resolve.
"Lyra, Aria, Nia!" she called.
The doors burst open and her three handmaidens hurried inside. Lyra, golden-haired and serene; Aria, sharp and battle-ready; Nia, warm yet unshakably fierce.
"Princess?" Lyra asked, bowing slightly. "What troubles you?"
"We are in danger," Victoria said. "Prepare me. Now."
The women moved swiftly, dressing her in a silk battle-gown woven with protective enchantments. Armor slid over their own forms—light leather, but strong enough for what was to come. The weight in the air thickened with every passing moment, like the calm before a storm.
Together they marched through the castle's hushed corridors. When the massive doors of the throne room opened, every noble and guard present bowed low—save the king himself, who rose at the sight of his daughter.
"Victoria," he said, concern heavy in his voice. "Why do you come at this hour?"
She stopped before his throne, her green eyes burning with urgency.
"Father, someone seeks the key to our survival. If they succeed, the kingdom will fall."
The king's face blanched. "What key? Who is this enemy?"
"I do not yet know," Victoria admitted, "but their power is great. Gather our strongest warriors and mages. We must be ready."
The king hesitated, troubled by her certainty. "We prepare for war without knowing who we fight?"
Victoria's voice cut like steel. "If we wait, it will be too late."
A heavy silence filled the hall. Finally, the king nodded. "So be it. But what of you?"
"I will seek the truth myself," she answered.
Her father watched her go, worry etched deep into his face.
Back in the corridors, her unease only sharpened. Something—someone—was watching. The shadows themselves seemed alive, curling along the walls.
Then he stepped out. A tall man cloaked in black, hood obscuring his face. Victoria's hand snapped to her sword, but he raised his palms in peace.
"Princess Victoria," he said, his voice gravelly and calm. "I come not as foe, but as warning."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then speak."
The man lowered his hood. His features were strange—familiar enough to rattle her, foreign enough to unnerve.
"I know who hunts the key to your kingdom's survival," he said, his words rolling like thunder. He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper.
"And to stop them… lives must be sacrificed."