Caelfen, Durneth 11th, AE 1928
Millspell, Storland Kingdom
At nineteen, Thalyn possessed all the refinements expected of a noblewoman in the Northern Kingdoms. Her fiery orange hair fell in perfect waves, her posture was impeccable, and she could navigate the treacherous waters of court politics with the grace of a swan gliding across a still pond. Yet beneath the polished exterior burned a spirit that yearned for something more than suffocating embrace of noble society.
The Northern Kingdoms, nestled south of the imposing Frozen Expanse, were part of a larger political entity known as the Nine Free Kingdoms, or more formally, the Iron Veil Alliance. This uneasy confederation of nation–comprising the Kingdom of Arindor, the Drakorian Tribelands, the Republic of Nar, Kingdom of Westckingia, Storland Kingdom, Keian Grand Duchy, Kingdom of Coviland, Felandic Kingdom, and Cambrid—had formed out of necessity rather than affection. Their primary purpose was to prevent the Imperial Union’s influence from crossing north of the channel to the continent of Iskaroth, where they maintained their precarious independence through a combination of military might, diplomatic maneuvering, and sheer stubborn determination.
But such grand political machinations were lost on Thalyn, who found the endless discussions of trade agreements and territorial disputes mind-numbingly tedious. While her father, Lord Aldric Brightbloom spent his days poring over maps and correspondence from the capital, debating the merits of various alliances and the threat posed by Imperial expansion, Thalyn’s thoughts wandered to far more exciting possibilities. She dreamed not of diplomatic victories or advantageous marriages, but of the legendary adventures of heroes like Durgen the Bold, whose exploits had become the stuff of tavern songs and children’s bedtime stories.
Durgen had been an adventurer in the truest sense—a wanderer who sought out danger not for gold or glory, but for the simple thrill of testing himself against the unknown. He had delved into forgotten ruins, battled creatures that defied description, and recovered artifacts of immense power from the darkest corners of the world. Most importantly, he had lived life on his own terms, beholden to no one but himself and his own moral compass.
The profession of adventuring had once been more common in the realm, back after the chaotic years immediately following the Ashlight Event. That cataclysmic occurrence had fundamentally altered the nature of reality itself, tearing holes in the fabric of existence and leaving behind a world still scarred by magical anomalies. Brave souls had ventured forth to catalog and contain these dangerous remnants, earning both coin and recognition for their efforts. But as the millenia passed and the most obvious threats were neutralized, the need for such services had diminished, and adventuring had become an increasingly rare and marginalized occupation.
Yet the work remained necessary, even if it was no longer celebrated. Scattered throughout the realm were pockets of Pre-Ashlight Event anomalies that continued to pose threats to civilization. Ancient monsters still lurked in forgotten caverns, their forms twisted by magical energies that defied natural law. Cursed relics lay buried in ruins, capable of summoning devastating weather phenomena or spreading plagues that could decimate entire populations. These remnants of a bygone age required constant vigilance, and there were precious few individuals willing or able to seek them out and neutralize them.
The morning of her departure had begun like any other, with the soft chiming of the estate’s bells calling the household to their daily routines. Thalyn had attended breakfast with her parents, enduring yet another lecture from her father about the importance of maintaining proper relationships with the neighboring noble families. Her mother, Lady Elara, had spoken at length about the upcoming harvest festival and the need for Thalyn to make a favorable impression on the visiting dignitaries who would be attending.
“The Duke of West march will be bringing his eldest son,” Lay Elara had said, her voice carrying the particular tone she reserved for discussions of matrimonial prospects. “He’s said to be quite accomplished in both swordplay and statecraft. A most suitable match for a young woman of your station.”
Thalyn had nodded politely, offering the appropriate responses while her mind wandered to the collection of adventure tales hidden beneath her mattress. She had read and reread those stories countless times, memorizing every detail of Durgen’s exploits and imagining herself in his place, facing down terrible monsters and uncovering ancient secrets.
The breaking point had come that evening, during what was supposed to be a quiet family dinner. Lord Aldric had announced his intention to arrange a formal betrothal between Thalyn and the Duke’s son, pending the outcome of their meeting at the harvest festival. The news had struck Thalyn like a physical blow, and she had found herself on her feet before she realized she was moving.
“I won’t do it,” she had declared, her voice carrying a strength that surprised even her. “I won’t be bartered away like a prize heifer to secure some political alliance.”
The argument that followed had been fierce and painful, with accusations and recriminations flying back and forth across the dining table. Lord Aldric had spoken of duty and responsibility, of the obligations that came with noble birth. Lady Elara had wept, pleading with her daughter to see reason and accept the life that had been planned for her. But Thalyn had remained unmoved, her resolve hardening with each word.
“You don’t understand,” she had said, her voice breaking with emotion. “I’m suffocating here. Every day is the same—the same conversations, the same expectations, the same meaningless rituals. I want to live, truly live, not just exist as an ornament in someone else’s grand design.”
“I wouldn’t have taken you in—” The conversation had ended abruptly with Lord Aldric storming from the room, his face flushed with anger and disappointment. Lady Elara had followed, leaving Thalyn alone with her thoughts and the weight of her decision. She had spent the night pacing her chambers, wrestling with doubt and determination in equal measure. By dawn, her choice was made.
Thalyn Brightbloom never intended to vanish completely. Not truly. But the air in the Brightbloom estate had become too still, too perfumed with politics and pretense. Every hour of her life was measured in expectation—the perfect tea pour, the strategic curtsy, the gentle nod at the right foreign diplomat. Her future had been written in the curl of a family crest and sealed in courtly wax, a predetermined path that led inexorably toward a life of quiet desperation and unfulfilled dreams.
And then, one morning before the sun had warmed the frost from the garden hedges, she left.
No servants were alerted to her departure. No letters were penned to explain her actions or offer reassurance to her worried parents. She simply gathered a small pack containing her most essential belongings, borrowed a plain traveling cloak from the servants’ quarters, and slipped away into the pre-dawn darkness. The sharp thrill of uncertain freedom filled her chest as she walked down the estate’s long driveway for what she knew might be the last time.
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