All throughout time, no matter the world, it seems common that children are told beautiful tales of adventure, romance, and power; Of Kings and Queens, Princes and Princesses, who embark upon fantastical journeys for the betterment of their land or family. And in these woven tales there is one universal constant that everyone knows: The hero overcomes.

More often than not these tales tell of brightness, happiness, and enjoyment, and how such may be achieved through a minimal amount of work on the hero’s side. The true struggle of adventure in conflict is lost in favor of displaying unheard of power, and as a child, hearing these things are awe-inspiring. But these stories will lead one to dream, and lead one to become blind in the face of real danger.

Such tales were told often in the Zeilenka household. Vera, the house matriarch, fell deeply in love with a young man, Assen, and began their family. Their first child was a boy, Valerio. He grew to be a tall man with broad shoulders and a firm grip. Though he was never formally trained, he had some innate prowess which made wielding a blade come easy to him. He had always loved tales of men like what he became. Strong, brave men with fantastic humor even in the face of danger.

Second came Anhalia. She had her mother’s eyes; brilliant, striking amber so bright, people would jest about being able to find her in complete darkness. There was potential coursing through her that she was too content to tap into, but even so, stories about heroes who found themselves able to overcome with power they didn’t know they harbored, always held her attention.

Their third was a small girl, fragile and sweet, with a smile that could melt even the most hardened soul, named Acilia. Her voice was so soft and so sweet, if she ever had the chance, she would have been begged to travel across seas to the prestigious Vervain Concert Hall in the vibrant Kingdom of Hana. There was no doubt rumors would have, at some point, arisen about her heritage, and assumptions would come, suggesting she was made by the ancients themselves to bring comfort to all of Arantis with her velvet voice. Such a velvet voice would have told stories so well, had it not been ripped from her long before she was able.

Their family was quaint. Happy, comfortable, and though they didn't have a lot, they weren't in a terrible place. It was tight, but they survived, and, in the usual cliché, they were happy to have each other. 

But also in the usual cliché, happiness doesn't last forever. Assen watched his children grow and flourish, but never got to see his youngest daughter bloom into an adult, or even a teen. He was struck ill, the dust of Amalar weighing heavy on his lungs and ultimately suffocating him while he slept one night. 

Valerio, being the oldest, took it upon himself to try and help his mother and his siblings, but being new to the working world, he wasn't allowed much. With Vera and Valerio working, it was enough to keep them afloat, but one outside expense would send them over the edge and out of their home. Though they prayed for things to stay as they were, the Ancients didn't heed their calls. 

They had the money to eat, and occasionally spend their nights in an inn, but Valerio had lost his job unloading at the docks after the new King closed all imports from neighboring countries. He searched endlessly for another job, but in the time between, Vera couldn't hold them up.

That was until that same King took notice of the bright-eyed woman…

Amalar had no standards toward their rulers' love life. Queen was not a position for the wife of the King, because King was not a position the people held in authority. Yet he had taken it, ripped it from the person that led  before him, and put that title on himself. Rising Peacekeepers were struck down or made to bow, thus cementing his position above all others. And he, the King of Amalar, had eyes on Vera.

She married the King if only for the wellbeing of her children.  An estate with a staff and servants all of which would feed, clean, and care for them. No struggle to be left upon her children. An assumption and hope that was proven wrong only months after it began. 

It seemed contradictory that the vibrance in Anhalia’s eyes was emphasized by the bags beneath them. Though still bright, those that had known her before her days in the castle--- more, before her mother and her sister’s death, would say they’d dimmed. They weren’t lifeless, no, but they were close, and this, in part--- large, large part, was due to the man who stood before her. 

The tall windows that lined the walls allowed light to pour in, illuminating the grand hall in which they stood. King Anamir Kynev stood tall upon the dais, where his gold lined black throne awaited the ass that was unfit in more ways than one. Venat’s light glinted off a stave in his hand, a generic little thing. A long silver pole on top of which clawlike limbs held tight to an orb in which a red storm swirled. It was almost a signature for Anamir to have by his side, and despite the fact that it’s appearance was rather bland, something about it intrigued Anhalia. It was almost soothing to see, which was likely fortunate for him, lest she run the riot he so deserved. 

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“Ana,” he addressed her, the informality making her visibly cringe. Treason was not far off her mind every time she heard him speak her name, but even if the consequences mattered little to her at that point, she never allowed herself to act on it, even in words. 

But biting back a slew of obscenities and impoliteness didn’t mean she’d address him with respect.  “What?” 

Though this brought a touch of annoyance, his own dark green gaze directed to the ground without a word. He moved from the first step, weight pressing into the stave while he steadied himself. He descended to her level, though even then he still stood taller than she did. To be expected as she was only seventeen. An adult in the weakest sense of the word, and certainly not one capable of the task he opened his mouth to give. “You’ve been training for some time now. About a year, if I recall?” He questioned, and while she knew the answer almost exactly - one full year, and well into Hasonth as it was now the forty second day of the month, she didn’t say it. “You’ve turned out to be an absolutely brilliant soldier, you and Valerio both, but as you know he’s long gone.” 

A spike of something arose in her chest. Grief? Possible. Anger? Also possible. There was no reason to bring him up. It was like he would take every second he could to remind her of the family she so dearly missed. Whatever the answer was, it made her eyes sting with tears, but a small movement of his stave drew her attention back to the orb on top. She sniffled but otherwise kept quiet so he could proceed. 

With one more step in her direction, his tone softened. For a moment, she wondered if he’d consider being a father and take notice of her distress, but when he carried on, she realized that was only wishful thinking. “I’ve decided to reward you, Anhalia. As you’ve grown so much while in Amalar’s first army, I can see the potential in you. You are destined to do wonderful things, and I think it’s only fitting that we, as a family, work together to bring forth the new age of Amalar.” 

Those yellow eyes flicked up to him briefly, jaw clenching at his choice in words. He could see that she was on the brink of spitting something, possibly even literally, and thus elected to continue on to take that chance away from her. 

“I know that the People think this is unnecessary. We have never had or needed an army--”

“That’s because our country is built on peace and has always handled it’s problems with peace,” she stated, causing his chest to swell with a deep inhale, which he held even as he continued on. 

“What they fail to realize is that not every situation can be talked through. It’s sad, but it’s true, and with the tensions in Sindora rising, it’s only a matter of time until their civil war spills into the neighboring countries. Emtiris and Alkais are capable of defending themselves, but Amalar is not.” 

“This isn’t the first war that Amalar has seen, and we--” 

“Our history was not against savages.” He spat with a wave of his free hand, her glare only worsening upon being interrupted. He gave a dismissive gesture, a signal this argument would not be had again. “The reason I’ve brought you here today is because I’ve got a very important task for you. This will be a test of your strength, Ana. I think that, with you as my general, whatever threat we may encounter will never stand a chance.” 

And she thought that the threat stood there in a throne room no one had given to him, stupidly trusting by dismissing his guard so he may speak to his ‘daughter’. 

Her throat felt so clogged with all of her malice, but every desire to let it all spill out was stifled by the reminder that she could not disobey. 

Why could she not disobey, again? What had she to lose, as the only one remaining of her family? 

The red tempest at the end of his staff furled into itself, a streak of pink lightning hitting into the glass that held it. 

“What is this task?” 

The words were said in her voice, but they did not feel like her own. Not at first. She furrowed her brow, but calmness slowly dawned in her mind, guiding her to see that she had surely just wanted to get this over with, and thus, would obey. 

A smile quirked one edge of his lips, clouded by a dark brown moustache he kept finely styled. “Good girl,” he cooed, voice a low whisper that sent a shiver down her spine, and eyes pierced with a glint of deceit. Then as quick as he’d shown it, it was gone, and he turned back toward the dais. “The task I am granting you, my dear Ana, is a simple one. I will be giving you a small company, and with them, you will head south. Word has been received that someone new is claiming to be the next” his voice soured “Peacekeeper.” 

At the top, he turned to fall into his throne, one leg crossing, his ankle set over the other and his staff rested against the arm of the chair. “He and those in Lamore have decided to directly oppose my rule, and as such, they need to be dealt with. It would not do, to have civil war break out while a Sindor threat could be on the horizon.” 

Again, words formed a lump in her throat, but only kindness slipped passed. “I will do my best.” 

Anhalia grimaced at herself deepening as she noted the hint of his crooked smile again. She wanted to spit. She wanted to fucking hit him. At the very least, she wanted to point out that a Sindor invasion was very far from a threat to them at the moment. On one side, Amalar was bordered by the Alkasian Empire, and on the other, by Vousili. Even Sindors knew that the Aikali Queens of Vousili were not to be trifled with. And the Emperor of Alkais, Sancor, would have treaties drawn up between the two sides of Sindora that had been warring for centuries before their ships could even dock. 

But Anamir lacked the level of critical thinking and humble attitude required to see that they were surrounded by rulers far greater than he. 

“You will leave first thing in the morning,” he told her, a flick of his wrist his signal to dismiss. 

She turned on instinct to follow the order given, then paused as her anger roiled once more. Whipping back, she had the urge to spill her less than kind thoughts, but again, they caught before they could be voiced. A flicker of lightning crashed against the glass barrier of his staff, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust toward him before storming out of the throne room.