In the dining room, a long table is adorned with fine silverware and crystal glasses. Agneyastra, clad in a flowing robe, occupies a seat next to Pyla, who exudes an air of confidence, at one end. At the opposing end, Marudeva, wise and composed, commands attention with each word. Emathion and Sinai flank Agneyastra, providing unwavering support, while Ramil sits directly across from her, his eyes filled watching her every move.
Agneyastra's troubled gaze drifts to her breakfast, a spread of delectable treats untouched on her plate. Pyla, perceptive and caring, reaches out to break the silence. “You need to eat,” she insists gently, her voice carrying a hint of urgency. “The dean will arrive soon.”
Despite Pyla's reassurance, doubts consume Agneyastra's mind. She voices her fear in a hushed tone, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “What if I fail you all?” she murmurs, almost as if afraid to give life to her deepest anxieties.
Marudeva, the pillar of assurance, responds with unwavering conviction. His voice carries a calm authority that quells Agneyastra's unease. “That will not happen,” Marudeva affirms. “You have dedicated weeks in preparation, honing your skills and knowledge. You are more than ready for this exam.”
Sinai gently pulled on her arm, offering words of encouragement. “You will do great,” Sinai said, their voice filled with unwavering belief.
Agneyastra was grateful for Sinai's steadfast support, their reassurance serving as a welcome balm to her nerves. A grateful smile curved across her face as she replied, “Thank you.”
As Agneyastra sought solace in Sinai's comforting words, her attention was momentarily captured by Ramil. With a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth, he stood up abruptly, his gaze locked upon Agneyastra before he quickly averted his eyes to Pyla. “Mother, I am off,” his voice carried a hint of apprehension.
Marudeva broke the silence with a question, concern lacing his voice. “Why won't you be here to support Agneyastra, Ramil?”
Ramil, ever composed, raised his juice glass to his lips, taking a small sip as he contemplated his response. Placing the glass back on the table, he turned to his father, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Agneyastra has nothing to worry about, father. She is capable of great things. All she needs to do is give it her all and not hold back in the exam.” With those words of encouragement, Ramil calmly excused himself from the dining room.
As the last bites were savored and empty plates remained, Emathion gracefully rose from his seat, offering a helping hand to Pyla. Together, they cleared the table, their movements synchronized and efficient. The clatter of cutlery and the soft swish of a dishcloth could be heard, a harmonious symphony of morning chores.
Meanwhile, Marudeva, Agneyastra, and Sinai wandered into the living room, the plush cushions on the sofa invited them, and they sank into them with contentment. Soft laughter and snippets of conversation filled the air as they settled into the comfort of their shared space. After a brief while, Pyla and Emathion rejoined the others.
Just as they were getting comfortable, a knock resounded from the sturdy, wooden front door. Marudeva was quick to answer it, revealing the esteemed figure of Dean Jost. With a warm smile, Marudeva graciously invited him into the living room, guiding him towards Agneyastra.
“Dean Jost, this is Agneyastra,” Marudeva introduced with a tone of reverence. “We have prepared a dedicated area in our training room for the upcoming exam.”
Dean Jost, his presence commanding and his eyes sharp with curiosity, placed his case to the side and extended his hand towards Agneyastra. As their palms met in a firm handshake, a silent understanding passed between them. “Marudeva has been speaking highly of you,” Dean Jost remarked, his voice carrying a hint of anticipation.
Agneyastra rose gracefully from the plush couch, her emerald eyes filled with determination as she followed Dean Jost into the compact training room. The room held an air of academic seriousness, accentuated by the presence of a solitary writing desk that beckoned her to take a seat.
She perched on the intricately carved wooden chair, her slender fingers lightly tracing the worn surface of the desk. Dean Jost's voice resonated with authority as he set the papers before her. “First, we shall assess the depth of your knowledge, measuring the heights you have scaled in your education,” he declared.
Dean Jost reached for a sand hourglass, its slender frame glimmering in the dim light.
As the sand slowly trickled down through the narrow neck of the hourglass, Dean Jost delicately flipped it over, the sound of the grainy particles echoing through the room. Placing it meticulously on the well-worn desk in front of Agneyastra, he declared, “Your time starts now.”
Agneyastra's fingers curled around the pencil nestled beside her, her eyes fixed on the mountain of test papers that lay before her like a formidable challenge. With a determined resolve in her gaze, she began her task, the pencil gliding effortlessly across the paper. With each passing minute, Agneyastra's confidence grew, the questions faded into a blur as Agneyastra's focus intensified. Her hand moved swiftly, deftly, never faltering even for a moment.
Finally, just as the last few grains of sand threatened to slip away, Agneyastra completed the final packet. With a sudden release of tension, she dropped the pencil onto the desk, the sound reverberating through the silent room. Her steady voice broke the hush, declaring with a sense of accomplishment, “I am done.”
In the training room, Dean Jost observed Agneyastra as she gracefully executed hand-to-hand combat moves, her every step and strike synchronized with precision. The fluidity of her movements was a testament to her dedication and relentless training. As the onlookers marveled at Agneyastra's expertise with practice weapons, Dean Jost approached her, his gaze fixed on the wall adorned with an array of formidable weapons. Pyla, who had been observing from the other side of the room, voiced her concern. “Dean, we haven't trained Agneyastra with a bow,” Pyla remarked with a hint of worry in her voice.
Dean Jost, always calm and composed, reassured Pyla with a smile. “Don't worry, Pyla. I will personally guide her through it.” With great care, he began demonstrating the intricate techniques required to shoot a bow and arrow. It was a delicate balance of strength, precision, and focus.
Agneyastra, though initially faltering, embraced the challenge with unwavering determination. At first, her arrows missed their mark, fumbling in flight like an unsure bird. But slowly, with each attempt, Agneyastra honed her skills. She adapted, adjusted her aim, and gradually found her rhythm. Soon, her arrows struck the target with a resounding thud, each shot growing more accurate than the last.
Dean Jost applauded, his hands pulsing with appreciation for Agneyastra's persistence and progress. “Well done!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with pride. “You have passed the entry exam with flying colors. Come see me on the first day of training, and we will determine your class placement. Your scores, especially considering your age, are exceptional. I need time to carefully consider where you would truly excel.”
***
The mid-morning sun cast a gentle glow over the bustling market palace in the Dweller City. Rows of shops stretched out as far as the eye could see, each one offering a unique array of goods and wares. Among them stood a collection of stores specializing in custom Dweller Glass armor and weapons - exquisite creations forged from the miraculous substance.
Nestled amidst the assortment of shops was a quaint establishment dedicated to the sale of spears, bows, and arrows. It was here that a captivating scene unfolded. A beautiful Dweller Woman, skin adorned with the mesmerizing patterns reminiscent of a serpentine creature in intricate garments, stood behind a worn wooden table, her slender fingers guiding a young boy in sharpening an arrowhead upon a smooth stone.
As passersby flowed through the market, their eyes were drawn to the enchanting display before them. The woman's radiant smile illuminated her surroundings, captivating both young and old. Her glass-like eyes sparkled with wisdom and kindness, truly reflecting the essence of the Dweller people.
Amidst the crowd, a customer became transfixed by the ethereal beauty of this Dweller Woman. His gaze lingered, unknowingly infringing upon the boundaries of propriety. Coming to her defense, a tall and dignified figure stepped forward, his voice firm yet measured. “Sir,” Saichi's voice resonated with a quiet authority. “Is there a reason why you are looking at my wife?”
As his words hung in the air, as the onlookers paused, their whisperings silenced, as a hushed anticipation settled over the scene. Amongst the throngs of people, an eye-catching figure caught the customer's gaze. With a physique that radiated strength and a commanding presence that demanded attention, Saichi, the renowned warrior, stood proud amidst the sea of vendors and shoppers.
As the customer found himself drawn facing Saichi, he couldn't help but voice his intention. “I came here for a spear,” the customer admitted, his voice filled with a hint of awe, “but Sabbia's beauty is unmatched. I couldn't help myself.”
Sabbia paused in her task of sharpening arrowheads. She looked up at the young boy standing before her, her eyes filled with gentle determination. “JR,” she called out, her voice filled with a sense of urgency. “Go and find your sister. Tell her that we need more stone wheels. They were delivered to the house yesterday.”
JR's eyes widened as he nodded, understanding the importance of Sabbia's request. With a quick movement, he rose from his seat and darted towards the back of the stall. Passing through a curtain woven from delicate glass arrows, he disappeared into the depths of their dwelling. Sabbia, now standing between her husband and a customer, exuded a strength and confidence that belied her petite frame.
As JR entered the back of the weapons shop, the glint of spears, arrows, and bows hanging on sturdy racks caught his eye. The air was thick with the scent of smoldering embers and sharpened steel. In one corner of the shop, he noticed his sister Sandra engrossed in her work, pouring molten glass into a delicate mold. The soft orange glow of the liquid danced across her face, highlighting her focused expression. She was a master of her craft, capable of transforming dull materials into shining works of art.
Sitting lazily on the counter beside Sandra, watching her every move with a mixture of fascination and annoyance, was Ramil. His disheveled hair and mischievous grin, contrasting the precision and dedication displayed by Sandra. Ramil's voice laced with frustration, he couldn't help but vent his annoyance, “You wouldn't believe what Agney did yesterday, Sandra.”
He leaned against the counter, his eyes studying the glass masterpiece taking shape before them. Sandra's voice carried a tinge of frustration as she spoke.” Ever since that girl moved in with your family, all you have done is complain about her,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. “There are other topics, other things we could talk about, Ramil.”
Just as the words hung in the air between them, JR approached the duo, his footsteps resounding lightly against the scuffed wooden floor. He delivered the message from Sandra's mother, causing a flicker of annoyance to dance across Sandra's features. “Mom wants you to go home and get more stone wheels,” JR relayed, his voice filled with a dutiful reminder.
Sandra, huffing slightly in frustration, discarded her gloves onto the counter next to Ramil. She cast a fleeting glance at the unfinished glass piece, then turned her gaze towards the exit at the back of the shop. “Fine,” she muttered under her breath, her words bristling with annoyance. “I have to do everything around here.”
With determined steps, Sandra made her way towards pout of her family’s shop the weight of responsibility urging her forward. A cart laden with various tools and supplies accompanied her, Ramil following closely by her side. They maneuvered through the bustling streets of the Dweller City, the rhythmic creaking of the cart melding with the clamor of voices and the distant sounds of commerce.
Sandra's quaint house as she arrived, Ramil dutifully trailing behind. They made their way towards a large shed nestled near the house. The sound of their voices filled the air, with Ramil incessantly prattling on about Agneyastra and other trivial matters that seemed to grate on Sandra's nerves.
Sandra set to work, loading the cart with stone wheels, the repetitive thud of each one hitting the cart becoming a monotonous soundtrack to Ramil's never-ending stream of words. As she placed the final stone wheel in its place, her frustration reached its peak, and Sandra let out a frustrated cry, “Shut up, Ramil!”
Her swift movements carried her into the confines of her house, Ramil in hot pursuit, their footsteps now a rapid rhythm as they made their way through the corridors. Finally, they reached Sandra's bedroom, the door closing with a resolute thud behind them.
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Sandra, still brimming with anger, sank onto the edge of her bed. Her every gesture was marked by a palpable tension, her hands clenching and unclenching, her eyes ablaze with frustration. Ramil tentatively approached her, a swirl of concern and confusion etched across his face. The silence hung heavy between them as he ventured to ask, “What is wrong?”
She sat at the edge of her bed, her eyes fixed on Ramil, who had joined her. The room was filled with an air of tension as Sandra mustered the courage to voice her concerns. “Ramil,” she began softly, her voice filled with longing and uncertainty, “before the arrival of this girl, we used to dream about our future together.”
Ramil's face softened, sensing the weight of Sandra's words. He took a seat beside her, his eyes full of empathy and regret. “Sandra,” he replied gently, his voice teetering on the edge of sadness, “please understand that my aspirations have not changed. That future we spoke of is still my goal, our goal... But there is something I need to tell you.”
“I am a Prince, Sandra. A Prince from the Ash Kingdom,” Ramil confessed, his voice trembling with vulnerability. “My future is bound by responsibilities that cannot be easily set aside.”
Sandra's troubled expression revealed her inner turmoil as she uttered the words, “I feel you are slipping away from me, I must do whatever I can to stop it.”
Ramil regarded her strangely, his eyes filled with both concern and confusion. He responded softly, his voice laced with a hint of apprehension, “I am here beside you as always.”
Driven by a surge of emotions, Sandra impulsively positioned herself on Ramil's lap, drawing him into a passionate kiss. For a fleeting moment, their connection seemed to intensify, fueling her desperate attempt to hold onto what was slipping away.
However, as Sandra's lips found pleasure in this forbidden act, Ramil's gaze turned resolute. Gently, yet firmly, he untangled himself from her embrace, lifting Sandra away from his lips and off his lap. His voice trembled with disappointment and hurt as he spoke, “You are my best friend, how dare you.”
Leaving no room for negotiation, Ramil's unwavering principles compelled him to walk away, he slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Sandra to grapple with the consequences of her impulsive actions.
***
As the bustling city on stilts hummed with the vibrant energy of its inhabitants, the air filled with the constant whirring and honking of flying cars, buses, and trains. People hurried along the futuristic streets, their minds occupied with the weight of their daily concerns. Unknown to them, a small patch of woods nestled within a serene park, concealed from the chaos of the city. Unbeknownst to the city dwellers, a mysterious occurrence took place within the heart of the woods. A brilliant flash of green light erupted from the depths.
The woman's skin, etched with a symphony of stone patterns, stood out like a fantastical masterpiece amidst the mundane faces of the city residents. As Moriko stumbled out of the dense woods and collapsed onto the ground, the woman's attentiveness was drawn towards the fallen princess.
In her towering presence, the woman halted her stride and approached Moriko with a deliberate grace. When she finally reached her, she spoke with a voice that exuded a strange familiarity, “Princess Moriko, when did you awaken?”
Moriko, her body aching and her mind clouded from the sudden impact, looked up at the mysterious woman. Confusion and curiosity threaded through her voice as she uttered, “How do you know me?”
The woman approached her, a mix of concern and curiosity etched on her face. “Come,” she said softly, her voice carrying a sense of authority. “We will talk at home.”
Obediently, Moriko trailed behind the woman, her eyes widening in wonder as they entered an area teeming with unique apartments. Each dwelling was adorned with symbols and patterns representing different earth elements. The air hummed with an undeniable energy, as though these buildings held secrets and stories waiting to be unlocked.
The residents of this extraordinary village, catching sight of Moriko, froze in astonishment. An intense silence washed over them, broken only by the sound of their collective gasps. One by one, they dropped to their knees, their heads bowed in reverence. The weight of their awe pressed down on Moriko, an unfamiliar sensation that sent shivers down her spine.
In the midst of the hushed admiration, the woman led Moriko into a small apartment. Seated at the kitchen table, Moriko watched the woman's graceful movements as she prepared tea. As the tea brewed, the woman turned her gaze towards Moriko.
“I looked after you,” she began, her voice filled with a haunting melancholy, “before the attack on the Earth Kingdom. We were united, strong, bound by loyalty and love. But then, she was corrupted. She became a vessel for the demon that destroyed everything.”
“The Green forest Brucie,” she continued, her voice now laced with a thread of hope, “granted us one time passage out of the Earth Kingdom. We fled, seeking refuge in a world untouched by evil. And I have been here, in this hidden sanctuary, ever since.”
Moriko’s voice filled with awe and uncertainty. “What is this place?”
The woman's voice trembled as she spoke, her eyes darting nervously around the room. Her words hung heavy in the air, filled with a mixture of fear and hope. “The Stanchionites... they have granted us refuge in their magnificent city,” she said, her voice now filled with awe. “Stanchion City, it is the only sanctuary left in this desolate land of Tinture.” The Woman's voice quivered with concern. “But who has been looking after you?” she asked.
Moriko's smile brightened, her voice filled with warmth. “Ah, the Brucie and Prince Tyson and his wife Yeongi.”
The Woman's caution echoed through the air, her voice laced with a blend of concern and warning. “Brucies and the Stone soldiers,” she murmured, her words carrying an air of wariness. “They are but vessels, susceptible to the influence of demons. One must tread with utmost care.”
A flicker of surprise danced in her eyes as she continued. “And yet, we can be taken over as well. Tyson, forgiving the Earth Kingdom. I never would’ve expected such forgiveness to exist.”
Moriko's eyes widened, filled with concern, as she looked up at the group. “What happened to Prince Tyson?” she asked.
The Woman stood still, the weight of her memories flooding her mind. With a gentle closure of her eyes, she found herself transported back to the grand halls of the Earth Kingdom castle. The echoes of her footsteps resonated against the polished marble floor as she ventured deeper, drawn towards an open door.
Intrigued, The Woman strained to discern the source of the commotion that emanated from within. A man's voice pierced through the tension, filled with both desperation and anger. “Get off me! Stop!” he yelled, his words laced with a hint of fear. And then, a woman's moans mingled with the cacophony, their pained melody resonating through the corridor.
As the sounds of the distress unfolded, The Woman's expression saddened, her gaze falling upon the innocence of Moriko. With a heavy heart, she took a deep breath before gently shaking her head. The sadness remained, etched upon her face, as she assured Moriko, “It's nothing a child should know about.”
“The Earth Kingdom remains empty, its only me,” Moriko uttered.
The Woman studied Moriko carefully, a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips, betraying a hidden knowledge. “You were awakened, who is your partner?” The Woman pressed.
“Emathion, he is a Dweller,” Moriko divulged, her voice laced with a mixture of admiration and intrigue.
A smile slowly crept across the woman's lips as she pondered Moriko's revelation. Her eyes, sharp and observant, seemed to hold a hidden knowledge. “You chose wisely,” she affirmed, her voice laced with a tinge of respect. “Dwellers are known for their unwavering loyalty, but only once they are Married.”
Moriko's eyes darted around the table. “You all should come back,” she uttered.
Caught off guard by Moriko's earnestness, the woman sitting across from her hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing in thought. A flicker of concern danced across her face as she searched for an answer. “Is Arroyo still alive?” she finally ventured.
“Yes, he is the water king,” Moriko finally admitted.
The woman's eyes widened in recognition, her expression both solemn and determined. “Then, we will remain here,” she declared. “Come, I will walk you back,” the woman offered.
As the woman guided Moriko through the dense woods,. They stopped in a small clearing, where an ancient tree stood tall and mighty, Moriko extended her hand, fingers brushing against the rough bark of the tree. Suddenly, as if answering her plea, the trunk began to shimmer, a portal materializing before her very eyes. Swallowing her fear, Moriko took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The moment she crossed the threshold, she found herself engulfed in a whirlwind of colors and sensations. Time seemed to stand still as she traveled through realms beyond imagination, until finally, with a gentle thud, she landed back in her beloved Green Forest.
No sooner had Moriko regained her bearings than a Brucie, “Princess Moriko, we have been scouring the forest all day in search of you,” he exclaimed, his voice brimming with relief.
Moriko's eyes widened as she confronted The Brucie, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and curiosity. “You couldn't sense that I was in the other realm,” she stated.
The Brucie, stoic and unmoving in his response, simply shook his head. “No, we cannot,” he admitted, his voice resonating with an air of defeat.
In that moment, Moriko’s hand instinctively reached for her trusty notebook, its pages worn and filled with the remnants of her boundless imagination. Eager to capture this astonishing revelation, she delicately retrieved a pen from her pocket and prepared to etch these words upon the paper. “This is a new discovery,” Moriko announced softly.
***
The early morning light filtered through the grand windows of the Water Kingdom Palace, casting a soft glow on Evain as she ventured out of her room. A sense of urgency propelled her forward, her steps quick and purposeful. Whispering to herself, Evain's voice wafted through the halls, barely audible, yet filled with resolute resolve. “I will find out today,” she declared.
As she continued down the labyrinthine palace corridors, Evain's steps echoed softly against the polished marble floors. The ancient tapestries adorning the walls seemed to watch her intently, their vivid scenes of underwater kingdoms and mythical creatures mirroring her own journey of discovery. Finally, she arrived at the hallway that concealed her father's secret room. Stepping cautiously, aware of the importance of concealment, Evain moved to the end of the hall, skillfully hiding her petite figure behind a towering suit of armor.
Hours ticked away, each second an eternity in her quest for answers. Yet, to her dismay, her father remained absent, his presence conspicuously absent. Disappointment washed over her, intermingled with a sense of frustration. “Great, he isn't coming,” she muttered, her voice laced with both irritation and a hint of sadness.
Evain slowly rose to her feet in the silence of her secluded hiding spot. The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the grand hallway, growing louder with each passing second. Evain's senses heightened, her eyes narrowing in on the majestic armor statue that stood sentinel beside her. She pressed her body against it, praying that its imposing presence would shield her from any wandering eyes.
Arroyo, walked with a purposeful stride, behind him, a soldier trailed closely, their armor glistening as though freshly polished for the day's duties. Evain recognized the soldier as one from her father's loyal guard, a sentinel of the realm trusted with ensuring the safety of the kingdom and its inhabitants.
Moments later, as if aware of her absence, the soldier spoke, his voice carrying a hint of concern and urgency. “My King, we have searched for Princess Evain and had no luck.” His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the unseen danger that lurked within the palace walls.
Arroyo stood tall and commanding, his voice resonating with authority as he confronted a soldier. With a strong shove, Arroyo forced the soldier down onto the cold, hard ground, the echoes of their struggle reverberating through the corridor.
Arroyo’s face contorted with anger, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. Pointing an accusatory finger at the soldier's face, Arroyo's voice carried a commanding tone. “She is still within the walls of this castle. Find her immediately,” he spat, his voice dripping with urgency. “Bring my daughter to me without delay.”
The soldier, despite being momentarily overwhelmed by the forceful confrontation, quickly regained his composure. Rising to his feet, he bent at the waist in a deep and respectful bow before his king. “Yes, my king. I shall locate her with haste and bring her before you,” he vowed.
Arroyo gaze fixed upon a black wall that stood before him. Its surface, smooth and glistening, seemed to beckon him closer. With a curiosity that burned in his eyes, he tentatively reached out, his fingers brushing against the enigmatic barrier. Suddenly, like a hidden secret being revealed, a hidden doorknob emerged from the wall. Its polished surface gleamed under Arroyo's touch, as he swiftly turned it. The door, silent and sleek, swung open.
As Arroyo stepped through the threshold, Evain rushed to the now-sealed black wall. The door, as quickly as it had appeared, had vanished without a trace, leaving no sign of Arroyo's passage.
As Devereaux walked through the grand hallway of the Water Kingdom Palace, his frustration furrowed his brow. The morning light cast an ethereal glow on the polished marble floors, its soft rays reflecting off the intricate tapestries adorning the walls. However, there was no solace to be found in the palace's opulence, as Devereaux's discontent consumed him.
And there, he spotted his sister, Evain, standing near a wall. His anger bubbled to the surface, and without restraint, he directed his ire at her. “Everyone in this Palace is useless,” he muttered through gritted teeth. With a swift gesture, he pointed accusingly at Evain, her presence seemingly confirming his statement. “You idiots, she is down here,” he snapped.
Evain, unyielding and guarded, met their approach with a raised brow and a defensive tone. “What do you want?” she asked.
“Princess Evain,” Devereaux began, his voice laced with deference, “our mother requests your presence at a grand pea party she is hosting in the ornate dining hall.”
Evain turned her attention to her brother. “I have no desire to attend yet another lavish affair, Devereaux,” she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of frustration. “I am engrossed in matters of far greater importance. Begone and attend to your duties elsewhere.”
With determination in his eyes, he reached out to grab Evain's arm, breaking her reverie. Evain recoiled, her delicate features twisting with anger and defiance. She forcefully pushed Devereaux to the ground, their strength contrasting as they clashed in this unexpected confrontation. The air crackled with tension as their eyes locked, Evain's furious gaze piercing through Devereaux's very soul.
Like the calm surface of a lake shattering from a single stone, Evain's voice rang out with a chilling authority. “Never touch me again, brother,” she declared.
But as Arroyo exited his concealed room, his eyes widened in alarm. “What is going on here?” he bellowed.
“I am trying to get her to go farther,” Devereaux replied.
With an imperious gesture of his hand, Arroyo dismisses Devereaux, his voice carrying a potent authority that resonates throughout the chamber. “Leave us now, boy!” he commands. Startled, Devereaux swiftly turns on his heel and swiftly embarks on his escape.
Arroyo paused, glancing down at Evain with a gentle smile. “I want you to attend this tea party,” he said, his voice laced with a sense of anticipation.
Evain’s resolve and stomped her feet in defiance. Her emerald eyes flashed with curiosity as she looked up at her father. “But why, Father?” she implored.
“I believe,” Arroyo began, his voice resonating with a combination of concern and determination, “that the smaller Kingdoms in our realm may be plotting a revolt against me. Though these whispers may be mere fabrications, it is my duty to uncover the truth. Among us today are Princes and Princesses, who may hold the key to shedding light upon this treacherous scheme. I implore each of you to share your thoughts, your insights, and your instincts only with me.”
“Yes, father, I will attend the event. I will do my best to complete my assessments in time and hand them over to you.” Her words carried a mixture of determination and apprehension, reflecting the weight of her responsibilities.
Arroyo embraced his daughter tightly, he whispered in her ear, “Remember, this task is entrusted to you alone. It shall remain hidden from prying eyes; a test of your loyalty and commitment to the Water Kingdom.”