Deep in the heartlands of a prospering, young country sat a behemoth of a palace, cradled in the gentle valley of two towering hills. It sat crouched at the foot of a sparkling green lake, beleaguered in the distance by a ring of towering pines.

The idyllic picture of the palace’s surroundings was completed by the grand building itself. The man-made construct did nothing to detract from the beauty of the scene, nor did it clash with the design of nature’s hand itself, as if moulded to fit precisely within the landscape. The building itself was a marvel of white and gold, with towering spires and highlights of emerald – gems that glimmered in the cascading sunlight.

Within the grand palace, there sat a hidden away room at the end of a hallway, far from the central areas of the building. Within that room sat a young woman, in the latter of her teen years. She was beautiful, in the perfect, lifeless way only a doll could be. Tan, olive skin unblemished as a baby’s and soft caramel hair that fell in waves, brushing against her waist, defined her. Cream robes draped her frame, and hazel pools reflected her eyes in the mirror she stared into.

And yet, for all her doll-ish beauty, she seemed just that – a doll. Her face, cleaned and painted to perfection, lacked the barest touch of emotion. The flecks of gold in her iris' were dulled, as lacklustre as common ore. They lacked the light of will, her eyes drab brown windows into the snuffed candle of intellect that was her mind.

Servants in bland attire stood to her sides, roughly tugging at the girl’s hair with solid ivory combs. There was little tenderness in their swift, practiced movements, but their skill was apparent. Under their ministrations, the girl’s hair was transformed into a lustrous, thick braid piled high on her head, styled in a perfect imitation of just the latest fashion trend. And not a smidge different – no bold alterations or daring attempts at trendsetting adorned her style, not in her hair, nor in any other part of her appearance.

The perfect doll – the perfect trinket, styled just right to fade into the palace’s opulent design. As gaudy and lifeless as the scones that clung to the walls of the ballroom.

The girl’s day progressed much the same as most of her life. She was led out of her room with hard tugs of her hand, placed in just the perfect spot in whatever room was hosting the first party of the day, positioned against a wall she could blend into. Her job was simple: to fade away from the perception of the guests, entirely ignored save for a few derisive looks and the one maid whose job it was to bring the girl breakfast.

Afterward, just after the important guests leave but just before the lesser important guests leave, she would be dragged away by yet another servant and dropped off in a dark, hidden hallway. And it would be at this spot, at this time of the day, that the girl would show her first hint of emotion in the day.

She fidgets, her fingers grabbing the inner folds of whatever intricate dress adorns her that day. She doesn’t bite her nails, she’s learnt not to do that anymore. Nor does she mess with her clothes in any way that might ruin her perfect appearance. But her nerves manifested nonetheless, in the slight bite of the corner of her lip, the pinching of the cloth of her dress, the jittery movements of her feet against the carpeted floor.

After exactly five minutes of waiting – though the girl had yet to realize the time was exactly the same, every day – a figure would materialize out of the darkness behind her. With only the slightest startle, the girl would whirl around and face the man.

The towering man would step close to the girl, forcing her to crane her neck up to meet his eyes. The man’s brown eyes would reflect a strange, incomprehensible light, his face impassive as he regarded the nervous girl.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Then, wordlessly, the man would clasp the woman’s wrist with his own large hand, leading her – gently for once – out of the suffocating darkness of the hallway and into the light of the outdoors.

The man would lead her out to a private courtyard, far from the eyes of all but a few of the palace’s residents. The courtyard was gated and had a bare sandy floor. It was littered with an assortment of training objects, ranging from ringed plates that served as shooting targets to dummy bodies made of hay, wood, and sand.

The girl knew the courtyard well, and every trinket within its gated confines. She spent the majority of her day, every day since that one day, within the yard, baking under the sun or soaking in the rain. No matter how vengeful nature’s wrath, the girl would spend more than half a day, at minimum, within the yard.

She would train under various tutors, each of whom would teach her for several months, all of whom would never be heard from again. Not that the girl was aware of it. No, the girl was aware of little else beyond her scheduled life.

Each tutor would spend their time honing the girl’s skill in their respective fields, drilling her over and over again until she could wield a blade like an extension of her body, fire a bow quicker than all but the greatest of experts, and wrestle a grown man twice her weight to the ground with but a few moves.

The tutors cared little for the girl’s pain, driving her to the brink of physical exhaustion, and then a mile more, before forcing her to reset her body and begin again. But the girl did not complain, most days did not utter a sound at all. She’d learned not to, quickly.

In fact, she learnt most everything quickly, with a speed that astounded even the most seasoned of her tutors. From the basics of horse riding to the complexities of high level Artes and Battle Styles, the girl seemed to have an innate talent towards every skill she was presented with. A few repetitions were all it would take for her movements to flow with the fluidity of a master. Within months, she would exhaust the decades' worth of her tutors' knowledge and skill, and when that day would come, the tutor would be sent back home with their promised hefty sum of gold.

Only, strangely, those tutors never seemed to make it to their homes, always mysteriously disappearing somewhere on their journey, their gold vanishing with them. And, given the secrecy of the job the tutors had agreed to, few in their lives would know enough to go looking for them.

The man who would bring the girl to the yard would often stay to watch, sitting in the shade of a lean-to on one end of the yard. He would watch for hours, with that same indifference painted on his face, that same strange glint in his eye. Failures would elicit no response from him, but any time the girl would accomplish a feat of incredible skill, the man’s mask of indifference would crack. He would smile a broad, warm smile, clap, and offer a few words of praise.

Those few words would spark the only other emotion the girl would ever show. A light would bloom in her eyes, and a smile would curl her lips in just the slightest curve. Her perfect, dollish beauty would crack, revealing the human underneath for all but the briefest of moments, before fading away like it had never been there.

Of all the varying skills the woman trained in, however, there was one in which she devoted far more time than the rest. The only skill that required no imported tutor, but was instead taught by the middle-aged man himself. Though the girl hardly needed a tutor at all, not when it came to water-based combat. Because, for all her talents in almost every field of battle, it was her affinity with water that was truly beyond fathom.

At her tender age, the young woman was already easily among the best water mages on the continent, though none besides the man knew of it. Not even the woman herself. With her terrifying natural talent and affinity towards the element combined with the endless resources and money poured into her by the middle-aged man, the birth of a monstrously powerful mage was all but guaranteed. And indeed, the young woman was shaping up to be a monster of proportions beyond what even the man had guessed himself.

And the man had done everything he could possibly have done to ensure that future mage – who would undoubtedly wield the power of a full-blown army one day – would remain tightly within his grasp. The kingmaking weapon that she had the potential to be would be wielded only by him. So tightly did he hold onto the reins of her mind and heart, he believed, that she wouldn’t dare take a step if he didn’t wish her to.

And with that kind of control over the kind of weapon that she would soon be, there were few who would be able to stop him from realizing all of his grand ambitions. The little country he ruled now would only be a stepping stone for him, a small footnote to the empire he would soon build.

Or so he believed.