(Princess Anna: Age 4)
The chamber smelled faintly of lavender and old parchment, a soothing fragrance that always seemed to cling to Aeloria's private rooms. Outside, the palace lay wrapped in a hush, the revelries of the court a distant murmur. Here, in this quiet sanctuary, the world felt smaller — safer.
A soft giggle broke the stillness.
"Again, Grandmother!" Anna clapped her tiny hands, her green eyes bright with wonder. Her long pink hair tumbled in loose waves around her face, a few stubborn strands sticking out like wild feathers. She was perched on Aeloria's lap, her small feet swinging as though she couldn't keep still.
Aeloria chuckled, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind Anna's ear. "If I tell it again, you must promise to listen carefully this time. No wriggling about like a restless kitten."
"I was listening!" Anna said with a mischievous pout, then broke into another giggle when Aeloria arched a silvery brow at her.
The old queen's heart softened. So much of Anna reminded her of the daughter she had lost — that same irrepressible energy, that same fire. And yet there was something in this child's gaze that was entirely her own. Something deeper, older, that Aeloria dared not name aloud.
Tonight, the fire crackled gently in the hearth, casting golden light over the carved shelves that lined the chamber walls. Many of the books here were harmless — histories, tales of heroes and gods — but a few were far older, their spines etched with sigils long forbidden. One such volume sat just beyond Anna's reach, its presence a quiet weight in the room.
Aeloria shifted slightly, drawing Anna closer. "Very well," she said softly. "Let us begin again — the story of the song weavers."
Anna's eyes went wide, her little fingers curling against Aeloria's sleeve. "The ones who could talk to the earth?"
"Yes," Aeloria murmured. "Though it was not talking, exactly. It was listening. They were called resonance mages, and their gift was unlike any other. While other mages bent magic to their will, the resonance mages did not command — they harmonized. They could feel the hidden threads that bind the universe together, like the strings of a great harp, and when they touched those threads, the world would sing back to them."
Anna's mouth formed a small, perfect "O." "Like… a song only they could hear?"
"Precisely." Aeloria smiled faintly. "To them, every stone, every tree, every rushing river had a voice. Even the sky itself held a melody, if one listened closely enough." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But it was a dangerous gift, my little bird. For when the world sings to you, it is far too easy to lose yourself in its song."
Anna wrinkled her nose, clearly trying to imagine such a thing. "Did you ever hear the song, Grandmother?"
Aeloria hesitated. There were truths she could not yet speak, not to a child so young. "No, my sweet. That gift passed me by. But my mother…" Her voice trailed off, heavy with memory.
Anna's eyes lit up. "Great-great-grandmother Athena!"
"Yes." Aeloria's lips curved into a wistful smile. "Your great-great-grandmother, Queen Athena. She was the last resonance mage the empire ever knew."
Anna shifted eagerly on her lap. "Tell me about her again! Please!"
Aeloria chuckled softly, though her eyes glimmered with shadows of the past. "Very well. When my mother was a girl, she could hear the song of the world as clearly as you hear my voice now. She would walk through the palace gardens and pause, tilting her head, listening to melodies no one else could hear. Rivers whispered their secrets to her. Stones told her where they had come from. Even the winds would change their course to carry her laughter."
Anna gasped, utterly enthralled.
"But such power frightened the court," Aeloria continued, her tone darkening. "They did not understand her gift, and people fear what they cannot understand. In time, whispers grew into schemes, and schemes into rebellion. My mother… she tried to use her gift to heal the empire, to bring harmony." Aeloria's gaze drifted to the dancing firelight. "But the louder she sang, the more discord she uncovered. And when the court sought to silence her, it ended in war."
Anna's small brow furrowed. "That's not fair."
"No, child," Aeloria said softly, pressing a kiss to Anna's pink hair. "It was not fair at all."
There was a long moment of quiet. The only sound was the crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of Anna's breathing.
Then Anna tilted her head curiously. "What happened to her?"
Aeloria's throat tightened. She had told this story many times, but she had never spoken of its end. Tonight, for reasons she could not name, she felt the weight of truth pressing on her like a storm cloud.
"She… vanished," Aeloria said at last, her voice low. "On the night the ley lines went silent, she disappeared without a trace. Some say she became part of the song itself, her spirit carried on the currents of magic beneath the earth."
Anna's eyes went wide and shimmering. "Like a lullaby?"
Aeloria's breath caught at the innocence of the question. "Yes, little one," she whispered, holding her close. "Like a lullaby."
Anna yawned, the weight of sleep tugging at her small body. Her head nestled against Aeloria's shoulder, her voice drowsy.
"I wish I could hear the song too, Grandmother."
Aeloria's heart ached. She gazed down at her granddaughter — this child who had been born with a song all her own — and smoothed a hand over her soft pink hair.
"One day," she murmured, more to herself than to Anna. "But not yet. For now, just listen to the stories, and when the time is right… you will know."
Anna's eyes fluttered closed. Her breathing slowed, soft and steady, when suddenly she whispered, half-asleep, "Grandmother… the music is so pretty."
Aeloria froze. "Music?" she asked gently, though her voice came out sharper than intended.
Anna gave a drowsy, contented sigh. "Mhm… the song… it's everywhere." Her tiny lips curved into a sleepy smile. "Don't you hear it?"
The room was utterly silent.
Aeloria's breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding with a mixture of awe and dread. There was no music. No sound at all but the crackling of the fire.
She looked down at her granddaughter, who had already drifted fully into slumber, her small body limp and peaceful.
"No," Aeloria whispered to the empty room, her voice barely audible. "But you do."
She held Anna tightly, rocking her gently as an old, familiar hum seemed to awaken deep beneath the palace — faint, steady, and waiting.
The room had grown cold by the time Aeloria laid Anna carefully in her bed, tucking the quilt beneath her chin. Anna murmured softly, the ghost of a smile still lingering on her lips as though she were dreaming of that unseen song.
Aeloria lingered at the bedside, watching her granddaughter's small chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. The crackle of the fire seemed almost too loud now, the shadows stretching long across the walls.
Her hands trembled as she smoothed a final wisp of pink hair from Anna's forehead. She hears it already…
The thought sent a shiver down her spine.
Resonance magic was never meant to be awakened this early. When Aeloria herself was young, her mother — Queen Athena — had spoken of how dangerous the first stirrings could be. A child who began to hear the song too soon could become lost in it, unable to separate their own thoughts from the world's ceaseless melody.
And worse… if others discovered what Anna could do, they would see her as a weapon. Or a threat.
Aeloria drew back, clasping her hands tightly to still their trembling. The memory of Athena's final days pressed heavily against her heart. She had watched as her own mother, gifted beyond measure, had been hunted not for who she was, but for what she could do. Athena's death — or disappearance — had been a wound the empire never healed.
Now, that same power lived on in this small, innocent child.
The court cannot know. Valerius cannot know.
The Emperor's ambitions stretched far beyond the borders of Astoria, driven by a desire to secure his empire's legacy and protect it from looming threats. To him, every member of the royal family had a role to play in the grand design of Astoria's future. If he discovered Anna's hidden gift, he would see it as both a wonder and a responsibility. He would push her to master it, shaping her into a tool for the empire's stability—even if the weight of his expectations threatened to break her.
But if her power grew too unpredictable, too dangerous to control, his love as a father would clash with his duty as a ruler. In the end, Valerius might be forced to make an impossible choice: to safeguard his empire, even if it meant silencing his own daughter forever.
Aeloria's throat tightened.
Not my Anna. Not again. I will not let history repeat itself.
She moved to the window, staring out across the sprawling palace grounds bathed in moonlight. Beneath the city, she could almost feel the ley lines pulsing faintly, a deep hum just at the edge of hearing. It was no longer her song to hear — her own connection had faded with age — but she recognized the rhythm. It was the same hum she had felt the night Anna was born.
And now, it was growing stronger.
"She is too young," Aeloria whispered to the darkness. "Too fragile. But the song is waking, and it will not wait for her to be ready."
Her fingers curled around the windowsill, her nails biting into the cold stone. She could not stop what was coming. But perhaps she could prepare Anna — quietly, carefully, in ways no one else would notice.
The old queen's mind began to turn, weaving plans in the silence.
She would teach Anna through stories, as she had tonight. Lessons disguised as games. Tales of harmony and balance, of courage and restraint. Slowly, over the years, she would instill in Anna the foundations of resonance magic without ever naming it for what it truly was.
Aeloria would guide her to sharpen her senses, to listen deeply — not just with her ears, but with her heart. She would encourage her curiosity, her empathy, her awareness of subtle changes in the world around her. Little by little, Anna would grow strong enough to face what lay ahead.
When the time came, when the song grew too loud to ignore, Anna would not be unprepared.
But until then, she must remain hidden.
Aeloria turned from the window and approached a locked cabinet built into the far wall. From within, she withdrew an ancient book bound in dark, weathered leather. The sigils on its cover glimmered faintly as if lit from beneath by some secret light.
The Codex of Resonance.
Her mother's book. Athena's final legacy.
Aeloria traced her fingers over the cover, her heart heavy with reverence and fear. She had sworn, all those years ago, to keep it safe — to never let the empire's scholars or the Magisterium's agents lay hands on it.
Now, as she gazed at Anna's sleeping form, she knew why fate had entrusted her with this burden.
"One day, my darling," she murmured, her voice trembling, "this will be yours. But not yet. You must grow strong enough to bear its weight… and wise enough to know when to open it."
With painstaking care, she locked the codex away once more, hiding it behind layers of enchantment only she could undo.
Returning to Anna's bedside, Aeloria lowered herself into the chair beside the bed. She sat there long into the night, watching her granddaughter sleep.
As the palace lay silent, she thought of the future — a future where Anna would stand at the heart of a storm no one else could yet see.
I will prepare you, she vowed silently. Even if you never know what I've done, even if you hate me for it one day, you will be ready. The song will not claim you… not like it claimed her.
Anna stirred, murmuring softly in her sleep. A faint smile curved her lips.
"Grandmother," she whispered dreamily, "the music… it's so pretty."
Aeloria's breath caught.
She reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against Anna's hand. "Sleep, little one," she whispered, though her heart pounded with fear. "Sleep while you still can."
But even as she spoke, deep beneath the city, the ley lines thrummed in time with Anna's heartbeat — a subtle promise of the storm to come.