The grand hall of the Maroon Palace was steeped in history, its towering ceilings adorned with banners from alliances forged long ago. Flickering candlelight cast shadows across the stone walls, and the air carried the weight of impending decisions. At the center of it all stood Princess Arlith, her shoulders squared as she faced her father and the assembled Farcoser council.

  King Farodin’s presence filled the chamber like an unshakable force. He was a man who had spent thirty-nine years waging war in the War of the Raging Flame, his battle-worn features are a testament to his sacrifices. Though his face bore the marks of time and hardship, his piercing gaze remained as sharp as ever, locked onto his daughter.

  “Arlith,” Farodin said, his voice steady but edged with urgency. Though he was a king, he was a father first, and he knew his daughter’s anxieties well. “The threat from the C?sr?thian Empire grows by the day. We must rally our allies in the coalition before it is too late. That is why I need you to go to the mainland—to seek out the Kisonic Humans, the Silven Elves, the Deep Dwarves.”

  Arlith swallowed hard, her hands clenching at her sides. She had spent her life standing in her father’s shadow, doubting whether she could ever live up to his legacy. The task he was placing on her shoulders felt insurmountable.

  “I understand, Father,” she said, though doubt gnawed at her. “But what if they refuse us? What if they have lost faith in our cause? I’m only twenty-six… The War of the Raging Flame lasted for nearly four decades. Will they even listen to me?”

  A tense silence followed her words, broken only when the Chancellor of the council pushed back his chair and stood. His aged face was lined with concern as he turned to the king.

  “Your Majesty, I must object,” the chancellor said, his voice heavy with worry. “The C?sr?thian Empire is not blind to our movements. If they discover that Arlith is traveling, they will send agents to capture her—use her as a bargaining piece against us.” His expression darkened. “We all remember what happened when her mother last ventured beyond these walls.”

  At those words, a hushed tension gripped the council.

  Before anyone else could speak, another figure rose from his seat—the Court Chaplain. Unlike the chancellor, his eyes burned with fervor rather than fear.

  “Does it matter?” the chaplain scoffed. “For years, people have waited for Aeloria’s return—perhaps she has finally come.” His gaze fixed on Arlith. “She was born on the very day Aeloria and Zaryx fell at each other’s hands. Perhaps it is destiny that she will bring balance.”

  The moment the words left his lips, the chamber erupted into chaos.

  Some of the council scoffed at the notion, while others murmured among themselves, debating the implications. The clash of voices rose, the argument threatening to spiral out of control—until Farodin stood.

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  “Enough.”

  His voice was not raised, yet it carried through the hall with the weight of authority. His fingers rested on the hilt of his sword—a silent reminder of the battles he had fought and the lives he had taken. The chamber fell into stillness.

  Farodin’s gaze softened as he turned back to Arlith. “You remind me of your mother,” he said quietly. “Loryth had a way of making people believe in something greater than themselves. I know you have that same gift.” He took a step forward. “That is why I ask you to find those who still believe in a united front. You are not just our envoy. You are our hope.”

  Arlith inhaled sharply as a flicker of confidence ignited within her chest. She had long dreamed of seeing the world beyond Farcos, of understanding the lands that war had torn apart. And now, she would have her chance.

  Farodin turned to a nearby chest and lifted the lid, revealing a silver pendant engraved with their house sigil. He took it carefully and stepped toward her. “This will mark you as a Farcoser,” he said. “It will protect you on your journey and remind you of our bond.”

  As he placed the pendant around her neck, Arlith’s breath hitched. Then, before she could react, he pulled her into an embrace. A stunned silence fell over the council—Farodin had always been a distant man, hardened by war. Yet in this moment, he was simply a father saying goodbye to his daughter.

  His voice was barely a whisper against her ear. “Go now, my child. And may Aeloria watch over you.”

  Arlith pulled back, meeting his gaze one last time before nodding. “I will not fail you.”

  The sun hung low on the horizon, casting an amber glow over the sprawling island of Farcos. Arlith stood at the edge of the Varthir estate, gripping the silver pendant as she gazed at the distant sea. A storm of emotions swirled within her—determination, uncertainty, fear, and excitement.

  With a steadying breath, she turned away and began her preparations.

  She rode through the streets of Arloch, where the bustle of daily life unfolded around her. Merchants called out their wares, children weaved between carriages, and the distant hum of magic-powered factories filled the air. Smoke curled into the sky from the forges, a symbol of Farcos’s ever-growing shift from medieval traditions to something new.

  The salty breeze from the harbor reached her, mingling with the scent of burning coal. The sight of the port filled her with a mix of relief and apprehension. There, waiting for her, was her entourage—soldiers standing in disciplined formation, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun.

  She dismounted her horse and approached. “Who is in command?” she asked, her voice steady but quiet.

  A tall figure stepped forward, his posture rigid with military discipline. “I am Sorvin,” he said. His sky-blue eyes shone with pride, but there was a weight in them—one that Arlith couldn’t quite place. “I will be leading your escort, my lady.”

  Arlith studied him for a moment. “And where will we be heading first?”

  “Your father has ordered that we travel to the Kingdom of Orinda,” Sorvin replied. “The Silven Elves will be expecting us.”

  Arlith nodded, glancing at the rest of the entourage. Some of the soldiers checked their scroll-lock firearms and revolvers, ensuring they were in working condition. Others murmured, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.

  Her gaze then landed on a lone figure standing apart from the others—an Irithil mage. He wore the traditional robes of his kind, woven from natural fibers that shimmered in hues of deep green, brown, and silver. Intricate tattoos of intertwining roots and branches curled up his arms, symbols of his attunement to celestial magic.

  As she stared at him, something inside her shifted.

  A vision struck her without warning.

  A woman, radiant and powerful, laughing in a landscape teeming with life. Beside her, a man—his presence dark yet familiar, his smile mirroring hers. The vision shifted. Fire engulfed them both. A battlefield consumed the figures, their powers clashing under the moonlit sky. Flames and shadows danced as they struck at each other, their destinies entwined in chaos.

  Then, like shattered glass, the vision broke apart.

  Arlith gasped, stumbling back. The world snapped into focus, but something was wrong. She was no longer at the port. Sunlight streamed through unfamiliar windows, casting warm light over polished wood. She was in a cabin—a captain’s quarters, judging by the map-strewn desk and the gentle sway of the ship beneath her feet.

  Her fingers trembled as she grasped the silver pendant at her neck, grounding herself in reality.

  "How did I get here? Wasn't I not just at a port with Sorvin and the entourage?" She whispered under her breath, confusion and worry about what just happened flooded her mind.

  As she began to slowly steady her breath once again, one thought settled in her mind.

  And that was whatever lay ahead, this journey would change everything that she knows about this world and herself.