Elara

“They called her an idealist, someone with too soft a heart for politics. But Elara couldn’t turn away from suffering—even when it meant defying tradition.”

Elara stepped through the corridors of the royal palace, her soft footsteps muffled by thick, embroidered carpets that stretched down endless hallways. Golden light from high windows bathed the walls, casting delicate patterns across the smooth marble floors and throwing shadows behind the stately statues of kings and queens long past. It was a place of grandeur, tradition, and unwavering order—a place Elara had known her whole life.

Being a royal mage wasn’t just a title. It was a duty woven into the fabric of her existence, as essential to her as breathing. Every day brought new challenges: advising on magical matters in council meetings, attending to requests for protection charms, and ensuring the security of the kingdom. But today, Elara found herself in the familiar setting of the library tower, summoned by someone she hadn’t expected to hear from so soon.

“Come in, Elara,” a firm voice called as she hesitated outside the arched doorway. The scent of old parchment and candle wax wafted out, welcoming her into the space like an old friend.

Inside, Archmage Rennic was hunched over a sprawling map, his silver hair catching the warm glow of a candelabra. He straightened as she entered, his piercing gaze softening just slightly when it landed on her. Rennic had been her mentor since her first days of training, a formidable presence known for his unyielding standards and sharp tongue. Though he rarely praised her openly, she suspected he respected her more than he let on.

“You sent for me, Archmage?” Elara asked, clasping her hands before her.

“Yes.” Rennic gestured for her to approach. “There’s a matter the council has been deliberating over, and I wanted your perspective before they finalize their decision.”

Elara blinked, caught off guard. “My perspective? They rarely ask for it.”

“Because they’re fools,” he replied bluntly, brushing a strand of parchment aside. “Your youth makes them think you lack wisdom, but they forget that wisdom is often born of compassion. And that’s something you have in abundance, even if it drives them mad.”

She smiled faintly. “Sometimes I think it drives you mad too.”

“True,” he said, a rare grin tugging at his lips. “But it also makes you invaluable. Now, look at this.”

He tapped the map, where several regions were marked with red circles. “We’ve had reports of tension in these areas—minor skirmishes between humans and magical creatures. The Ministry of Concord is considering stricter patrols and harsher punishments for those who violate the treaties. What do you think?”

Elara frowned, studying the map. “Stricter punishments might make humans more cautious, but it will only breed resentment among the creatures. They’ve already endured centuries of mistrust. More force won’t bring peace; it’ll just deepen the divide.”

Rennic watched her closely. “And what would you propose?”

She hesitated, aware of how naïve her next words might sound to someone like Rennic. “Dialogue. Mediation. Send envoys who can understand the creatures’ grievances instead of just enforcing the laws. If we treat them as equals, they might respond in kind.”

“Bold,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. “And costly.”

“Peace is always costly,” she said quietly. “But it’s worth the price.”

For a moment, Rennic said nothing, his sharp gaze studying her. Then he gave a curt nod. “I’ll take your thoughts to the council. They won’t like it, but perhaps they’ll listen.”

Elara tilted her head, surprised. “You actually agree with me?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he said dryly. “I trained you, didn’t I? Your instincts are sound. But instincts alone won’t keep you afloat in that council chamber, Elara. They respect power more than ideals. You need to make them see that your compassion isn’t a weakness.”

Her smile faded, and she nodded solemnly. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” He turned back to the map. “Now, go. I suspect you have a dozen other duties waiting for you.”

Elara dipped her head respectfully and left the library, Rennic’s words echoing in her mind. She’d always known her place in the palace wasn’t secure, despite her title. But she wouldn’t let that stop her. If she could change even one mind, one policy, it would be worth the effort.

As she walked toward her chambers, Elara’s path was intercepted by a familiar figure. King Alaric, stood at the end of the hall, dressed in ceremonial robes that matched the golden decor of the palace. His presence commanded attention, a man whose every movement exuded authority.

“Elara,” he called, his tone as steady as ever. “A word.”

She approached, bowing slightly. “Father.”

“I’ve heard you’ve been advising Archmage Rennic,” Alaric began, folding his hands behind his back. “He seems to value your perspective.”

“I’m honored that he does,” she replied carefully. She had long since learned that her father’s words were often layered with meaning.

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“Good,” he said simply. “But remember, you are a royal mage. Your role is to serve the kingdom, not your ideals. The council is not always kind to those who let their hearts overrule their heads.”

Elara held his gaze, her expression calm but resolute. “I understand, Father. But peace requires more than laws and swords.”

The king studied her for a long moment before nodding. “See that you do not let your passion cloud your judgment, Elara. We serve the people best when we act with clarity.”

“I’ll remember that,” she promised, though a small part of her heart rebelled against the idea. Clarity, in her mind, didn’t always mean cold detachment.

As the king turned to leave, she found herself wondering, not for the first time, whether he truly believed in the peace the Ministry claimed to protect—or if he saw it merely as another tool to maintain order.

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“The first crack in the kingdom’s façade wasn’t a scream or a battle cry—it was a missing signature.”

Elara leaned back in her chair, the heavy oak creaking softly beneath her weight as she stared at the parchment. It lay in the center of the council table like a taunt. Eldrenor’s golden crest shone proudly at the top, but the space beside it, where Daravax’s seal should have been, remained empty.

The silence in the chamber was palpable, broken only by the occasional shuffle of papers or the faint crackle of the hearth.

“This is an insult,” Lord Veyrin snarled, slamming his fist on the table. The older man’s face was flushed, and the veins on his neck bulged with barely contained rage. “Three months of negotiations, endless resources spent, and they leave us with this?”

“Calm yourself, Veyrin,” Lady Isara said sharply, adjusting the silver spectacles perched on her nose. She was the eldest of the council, her voice steady and precise. “Daravax is not known for their speed. They prefer to play the long game.”

“The long game?” Veyrin barked, his voice rising. “Or are they simply mocking us? Perhaps they think we’ve grown weak—soft. If they want to provoke war, they’ll find Eldrenor is more than ready.”

“War is not an option,” Elara interjected, her voice firm but calm. Her words cut through the noise, and the room fell silent as all eyes turned to her.

Elara stood, the deep crimson of her mage’s robes catching the firelight. She folded her arms, her hazel eyes scanning the room with a measured intensity. “Daravax’s silence is deliberate, but it’s not an act of war. It’s strategy. They’re testing us—watching to see how we’ll respond. If we react with aggression, we’ll play directly into their hands.”

“You speak as if you understand their mind,” Veyrin sneered. “Have you forgotten Vorithane? Daravax does not test—they destroy.”

The mention of Vorithane cast a shadow over the room. Centuries ago, the kingdom had been obliterated in less than a year, its cities reduced to ash, its people scattered. Daravax had unleashed forbidden creatures with devastating precision, their soldiers chanting in Vakriya, the ancient tongue said to bind humans and creatures together.

“They used monsters to raze Vorithane,” Veyrin continued, his voice rising. “And now they revere those same beasts as divine. Do you think their silence isn’t a prelude to another war?”

“Enough,” Queen Lysara’s voice rang out, silencing the argument. She sat at the head of the table, her presence commanding despite her smaller stature. Her gaze settled on Elara. “You’ve studied Daravax’s culture more than anyone here. What do you believe their silence means?”

Elara took a steadying breath. “Daravax moves like a tide—slow, deliberate, but unstoppable once in motion. They’re calculating, yes, but their culture isn’t one of mindless aggression. To them, the creatures are sacred, an extension of their faith. They don’t see them as weapons, but as emissaries. If we approach this with fear or hostility, we’ll only escalate tensions. We need to tread carefully.”

“Carefully?” a younger council member, Rennic, scoffed. “You’re asking us to tiptoe around a nation that chants to monsters and speaks a language cursed by the gods? They’re baiting us, Elara. And you want to meet them with—what? Understanding?”

Elara’s voice sharpened. “Understanding is not weakness, Rennic. It’s preparation. If you think brute force will win against a nation that wiped Vorithane off the map, you’re a fool.”

The room fell into uneasy silence.

Before anyone could respond, the doors to the chamber creaked open, and a messenger stepped in, his expression taut with unease. He bowed quickly, clutching a scroll in his hands.

“Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “But… there’s been another killing.”

The room froze.

“Another?” Lysara said, her tone heavy with exasperation. “Who this time?”

The messenger hesitated, his eyes darting nervously around the room. “Lord Caldrin, Your Majesty. He was found in his estate this morning. Throat slit.”

Gasps rippled through the chamber. Caldrin was a high-ranking official, known for his wealth and connections.

“And the culprit?” Veyrin demanded, his voice tight with tension.

The messenger swallowed hard. “Witnesses saw a figure leave the estate shortly before dawn. They described him as cloaked in black, moving like a shadow. They say it was…” He hesitated, his eyes flicking nervously to the queen.

“Out with it,” Lysara snapped.

“They say it was the Cursed blade, Your Majesty.”

The name hung in the air like a curse.

Elara’s brow furrowed. She had heard whispers of the Cursed blade before—a figure spoken of in hushed tones, a ghost of the underworld who left no witnesses alive. But she had always dismissed the tales as exaggerated rumors.

“The Cursed blade,” Isara repeated, her voice icy. “The assassin who leaves death and chaos in his wake. If he’s truly involved, this is no mere murder. It’s a message.”

Veyrin’s eyes narrowed. “A message from whom? Daravax?”

“We don’t know,” the messenger stammered. “But Lord Caldrin was… involved in dealings with Daravax. Perhaps—”

“Enough speculation,” Lysara interrupted. She turned to Elara. “What do you know of this Cursedblade?”

“Only what everyone else knows,” Elara replied carefully. “He’s a myth in the criminal underworld. A killer who takes the jobs no one else will touch. If he’s involved, it means someone powerful wanted Caldrin dead—and they knew exactly who to hire.”

The queen’s expression darkened. “We cannot allow fear to rule this council. Investigate the killing, and find out who hired this Cursed blade. Veyrin, see to it personally.”

As the council dispersed, Elara remained seated, her mind racing. The Cursed blade—an assassin with a reputation as dark as his name. If someone like him had been hired to kill Caldrin, then whatever was happening in Daravax was more dangerous than anyone realized.

For the first time in years, Elara felt the stirrings of unease.

And as the council whispered of assassins and kingdoms, Elara found herself wondering—what kind of man could earn the name ‘Cursed blade’ and live to tell the tale?