Eris shouldn't be here.

But then again, Eris had never belonged anywhere.

She had tried—tried to be the daughter her family wanted, tried to carve a place for herself in a world that had already chosen its favorites. But no matter how hard she worked, no matter how much she longed for recognition, she was always second.

Her twin, Celeste, had been born with brilliance. A prodigy. Destined for greatness. The light of their family.

And Eris?

She was a shadow. A reminder of what could never be.

She still remembered the day everything shattered—the day she turned fifteen.

That was the year magic was meant to awaken. The year every heir of noble blood stepped into their power, their potential revealed in a grand ceremony. The moment when destinies were set in stone.

For Celeste, it had been nothing short of magnificent. She had stood in the center of the grand hall, her hands raised high as Divine Mid-tier magic swirled around her, a radiant glow that left the nobles speechless. The air had crackled with energy, and in that moment, Eris could see the future unfold—a future where Celeste was the star, the heir, the chosen one.

But when it was Eris's turn, the magic that was supposed to flow from her—magic that should have sparked like a flame—fizzled. It was nothing more than a weak, barely perceptible ripple of Neutral High-tier power, the kind of magic that common nobles wielded.

It was useful, yes. But it wasn't enough. Not for a Princess. Not in a family where greatness was expected.

Her father, King Ariston, had been disappointed. His sharp eyes had flashed with a mixture of frustration and disbelief, though he said nothing aloud.His silence cut deeper than any reprimand.

Her brothers—Alistair, who had Divine Mid-tier magic, and Fabian, whose power was Divine Low-tier—had stood beside their sister with pride, eyes filled with admiration for her.

But for Eris?

There was no glory. Only whispers of pity, like she was nothing more than a failure.

The Kingdom needed a strong heir or heirs—not a daughter with small, unremarkable power that was just slightly above inferior magic which the commoners wielded. The magic of royalty was supposed to be undeniable, potent. Celeste had it. Alistair had it. Even Fabian had it, though not as strong.

But Eris?

She was destined to be average.

And so, she had done what she always did—kept her head down, swallowed her pride, and learned to live in Celeste's shadow. But the sting of failure had never dulled. It festered, deep and painful. With every passing day, Eris's desperation grew.

Then she found the book.

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In the library, bent over an ancient tome, her fingertips brushing against pages faded with time. The words spoke of forbidden magic, an altar hidden deep within the kingdom's castle—an altar that promised power beyond imagination.

A forbidden altar that granted the one who dared approach it an unimaginable gift. But at a cost.

At first, it had seemed like just a story. A legend meant to scare children. Yet the whispers kept coming—words shared by servants in hushed voices, by scholars with trembling hands, and by those who had ventured too close to the edges of the kingdom's oldest ruins. It was said that the altar could take a broken soul and mend it, grant power to the powerless, and offer freedom from the chains of fate.

Eris was desperate. Desperate enough to believe in anything.

They spoke of a similar forbidden altar, hidden deep within the castle—a relic of formerly practiced ancient magic, shrouded in mystery and fear. Some claimed it was cursed, others said it could grant power beyond imagination. A place for those who had nothing left to lose.

Eris had dismissed it at first. Such things were fantasy, stories to comfort the weak.

But then came the night when she could stand it no longer—the crushing weight of her family's expectations, the ridicule in the eyes of those who had once admired her. The disappointment in her mother's gaze.

She had found herself wandering the corridors, drawn inexplicably to the distant, forgotten corners of the castle.

She stumbled upon the passage by accident, hidden behind a tapestry of faded threads. It was a narrow stairwell that led beneath the castle, to a room no one spoke of, a room that had not seen light in centuries.

She didn't know how she had found it. Only that something called to her.

The first time she had hesitated. But tonight… tonight, she could bear it no longer.

The altar loomed before her, a relic of something far older than the kingdom itself. Shadows clung to its edges, shifting unnaturally in the dim glow of the flickering torches. The air was thick—too thick. It pressed against her skin, against her lungs, as though something unseen was watching, waiting.

Eris hesitated, her fingers hovering above the cold stone. A faint hum thrummed beneath her palm, pulsing in a slow, measured rhythm—like a heartbeat.

No. Not a heartbeat.

A presence.

Her breath hitched. The stories she had heard whispered of ancient forces, of magic that demanded more than it gave. The smart choice would be to turn back. To forget she had ever come here.

But she couldn't.

The weight of failure, of insignificance, pressed against her like an iron shackle. Celeste had been chosen. Alistair and Fabian had been chosen. And Eris? She had been left behind.

Not anymore.

She pressed her palm against the altar.

The reaction was instant.

A violent shock surged through her veins, ice-cold and searing-hot all at once. The stone beneath her hand pulsed, and the carvings ignited—not with light, but with something deeper, something wrong.

The sigils moved. Shifted.

They slithered across the surface like living things, rearranging themselves in patterns that made no sense, twisting into symbols she almost understood—but the meaning slipped away before she could grasp it.

A sound rippled through the chamber.

Not an echo. Not the shifting of stone.

A whisper.

It didn't come from the altar. It didn't come from the air.

It came from inside her mind.

"What is it you seek?"

The voice was not one. It was many. Layered, fractured, as though countless souls spoke at once. A question. A demand. A warning.

Eris's lips trembled.

This was it. The moment she had dreamed of, ached for. She had to speak. She had to take what was being offered.

Her fingers curled against the stone.

"I want power."

The air shuddered.

The torches snuffed out.

A pressure—heavy, suffocating—slammed into her chest. She stumbled back, gasping, but the force yanked her forward again. Something unseen coiled around her, dragging her toward the altar, toward the sigils that now burned like open eyes.

The ground beneath her quaked.

From the darkness, the voice came again—this time lower, colder, closer.

"Do you seek power, child?"

Eris clenched her jaw. Fear curled in her stomach, but she refused to waver.

"I do," she whispered, then louder, stronger—"I do! Give it to me. I'm ready!"

The altar laughed.

The sound was wrong—a twisted, echoing thing that crawled under her skin, slithering into the hollow spaces of her soul.

The sigils flared once more, and this time, the glow didn't stop. It spread. Up her arms. Into her chest. Beneath her skin.

It burned.

Eris choked on a scream as something sank into her. It wasn't just magic. It wasn't just power. It was something else.

A weight settled into her bones, into her blood. A thread of something ancient coiled around her heart, embedding itself deep where she couldn't reach.

The altar pulsed again.

And the voice, now as cold as the void, whispered its final decree:

"Power demands a price. But you must first prove you are worthy."

A sharp crack split the air.

Eris's body convulsed. The world around her twisted, bent, shattered. The ground beneath her feet disappeared.

For one, agonizing second, she was weightless.

Then she fell.

Down.

Down.

Into the abyss.

The last thing she heard was the voice's final whisper, curling like smoke in the darkness.

"The trial begins."