The soft hum of laughter echoed through the courtyard as Aelira clung gently to Yuan’s neck, the last of her spell blooming into full life. Petals swirled on the breeze, trailing pink and green ribbons of color across the grey sparring yard. For a fleeting moment, the stone walls that had confined her felt alive—warm, safe, almost like home.

 

Then—

 

Click.

Click.

 

The measured rhythm of boots on stone. Heavy. Unyielding.

 

The air shifted. The flowers nearest the doorway bent, their petals trembling as if in dread.

 

The door swung open.

 

Vaelen entered.

 

His presence drained the color from the air. Cloaked in midnight robes threaded with constellations, he looked as if he had stepped out of the void itself. His silver hair was bound tight, his sharp grey eyes sweeping the courtyard until they landed on the girl—and the boy she clung to.

 

For a breath, nothing moved.

 

Then his jaw clenched.

 

Today marked five years since the day his sister and her husband—the Queen and King of Solhara—had burned in the throne room.

 

And here she was—the child at the center of it all—smiling.

 

Yuan released Aelira instantly, stepping back with precise discipline. He bowed sharply, voice steady:

“Master.”

 

Vaelen’s tone was iron. “The southern border grows unstable. The Empire pushes deeper each day. You will leave at first light tomorrow.”

 

Yuan’s head rose, startled. “But my duty—”

 

“Duty?” Vaelen’s voice cut through him. “I see no guard here. I see a boy who’s forgotten his charge and turned himself into her playmate.”

 

The words struck like a blade.

 

Aelira stepped forward, small fists trembling. “That’s not true! Yuan trains me every day. He’s taught me, protected me, stayed when no one else would—” Her voice broke. “More than you, who hasn’t even looked at me in five years!”

 

The courtyard stilled.

 

Vaelen’s gaze snapped to her. Cold. Merciless.

 

The air pressed down in an instant. Invisible weight crushed her shoulders, driving her to her knees. She gasped for breath, palms flat against the stone as if the earth itself had turned against her.

 

“You will not raise your voice at me,” Vaelen said, his words edged with power. “Not on the day they died.”

 

“Master, enough.” Yuan’s voice was taut, but his bow deepened. “Don’t take your grief out on her. She is not the one who failed.”

 

For a heartbeat, something flickered in Vaelen’s eyes—regret, buried too deep to surface. He turned away.

 

“Prepare for your departure.”

 

Yuan hesitated at the doorway. His eyes lingered on Aelira, her small frame bent beneath the crushing weight of magic. His voice, low and soft, cut through the silence.

“It’s alright.”

 

Then he was gone.

 

The door closed, and the world shrank.

 

The flowers trembled in the breeze, their delicate petals still clinging to life. For a heartbeat, they seemed to resist. And then Vaelen raised his hand. Frost swept through the courtyard in a single, merciless wave. The blossoms blackened, curled, and fell to ash. Their fragrance—the fleeting echo of her mother’s garden—was gone.

 

“Focus your energy,” he said coldly, “on control. Not on nonsense like this.”

 

Aelira’s breath shook. Tears blurred her vision. “You’ve taken everything from me!”

 

Her scream rang like broken glass. “My freedom, and now Yuan! He was all I had! Why should I care about power? Why should I care about anything? I should just destroy the whole land and be done with it!”

 

The words were wild, desperate—child’s defiance, not true intent. But Vaelen’s eyes flared with fury. He flicked his hand. The force struck her like a storm, flinging her against the wall. Air ripped from her lungs as invisible fingers closed around her throat, lifting her into the air.

 

Her small hands clawed at nothing. Her feet scraped the stone. Her green eyes—Elowen’s eyes—stared at him, wide with pain.

 

And something inside Vaelen broke.

 

For that instant, he saw his sister’s face in hers.

 

His hand trembled. He let her fall, but softened the descent with a pulse of magic so she crumpled rather than shattered.

 

He did not kneel. He did not comfort. He could not.

 

“Do not speak as though you are the only one who has suffered,” he said, voice low, shaking with restraint. “You took them from me. From Kaeyla. Why should you live—why should you laugh—while they are gone?”

 

Her small body trembled. But her eyes searched him anyway—for guilt, for grief, for some piece of him that still remembered love.

 

His gaze wavered. Then hardened again.

 

“Your sister stands in court every day. She carries Solhara on her shoulders while you sit behind walls. If you lose control again, it will not just be you who pays. It will be her. Is that what you want?”

 

The words carved into her. Aelira’s eyes went blank.

 

“No…” her voice cracked. “I’ll do anything for Kaeyla. Anything.”

 

Her fists balled tight. “I don’t deserve to see her. You’re right. I don’t deserve anything. I’ll train. I’ll get stronger. I’ll pay for it all… even with my life.”

 

The sob that followed was soft, broken—like a flame being snuffed.

 

Vaelen turned away, robes whispering against the stone. His fists were tight at his sides, knuckles white.

 

“I trust you understand your role.”

 

A pause.

 

“Be the sword your sister will one day need. Swear to me you’ll protect her. That is the only atonement left to you.”

 

Aelira only nodded, wordless, wiping her tears on her sleeve.

 

Vaelen cast his wards—sigils glowing faintly across the chamber walls, sealing her inside once more. “With Yuan gone, servants will bring food to the gates. Train well, Princess Aelira.”

 

He hesitated. Only a fraction of a second. Then left.

 

The door shut with a hollow click.

 

The courtyard lay silent. The flowers were gone. The light dimmed.

 

Aelira sat on the cold stone floor, staring at nothing.

 

And in that silence, something inside her went dark.

 

The child who laughed at flowers was gone.

What remained was a shadow in training—

a blade being sharpened.