Tossing and turning on her bed as she struggled to sleep, Arlith let out a soft sigh, her golden hair splayed across her pillow like spilled sunlight. The night had been long and restless, her mind unable to find peace as strange whispers crawled through the edges of her consciousness. Shadows twisted in her thoughts, flickering like candle flames, evading her grasp every time she reached for them.

  The first rays of sunlight began to seep through the heavy curtains of her chamber, painting the room in a soft golden hue. Despite the soothing warmth, a chill clung to her skin, settling deep in her bones. She curled into herself, fingers grasping the silken sheets tightly as if they could shield her from the unease gnawing at her. A whimper slipped past her lips.

  Then, the voice that she heard regularly returned to her dreams.

  "Don’t you remember what we had before you abandoned me?"

  It wasn’t just anger this time. It was something older, something laced with sorrow and resentment as if the very air around her had been steeped in mourning. The words coiled through her mind, their weight pressing down on her chest like an iron brand. The pressure was suffocating, wrapping around her ribs, squeezing until she felt she might shatter.

  "You know I wouldn't harm you, but yet you continue to resist me over and over again. Why?"

  A vision flashed through her mind—of hands reaching out, of shadows and fire surrounding her, of something slipping through her fingers like sand. Something precious that she seemed to have lost so long ago.

  Arlith jolted upright, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The nightgown that she was wearing clung to her damp skin, and her heart pounded in her ears like the drums of war. The remnants of the dream clung to her mind like a mist, it refused to fade even as she blinked rapidly, even as she tried to force herself back into reality.

  A sudden knock at the door shattered the heavy silence, making Arlith's head snap towards her door with a mix of emotions: uneasy fear, curiosity, and anticipation.

  "Ma’am Arlith, your father has requested your presence."

  The voice—firm yet respectful—came from the other side of the thick wooden door of Arlith's chamber, belonging to one of the castle servants. Making her realize that the world outside had not paused for her restless mind.

  Arlith swallowed the dryness in her throat and raked a trembling hand through her tangled hair. Slowly, she slid off the bed, her bare feet touching the cool stone floor. Every movement felt sluggish, as though she was wading through unseen currents trying to pull her back down into the dream.

  She forced herself to move, stepping toward the door. With a weary sigh, she cracked it open, her light blue eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Tell my father I shall be there shortly," she murmured.

  The servant upon hearing Arlith's voice gives a small bow before turning around, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

  Alone once more, Arlith exhaled and rested her forehead against the door for a brief moment, trying to compose herself, yet she felt like she couldn't.

  "Why does that voice stir such nameless longing?"

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  With practiced effort, she pushed the thoughts away and moved to dress. Her fingers worked on autopilot, fastening the delicate silver clasps of her gown, smoothing out the deep blue fabric that shimmered faintly in the morning light. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—disheveled hair, dark circles under her eyes, tension pinched at the corners of her lips. It felt like a stranger was staring back at her.

  Steeling herself, she stepped onto her balcony, letting the cool morning air wash over her. The sun had fully risen now, its golden glow blanketing the city beyond the castle walls. Merchants were already setting up stalls in the marketplace, their voices carrying on the wind. Life went on, oblivious to the weight pressing down on her chest.

  Still, something was missing.

  Something was coming.

  She turned on her heel, her flowing gown trailing behind her as she left her chambers and began to walk through the hallways.

  Farodin had not slept.

  The flickering candlelight cast deep shadows across his war table, illuminating the map spread before him. His hands rested on its edges, fingers tracing over the borders, the territories, the battlefields of old.

  His dark blue eyes, once alight with fire and ambition, were now heavy with exhaustion. Streaks of silver had begun creeping into his raven-black hair, evidence of the years that had weighed on him since that day.

  Since he lost Loryth.

  Her laughter still echoed in his mind, as if carried by a ghost wind. The way she had looked at him that last morning before she departed for the C?sr?thian Empire—so full of hope, so certain that peace was still possible.

  "Farodin, if we do not try to end the cycle, then we are no better than those who thrive in its violence."

  He had wanted to believe her. He had wanted to trust that the empire could be reasoned with.

  But when the news came back, when the message arrived with her sigil soaked in her own blood, all Farodin had left was war.

  And now, all these years later, he looked upon his daughter and saw the same fire, the same belief. And it terrified him.

  Sighing as he creaked open his chamber’s door, Farodin stepped out into the hallway and began to walk alone to the grand chamber where his council awaited. Upon arriving at the grand chamber, Farodin was given the latest news about the C?sr?thian Empire and their last known moments.

  As Arlith slowly walked it felt like the grand corridors of the castle were stretching before her, lined with towering stone pillars and banners bearing the sigil of her house—a silver falcon soaring against a navy sky. The rhythmic sound of her heels echoed against the polished floors as she made her way toward the throne room.

  Yet, even as she walked, flashes of another life haunted her—of power and purpose, of something beyond the confines of her duty as King Farodin’s daughter. She had spent her whole life learning the ways of diplomacy, of strategy, of statecraft. And yet… something inside her whispered that she was meant for something else.

  Only in dreams did hints of truth emerge, but they left her with more questions than answers.

  Arlith pushed the thoughts aside as she reached the towering doors of the grand chamber. Taking a steadying breath, she stepped inside.

  The atmosphere was tense, the usual murmur of courtiers and advisors absent. Instead, grim faces turned toward her, their expressions heavy with unspoken words.

  At the far end of the room, King Farodin stood with his back to her, gazing at the large map spread across the war table. His once-dark hair was now streaked with silver, his regal blue robes weighed down by unseen burdens.

  "Father," Arlith called softly as she approached, her heart tightening at the sight of him. "What’s wrong?"

  Farodin turned slowly, his dark blue eyes meeting hers, heavy with urgency. A storm loomed in their depths, a storm that could no longer be ignored.

  "The C?sr?thian Empire marches." His voice was steady as Arlith stiffened, but she could hear the strain beneath it.

  "Thalvaor himself leads their forces. His armies have already begun ravaging Alpine Satyr land. They have ignored all our calls for peace."

  A chill ran through her after hearing her father’s words, it was a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air.

  "War is inevitable."

  It was not unexpected—tensions had been rising for years, especially after the War of the Raging Flame—but hearing it spoken aloud made it real in a way that rumors never could.

  Farodin exhaled as he chose his next words carefully.

  "That is why you must leave."

  Arlith blinked, caught off guard by what her father had just said.

  "What?"

  "You are to be sent on a diplomatic mission. To rally allies. We cannot stand alone against the empire."

  Her breath hitched slightly.

  "You’re sending me away?"

  "I am protecting you." His voice was firm, though a crack of something deeper lay beneath it. "You are the key to our survival, Arlith. If we lose you, we lose everything."

  She became silent after her father's firmness, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. Yet, beneath the weight of looming war, something else stirred inside her.

  Something deeper.

  That voice—the one from her dreams—felt like no coincidence.

  The nameless longing inside her sharpened into something dangerously close to recognition.

  As her father and his advisors spoke of battle plans and war councils, Arlith stood silent, gazing at the map of the continent of Neltari.

  Her heart was racing.

  Not with fear.

  But with certainty.

  And for the first time, she wondered if the past she had forgotten was about to come rushing back.