I don't know what I did to deserve this. Maybe it was all my brothers' sins — those tall, muscular, merciless creatures, each one worse than the last. Karma took one look at their auras and fled. But karma, being karma, still had to balance the scales. So it chose me — the smallest, youngest, most immature of them all — deciding that tormenting me might finally draw their attention.
Well, the joke is on you, Karma. My brothers cared more for a rusted pin on a deserted road than they ever did for me. And as always, I swallowed it — like I was born to accept being forgotten.
My brother was not wrong when he called me weak and lonely — because it was true. I'm the black sheep of the family, in case you missed the memo. And the universe? It wasn't exactly subtle about it.
I've read the stories. You know, the ones with the powerless outcast, shunned by all, who turns out to be the chosen one. Saves the world. Wins the girl.
But here's the twist: I. Do Not. Care.
Not about the power. Not about the girl. Not about the people and their stupid, whispered comments.
My brothers' words cut deep sometimes, sure. But at the end of the day? It's just me.
Me, my thoughts… and my diary.
…
Queen Nyara had left the palace for the first time since the war, and none were permitted to witness it. Not the citizens of Solara, not the students of the Soulborne Academy — only the principal, tall and austere, arms folded like a sovereign cloaked in intellect. His spectacles did not soften him; danger lingered in his stance, the kind that recalled Lucen's elder brother… and the entourage that never smiled. Lucen stood behind his mother, uncertain, unprepared, yet knowing he must be ready.
So too had the King of Loxmere left his fortress for the first time since the war, setting foot upon Solara soil. The princess accompanied him, though she had long been hidden from the world while her brothers carried out the King's will — overseeing taxes, trade, and cruelties unspoken. The Sons of Noxmere did all, yet remained unseen. Only two had ever crossed into Solara, and even then, behind closed doors. No citizen was permitted to behold the face of Noxmere royalty. The penalty was absolute.
Not death. Something worse.
A punishment so merciless that even death dared not intervene.
As they waited, Queen Nyara saw the unease in her son's eyes. "What troubles you, my son?" she asked, her voice calm as stone, the headmaster and attendants turning aside to grant them privacy.
"I fear this is a ploy, Mother. That Noxmere seeks to conquer Solara utterly," Lucen said, his gaze narrowing.
Queen Nyara inclined her head. "The possibility is real, but unlikely."
"Why do you trust them so, after all they have wrongs they have done your people? Why remain silent, why remain hopeful?" Lucen pressed, anger burning within him.
Queen Nyara's smile was warm, her hand gentle upon his shoulder. "If Noxmere wished to destroy us, they would have done so long ago. I do not speak from allegiance, but from faith. My son, all things unfold by design. To resist that design is to deepen your fear and cloud your sight, blinding you to the beauty that endures. Time may wound, but it also heals. Yield to destiny, my child. Do not fight it — embrace it."
"So all this pain, all this suffering, all these tears… they were destined? Solara was destined to be enslaved?" Lucen asked, his voice steady.
Queen Nyara laughed softly, a sound Lucen had longed to hear. "You see only the shadow because you choose to see it. Destiny is sacred, primal, unyielding. It rolls onward like a stone, heedless of tears or triumphs, yet it rewards patience. Tell me, why does a mother prey bring forth life only to see it devoured? If birth were meant for suffering, she would have chosen silence. And what of the predator, who too was born into this world? How would it survive without prey to feed on? My son, all beneath the sun has its role, allotted by destiny. Play yours. Others will play theirs. You entered this world alone, and alone you shall depart. Concern yourself with others only when destiny decrees it."
Lucen lifted his eyes. "So my enrollment… was that destiny?"
"Destiny is a puzzle mortals cannot solve. It shows only the end, never the path. The path is left to free will — long or short, smooth or jagged, known or hidden. That is the mortal's burden."
Lucen blinked. A simple question, and yet his mother spoke like a prophet in a trance. "Mother, am I truly the best choice? I have no gift, no guardian. How am I to learn among the others? I will only stain the bloodline."
Queen Nyara's brows rose. "Lucen, Light that Blinds, are you surrendering to the poison your brothers have fed you? I thought your stubbornness surpassed even the Son of Lyra, the second prince."
Lucen sighed. "Even stubbornness must yield to reality. I care little for abilities or for the opinions of others, but this is no longer personal. I must live with these people for a year or maybe more. And it has been years since a royal joined the Academy — not since Tirien, Son of Hercules and eleventh prince."
"I thought you cared least for the crown's burdens," Queen Nyara said with a tender smile. "You have a heart of gold, my boy. Do not bury it beneath pain."
"Wise words from the radiant Nyara, Queen of Solara, Daughter of the Flame of Dawn, Aureon."
The voice was dark, yet laced with charm — a mingling of power, seduction, and quiet dread.
Queen Nyara turned, standing face to face with the Veiled Sovereign, a man whose footsteps did more than echo.
They spoke without words.
Each step was an incantation, each sound a spell that painted fear upon the heart.
The glare was silent, yet in those two minutes a full discourse passed — wordless, yet resounding. Princess Nyreal touched King Noctorian lightly from behind before he withdrew.
Queen Nyara, Prince Lucen, and all present bowed before the royalty of Noxmere.
"Welcome to Solara, My Lord," Queen Nyara said, her head lowered.
"Everything is in place… is it not, Queen Nyara?" King Noctorian asked, his words heavy, more decree than question.
"Yes, My Lord," she replied.
"You must wonder at the sudden decision," he continued, as the assembly rose.
"Yes, My Lord," Queen Nyara answered with grace.
"Then you have nothing to fear if your subjects are as steadfast as you," he said, narrowing his eyes.
"I do not fear, My Lord. King Noctorian is welcome to act as he deems fit," Queen Nyara answered, her stance unshaken, her voice calm as stone.
He gave a slight nod. "Ah, forgive me. This is Princess Nyreal, the Duskflower Unmarked, Daughter of the House of the Sovereign of Silence — Tharion, Child of the Null-light."
They bowed in reverence.
"She shall represent Noxmere within the Soulborne Academy. Such reverence is required," King Noctorian declared, his tone edged with warning.
"Yes, My Lord," Queen Nyara bowed again.
His gaze swept the hall, cold and searching, until it settled upon Lucen. "And who might you be?"
Queen Nyara turned, realizing the question was meant for her son. "Pardon me, My Lord. This is a child of the House of the Flame of Dawn."
Suspicion curled in King Noctorian's voice. "Another? I thought I knew them all."
"He is adopted, My Lord," Queen Nyara explained — a revelation that startled Lucen and the others.
"Adopted?" King Noctorian's tone was unconvinced.
"Yes, My Lord. The House of the Flame of Dawn took another son, for all His sons were absent from the kingdom."
A mocking tilt of the head. "Ah, now it is clear. A peasant within the House of the Flame of Dawn… Tell me, is that how far the mighty have fallen?"
Queen Nyara's discomfort was hidden too well, though Noctorian seemed to savor the moment, maintaining his stern mask to preserve his aura of menace.
"Why then enroll a peasant into the Soulborne Academy? Is it not forbidden, for they lack supernatural gifts?"
"To ensure the princess's safety and comfort. Though the principal and the council provide security, it is best to have one attendant devoted to her needs," Queen Nyara said, her words measured, her tone unwavering. Lucen, meanwhile, struggled to follow her design, his thoughts racing.
"Then why not a female to attend her always?" King Noctorian pressed.
"A male is preferable in this case. Though women are capable, within the Academy, a man may serve better. Lucen may lack a talent, but he has trained well," Queen Nyara assured, her voice carrying the weight of finality.
King Noctorian's gaze dissected Lucen, stripping him bare with its weight. "So be it. If he can guard Noxmere's Treasure, I shall not press further. But know this: if harm befalls the princess, Solara shall bear the blame."
Queen Nyara fell to the ground, her head bowed. "May all harm fall upon me, My Lord!" she declared, her words solemn as an oath.
Noctorian flinched — ever so slightly — caught off guard, though his face remained cold.
"Rise," he commanded.
They obeyed.
"You have given me your word. That is enough," he said, and Queen Nyara bowed once more.
At her signal, the principal and three students approached, bowing low.
"Thank you for gracing us, My King. I am Headmaster Virell. I shall care for Noxmere's Treasure," the principal said, his voice formal, reverent.
King Noctorian studied him keenly, then nodded. "So you are the one who has kept the Soulborne Academy intact all these years?"
"Yes, My King," Principal Virell bowed.
"Then Princess Nyreal is in your care."
"Thank you, My King," Principal Virell and the students bowed again.
King Noctorian turned to his precious gem, nodded once, as she returned the gesture.
Then he faced Queen Nyara. "I shall take my leave. You should as well."
She bowed. He nodded, then turned — shadow clinging to him, death blooming in his steps.
Queen Nyara walked the other way, her glow moving before her like prophecy, each step a hymn of grace.
Two worlds upon the same soil, bound by unspoken tension, unspoken fears, and an unspoken fate.