Years passed.And I became what the gods demanded — the first daughter, the debt reborn.
On the eve of my seventeenth year, the priests came to the palace. They wrapped me in white silk, pressed salt to my tongue, and painted the mark of servitude upon my brow — the sigil of Aureon, King of the Heavens.
My mother fainted. My father turned away.
I wanted to curse them all — to curse the gods, the sky, and the throne that had doomed us all.For generations, our kingdom had lived beneath the same unrelenting judgment.When the rains fell, they drowned our harvests.When the sun blazed, it burned them to ash.When the winds howled, they carried sickness through the streets.Aureon's wrath had no season. It lived in all of them.
The people of Ephyra learned to read the heavens as others read scripture.When thunder rolled, they whispered prayers.When lightning split the clouds, they fell to their knees.And when the droughts lingered, they said the princess had angered the gods again.
For Mireia, the gods were not distant myths.They were cruel, invisible tyrants who toyed with mortal breath.She hated them — all of them — for what they had done to her bloodline.
The people of Ephyra learned to read the weather like scripture.When the skies darkened, they whispered that I had sinned again.When thunder rolled, they said the princess had forgotten her prayers.
They saw the heavens' fury in every drought, every blighted crop, every fever that stole a child. They said it was Aureon's reminder — that the curse still lived through me.
But the heavens had already taken everything from me. What more was there to give?
The Pull of the Sea
The sea was quiet when the skies raged.While storms tore the fields apart, the tide still whispered softly against the rocks.When the heavens sent famine, the sea shimmered calm beneath the horizon — watching, waiting.It made her uneasy.It made her angry.And still, when she stood near it, something inside her stilled — as though a part of her remembered the sound of its voice.
From her balcony, she could see the water glinting like molten glass under the moon.Sometimes she thought the waves reached for her — not to drown, but to beckon.And though her tutors warned her to stay within the palace walls, she often slipped past the guards, barefoot and unseen, until she stood at the edge of the cliffs, the salt wind tangling her hair.
Once, at dusk, I fled the palace to the cliffs where the wind howled through the stones. The old high priest found me there — stooped, his robes heavy with salt.
"You come too close, Princess," he said, his voice like brittle parchment. "The sea has taken much from your bloodline. It may yet take more."
I didn't turn. "Then let it. It seems the heavens haven't finished with us either."
He hesitated, then stepped beside me. "The heavens test those they favor."
I laughed, sharp and bitter. "Then I would rather they hated me outright."
The priest studied me — pity clouding his gaze. "The curse endures because pride endures. Do not give the gods reason to look your way again."
"The gods have never looked away," I said softly. "They watch us starve, burn, drown — and call it justice."
The wind rose, whipping my gown. A wave broke high below, the spray reaching my face like cold breath. And when I turned, the priest was gone.
Only the sound of the sea remained, vast and alive — as though it had been listening.
She hated the gods for their cruelty.She hated the heavens for their silence.And yet, she could not tear her eyes from the waves.Something about their endless pull whispered of belonging — and it terrified her.
The Heavens' Displeasure
That night, the rains came again.By morning, fields lay drowned and cattle bloated in the mire. The priests whispered that the curse stirred whenever I wandered too close to the sea — that Aureon's patience thinned with each of my steps beyond the temple gates.
Rumors spread like rot.The princess angers the heavens.The storm comes for her.
When I passed through the city, people knelt — not in devotion, but in fear. Mothers pulled their children close. The air stank of incense and rain. In every puddle, I saw my reflection ripple — as if something beneath watched me back.
The Council's Decision
That evening, I heard my father's voice echo from behind the marble doors."The curse worsens," he said. "Ephyra cannot survive another season like this. The offering must be sent."
My mother wept softly. "She is only a child."
"The gods do not wait for children to grow," came his reply.
Their words felt like stones thrown into my chest. I turned away before they could see the tears — for tears were useless things in a kingdom that had forgotten mercy.
The Cliff's Edge
I fled again to the cliffs, the storm clawing at my hair and gown. Rain lashed my face, thunder shook the sea, and lightning cut the horizon into shards.
I hated them all — Aureon and his court of cruel heavens, the priests who bowed to thunder, even the nameless god of the sea who stood silent while the skies destroyed us.
And yet, when I stood at the edge of that roaring world, the wind gentled. The rain eased. The sea stilled.
For a moment, I could almost feel it — not comfort, but recognition.
"Why?" I whispered into the dark. "Why do you call to me?"
The sea offered no answer. Only a single swell rose and fell, brushing against the rocks as though it breathed.
Then thunder cracked once more, and the world went black.
Far below, in the silence beneath the storm, something ancient stirred — not in defiance of Aureon's curse, but in quiet defiance of fate itself.
The heavens had marked Mireia as their debt.But the sea — though she did not yet know it — had already claimed her, long before she was born.