The kingdom of Aurelion had begun to die.
Not with fire or war, but with a quiet, insidious fading. The rivers glimmered less. The trees whispered weakly in the wind. Even the mountains seemed to slump toward the horizon. The very air trembled with unease.
At the heart of the realm, the Living Throne once a radiant, eternal seat of power wavered. Its glow flickered like a candle struggling against the dark. The ruler, whose life and magic had been bound to the kingdom for decades, sat motionless, the weight of centuries pressing on him. Each breath was shallow; each heartbeat uncertain.
The Crown Sanctum convened at once. Sentinels took their positions along the crystal halls, their armor etched with runes that glimmered faintly with vigilance. Oracles whispered in riddles, their veils hiding eyes that could see what others could not. Trialmasters adjusted the first stage of the Ascension, knowing the kingdom could not wait.
"The throne fades," said Lord Malrec Veythorn, calm as ever, but with eyes that measured every soul in the room. "If we delay, Aurelion will fall before our enemies strike. The Living Realm does not forgive weakness."
The words carried farther than the hall could contain. Magic rippled outward, unseen but undeniable, seeking those who bore its mark. Across distant villages, forests, and forgotten corners of the world, the chosen stirred.
And somewhere, far from these halls of power, a girl sat beneath the trees behind a humble house, unaware of the kingdom's urgent summons.
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Elaria's POV
I did not hear the call. Not yet.
I only knew the morning felt heavier, the wind thicker than it should have been. I woke before dawn, as always, my body tense, my chest tight with a feeling I could not name. My room was small, cold, and bare. A harsh wind from a nearby crack pressed against the walls, but it could not chill the ache that lived inside me.
The house was already alive with the morning routine. Lady Virelle Ashthorn, my stepmother, moved through the kitchen like a storm perfectly poised, perfectly cruel. Her daughter, Lyssara, lounged nearby, eyes sharp and mocking.
"You're late," Lady Virelle said before I could even speak.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, lowering my gaze.
"Sorry does not undo uselessness," she replied.
As I arranged the dishes, my mind drifted to places I had never seen: forests alive with magic, rivers that sang, and skies that seemed to shimmer with power. I longed to be anywhere but here.
Of course, my tray slipped. A plate shattered on the stone floor, shards scattering like small daggers.
Lady Virelle's eyes snapped to me. "Do you think we can afford your carelessness?"
Lyssara laughed softly. "Maybe she's cursed. Just like her mother."
The words struck deeper than any blow. I knelt to clean the shards, swallowing back tears.
Later, when the house was finally quiet, I slipped to the clearing behind it the only place where the wind felt free.
I pressed my palms into the soft earth and closed my eyes. The song rose before I realized I was singing a fragile, trembling melody born of years of sorrow, of longing, and quiet hope.
The leaves stilled. The birds drew close. The small creatures of the forest paused, listening.
And far away, unseen, in the very heart of the kingdom, the Living Throne pulsed once more, as if responding to a voice it had been waiting for centuries.
Somehow, the kingdom had found me.
And I had yet to understand why.
The song faded, leaving the clearing in a reverent silence. Even the wind seemed to pause, listening. For a fleeting moment, I felt… unburdened.
But such moments never last.
A voice, smooth yet cutting, broke the calm.
"Do you always sing thus, Elaria?" Lyssara Ashthorn emerged from the shadows of the trees. Her posture was perfect, regal, as if the world itself must bend to her will. Her eyes, sharp and cold, rested upon me with a quiet malice that made my chest tighten.
"I—I was merely… singing," I stammered, my palms pressed to the earth.
"Merely singing?" she echoed, her voice lilting like a dagger wrapped in silk. "A melody that seeks to charm the very wind, yet charms none but your own heart? How quaint."
I wished I could disappear into the forest, yet her gaze held me fast.
She stepped closer, her every movement deliberate, measured, cruel. "You imagine yourself remarkable," she said softly, "as though the world itself might pause to hear the voice of a girl hidden in shadows. How pitifully naïve."
I clenched my fists, struggling to steady my trembling. Lyssara's words were barbed, sharpened by envy and indulgence, aimed to remind me always of my place.
She crouched slightly, studying me with a scholar's scrutiny. "It is said your mother sang as well. How curious, that the daughter should inherit the music, yet not the grace."
The words pierced deeper than any harsh glance. My mother had died before I knew her, yet here, in Lyssara's venomous praise, her absence felt heavier than stone.
"I seek no quarrel," I murmured, almost inaudible.
Lyssara's laugh was a soft, chilling sound. "Quarrel? No, child. You mistake my candor for cruelty. I merely speak the truth. You shall never walk as I do, shall never command admiration nor claim the favor of our stepmother's gaze. You are what you are, and no song shall alter it."
I pressed my palms into the soft earth, willing the ground to lend me strength. A faint note of my song rose from my lips, a whisper only I and the forest heard. The wind caught it and carried it away, and for a moment, I felt a defiance that belonged solely to me.
Lyssara's smirk faltered, just slightly, her eyes narrowing. "Sing, then," she said at last, her tone dripping with triumph. "Let the trees and the birds bear witness, if it please you. But remember, Elaria… a melody alone does not command the world."
She turned with the elegance of a queen, leaving me in the quiet of the clearing.
I sank to the earth, breathing slowly, the notes of my song lingering in the air, a fragile shield against the cruelty that had defined my life. And somewhere deep within, I felt the first stirring of something greater, though I knew not what it might be.
For now, it was only my voice. And for now, it must suffice.