The early morning sun filtered through the Veyldan estate's towering windows, painting long, golden streaks across the marble floors.
Elara's violet hair shimmered faintly in the light as she paced the private study, eyes tracing the intricate patterns of old scrolls and faded manuscripts.
Her fingers brushed against the silver crescent sigil on her wrist, its pulse faint but insistent, a constant reminder that time was slipping away.
She had spent countless lives searching for answers, yet the solution had always eluded her.
But this time… she would not fail.
A soft creak in the hallway made her glance up. She knew the sound. Footsteps. Light, deliberate, and hesitant. Seraphine.
"Where is she going this early?" Seraphine whispered to herself, curiosity bright in her amber eyes.
Quiet as a shadow, Seraphine trailed Elara through the winding corridors, barely daring to breathe.
But Elara, sharp-eyed and fully aware, turned a corner just in time to catch her stepsister peeking from behind a tapestry.
"Curious, aren't we?" Elara's voice was calm, even, but the underlying steel made Seraphine stumble back.
"I… I wasn't. I also happen to just go this way," Seraphine explained shamelessly.
Elara tilted her head, letting her piercing gaze linger for a heartbeat longer than comfortable. "Curiosity is natural. Just remember, some things are not meant for prying eyes."
Before Seraphine could respond, Elara moved on, leaving her frozen in place.
Seraphine gritted her teeth in frustration. Why does she always have the last say?! she thought, fuming.
Later that morning, Seraphine found herself in Isolde's chambers, reporting in a whisper.
"Mother… Elara is up to something. She keeps sneaking away, and I think—"
"Calm yourself," Isolde interrupted, eyes narrowing.
"Whatever she plans, we will know soon enough. Watch closely, but do not act rashly. I want to see this for myself before making a move."
Meanwhile, Elara spent the next few days immersed in the estate's vast collections, poring over historical tomes, family records, and arcane manuscripts that hinted at the origins of her bloodline's curse.
Hours melted into one another as she traced lineages, deciphered cryptic writings, and compared them with the faint memories of her past lives.
But progress was slow.
Each clue seemed tantalisingly close, only to slip through her fingers like grains of sand.
Frustration stirred, but she let it pass. Patience had always been her ally.
One evening, as she rested against the cool stone of her study, her eyes closed, and the room faded around her.
In the quiet of her mind, a familiar presence appeared, a warm, resonant voice that belonged to no living soul but carried an undeniable authority.
"Elara…" the voice whispered.
Her heart skipped.
It was him. Her grandfather, the previous King of Nytheris, lost to history but alive in memory and legacy.
"You have awoken again," the voice continued. "And with awakening comes the weight of knowledge… and the burden of choice."
Images flashed in her mind, fragments of her sixth life, a moment when she had first glimpsed the power and peril of her bloodline.
Faces she had loved and lost, promises she had made and broken, and a cryptic warning about the curse that had haunted the Nytheris line for centuries.
"I remember," she murmured to herself, heart tightening. "I remember all of it."
Maybe it's time, out of all my lives that I have lived, to search for the Kingdom of Nytheris—the home of my birth mother, unknown to Father, Elara thought.
Back in the present, Seraphine and Isolde conspired quietly.
Each encounter with Elara became a small, calculated test. Seraphine attempted to distract or provoke her during the day, whispering mockery under the guise of casual conversation.
Isolde, with her cold elegance, interjected with probing questions about Elara's activities, always attempting to draw out a misstep.
But Elara met them both with unwavering composure.
She answered with measured words, soft but precise, never betraying her purpose.
Where once she might have trembled, now she exuded a quiet, formidable authority that left her adversaries unsettled.
"Have you made any progress, Elara?" Seraphine asked one afternoon, leaning against the doorway with a smug smile.
Elara's eyes lifted, calm as ever. "Some knowledge can only be gained through observation, not questions. Watch carefully, and perhaps you will understand."
Seraphine's lips twitched, a mixture of irritation and begrudging respect.
And though Isolde observed silently from the shadows, Elara's resolve never wavered.
She knew the clues were there, buried in history, hidden in memory, waiting for her to piece them together.
That night, alone in her chamber, Elara's hand rested over her sigil.
Its pulse had grown slightly stronger, as if sensing her determination. She closed her eyes and spoke aloud, her voice steady despite the solitude:
"I will find the answer. I will uncover the cure. No matter how long it takes, I will succeed. First, I must find a way to reach Nytheris."
A quiet breeze stirred the curtains, as if the very estate acknowledged her declaration.
The path ahead was uncertain, tangled with shadows and deceit, but for the first time in countless awakenings, Elara felt the faintest glimmer of hope.
The Nytheris bloodline's curse would not claim her forever. And this time, nothing would stop her.