Queen Maeryn Thalis sat in the dim candlelight of her bedchambers, cradling her newborn twins against her chest. Their tiny breaths were soft, fragile, yet somehow steady, as if even in their earliest moments they carried the weight of the world on their shoulders. She traced a finger along the fine silver bracelets she had secured to their wrists—identical mystical bands that glimmered faintly in the shadowed room.
Her heart ached, torn between love and dread. Outside the palace walls, the air trembled with the distant drumbeat of war. Reports had come faster than the royal messengers could carry them: her brother-in-law, Draxis Veyran, long scheming in silence, had finally struck. He had gathered a private army, ruthless and cunning, and now he moved through the kingdom like a shadow swallowing the light.
Maeryn whispered their names softly, her lips trembling. "Kaelith… Lysera… you are the last of our line. You must live."
The floor beneath her seemed to shiver, and she knew—it was no longer a warning. Draxis' forces were at the gates. Flames had begun to lick the edges of the city, and smoke drifted even to her chambers, carrying the acrid scent of burning stone and iron.
Her husband, King Kaelen, had already ridden out with his army, fighting desperately to hold back the storm. She could only hope he would survive long enough for their children to escape the carnage.
Maeryn rose, pressing the twins to her chest, her mind racing. She had no choice. She called for her most trusted guardians:
"Darian… Lyra… now!"
The two warriors entered, their faces grave, eyes hard with the knowledge of what was coming. Maeryn handed each guardian one of the twins—Kaelith to Darian, Lysera to Lyra.
"These bracelets," she said, her voice breaking, "are your legacy and your shield. Keep them safe. Protect them with your life." She looked into Darian's eyes, then Lyra's, her tears glinting like falling stars. "I will not be there to guard them. But you… you must see that they survive."
Darian bowed his head, gripping the male twin tightly. Lyra did the same with Lysera. The queen's hands lingered for a heartbeat longer on their tiny faces. Then, she whispered the words that would echo across the centuries:
"Run… and live, my children. Live, and rise from the ashes of what is to come."
A thunderous crash shook the palace, and the chamber doors burst open. Draxis' soldiers poured in, steel clashing, shadows moving like living darkness. Smoke filled the corridors, screams rising in a chorus of terror. Maeryn's voice rang out over it all:
"Go! Now!"
The guardians darted through secret passages, weaving through the chaos as Draxis' forces pursued them. Fire and death followed in every hall, yet somehow, the two children were shielded—protected by their guardians and the faint, mysterious glow of their bracelets.
Outside, the city of Thalorion burned. The palace, once a symbol of immortal power and pride, crumbled beneath Draxis' wrath. King Kaelen's army had fallen, the king himself struck down by the treacherous hand of his own brother.
And so, under the blood-red sky of Veyloria, the royal line vanished from the kingdom. The children who would one day become legends disappeared into the unknown, carried across the stars to a place called Earth—a fragile refuge amidst the looming war that would one day reach every corner of the universe.
The first war of the Shattered Crown had begun.