Elyra Morrthaine was born into a commoner family, a class that held little recognition in society.In her world, commoners were not permitted to carry lineage names as surnames, and most had long forgotten the names of their ancestors.

Thus, "Morrthaine" was not a family name but simply part of her full name, a marker of her identity in a world that often overlooked people like her.

In the year 2806, 6 years ago, Elyra faced a pivotal moment in her life: the Dream Realm Trial.

This trial was a sacred rite of passage, a chance to awaken an Echo Power—a mystical ability tied to one's soul and destiny.

However, despite her determination and hope, Elyra failed to became an Echo.

Heartbroken and filled with doubt, she returned home, replaying the trial in her mind, wondering where she had gone wrong.

As she stepped through the door, she was met with devastating news. Her mother had tragically died while giving birth to her little sister.

The weight of this loss was crushing, compounded by the fact that her father had already passed away six months earlier in a coal mining accident.

In a matter of moments, Elyra's world shattered. She was now an orphan, responsible for a newborn sister in a society that offered little support to those of her station.

She had lost everything—her future and her past. Her future, which once held the promise of becoming an esteemed columnist in an official newspaper, now lay in ruins.

The protection and love of her parents, her anchor in life, were also gone, leaving her adrift in a world that felt colder and more unforgiving than ever before.

The only tangible remnant of her past was the home her parents had left behind. But when she returned to it, hoping to find solace, she was met with a cruel twist of fate.

When she arrived, she found strangers waiting inside—two unfamiliar figures, a man and a woman, cradling her newborn sister.

They called themselves relatives.

It was the first time she had ever heard that word spoken in relation to herself.

"Relatives. What a convenient species—they only appeared when you had nothing left."

She wasn't naive. She understood what strangers meant when they stood in your home uninvited.

The malice in their eyes was unmistakable. But as she studied them, she couldn't deny the resemblance the woman bore to her mother. They weren't necessarily lying.

Her mind spiraled, her thoughts unraveling as she stood there, frozen at her own doorstep. "What are they after?".

"What could possibly interest them?"

This journey into the dream realm—a place where one always took back something useful, no matter how tragic the experience, had sharpened her instincts for survival.

She had learned to trust her gut, and now it screamed at her to be wary.

Then, suddenly, her gaze landed on the man's face, and her body froze.

If it were said that a beautiful noblewoman had given birth to her and then left her in this commoner's house, it wouldn't be far-fetched.

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The simplicity of her appearance, no makeup, no adornments, only enhanced her natural beauty, making it all the more striking.

He now understood clearly why, during their journey and even during the trial, nobles had been stealing glances at her. She, naive as she was, thought it was natural. "We are companions," she had reasoned.

To her, there was no difference between nobles and commoners.

But the commoners around her saw it truthfully—the way the nobles looked at her, the unspoken divide that separated her from them. Even as they walked from Zul'vharra City toward the Dream Realm, the difference was clear.

For the first time in his life, he saw a human behaving like a beast, lust burning in their eyes as they gazed at her.

Her instincts, heightened in the Dream Realm for survival, screamed at her to run—to flee with all her strength. Otherwise, she would be dragged into inevitable suffering.

The tension in the air was palpable, and the danger felt closer than ever. She needed to act, to escape, before it was too late.

She turned, ready to flee but then she heard it.

A cry.

A desperate, innocent wail from the infant in the woman's arms.

Her little sister.

A tiny, angelic face twisted in distress, wailing in the woman's arms. Whether the baby sensed the suffocating tension in the air or was simply crying out for food, Elyra didn't know. But she knew one thing, her little sister was calling for her.

The baby reached out, tiny fingers trembling in the cold air, unaware of the danger in the room.

Elyra stopped.

She stepped forward, her movements deceptively calm. She reached out as if to take the child—then, with all the force she could muster, she slapped the woman across the face.

The crack of impact echoed through the house.

Before the woman could react, Elyra drove a brutal kick into her abdomen, sending her stumbling.

The child tumbled from her grasp. Elyra caught her in one swift motion.

Then she ran.

She ran with everything she had, her muscles screaming, her lungs burning. She never looked back.

She never returned to that house.

She moved from one rented room to another, carrying her sister, struggling to survive.

She started to despise commoners, calling them illiterate and narrow-minded, while she saw nobles as broad-minded.

Reality hit her like the relentless sunlight of Senthora, every day brought new struggles.

She begged nobles for work, but all she received were lustful advances.

The difference was that nobles masked their desires with honeyed words, simply hid behind layers of civility, waiting like serpents to strike while commoners let their intentions show plainly in their eyes.

Others made false promises offering her work with no pay for years, claiming she would be "rewarded" when she became more skilled.

She didn't have years.

She had a starving child in her arms.

With no other options, she began scavenging for food, taking leftovers from restaurants.

She would take a small bite, crush it in her mouth, and then feed it to her little sister. It was a heartbreaking routine, but it kept them alive.

Though she was tired and her screams for help went unheard, the sight of her sister's face always reignited a spark of determination within her.

She pushed herself harder, driven by the need to provide for the one person who depended on her.

Survival was the fundamental impulse that drove humanity to persevere, a defiant stance against the unforgiving forces of existence. Life and death stood as eternal sentinels, polar opposites that framed the human experience. Between these two extremes, a ceaseless struggle unfolded, as mortals wrestled against the whims of fate. And at the heart of this primal drive lay the most elemental, yet selfish, of human desires: "The Will To Live".

To cope with her pain, she began writing. She poured her struggles, her anger, and her hopes into a book, but no one read it.

Undeterred, she started her own newspaper, a one-woman army fighting to make her voice heard.

Slowly, her efforts began to pay off. She sold news, and though the income was meager, it was enough to pay her sister's academy fees and put decent food on the table.

Her talent with words started to gain recognition. Noble womens, intrigued by her eloquence, began commissioning poems and phrases for their birthday parties and events.

It was a small victory, but it gave her a foothold in a society that had once dismissed her.

Yet, life in Zul'vharra City was a constant struggle.

"Money flows like a river—earned in one hand, lost in another."

"Coins change hands, but never find a home."

"Wealth in Zul'vharra is a fleeting shadow, never truly owned."

"Gold lingers for a moment, only to slip away."

These phrases of her spread among commoners, echoing through the streets until even the noble families began to speak them.

She was a woman of immense strength, her nerves forged in the fires of hardship.

She endured pain and suffering, trimming away the parts of herself that could break, emerging as a gemstone, rough and unpolished, but undeniably precious.

All she needed was a chance to shine, but in a world that thrived on inequality, who would give her that opportunity?

She was strong.

A gemstone formed through suffering.

But gemstones do not shine on their own.

They need light.

And who would give her that chance?