Seventy years earlier:

The story does not begin with her.

It begins long before... with an empire that believed it could defy time.

In the past, long before the current kingdoms emerged from the ashes of history, only one name reigned throughout the continent: Ingrissia.

For more than eight centuries, the empire of Ingrissia extended its domination over land and seas. At its head, the Ingriss family, wrapped in myths and power, ruled with undisputed authority. Their banner floated over the frozen mountains of the North, the dense forests of the South, the burning plains of the East, up to the merchant ports of the West.

It was said that at that time, no war could break out without the agreement of the Ingriss, and that a simple decree of the emperor was enough to make the proudest nobles kneel.

But even the largest noble houses are not safe from ruin.

Everything was upside down at the death of Emperor Adaïr Ingriss, a feared and admired sovereign, whose disappearance during an expedition left such an immense void.

His nine children, princes and princesses, refused to bow to each other. And in the shadow of the funeral, the factions were already forming.

This was the beginning of a long fratricidal and bloody war, where loyalty was no longer worth anything, and where every heir dreamed of becoming the only master of the empire.

Finally, it was the third son, Asher Ingriss, who ascended the throne. A powerful and cold man ready to do anything... even to make the blood of his own brothers and sisters flow.

But Asher's reign was short-lived. Gnawed by a strange disease, he died only a few years after his coronation, leaving behind a young heir: Prince Rays.

The young Prince Rays was just a child when the crown was placed on his head. And it was not a golden crown, but invisible chains.

The great nobles, who had waited for their hour in the shadows, saw there their opportunity. They handled Rays like a puppet, offering him pleasures, women, wine and music to better put him to sleep. The child-king grew up in lust, unaware that the elixir he was made to drink every night gradually stealed his will and reason.

It was these same nobles who gave him the idea of shuffling the empire.

— Why keep so many useless territories? They said.
— Why not give more autonomy to the dukes and marquises?

And Rays, blinded by flattery, signed without understanding.

In a few years, Ingrissia's unit shattered. Duchies and marquisates proclaimed their independence, thus giving birth to several kingdoms.

Then came the ultimate betrayal: knowing the powerful constitution of the Ingriss, the nobles had the right of succession banned for women, the study of the sword, and introduced a cruel rule:

The succession will have to be done only in blood, and the throne will only return to the last prince still alive.

The princesses were reduced to political marriage tools, locked in golden mansions. The young princes, for their part, grew up knowing that one day their brothers would be their worst enemies.

Each generation became a little weaker, a little more submissive. And the nobles continued to reign.

After three centuries, what had been the largest empire on the continent was no more than a small coastal kingdom, isolated, mocked, forgotten.

The Ingriss family, once master of the world, barely survived, reduced to a lineage used.

And it is in this broken era that it was born.

Anna Ingriss, eleventh daughter of King Raideüs Straz Ingriss, a weak sovereign, manipulated like so many others before him.

She grew up in the cold corridors of the royal palace, ignored by the majority of her siblings.

His mother, the third queen, died without any ceremony.

His childhood, although golden in appearance, was marked by silence, fleeing glances, and the absurd rules imposed on princesses.

They were forbidden the art of the sword, as well as the study of great strategies. They were also forbidden to participate in family ceremonies.

Their destiny was traced: to be silent, to smile, and to please.

On his fifteenth birthday, this fate was announced to him as a sentence.

That day, in the hall of the throne, his father watched him from his gold-adorned seat.

His voice rose, without warmth, as if he was reciting a formality:

"Anna, get ready to leave the kingdom. You will be married to the third prince of Fraw. You will leave in three days. "

Anna had not reacted. She had no right to do so.

She lowered her eyes, her fists clenched against her dress.

A knot had formed in his throat, and in his heart, a bitter taste had settled.

But she was content to nod, like all her sisters before her.

That night, she did not sleep, she cried.
Something in her had broken.

The departure took place three days later. The carriage with the coat of arms of Ingrissia took the road under a stormy sky.

The guards were silent, the rain fell in a fine drizzle, and Anna, in her corner, watched the rain through the windows of the carriage.

She hadn't said a word since her father's announcement. She was young, but she already understood what it meant to "be born a woman" in her lineage.

But fate, capricious, was not ready to let her follow this well-traced path.

In the crossing of the Halgren mountains, the convoy was caught in a landslide.

The ground collapsed under the weight of the carriage, and the horses, panicked, pulled the vehicle straight into the void.

The carriage tipped. Screams. The shock.

Then... the silence.

When Anna opened her eyes, everything was blurry. His body was bruised, but as a living.

She was at the bottom of a ravine, alone, in a hostile and silent nature.

She tried to get up, staggered, then advanced slowly, her mind troubled.

That's when she saw it.

A boy barely younger than her. With black hair and the golden eyes, whose pupils were similar to those of a reptile. He watched him without a word.

Then, without asking any questions, he approached and held out his hand.

She should have fled. Scream. Refuse.

But his instincts told him the opposite.

This boy gave off a strange warmth. Almost familiar.

Without knowing why, she trusted him, and followed him without a word, through a series of natural tunnels, to a huge cave, hidden behind thick lianas.

The interior was of an unreal beauty.

Crystals sparkled along the walls, diffusing a soft glow.

An underground river slowly snaked between the rocks, and the air was warm, as if the cave was breathing.

The boy stopped, turned to her, and said with a smile:

"At the way, my name is Valthor... and I am the guardian dragon of the Ingriss"

Before she could react, a light broke out around him.

His body seemed to dislocate, to transform. Huge black wings sproused from his back. Scales appeared. His eyes took on a fierce intensity.

In front of her, stood a huge, and majestic black dragon with golden eyes.

Immense and powerful.

The dragon stared at her.

"Happy to meet you, descendant of the mythical king of heroes... Raiden. "


                           To be continued...