The palace of Aurelia had always been a place of quiet dignity—
but in the a week following the grand celebration,
the marble halls began to murmur.
Not with music.
Not with joy.
But with fear.
It began with a single sentence whispered by a nobleman too frightened to speak it loudly:
"No ordinary girl breaks an ancient curse."
By noon, the rumor had evolved.
"She's a dark witch."
"She enchanted the princess."
"Even the king fears her."
By sunset, the story had taken shape , twisted , sharpened, and poisoned .
Aurelia's nobles were masters of one craft: turning ignorance into a weapon .
Fourteen nobles gathered inside a private chamber,
surrounded by enchanted walls meant to keep unwanted ears out , and unwanted truths in .
Lord Thandrel slammed a report onto the table.
"She healed the princess too easily.
No mage, no healer, no scholar could do it.
That girl—Riven—holds forbidden power."
Lady Velmorin narrowed her eyes.
"If the royal family will not see the threat, " then we must ."
A silence followed—
the kind that grows teeth.
"Call the Arcanists," someone whispered.
"The Investigators from the Eastern Sanctum."
"Let them examine her energy."
A vote was taken.
Unanimous.
The next morning, cloaked figures arrived at the palace—
High Arcanists, trained to sense even the faintest trace of illegal magic.
They did not meet Riven face-to-face; even they feared provoking her .
Instead, they examined the lingering energy she left behind in the princess's room,
the traces on the bed,
the faint residue of power in the air.
Hours later, they reconvened with the nobles.
The eldest Arcanist spoke with a trembling voice.
"There is… something ancient inside the girl."
The nobles leaned forward.
"Identify it," Lord Thandrel demanded.
The Arcanist swallowed hard.
"We cannot.
Her inner energy is foreign… not tied to any school of magic in our world.
Not light, not shadow, not elemental, not divine."
"It is… older and darker .
Far older than this kingdom.
And her power is even stronger than she shows , and there something inside her sleeps like a sealed monster."
A chill pressed into the room like cold fog . The nobles exchanged horrified glances .
"Can she control it?"
"Could that thing inside her resurface?"
"Is she using it on the princess?"
The Arcanist hesitated.
"We do not know what it is. Only that it is strong… and hidden .
As if something—someone—is suppressing its true form."
(They would never guess Morrivayne.
She did not belong in any book they had ever read.)
Meanwhile, in the Royal Chambers
The king read the same report.
Twice.
Three times.
His hands tightened.
"This could be interpreted as a threat."
The queen shook her head firmly. Or a blessing .
Without that mysterious power, our daughter would be dead."
He looked at his wife, troubled.
"But she has something inside her that even our Arcanists cannot name."
"And yet," the queen whispered,
"she has never once used it against us.
Or against anyone."
The king exhaled heavily.
"For now… we will watch her.
And we will protect her.
Until we understand more."
Princess Lyria heard every rumor,
every whisper,
every accusation.
She stood at her balcony, hands gripping the railing.
"Why do they fear her…
when she saved me?"
She closed her eyes.
She still remembered Riven's hands on her chest,
warm and steady—
and the quiet, confident whisper:
"You'll be alright. Don't worry."
A whisper no dark witch would say.
Lyria pressed a hand to her heart.
"They're wrong.
They're all wrong about her."
But even she could feel it—
that strange shadow behind Riven's golden eyes.
A presence watching.
Waiting.
Not evil—
but vast.
Ancient.
And nothing in their world…
…could explain it.